but there was still that indefinable something about him that got to her every time. And let’s face it, if he were drop-dead gorgeous he would never have been interested in her in the first place.

As she reached the door, Nuala warned, ‘Don’t fall asleep before I get back.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ Dexter turned onto his side. ‘Zzzzz ...’

The dressing gown, miles too big for her, had been appropriated from a hotel by Dexter during a precious weekend away together last year. When he’d presented it to her, she’d been guiltily delighted.

A week later, the hotel had written to Dexter billing him for the stolen dressing gown. Laughing, he’d chucked the letter in the bin. Nuala, mortified, had fished it out and secretly settled the account herself.

The really annoying thing was that if she’d known she’d be paying seventy quid for a dressing gown, she would have at least bought one that was the right size.

Anyway, tea, thought Nuala as she made her way downstairs, and maybe a spot of pâté on toast then, who knows, perhaps they might even go for a repeat- Aaarrgh.

Oh God .. .

‘Ow!’ screamed Nuala, crashing down the stairs like a skittle. ‘Ow, ow, ouch.’

Twenty seconds later Dexter appeared at the top of the staircase.

‘What’s all the racket? Bloody hell, Nu, what are you doing on the floor?’

‘Fell down.’ Nuala managed to get the words out through teeth gritted with pain. ‘Tripped over the hem of my dressing gown. Oh fuck, it hurts. Dexter, it really hurts!’

Naked, he made his way down the stairs and helped Nuala into a sitting position. Supporting her with his strong arms, he studied her face.

‘Bit of a shiner there. Teeth feel OK?’

Tentatively checking with her tongue, Nuala nodded.

‘Well, that’s good. You’re going to look like a boxer with that eye. And you’ve got a bump on your forehead, but no blood. You’ll live,’ he reassured her.

‘My shoulder ...’ Nuala gasped, feeling sick with the pain, and Dexter gently pulled back the lapel of the dressing gown.

‘Looks like you’ve broken your collarbone. How’s the rest of you? Back? Legs?’

Bracing herself, Nuala moved her legs, then her spine. ‘They’re OK.’

‘Right, just stay here, don’t try to move.’

For a terrifying moment Nuala thought he was heading back to bed. As he rose to his feet she whimpered, ‘Where are you going?’

‘To get some clothes on, you idiot. I’m taking you to casualty.’

By the time Nuala emerged from her hospital cubicle with her left shoulder securely strapped and her arm in a sling, it was seven in the evening.

Maddy, waiting in reception, rushed to meet her. ‘You look terrible!’

‘Thanks.’ Nuala had already seen her face in the bathroom mirror; her eye had blackened dramatically over the course of the last three hours. ‘Are you giving me a lift home?’

‘No, I thought I’d make you hitch a lift. Of course I’m giving you a lift home.’ Maddy’s expression softened as she held the door open to let Nuala through. ‘You poor thing, does it really hurt?’

‘They gave me some pills. Thanks for coming to pick me up. God, I’m such a twit.’ Nuala’s smile was self-deprecating as they made their way towards the car park. ‘And now look at me. Clumsy or what?’

‘Hmm,’ said Maddy.

What was ‘hmm’ supposed to mean? Trying to laugh, Nuala said, ‘Did Dexter tell you how it happened?’ Having spent the first hour with her in the waiting room, Dexter had been forced to leave her there and drive back to Ashcombe in order to open the pub at six. He’d promised to find someone to come and pick her up and Nuala had been glad he’d managed to get Maddy. Dexter was just as likely to have sent along one of his cider-guzzling regulars on a tractor.

‘He said you’d tripped on your dressing gown and fallen down the stairs,’ said Maddy. She stopped, regarding Nuala gravely. ‘Is that true?’

‘Why wouldn’t it be true?’ Mystified, Nuala said, ‘My dressing gown’s too big for me. I got the hem caught under my foot and went flying. Poor Dexter, gave him the shock of his life! Oh, but he was so sweet, looking after me and carrying me to the car. He even had to put my knickers on for me because I couldn’t reach past my—’

‘Nuala, listen. This is me. We’re friends, aren’t we? You can tell me.’ Maddy gave her a meaningful look.

‘Tell you what?’

‘ Look at yourself. Black eye, bruised forehead, cracked collarbone. Come on now,’ said Maddy, her tone supportive.

Realisation finally dawned. Nuala’s eyebrows shot up as if she’d been electrocuted.

‘My God, I don’t believe it, you think Dexter did this to me! You actually think he gave me a black eye and chucked me down the stairs!’

‘Didn’t he?’ said Maddy.

‘Of course he didn’t!’ Her voice rising in disbelief, Nuala tried to stamp her foot and flinched as the sudden movement jarred her shoulder. ‘I can’t believe it even crossed your mind. Dexter’s never laid a finger on me, he’d never hurt me!’ Shaking her head – ooch, more pain – she said, ‘And you have to believe me, because I swear to God that’s the truth. You can strap me to one of those lie detectors if you want—’

‘OK, OK.’ Maddy nodded, to show she believed her. ‘I’m sorry. I just had to ask.’

They’d reached the car. Carefully, Nuala climbed into the passenger seat.

‘But why? Why would you even think that?’ Even as the words came out, deep down Nuala already knew the answer. Oh Lord, did this mean everyone in Ashcombe was going to think Dexter had beaten her up?

‘Well, you and Dexter ... the way he is ... I mean, you just said he’d never hurt you.’ Maddy could be horribly blunt when she wanted. ‘But he does sometimes, doesn’t he? Maybe not physically, but verbally. When he calls you a lazy lump or a fat-arsed camel. You can’t tell me you enjoy it.’

Her cheeks flaming, Nuala said defensively, ‘He does it to everyone, that’s just Dexter’s way.

When we’re on our own he’s lovely to me—’

‘Wrong. No.’ Maddy was shaking her head. ‘He doesn’t do it to everyone. He’s brusque, he’s sarcastic, he can be downright cantankerous, but he doesn’t verbally abuse the rest of us. Only you, because he knows he can get away with it. And a man who treats you like that in public – well, you can’t blame us for wondering what else he might do when the two of you are on your own.’

Nuala gazed blindly out of the side window, hot with shame. Everyone was going to assume she was a battered girlfriend. With a shudder, she imagined the regulars in the pub eyeing each other meaningfully, muttering behind their hands, watching her and Dexter and drawing their own wrong conclusions every time he came out with one of his mock derogatory remarks.

‘I’ll talk to him about it,’ she said. ‘Tell him he has to stop, you know, saying those things.’

Maddy drove out of the car park. ‘Right, you do that.’ She sounded horribly unconvinced.

‘I will. Don’t give me one of your looks,’ Nuala protested. ‘God, I’m not going to be able to work for weeks.’ She plucked gingerly at her sling. ‘How’s Dexter going to manage without me in the pub?’

‘Grumpily, I’d imagine.’ Swinging round a corner, Maddy said, ‘He’s already asked me if I’ll help out tonight.’

‘Really? And are you?’

‘No chance. I’ve already made plans.’

‘Great.’ Mischievously Nuala said, ‘Can I come along with you?’

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Maddy’s mouth. ‘How can I put this? Not a chance in the world.’

Chapter 21

‘Come on, you stupid animal.’ Kate tugged at Norris’s lead as he dawdled along like a recalcitrant toddler. It was Saturday afternoon, the temperature had shot up into the nineties and she was beginning to regret this attempt at a longer than usual walk.

Since embarking on a keep-fit plan for Norris, they had done their best to restrict his eating, but last night he had wolfed down an entire Dundee cake that had been carelessly left out in the kitchen by Estelle. Today, in an effort to work off a few of the ten thousand or so calories he had guzzled in ninety seconds flat, Kate had changed into jeans and trainers and resolved to bring him out on the equivalent of a doggie marathon. Leaving the village behind them, they had set out along Ashcombe Lane, the hilly, winding road that would eventually take them into Bath. Not that they’d get that far, but at least the scenery was spectacular and it made a change from endlessly circling Ashcombe itself.

Feeling like an American sergeant major harassing the latest unfit arrival at boot camp, Kate chivvied Norris past a promising clump of creamy white cow parsley – he could spend forever searching for the perfect place to pee – and dragged him on up the hill. Huffing and grunting in protest, Norris waddled more slowly than ever. Honestly, at this rate ants would be overtaking them.

‘Not much further,’ said Kate, pushing her hair back from her face as they reached the brow of the hill and the wall of trees ahead of them came into sight. ‘Norris, you really are hopeless, it hasn’t even been two miles yet.’

By the time they reached the entrance to Hillview, Norris had had more than enough. When Kate stopped walking he sank down onto the grass verge with a grunt of relief. The road was deserted in both directions. The sun blazed relentlessly down. Norris’s tongue, attractively, was lolling sideways out of his mouth.

‘Two miles,’ Kate told him. ‘Well done, you. One day you’ll have more muscles than Schwarzenegger.’

Then, turning, she gazed once more at the battered sign, half hidden by ivy. She hadn’t deliberately planned this, not really deliberately. If Norris had been skipping along like a spring chicken, more than happy to set off back home, then that’s what they would have done. But seeing as he was on his last legs and clearly desperate for a drink, well, it would be cruel to deprive him. And where was the harm, anyway, in knocking on Pauline McKinnon’s front door to ask for a bowl of water? The advantage of calling on someone who was a recluse was that they were bound to be home. She could talk to Mrs McKinnon, casually ask her how Kerr was doing these days, maybe hear some news about him.

And if the woman was so reclusive she refused to answer the door, Kate remembered there had been a decorative stone water trough and a small pond to the side of the house, years ago. Since they were unlikely to have been removed, Norris could still have a drink.

Norris groaned when she attempted to pull him to his feet. Bending over, Kate hauled him up into her arms — God, he weighed a ton, it was like carrying the world’s fattest baby — and headed up the bumpy, weed-strewn driveway.

Her heart leaped into her mouth as she rounded the last bend and saw the car parked on the gravel. A gleaming midnight-blue Mercedes — surely this was the one that had passed her that day on Gypsy Lane. Oh good grief, Kerr must actually be here now, in the house, visiting his mother .. .

With adrenalin swooshing through her body — whether it was due to terror or excitement she couldn’t tell — Kate clumsily shifted her hold on Norris, freeing one of her hands just enough to be able to comb her fingers frantically through her hair and rub the beads of perspiration from her upper lip. She really hadn’t been expecting this, but was it such a bad thing to have happened? Maybe it was fate bringing them together today, maybe they were meant to meet again and when Kerr saw her he wouldn’t even notice her scars .. .

OK, so maybe that was a fantasy too far, not even Stevie Wonder could fail to notice these scars, but Kerr would see them and instantly, magically, dismiss them because she was all that mattered, her personality was what was important and he didn’t give a toss about physical imperfections.

Shit, shit, shit. Kate ground to an abrupt halt. Having ventured another twenty yards up the drive she was now able to see a second car parked behind Kerr’s Mercedes. A silver Saab.

A silver Saab, silver Saab — the wheels were clicking in Kate’s brain. She’d seen it before, parked in the Main Street outside — God, outside Jake Harvey’s workshop. But this made no sense. Why would it be parked here now? Either Pauline McKinnon had just died and Jake was measuring her up for one of his bespoke coffins or Jake and Kerr were gay, conducting a furtive homosexual affair.