

So White

## For Marsha and Mum

## For believing

## With heartfelt thanks to my editor Sharon Roberts.

## So much more than a pretty face

Written by Steve Forrest

Published by Twisted Squint

© Copyright Steve Forrest 2017. All rights reserved

Chapter One

Harriet scrolled back to the top of the page and reread the email that she had spent the last 40 minutes writing. She flipped screens between her email and the original from her accountant to make sure that she had answered all the questions that had been asked. Her finger traced across the screen as she read the email aloud. It was a style that she had performed as a child and was so natural to her now that it would be a hard habit to break. Friends and colleagues had often mocked her on this childlike habit but, to Harriet, it was as normal as breathing. She thought of Elizabeth at the office who had laughed when she first saw Harriet read emails this way and suggested that Harriet could never hide an affair. Self-consciously she pulled her finger away from the screen. Harriet had stopped reading. She smiled to herself; it was simply not possible to read the email without her finger tracing the text as she read each word out.

After she had finished checking the email and the two file attachments, Harriet sat back in her chair and clicked on the 'Send' button. Naturally, at least to her, she said the word send as she did so. Harriet cupped her hand around the back of her aching neck and closed her eyes. Body and mind now started the wind down process after completing the task of sending her business accounts to her accountant. It wasn't hard work, not really, but it was rather tedious and painstaking. This was only the second time that she had submitted the accounts and it involved a lot of reading notes to make sure that she had performed every part of the task correctly. It was easier than last time and would hopefully become second nature one day.

Harriet opened her eyes and rolled her head to loosen stiff muscles. She selected the various programmes that she had been using and closed them down. She felt proud; hopefully that wasn't premature as the accounts had yet to be signed off but no, she did feel that she had done a good job and that her father would have been proud of her. The business had been his and had done well, but he had passed away nearly two years ago and Harriet had inherited it. Since she had taken over the business had grown, so much so that she was being advised to open a second office near the harbour where business was very much in demand. It was an exciting prospect but Harriet was aware of the pitfalls of growing the business without proper care. To Harriet, this was Dad's business and there was no way that she would do anything to risk it. It was her homage to him. Angus, the accountant, had been advising to the point of near bullying that now was the time to expand or become stagnant.

She closed the last programme, a spreadsheet and inwardly felt the relief of a job well done. There was a light tinkling sound like butterflies brushing against delicate crystal wind chimes and a quiet, relaxed voice said, "Well done Harriet, I bet you're glad that's finished and yes, your father would be very proud, very proud indeed."

Harriet smiled as she recognised the voice of her aunt Felicity, Fizz to her friends and lifted her gaze to the screen.

"Hi Aunty Fizz. I hope so," she said softly, all her energy seemed to have disappeared.

"Why wouldn't he, my darling, and I am too. Now, you haven't eaten yet and its nine o'clock, you should eat."

"What? already? I didn't realise the..." Harriet glanced at the clock on the wall. It was showing 3 minutes past eight. Had it stopped? "Nine Aunty? My clock says eight," she queried.

"No darling its nine o'clock," said Aunty Fizz, as she lifted her wine glass to her lips.

Harriet heard a loud cackling laugh from somewhere behind her aunt.

"It's eight o'clock at home Fizz, you forgot the time difference. How many of those have you had?"

"What?" said Aunty Fizz, and her eyebrows creased.

Harriet recognised the voice in the background and smiled. "Hi Aunty Tess, how are you?" she called out loudly.

"Still smarter than my sister," came the distant voice which broke into laughter again.

Meanwhile, Aunty Fizz leaned her head through the computer screen, until her arms were resting on Harriet's desk and looked for the clock. Realisation hit her. "How stupid," she scowled, "of course it is." Then she too laughed. Not as heartily as her sister but as the joke was on her that was to be expected.

Harriet excused herself and ran down the hall to the kitchen to get herself a glass of wine too. As she closed the fridge door her Aunty Fizz suggested that she turn the oven on and reheat the lasagne as it would take half an hour to warm through. Her aunt's voice sounded as if she was standing next to Harriet rather than coming from the computer screen in the lounge. Harriet took a gulp of her wine and turned the oven on to warm up.

"That needs to be higher darling, 180C is fine," Fizz advised conversationally.

Harriet turned around and looked at the oven dial. She had mistakenly set it to 120C. "Thanks," Harriet replied, and walked back into the lounge and sat down at her computer. There was no sign of her aunt but Harriet could hear scrabbling noises. "Is everything alright?" she asked as she took another sip. The chilled wine was warming a path down to her stomach and she realised that she was actually rather hungry.

"Yes dear," came her aunt's reply although it sounded oddly distant. "Where is it?" she muttered.

"What's the matter?" came the voice of Aunt Tess, sounding closer.

"It's ok, thanks," said Fizz, quickly.

"What are you looking for? Have you lost something?" Tess's voice was louder now.

"It's ok, thank you!" replied a rather testy Aunt Fizz.

Harriet looked at the screen for any signs of what was happening. She could hear all sorts of noises but could only see the cream-coloured wall of the family villa's wide lounge.

"Where's your wine? What have you done with your glass? Have you broken it? Get up Fizz, come on, you'll cut yourself," said Aunt Tess. Despite the concern that Aunty Fizz might have hurt herself, Harriet could not help smiling at her bossy Aunt Tess. She could just imagine Aunt Fizz getting flustered and defensive that "Takeover Tess" had spotted this opportunity to get involved. Tess was convinced that she had to be involved in everything because she always knew best and was the only person that she could rely on to do anything properly! The sisters were as alike as chalk and a rotovator and even though Tess had been this way all her life, her sister had always seen any involvement from Tess as a sign that she was not as able.

"I'm fine! I'm hardly likely to cut myself when I haven't broken anything. Am I!" Fizz's response was maybe a little more brusque than necessary. "Why don't you go and top up your glass or something. Your cheese straws are burning."

It all sounded rather uncomfortable between her aunties as usual, Harriet thought. Aunty Fizz was certainly sounding flustered and Harriet thought it best to be patient and not intervene. A head appeared at the bottom of the screen and rose quite slowly as Fizz got up from the floor. She still wore a frown and was looking a little bothered as she sat back down at her seat. Harriet was about to ask if she was ok when Aunty Fizz's eyebrows lifted. It was a light bulb moment of realisation and was immediately followed by Aunty Fizz's head coming through the screen and looking around. "Ah," was the single sign of understanding, as Aunty Fizz's hand reached through and grabbed at her wine glass which was sitting next to the PC speaker. She took a large gulp.

"Sorry Aunty, I didn't know it was there," apologised Harriet somewhat quizzically.

"I must have left it there when I looked at your clock dear," said her aunt, as she looked around from left to right. Judging by the lack of comment from Tess, this had all gone unnoticed and Aunt Fizz winked. Harriet smiled back.

"Angus is absolutely right, you know," continued Fizz, soberly. "Your father never got to this point, where his finances were looking so strong. I know you're worried but in your position now he would be looking to expand, it makes sense."

Harriet's eyes closed and she nervously bit at her top lip. "I know, I know," she said wearily. "Angus won't stop going on about it. The business finances are strong but what if I get it wrong? There are so many things to consider."

"Yes I know, I've considered them all too. I know you don't need business advice from me." Fizz chuckled. "Suppose you did open a new branch, even if things didn't go to plan, and I can assure you they will, your reserves are good enough to close it and return to the one office with no real harm done."  
"Yeah, they are, so it's about time I got brave and started looking." Harriet's shoulders dropped as the weight of this decision fell away.

"Please don't think that I'm interfering, Harriet."  
"I never do Aunty Fizz. It's nice to have a second opinion." Harriet shook her head slowly. She straightened up in her chair, and changed the subject. She had had enough business for one day.

"So you're at the villa I see? I bet it's lovely in Vallaques right now, isn't it?" asked Harriet, sipping at her wine.

"Yes, it's very pleasant. I told you we'd be here." Then just in case, she added "I did tell you, didn't I?" Fizz looked around again, obviously for her sister. Harriet giggled, "I think so, sorry I've been so busy, I can't remember but, I'm sure you did."

Her Aunt leaned closer, conspiratorially. "I'd never hear the last of it if I'd forgotten to tell you. Oh, darling, you forgot to put the lasagne in the oven."

"Oh crikey," said Harriet and she ran into the kitchen.

Returning with her glass topped up, Harriet sat down. "Actually, you did tell me," she remembered. "Aren't Ffion and Eilydh with you?"

"That's right, and Tabitha. They'll be here tomorrow. I thought I had."

Aunt Tess appeared next to Fizz and offered her a cheese straw. Tess then pushed the container through to Harriet, who accepted it eagerly. "I love your cheese straws Aunty Tess."

"Careful, they're still hot," said Tess. Tess looked at Harriet appraisingly and then back at her sister. "She's very beautiful, isn't she? Really beautiful." The ladies both beamed at her.

"Umm, excuse me. 'She' is here you know," Harriet chided, smiling back at them.

"She has Henry's eyes, don't you think?" mused Fizz.

"Yes. Yes you do Harriet," Tess said thoughtfully as she studied Harriet's face. "We miss him terribly too." Her smile and the warmth of her voice touched Harriet. She did miss her father but didn't realise that it was that obvious. Mind you, this was her aunties and nothing got past them.

They continued chatting as they ate the cheese straws, talked about the business and reminisced about Harriet's father, their brother Henry. Aunt Tess's hand came through the screen and gently brushed a strand of hair away from Harriet's face. "You really are so pretty my dear," Tess repeated, and then suddenly more animated, she said, "Ooh Harriet, you're on Youbook, aren't you?"

"Yes I am, why?"

"You must have entered that competition, surely?"

Both Harriet and Fizz looked at her quizzically. "Competition?" said Harriet.

"Yes, yes!" Tess responded impatiently. "You must have seen it, it's all over Youbook. Everybody's talking about it." Fizz looked up at her sister, for an explanation.

"I've been so busy getting all the accounts sorted that I haven't really paid much attention to Youbook. Elizabeth's been looking after the business Youbook account this last week or so. Is it some sort of business competition?"

"Very much a personal one," Tess chuckled, shaking her head. "You've seen it, Fizz, haven't you?" Fizz shook her head slowly and Harriet pulled a questioning face.

"Oh my gosh!" exclaimed Tess eagerly. "Oh, you have to enter, you'd win hands down!" It was Fizz's turn to be impatient with her sister.

"Spit it out Tess, what competition?!" It was a bit like role reversal. Fizz was being impatient whilst Tess was looking uncharacteristically flustered. Harriet looked at Fizz.

"It's everywhere! All over the media. Oh wait," Tess looked intently from one to the other. "You two are winding me up aren't you?" Harriet shook her head slowly but Fizz was on this like a Greek banker on a 10 euro note.

"Are you sure you haven't imagined this?" Fizz said sweetly but with a very mischievous grin.

"Of course not! Don't be absurd." Tess looked hurt and off balance that anyone could even consider that she might have made a mistake. She dropped the idea and quickly moved on. "Youbook are running a competition to find the most beautiful woman in the world."  
Harriet rolled her eyes, "Sounds lovely."

Tess ignored her and carried on. "The prize is absolutely eye watering. I can't believe neither of you have heard of it. I think that pretty much all of Youbook's advertisers are getting involved. Apart from a cash prize of a million pounds, there's a new car, holidays and all sorts of other giveaways. They say that all in all the prizes will be worth millions. They're calling it 'The Beauty of Youbook'."

"And it's not even a little bit sexist!" Harriet said disparagingly.  
Fizz, who had been just about to take a drink, snorted into her wine glass  
Tess shot her an icy glance but she hadn't finished her sales pitch so she carried on. "Every day, more and more of their advertisers are adding prizes of their own. It's huge!!" From the blank faces that stared back at her like two shop manikins, she could tell that she hadn't won over her audience and was starting to get annoyed.

"Of course it's sexist! It's advertising! If you two would stop acting like princesses for a minute and more like grown-ups..."

Fizz and Harriet exchanged mock grimaces, which didn't exactly improve the situation.  
"Oh for God's sake!" Tess spat. "Go ahead if you want to start your own suffragette movement. When you've finished, why don't you cure world poverty? Meanwhile, one pretty girl with more brains than you two will be set up for life and have enough left over to do something useful and make a difference."

Fizz's eyebrows went up but Harriet just shook her head. "That sounds a bit crass, not really for me."

"Its millions for doing nothing Harriet." Tess went on, unable to accept that neither of them appreciated the logic of her argument. "You cannot change the way you look and if someone's willing to give you millions of pounds worth of prizes, I'd say 'Thanks for the money'! Someone sure will!"

"So what would Harriet have to do for this?" asked Fizz, trying to calm the situation.

"Just enter, pretty much. There's probably a photo shoot at the end and if the winner managed to say 'I love Youbook' I'd say everybody wins, wouldn't you?" Tess's face had reddened, a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief that they couldn't see that she was right.

Aunt Tess definitely believed in it and judging by the look on her face, Aunt Fizz was quickly warming to the idea too. This made Harriet feel even more uncomfortable. "Excuse me for a minute," she said and left the room.

"Where's she off to?" blurted Tess, looking like she'd just been slapped.

Fizz put her hand gently on her sister's arm, "She's just getting some more wine, she's embarrassed, that's all."

Harriet came back into the room carrying her wine glass. "Thanks for the vote of confidence Aunty Tess, but it's not really me," she smiled. Tess made a little noise and left the room.

"She's got a point you know, Harriet," said Fizz softly. "But I know what you mean."

Harriet changed the subject, "So, how long are you there for?"

"As long as it takes basically hopefully just a few days. Tabitha, Eilydh and, Ffion will make a difference and the more that they can help; the quicker we'll be finished."

"Is it some kind of problem?" Harriet tried to remember. She knew that there was something big going on that needed extra pairs of hands but it was witch stuff, and she'd never taken much notice of that kind of thing.

"Oh," Fizz sighed. "It's an on-going problem that's got worse lately." With her eyes half closed as if in resignation she carried on. "Things are getting a bit chaotic right now," she said wearily.  
"Oh, that sounds ominous?"  
Aunt Fizz broke her reverie. "Oh, it's all getting a bit ugly, much more so than usual but we'll sort it out. It's nothing that we haven't dealt with before, just on a bigger scale." Fizz looked tired and a bit preoccupied, Harriet thought. It wasn't her usual demeanour. Aunty Tess seemed the same as usual though so it must be ok. Maybe her Aunt Fizz was just tired from the travelling.

Harriet noticed very faint flickering shadows dancing across the wall behind her aunt and wondered what Tess was doing. Obviously whatever it was, she was running around at her usual breakneck speed. "I don't think you actually told me what you're doing down at the villa," Harriet enquired as she sipped at her wine.

Her aunt waved her hand to dismiss the comment.

"Oh, it's nothing much, don't worry," she said. Fizz finished her own wine, leaned back in her chair and called out, "Was there any wine left Tess?"

After a moment Tess came back into the room carrying a bottle and poured generously into her sister's glass. Behind them the faint shadows flickered across the wall. They obviously weren't caused by Aunty Tess running around then, thought Harriet absently. Tess topped up her own glass and turned to Harriet. "Harriet darling? Now I don't want you to be upset with me or think that I'm interfering. Well, I suppose I am a bit." Fizz muttered into her wine glass but her comment was still audible. "Leopard... spots." Tess gave her sister's arm a little slap, obviously embarrassed.

"I'm guessing," said Harriet, stiffly, "those entries can be made by a third party." It was rhetorical. If Tess thought something was a good idea, it would take more than wild horses to keep her away from doing something about it. "What happens now?"

To her credit, Aunt Tess did look more sheepish than well, a sheep. Her cheeks were flushed but that could have been the wine. "Well, that's the beauty of it, if you'll pardon the pun. The rest of the world are the judges. The winner will be the person with the most 'Loves' at the end of the competition, minus however many 'Loves' they had in the first place.

I'm sorry Harriet, I wouldn't have done it if I didn't know that you'd win," Tess apologised.

"Whoa! What do you mean, you know I'd win? You'd better not be telling me that you've rigged it? It's bad enough without cheating, if witchcraft is involved I could never forgive you for that!" Harriet felt the blood rising in her veins. Her face darkened into a scowl and she gulped at her wine. Tess flinched as if she'd been punched in the stomach, all the wind knocked out of her. In fact both sisters looked equally aghast.

Harriet felt guilty for even saying the words. It had been a defensive reaction and she felt bad. There was no excuse for this slight of her aunt's character and she apologised as quickly as she could. "I'm sorry Aunty, that was wrong of me, I know you wouldn't do that."

"I know I can be a bit bossy and a bit like a bull in a china shop and yes, I am a witch. A white witch. I am very proud of that but I would never do that."

Fizz wrapped her arm round her sister, "She knows Tess, she knows."

The outburst was very much out of character for Harriet. As the conversation went quiet she reflected on why her reaction had been so profound. It was easy to suggest mitigating circumstances, reasons why her emotions had gotten the better of her and excuses for being so unkind. For all her brash exterior, Aunt Tess was as honest as the day was long and she obviously loved Harriet more than anything else. At this moment in time, Harriet wasn't considering whether her aunt could forgive her so much as whether she could forgive herself.

Work had been very busy lately, almost frantic in fact. Two large deals finalising and submitting her accounts had all been very emotionally draining. For ages now her sleep had been troubled as she had woken in the night, with worries of what to do for the best. Should she carry on as she was doing - which was very nice thank you - or should she take that giant leap and open a second branch? Had her outburst been a mixture of tiredness and drinking wine on an empty stomach?

She had overreacted. Harriet knew that it was due to sheer embarrassment. It felt to Harriet that just by being in the competition she was saying to the world that she believed that she was prettier than others. In her mind she thought everyone would think that she was eager for easy fame and riches. She knew there was no way that her aunts, as doting as they were, would ever use their powers in such a way.

There had been a direct line of witches throughout her family tracing back thousands of years and apparently going all the way back to the first witch. Harriet had been told the first witch's name many times but it had never been anything that had stuck in her mind. It had no relevance in her world. This ancient line of witches and witchcraft had been passed from generation to generation, from female to female. The line had been broken with Harriet's father, being obviously male.

Over the years, Harriet had occasionally and briefly considered whether it would have been better to have been part of this rich lineage or just to be an ordinary person such as she was. It was rather academic, she was what she was, and whilst some of the things that her aunts were able to do did seem quite amazing she wasn't naive enough to believe that it came without cost. She was very happy with her lot and therefore very happy not to be a witch. On an everyday level it didn't even matter that her aunts were witches. It seemed only occasionally that the two worlds interacted in such a way as to show the differences.

One of Harriet's fondest memories was of her sixth birthday. Apart from being about the earliest birthday party that she could remember, it was the birthday cake that stole the show and probably her earliest memory that her aunts could do things that other aunts couldn't. The cake looked like a lot of other birthday cakes, obviously homemade, covered in garish icing and on this occasion, made to look like a face. What had been truly amazing, and had still given Harriet the giggles for many years hence, was the face.

There was no way that her aunties could ever be mistaken for each other. Aunty Tess had quite a round face topped with quite unruly and spikey brown hair. She was reasonably tall and relatively muscular. It wasn't that she was overweight by any means, instead she had the appearance of someone who was used to manual labour or worked out at the gym. Aunty Fizz on the other hand was shorter and rather petite, with an elfin shaped face and soft, curly hair which just looked altogether more feminine.

Somehow, the face of Harriet's birthday cake looked like both of them at the same time. When it was brought into the room the cake was actually singing happy birthday to her and it sounded just like her aunt's voice, although she couldn't have told you which one. Before the little six year old could even consider the horrors of plunging a knife into a cake that looked like her relatives the cake had simply divided itself to exactly the right number of pieces, so that everyone at the party had a slice.

It wasn't the only time that Harriet had witnessed her aunt's magic, in fact, there had been so many occasions that looking back it was impossible to tell what had been magic and what hadn't. Although her aunts had been increasingly more discreet as Harriet got older, their magic seemed so commonplace that it felt ordinary. They probably didn't even know when they were doing it themselves, she thought.

It was all a little bit awkward for a while and the three women said little as they continued to drink their wine. Fizz was the first to break the silence. "The competition is what the competition is and if Tess hadn't put you forward, someone else would have done. Let's see what the world has to say." Fizz's voice took a more serious tone. "There is something a little more important my darling and it may just be the wine talking but there are a lot of bad things going on right now. Please promise us that you'll be extra careful."

"I'll be all right," said Harriet.

"No, these are difficult times. More so than usual Harriet and we need you to be extra careful for us whilst we're away. Will be back soon but until then just be safe."

"Listen to her Harriet," said Tess warmly. "That sort of thing is Fizz's speciality. Just be mindful eh?"

"We should arrange for us all to come here for a little holiday," said Fizz.

"Mm, that's a great idea Aunty Fizz," Harriet replied, sipping her wine wistfully.

"We'll organise something when Tess and I get back."

"Sounds great. It will be really nice to spend some time with you two."

"Let's drink to that!" Two wine glasses came through the screen of Harriet's monitor and she chinked her glass against each of them. They all laughed. Behind them, faint shadows danced across the wall. "Don't forget to put all those candles out safely," Harriet chuckled. "Talk about me being safe, I don't want you two burning down the villa before I get there."

"What candles? We don't have any ca-" Fizz started to say but, Tess's hand squeezed her arm tightly.

"Oh yes, Lord knows how many I lit. I'll blow them all out now. Night Harriet, sweet dreams."

"Umm, yes, good night my darling, sleep tight. We'll speak soon," Fizz added quickly and both women blew Harriet a kiss as the screen went black.

Chapter Two

The little "tada" sound didn't wake her. Unlike pretty much everything else, that wasn't because it was afraid to do so. It just didn't. It had a message to deliver, sure, but it was a machine. Its task at this moment in time was to make a little noise to let you know that you had a message. Whether you took any notice or not was completely irrelevant to the little machine's existence. One day, when the little machine's journey through space and time met the brick wall of certainty, it might change its outlook, but maybe not.

About half an hour later, as Angelique was slowly starting the transition from wonderful dreams in which she was the only person in the world who was not staff, and into the reality of another day where she was considered to be the most beautiful girl in the world - as voted for by the world - everything was as near to bliss as it was possible to get.

Angelique stretched lazily under the duvet, stretching her arms and legs out in a star pattern. She loved this time when the temperature in her bed was perfect. Wrapped within the cosiness of the duvet with no particular reason to do anything. Through half opened eyelids, she could see the bright slivers of daylight where the curtains met. It looked like it was another beautiful day.

Her mind slowly, sleepily, began to think of how best to start this day. Maybe breakfast in bed? That was always a favourite. Maybe slowly sliding in amongst the bubbles of a steamy bath before breakfast? Possibly \- and it was only possibly as at this point, this idea sounded a little more energetic than she felt - the fresh, invigorating zing of a shower? She began to imagine the smell of fresh coffee, a light buttery croissant and the juiciness of some fresh fruit. These thoughts were starting to make her feel hungry and she didn't want to deny herself that pleasure. So it was either breakfast in bed or a hot shower before breakfast. The bath sounded nice but it would take too long.

Standing in the shower, as it rinsed away the tropical oils of her body scrub, Angelique remembered another reason for favouring the shower instead of the bath. Her public needed her. This made her smile. It was going to be a perfect, perfect day, she could just feel it. Her public, her adoring public, would have to wait a little longer. There was still at least an hour of personal pampering left to do plus breakfast, and she wasn't going to rush that. They would have to wait. They would wait of course, she was worth it. After all she was the most beautiful woman in the world - as voted for by the world. She sighed in contentment as she applied her moisturiser.

Golden hair, perfect! Make up, perfect! Clothes, perfect! Satisfied, Angelique smiled back at herself in the mirror and picked up her phone as she made her way downstairs for breakfast. She was busy considering all the many ways in which her whole life would be perfect after she had won the competition. She imagined the immaculately dressed and perfectly attentive staff constantly busying themselves to attend to her every whim. She pictured the heel of her Jimmy Choo shoe sinking into the 2-inch-deep pile of cream fluffiness carpeting the lift from her penthouse apartment as the stainless steel doors softly closed behind her. No, glass doors! Stainless steel was so dated, she corrected herself.

As the lift doors silently opened she would hear the soft purr of the engine that her chauffeur had already started. She would glide gracefully towards the waiting Ferrari. Her nose crinkled in thought. Ferrari? Maybe a little too racy, make that a Bentley. Convertible of course! Make that one of each, she corrected again, as she fine-tuned her future life.

Come to think of it, why was she thinking of just two cars? There was little doubt that all the prestigious car manufacturers would be insistent that she accept their finest models in homage to her beauty. She was being honest - and why not, after all now was the time to speak freely, before the press started hounding her, following her every move, begging her for a comment on this, that or whatever and generally trailing in her wake like the frothy bubbles left by her speedboat. She'd have at least one of those as well, but where to moor it? Cannes, Nice, Monte Carlo or maybe even Venice? God, there was so much to think about.

That upstart, Cindy Materelli, should really be thanking her for taking over the lead in this competition. She probably wouldn't but Angelique was willing to be magnanimous on this occasion. She had quickly blown Cindy right out of the water but Angelique was a nice person and anyway, it was the world who had decided that she was the most beautiful.

By the time that Angelique entered the kitchen she was feeling pretty good about herself and her future prospects despite the pressures that would accompany her fame. She comforted herself with the knowledge that she had no choice. If you were chosen, you were chosen, it was as simple as that. She had no doubt that she would be chosen, obviously. Oh well.

In this world, Angelique's world, there were very few things that would dare to cast a shadow on her day. No individual or thing would willingly consider what would be such a suicide mission without having been guaranteed some sort of witness protection programme was in place. Yet the day was clearly feeling brave. Coffee had been brewed, that was obvious by the empty jug. But there was none left now and no sign of that stupid housemaid Sojka to make more. Angelique's brow headed south as the corners of her mouth raced each other to her chin.

Even for the most practised individual it's not easy to stamp whilst wearing 4-inch heels. Angelique however deftly demonstrated her skill as she stamped her way to the oven. With a yank that could rip the arm off of a koala bear, she threw open the oven door. There was no waft of heat to greet her! No rich, warm buttery smell! No croissant!

At this point the fridge, had it been able to register emotion, would probably have screamed or at least turned off the interior light. By now, the existence of the small plate containing a slice of honeydew melon was not going to be enough to pacify Angelique and she slammed the door shut so hard that the whole kitchen shook. Within one short minute the face of the most beautiful woman in the world had transformed to resemble a vulture with a mouthful of vinegar.

She sat at the kitchen table, drinking the coffee that she had been forced to make herself from scratch and biting into a slice of toast with as much ferocity as an alligator chewing a tourist's leg. This was not the start to her day that she had pictured. She sipped at her coffee as she picked up her phone, her left thumb stabbing the button to open the screen. She needed to see how many new 'Loves' she had gotten since the last time she looked. Like any young woman, self-conscious and emotionally delicate, she needed the warmth that can only come from knowing that the huge majority of the world recognised you as the most beautiful.

'You have a message!' the little screen showed, and the smile of eager anticipation began to soften her face. 'Please log into your Youbook account for more details'.

Angelique tapped at the screen with her left thumb as she drank her coffee, which was already starting to taste much, much nicer.

As her Youbook page began to load on the little screen, Angelique glanced at her profile picture and she wondered whether it needed updating. It had been her profile picture for at least a week now and a girl needed to stay fresh she thought. For her public, of course. She looked across to the latest message, expecting to see a smaller version of her profile picture and the proclamation that she was 'The most beautiful woman in the world', followed by the total number of 'Loves' that she now had. It would be a ridiculous figure, one that she couldn't even begin to say such as a squillion or whatever came after a billion.

The face of the apparently most beautiful woman in the world smiled warmly back at her. Large green eyes beneath a fringe of chestnut brown hair and a smile so warm that it could melt icebergs. Next to the picture, underneath the ridiculous title of 'Most beautiful woman in the world', was the name 'Harriet White'. Underneath that was a very large number followed by the word 'Loves' and a button for you to add your own love. Below that was a line that said 'Use this link to view the leader board'.

History is littered with examples of situations resolved and lives saved by nothing more than one simple action. The little phone's life was saved by two simple actions today. The first of which was the tender, white knuckled clutch of Angelique's left hand, in much the same way that an axe would carefully part your hair on its way through to splitting your skull. The second simple act was the fact that Angelique's right hand was currently busy propelling the coffee cup on a one-way trip into the wall.

The same Youbook message had also appeared on Harriet's phone and had yet to be discovered. The reasons were quite different but the impact, in time, would be no less dramatic. At this moment Harriet was hard at work in the office, trying to cope with the huge number of new clients wishing to register and wondering what had caused the sudden flurry. Between the deluge of phone calls from personal clients wanting to sign up and the corporate clients hoping to benefit from the association - with unbeknownst to Harriet, the most beautiful woman in the world - the phone was ringing nonstop. But business was business and this sudden popularity was pretty fantastic.

Although she was concentrating on the task in hand a part of her mind had reached the conclusion that expansion was a must. She was already searching for prime locations, considering timescales and costs and considering the impact on her team here at the office. She would have to spend a lot of time at the new office, to get things organised, recruit the right staff etc. Secretly she feared that she would never be able to build a team as good as her current one. She'd promote Elizabeth to manage this office, that didn't even require thought. Elizabeth really was her right-hand.

Harriet looked over at Elizabeth commanding the reception desk and hoped that she was just as good. Professional, welcoming and as, clinically efficient as a factory worker hearing the end of shift bell. A series of fast flashing lights snapped Harriet's attention to the front window. As she looked up from her computer monitor the flashes intensified in speed. Outside the pavement was full of people, every one of which seemed to have a camera. Some with short fat lenses, some with longer thinner lenses, but every one of them emitting enough stroboscopic lights to paralyse a field of rabbits.

Harriet instinctively ducked behind the shield of the PC monitor. Her mind scrambled to make sense of what was happening. Still hiding behind the monitor she looked around the office, expecting to see the looks of surprise and confusion similar to the one that she wore. Instead she saw Anna and Zoe intently focused on what they were doing. Fingers thrashing around on their keyboards like hamsters on a hot plate. She looked around to the left and saw young Tommy busily feeding the photocopier. Tommy's eyes met hers and he grinned, pantomimed wiping sweat from his brow, winked and gave her the thumbs up sign.

Harriet could only stare back. Her eyes wide and her jaw slack, giving her face the comical look of a goldfish attempting to swallow a hen's egg whole. Tommy laughed. Harriet simply couldn't understand what was going on. Why the office seemed to be under attack like this - that was how it felt to her, under attack – and she sneaked a peek at the front window. The crowd was still there, cameras poised. Feeling like the startled commander of a small group of soldiers who had no idea how they had been ambushed by so many attackers, she yelled to her second-in-command.

"Elizabeth! Please!" she squealed and darted for the safety of the small kitchen at the rear of the office. She crouched low and quickly zigzagged between desks in an attempt to avoid the camera's sniper assault. Elizabeth duly followed her though without the darting, zigzagging or crouching.

When Elizabeth entered the kitchen, Harriet was leaning against the sink and was noticeably shaken. Elizabeth didn't really understand this reaction and simply put it down to the speed and scale of events. It was a little bit alarming at just how fast the paparazzi had mobilised and descended on them but it was pretty inevitable, considering.

"Coffee?" Elizabeth asked, far too nonchalantly. She didn't wait for a response as she grabbed the kettle and was now standing next to Harriet, filling it from the tap.

Harriet still hadn't responded as Elizabeth turned the kettle on, picked up two clean mugs and spooned in coffee and sugar. She looked back at Harriet who had stopped doing the egg-swallowing-goldfish thing and now looked more like a goldfish after the event that was only now trying to work out why he'd just done that. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, inviting her boss to explain her actions.

It took a little bit longer for Harriet to compose herself enough. Her confused mind was not only trying to understand what was happening and why but now added to that was the question of how Elizabeth seemed to be taking it all in her stride. "What the..." Harriet started. Noticing Elizabeth's blank look she was beginning to understand that Elizabeth knew more than her. Come to think of it, Tommy seemed to know as much as Elizabeth too.

"I'm missing something aren't I?"

Elizabeth, who was beginning to think that this confusion was contagious, continued to look at Harriet, expectantly.

Harriet's face had always been fair, even pale. Her porcelain white complexion emphasised her full red lips to maximum advantage, but right now she looked even paler. Elizabeth put her hand gently on Harriet's forearm. "Are you okay?"  
"You saw them, right?"  
"Oh yeah," Elizabeth chuckled.  
"Why?" was all that Harriet's confused little mind could say to that. As Elizabeth stirred the coffee, Harriet's mind raced through previous conversations and emails. Was this something else that she had forgotten? She had so many things going on in her mind right now that the only explanation that she could find was that Elizabeth had organised some sort of PR campaign and the knowledge of it have gotten buried in Harriet's mind under everything else.

"I think that'll be the competition, don't you?" Elizabeth sipped at her coffee as she looked at Harriet, waiting for the penny to drop. Harriet wasn't silly, she was very smart. A little too innocent at times, even naïve, but you never had to tell her something twice. Well, that was until now, thought Elizabeth.  
"What competition?"  
It dawned on Elizabeth that Harriet really didn't know. So, if it wasn't Harriet that had entered the competition herself, who on earth could have done it? Elizabeth's own penny dropped. "Have you spoken to your aunts recently?!"  
"Yes, a few days ago. They're away at Vallaques." Harriet sipped at her own coffee, as she remembered. She started to smile as she recounted the incident with the lost wine glass and how Aunty Tess had... It seemed that they both had a penny now.

"No!" Then in a somewhat quieter voice, "Youbook?"

Elizabeth nodded. The dots have been joined together now and the picture was complete. Harriet instinctively felt her clothes for a pocket and her phone. It wasn't there. It was on her desk. Elizabeth guessed what Harriet was looking for and could tell by her demeanour that Harriet was in no rush to leave this sanctuary to get it and so she volunteered.  
"Is it on your desk?"  
"Yeah. Thanks," said a resigned Harriet. Elizabeth put down her coffee and went into the office.

"Thank you," said Harriet as she took the phone. Her finger swiped at the screen. 'You have a message' said the little panel and Harriet tapped at the 'Okay' button.

Elizabeth had picked up her coffee and was standing next to Harriet as they both looked at the phone. It was a mass of scrolling text. Apparently the little box that told that she had a message was not to be taken too literally. Harriet quickly scrolled through the messages and was a little surprised to see that there wasn't one from either of her aunties. That was probably for the best, she thought.

She searched for the latest message from Youbook. Somehow she couldn't bring herself to open the message. She looked at Elizabeth. Elizabeth just shrugged, there wasn't really anything she could say and she knew Harriet well enough to appreciate how she was feeling.

Harriet's arm slumped to her side still holding the phone. Elizabeth, feeling her friend's discomfort, put her hand on Harriet's arm.

"You like roses, don't you?" Elizabeth asked cheerily.

Harriet, still dazed by the whole thing, answered mechanically, "Yes, they're lovely."  
"Jolly good. We've got pretty much an office full now."

They looked at each other and then in perfect synchronisation, they burst out laughing.

To some people the worst thing in the world is the realisation that it is Monday, and no, it's not a bank holiday. To others, it's the knowledge that their bank account is empty or that the saucy text message that they have just sent has mistakenly been sent to their boss instead of their partner. For Angelique, her worst thing in the world was much, much worse. These things were trivial compared to being publicly told that someone was more beautiful than you.

Quite apart from the fact that this was obviously a blatant lie - some sort of conspiracy, dreamt up by God knows who just to humiliate and belittle her - this was public! It made her a laughing stock, a virtual gargoyle, a pariah! Angelique would much rather have contracted the plague and died in excruciating pain, as long as she looked good doing so. This wasn't right. Any sane person could see that. It was vicious, it was untrue and it was horribly mean. She needed revenge. She needed to right this wrong and someone had to pay - with money! No, money was good but it would have to be a lot... no, it was more than that. Someone had to pay with their life!

For a while her mind was too obsessed with this injustice. Everything in her head was dark, red and rather brutal. Too brutal for her to think rationally. Inch by inch she dragged herself back into the driving seat. As she sat at the kitchen table, her left hand still gripping the phone with enough force to extinguish life, she focused on the problem. With a surgeon's skill she dissected every nasty trace of this disease back to the root. She looked down at her phone and the smiling picture of Harriet White.

She had to formulate a plan, to strategise. She had to get out and into the world and face her public. She had to get more 'Loves' and if that meant being nice to the great unwashed - she shuddered - then she would do it. Also, she needed some retail therapy and for someone else to pay for it. Above all, she needed her mum!

Angelique switched screens to her contacts page and stabbed at the entry for her mum. The phone rang and rang and then went to voicemail. The fact that it always went to voicemail whenever she called her mum's mobile was not a surprise, but it was rather fortunate that there wasn't another coffee mug within reach. Through eyes that looked like horizontal arrow slits in a stonewall, Angelique went back to the listing and drove her thumb viciously into the entry that said 'Mum work'. The phone rang and rang again. It was eventually answered on the 20th ring by a female voice that oozed hospitality, or at least the hospital part.

"Surgery's closed."

"I want to speak to my mum." Angelique mirrored the woman's tone and curt manner without thinking.  
"Surgery reopens at 12:30, call then," was the unaffected response and the line went dead.

Angelique screamed in frustration as she hit the redial button. This time the call was instantly answered on the 17th ring. Angelique screamed into the phone before the receptionist could utter her greeting. "Mavis, get my mum!" The use of her first name registered in the mind of the receptionist and this time her response was less final.

"Do you have an appointment?"  
"Get my mum!" screamed Angelique, in a voice so high pitched and shrill that dogs within a half mile radius all cowered. After a brief silence, Angelique heard the receptionist say, "It's for you," followed by a clattering sound that suggested that the phone had been put down heavily on the desk or just dropped. After a long silence the phone was picked back up off the desk and a woman's voice said clinically, "Surgery will reopen after 12:30; call back then if this is an emergency-"

Angelique recognised her mother's voice and interjected quickly before her mother could put the phone down.

"It's me!" she shouted. Unfazed by this suggestion of familiarity, her mother replied, "Do you have an appointment?"  
"MOTHER!"

"Oh, hello darling. Did you want to see the doctor? I can get you an appointment in two weeks."

Despite this offer of preferential treatment, which must be some sort of a perk of the job only to be offered to very close relatives, Angelique continued to scream. "No I bloody don't! Have you seen Youbook today?!"

"Of course not dear. I have no time for that nonsense, you know that."  
"Well, look at it. Get your phone!"  
"Oh, come on Angelique, I can't be bothered. What's the matter dear? Just tell me, it's much easier, isn't it," said her mother sighing wearily.  
"Get your phone, Mother!" Angelique screamed again, "Do it now!"

"Oh, just tell me Angelique, don't be so dramatic," her mother said, clearly having lost interest in this conversation.

Angelique screamed and squealed her way through the news bringing her mother up-to-date with the fact that she had been knocked off of pole position and was, therefore, not the most beautiful woman in the world. She didn't cry, her voice didn't falter, this was not one of those times when Angelique needed to appeal to her mum for something that she didn't need or could do without. This was life and death.

"Oh!" This was obviously a shock to Olga as much as it was to her daughter and it was also obvious that she didn't know the best way to respond.  
"Well, what are you going to do mother?" Angelique said tersely.  
"Um, do you want me to 'Love' your page? I'll get Mavis to as well." Angelique could hear her mother calling out to Mavis. "Mavis, are you on Youbook?"  
"Don't be so stupid! I've already done yours and hers!" bellowed Angelique.  
"Oh, okay," said Olga and went straight to the parental ace card. "Do you want some money? I'll transfer some to your account now."

"No! I don't want... well yes, of course I do! But what are you going to do?"

"What can I do dear? You need to make it quick because I'm rather busy."

"You're not busy! I don't even know why you do that stupid job. You don't need the money."

"Oh, Angelique, you know I like to help. I like to give back to the community and it's only two mornings a week."

"How does it help?" Angelique stopped herself in mid-sentence. "Oh I don't care, you're my mum and I need you. I need you to sort this for me. If you can be bothered!"

"What can I do?" Olga said tiredly. "I'm sure it's just a mistake. This will probably all be alright by tomorrow." Coming from anyone else, this seemingly trite response could easily be mistaken as disinterest. That was not the case. Olga truly did not know how to respond. To her, as well as her daughter, the idea that Angelique was not the most beautiful woman in the world was like saying that the world was flat.

Olga herself was, by any measure, stunning. Despite the fact that she was old enough to be their mother (or even grandmother in some cases) she still possessed the looks to render teenage boys and young men into dribbling, babbling fools. Standing at 5 foot 10, with platinum blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders and high cheekbones under glacial blue eyes, she wore the looks of Slavic nobility to perfection.

No-one to date had ever been able to describe what her best feature was. From her slender legs that seemed to reach up like skyscrapers, to the svelte and athletic form of her torso and to the face that could truly launch a thousand ships, she was beautiful. As a young woman growing up in Moscow all the leading modelling agencies had desperately tried to recruit her. It was only in the last few years that Hugh Hefner had finally stopped pestering her. It wasn't so much that dear old Hugh had tired of her beauty as much as the eight broken fingers that had stopped him dialling her number. That gift had been delivered to Hugh by a mutual friend, together with the clear understanding of whom the benefactor had been.

Angelique had inherited all of her mother's looks and somehow enhanced them. Virtually everyone in the world agreed that Angelique was somehow more beautiful than her mother. Strangely Mr. Hefner currently declines to comment. To Olga it was simply inconceivable that her daughter was not the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Tomorrow's too late!" huffed Angelique. "Her name is Harriet White, you can see her picture and all the details on Youbook. I need this sorted mum! Now!" Angelique did not want to waste another minute on this conversation and before her mother could respond, she disconnected the call. Angelique sat there for a moment feeling deflated and quite tired after all her exertions.

Olga knew what to do. She loved her daughter, she had the resources and she could be one nasty piece of work. Angelique had been witness to her mother's cruel viciousness on many occasions and getting the job as doctor's receptionist showed that she had not lost her touch or gone soft with age.

Angelique switched screens on her phone and logged into her bank to check her finances. The latest entry showed a transfer in of £1000, under the reference of 'Mummy'. She had rather hoped for a bit more than that but she couldn't be bothered calling her mother again. Maybe her mum had been right, maybe it was just a technical blip. She checked her Youbook page again. The most beautiful woman in the world was still Harriet white.

She threw the phone into her bag and looked at the table, at the plate with the half eaten piece of toast on it. She didn't even have the energy to throw it so she simply pushed it off of the table to smash it onto the floor.

Chapter Three

Harriet had not gotten used to all the attention, the photographers and the reporters, telephone calls and the stream of deliveries of chocolates and flowers. She never would. Being in the limelight like this was pretty nightmarish but very good for business and the profile of the company, so she put on the boldest face that she could and pressed on. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the chocolates and she had to confess that the flowers were beautiful.

By lunchtime everyone seemed to be flagging a little under all the pressure. There was no such thing as a lunch break in a recruitment office as this was a prime-time for employees to drop in in their search for a different job. Harriet and her team had always staggered their lunches to provide cover but today was a bit different.

Harriet marched to the front door, causing a fresh wave of frenzied photography as she approached the glass. Nervously, Harriet forced a smile and her blush gave colour to her cheeks and a barrage of camera flashes. She turned the sign on the door to 'Closed' and flicked the catch to lock the door. One by one, the clients at reception were let out and the door locked again behind them.

When the last customer had gone, Harriet said, "I don't know about you lot but I need a drink. Who's going to help me get past that lot to the pub? I'm buying!"

Every now and then life has a way of surprising you. The surprise for Harriet and her team today would be a pleasant one as after finishing their well-earned drinks and bracing themselves into a huddle inside the pub doorway, they had burst out into the street like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid, only to find that the street was completely empty. This was not due to apathy on the part of the media nor was it one of life's strange coincidences. Rather, it was due to a telephone tipoff that one of the two most beautiful women in the world was approaching the high street for some serious retail therapy. The call was anonymous of course.

Today was also a day of surprises for the manager of Armand and Little. World-renowned emporium of all things chic and designer labelled. He too had just received a telephone tipoff that one of the world's two most beautiful women would be coming to his store very soon to acquire a lightweight, summer jacket. The name Chanel had been mentioned, along with the fact that a large quantity of reporters and photographers would be there at the same time. The caller had gone on to emphasise the huge amount of free publicity that could be gained especially if such an item was to be generously donated.

At first the suggestion of a freebie, particularly of such an expensive luxury item, had caused the manager to catch his breath. But when the caller had reinforced the value of such publicity, he had been forced to agree that it was after all pretty good value for money. He had lost no time in rushing to the shop floor to ensure that everything looked at its best and to personally source the item.

Angelique turned into the high street and squinted down the long road in search of any predatory gatherings of press. She saw them at a distance and couldn't help but wonder how they ever got any work done, they were so bloody slow. She was rather pleased, however, to see that two television camera vans were leading the pack. She was trying to consider whether she should duck back round the corner – she would give them a couple of minutes to catch up and then stroll back into the high street, nonchalantly - when she noticed the young man in front of her.

He was holding his mobile phone in one hand whilst staring longingly in her direction as he approached. She could guess what was coming next. He would go red in the face, beg to take a selfie with her and probably dribble down the front of his suit. She really didn't need this, especially not just for one 'Love' which he'd probably already given. The fact that he was wearing a suit - okay, it was an off the peg one - did give an insight into his finances... She glanced back down the road to see where the press were. They were still a long way away.

Angelique turned her attention back to the young man and she flashed him her best smile. "Hi handsome," she cooed. For a second she thought she had over done it, as his step faltered. The two words 'hair' and 'trigger' sprang to mind.

"Umm, excuse me, um, Angelique, could I possibly take a selfie with you?" he stammered. Angelique would have made a seasoned ventriloquist throw their puppet straight into the bin and go looking for another job, as her smile never wavered. "50 quid."  
"Sorry?" said the young man, looking like he'd just been punched in the solar plexus by Mike Tyson.  
"50 quid." To the young man this was a little bit like motion sickness, where your inner ear tells you that you are travelling forward whilst your eyes are looking out of the side window. His poor little mind could not compute the information.

"I, er, don't have the cash on me right now."

"Debit card." Still the smile was perfect. Before his conscious mind could make sense of what was going on, he had automatically pulled his debit card from his pocket. Deftly, Angelique snatched the card and popped it in to a card reader. He had no idea where it came from, one second her hand was empty and the next he was tapping in his pin number. There was a beep, the machine was gone and Angelique had her arm around his shoulder. Somehow he managed to lift his arm and take the picture. By now Angelique could see that the approaching paparazzi had spotted her and one very lucky young man got a slow kiss on the lips from one of the two most beautiful women in the world - and this little extra was completely free of charge.

All in all, it turned out to be quite a good day for Angelique. Her new Chanel jacket was absolutely beautiful and the press coverage was worth its weight in gold. She had sauntered amongst the finest shops. Her eager press following together with her whispered, sweet little girl comments (all off camera, of "do I need to pay for this?") had made for a very good days shopping.

There was only one time when her little ploy - scam is such an ugly word - didn't go quite as planned, but she still managed to turn it to her advantage in a way that would have made her mother proud. What her new ensemble really needed was a sparkly gold bracelet and small drop earrings and so a visit to the Queen's jewellers was a must. This time, however, the fluttering of her eyelashes as she whispered "do I need to pay for these?" didn't get the goods for free. She did, by anyone's reckoning, get an incredible discount, but it aggrieved her that she had to pay something.

With a sideways glance, just to make sure that the cameras were all on her, she made quite a show of searching for her debit card and making the payment. Then as she left the shop, still with debit card in hand, she told the reporters that yes, they were very expensive and it would mean that she would have to be very careful with her money for the rest of the month, but don't they look lovely? The resulting camera flashes would have put a tropical storm to shame as quickly as they did the jeweller.

Olga has been a little preoccupied with thoughts of how best to help her daughter. She was aware of the adverse effects that could be wrought through negative publicity. This was obviously a matter that required consideration and sensitivity. Simply thinking those two words made her feel dirty, to the point where she had actually considered washing her hands with the disinfectant gel that the doctor used after seeing each patient.

It was plainly obvious to anyone that her mind was not on the job this morning. She was sullen, rude and dismissive to the patients. They considered this treatment to be such a rare gift of kindness that even on its own it made some of them feel better. So much so that they didn't feel the need to see the doctor anymore and walked out of the waiting room. Hopefully when they booked their next appointment it would be because they were so violently ill that they were physically unable to make the journey to A&E, and therefore would be oblivious to the acts of retribution that would be bestowed on them by the receptionists. An unlikely scenario - no one's that ill.

It was a visit from one of the pharmaceutical reps that put a smile back on Olga's face. Although this fact was itself another first in the history of the surgery nobody noticed, least of all the rep, who didn't benefit from any preferential treatment. Strictly speaking he didn't deserve any, he hadn't done anything. He was simply a tool, as Olga had pointed out to him many times before.

After taking whatever freebies the rep had to offer and dismissing him without any hope of getting as far as the surgery itself, Olga went through the cupboard at the back of the office where the samples were kept. Having found what she was looking for she searched the surgery's database until she found a local baker. He was very obliging and happy to take her order and delivery instructions. He was happy, eventually, to use the ingredient that Olga was sending him now by taxi, despite pointing out that this was a very unusual request, a request that he would not normally entertain. That was until Olga pointed out that any doctor's appointment made by the baker or any member of his family, without first waiting six months to see if things got better on their own, would be considered a similarly unusual request that she or Mavis may also be reluctant to entertain.

Having found what looked like premises that were too good to miss, Harriet had arranged to meet the agent for the earliest possible appointment the following day. Although it meant leaving the office without any management supervision for a couple of hours, Harriet had asked Elizabeth to go with her. She wasn't worried about leaving the office, the team would be absolutely fine in her absence and anyway, she had her phone.

Had they been around, Harriet would have asked her aunts to go with her. It wouldn't be just for moral support but for another pair of eyes. Someone she trusted to look out for anything that she might miss. Thinking about it, Elizabeth was probably the best person for the job. She knew the business and therefore the needs of the office. It was a good decision to take Elizabeth and by 10 o'clock they had inspected the premises and its surroundings. Before she could say "what have I done?" Harriet had signed the agreement, subject to conditions of course.

Settling themselves onto the train for the journey home, Harriet had called the office to let them know that they would be back before lunch and to make sure that everything was okay. It was Tommy that had answered the phone. "A huge cake has just been delivered. It must have cost a fortune," he told her hungrily. "I've sent you a picture." Harriet searched her phone and showed the picture to Elizabeth. The cake was indeed a work of art or "should that be a work of heart?" - Elizabeth had laughed at her own pun.

The cake was shaped like a massive Youbook love heart. A perfect copy of the icon that you clicked on to add your 'Love' to someone's Youbook entry. The colour was the same pink as on the Youbook pages but to Harriet's mind it was easier to swallow. This was largely owing to the fact that it was indulgently decorated with piped cream, shards of chocolate and miniature candied love hearts.

Harriet's initial reaction was to groan inwardly. This was all because of that bloody competition. Doing anything other than throwing the thing in the bin would be an acceptance of the whole farce but as Elizabeth pointed out, at the end of the day, a cake is a cake and free ones were the yummiest. It was also pretty obvious that irrespective of what the rest of the team thought, Tommy didn't want it to go to waste.

"What do you want us to do with it?" he asked. He knew the answer that he wanted to hear but wanted Harriet to say the words.

"Eat it, I suppose," Harriet laughed  
"Should we wait until you and Elizabeth get back?" Tommy did his best to make this sound as unappealing as possible.

"Yeah, you should!" Harriet teased.

Tommy didn't reply.  
"You're not going to though, are you," she added as her and Elizabeth laughed harder.  
"Oh yeah, we can do, if you want."

Harriet was not making this easy for him.

"I just don't want it to go off," he added lamely.  
Harriet did her level best to answer with a straight face. "Do you think it will?"

"Umm... it should be okay," he answered, after seeming to consider the matter.

The girls could not keep the charade going any longer. "Save us a little bit," they called out as they laughed.

"Oh yeah, right. Do you think I should let everyone here have some now?" The poor chap was obviously desperate to hear Harriet say the words "You may eat it".

"Tommy," Harriet said soberly. "Just tuck in, eh! If you can leave a little piece for us that would be nice but really, fill your boots!"

Olga received a text from the baker to say that the delivery had been made. In turn, she sent a text to Angelique in the hope of lifting the poor girl's spirits. This was the second day that Angelique had not been voted the most beautiful woman in the world and she wasn't very happy. The psychological harm that such emotional distress could cause could have devastating consequences. It could lead to a young woman being permanently emotionally scarred, unable to form lasting relationships, at risk of self-harming, unable to climb out of the pit of depression and much more. It was also having a very negative effect on their crockery.

She had no idea that Harriet was not in the office that morning. She knew that the cake was, and she knew that this could only be half of the plan. She tried to estimate when they would eat the cake, how long it would take for any effects to set in and when she should make the call. She waited 90 minutes and then picked up the phone. At the other end of the line the call was answered on the second ring. Olga raised an eyebrow. That was very quick. She wondered if she had called too soon. "Good morning, Perfect Fit. My name is Anna, how can I help you?" This wasn't good. The young girl sounded sickeningly cheery. Olga rallied her thoughts and cut to the chase. "I want to speak to the owner, Harriet White."  
"I'm sorry, Harriet's not in the office right now. Can I help?"

"Where is she?" The response was rather quick and the caller's tone was very authoritative. Anna assumed that this must be one of the corporate clients that Harriet normally dealt with personally. "She'll be back this afternoon," she said hoping that this minor delay would be accepted. "Can I get Harriet to call you back?"

This level of willingness and help was alien to Olga. Nobody that she knew spoke that way. Mavis didn't, the doctor didn't and Olga certainly didn't. Olga convinced herself that the girl was hiding something. "Are you sure she's not in the office now?"

"Yes, quite sure." Anna started to respond further, but stopped herself. What an odd thing to say, she thought.

"Ah, you mean she's there but not able to answer the phone?" quizzed Olga, who could not yet work out whether this stupid girl was lying or not.

Anna checked the appointments book. Clearly this person expected Harriet to be there and so probably had an appointment. "I'm sorry, may I ask who's calling?" she said, in a vain attempt to get the caller's name and be able to check for it in the book. It was a pointless exercise as the page for this morning was blank but it was all she could think of doing.

"Why?" spat Olga. Was this silly girl trying to trap her?

Anna was starting to get a little flustered. Obviously she didn't want to upset any client, and she was aware that some of these corporate clients could be a little eccentric, but the woman was very strange and quite evasive. "Would you like me to take a message?" she asked. By now she wasn't overly hopeful that she'd get a straightforward answer and at first she thought nothing of the silence. At the sound of the dial tone she concluded that the call had ended and replaced the receiver, gratefully. She turned round to the open office to tell everyone about the 'weird call' but there was no one there.

Olga had decided that the girl was lying. She was obviously trying to cover the fact that something was wrong. Stupid girl. It was exactly the sort of thing that Angelique would do and Olga wasn't falling for that. She picked up the telephone again and called the number of the local television station. For some reason, best known to herself, she tried to disguise her voice. She had always considered that she could copy some accents. Not very many, that was true, but she did think that she could do a passable South African accent. The reporter at the television station obviously didn't get many calls from South Africans. He asked if she was eating something. When Olga shouted at him, he immediately apologised and instead asked if she was suffering from a medical condition.

These two telephone calls had been more stressful than a whole week's work. That didn't actually mean much as at work her role was always that of the stressor, not the stressee. There were givers and takers in this world and Olga was a giver, particularly when it came to stress.

Despite the idiot man's linguistic failings, Olga had battled on until she was sure that he understood the message. The message was simple, there was a scoop to be had at the Perfect Fit offices where they would find the most beautiful woman in the world 'as voted for by Youbook people'. She emphasised this last point to show that their votes couldn't count for anything sensible. Anyway, this woman, and probably the rest of the people that work there, had suffered a misfortune. The reporter had tried to quiz her as to exactly what misfortune had occurred but he had been forced to give up when he couldn't understand a bloody word she said. Most beautiful woman in the world, however, was a current hot topic, and so he made the call. The news crew would have to find out what this was all about when they got there.

The taxi that had brought Harriet and Elizabeth from the train station was forced to pull up about twenty metres from the office. There were three TV broadcast vans outside and more pedestrian reporters than you could throw a rock at - although Harriet was tempted to try.

The two women marched quickly to the office. Harriet in particular was in no mood for the press. Fortunately for the media she had about as much in common with street fighters as the press did with ethics, and so her forced barging consisted only of some rather angry repetitions of "excuse me!"

Elizabeth's elbows were a little sharper and between them they finally managed to get through the office door. The photographers had managed to snap hundreds of pictures. All the pictures showed an angry Harriet but it actually wasn't a bad look. Her 'Loves' count climbed accordingly.

Inside the office it was all rather quiet. The only visible member of staff was Anna, who looked a little confused but not overly stressed, even after realising that she had been alone. Elizabeth was the first to react. She had always felt a huge responsibility for this office and, after being told by Harriet on the train that she was to become the manager, had felt that responsibility even more.

"Where the hell is everyone?" she demanded. There was an element of anger in her voice, which was quite a rare thing but justified in this instance, she thought.

Anna didn't answer. She had only just put down the phone from a very strange caller and then searched the appointment book for the day before and day after to see if there was anything like an appointment that might have been overlooked. She was only now starting to ask the same question as Elizabeth.

Harriet made her way to the back of the office and the kitchen area. Elizabeth and Anna were right behind her by now. As they approached the open door they found the rest of the staff, or at least most of them. The sight that greeted them was not one that they would ever have expected. Five very puffy faces looked back at them, through eyes that had been reduced to slits. Their faces were very swollen and their skin had an odd, orange tinge that was covered with spots - angry, pus filled spots that didn't look at all pleasant.

The two groups stared at each other. No one really knew what to say. For Harriet, Elizabeth and Anna, there were many questions. Why do your faces look like puffer fish? Are those spots contagious? How are you feeling? For the group inside the kitchen, their question felt equally inappropriate - why are you all doing that Harriet/goldfish thing? It was Harriet that broke the silence. "Where's James?" she asked genuinely concerned, whilst trying not to make them feel any worse than they must already do.

"He's in the toilet," said Zoe quite cheerfully, or at least that's what they thought she had said. Her cheeks were so swollen that it was obviously difficult to form her words.

The fact that someone had actually spoken acted like an icebreaker and Anna didn't hold back. "What has happened? To your faces?" she added for clarification and was pointing at Zoe's head. The second part of the question and the pointing were probably unnecessary but she felt that the matter needed to be addressed. Tommy looked the worst. He seemed to have gotten the larger share of the spots. The really strange thing was, that apart from the obvious physical discomfort, they all seemed quite cheerful.

"How are you feeling?" It felt like an odd thing to ask but Harriet was trying to get a handle on the situation. The reactions were quick and enthusiastic.

"Great! How did your meeting go?" said Tommy, looking as if he was trying to chew a mouthful of wasps.

"Fantastic," beamed Sarah.

"Really good!" infused Zoe, nodding vigorously. Now that was an odd look.

Amy didn't speak, she just nodded enthusiastically and grinned. It wasn't a very comforting grin as she looked like a pumpkin that had been slashed with a large knife. Confused by these responses, Harriet turned to see James coming through the door that led to the washroom. He looked much the same as the others.

"Hiya," he said cheerily as he joined the group. Anna had moved in closer to her friend Zoe and was being as open as only friends can. "Ugh, gross," she muttered as she gave Zoe's face closer inspection.

"Yeah, I know, right," agreed Zoe enthusiastically. "It's pretty hideous, right?"

Tommy and Sarah joined in with the nodding and seemed to be laughing. That was the best guess, as it sounded more like they were each repeating the letter 'R' in rapid succession

Despite the fact that everyone seemed to be in very good spirits and all felt really well apart from the tightness of skin across their faces, Harriet decided to shut the shop for the rest of the day and seek medical attention for her team.

Angelique did not look at her phone all day. The last thing she wanted to see were constant updates with Harriet's name on them. By the evening, her mother's cheerfulness was really starting to grate. This was the first time that Angelique had truly considered matricide but she was giving it a lot of consideration now. What made the argument for it even more compelling was the fact that Olga kept on suggesting that she check in on Youbook. That was just cruel! What kind of a mother would do that? Actually she knew the answer to that question and it didn't alter the situation one bit.

Angelique eventually gave in and stabbed viciously at the message on her phone that told her that there was a Youbook update. Olga, still grinning - and that look really didn't suit her thought Angelique - came and stood behind her and put a hand on Angelique's shoulder. Angelique tightened as the link went to a video update. Mother and daughter watched as the reporter did his intro. The camera then panned to see Harriet, standing in front of the Perfect Fit office, saying that some of her colleagues had become unwell and so they were shutting the office for the rest of the day. Harriet smiled sweetly and she apologised for any inconvenience and assured everyone that the office would be open again tomorrow, although probably with a reduced staff.

Cameras were flashing like crazy as the press fawned over her. It wasn't quite what Olga had expected and she tried to ease the situation. "That lipstick looks wrong on her, it's too red." Through teeth that were gritted so tight that it made speech almost impossible, Angelique spat, "She doesn't wear any!"

"Hah..." replied Olga, not quite sure how to react to that.

As the video went on to show how far Harriet was in front of the other competition and then gave a running tally of the prizes so far, Angelique's breath turned to steam. "You were supposed to fix her!" she hissed, in a pitch that sounded like a near empty kettle on a gas ring.

Olga got defensive. "How was I supposed to know that she doesn't like cake?"  
"CAKE! CAKE! Have you lost your mind? What the hell has cake got to do with anything?" The vehemence in Angelique's voice would have made a whole snake pit full of extremely fierce cobras bite their lips in concern.

"I sent her a cake this morning," Olga shrugged.

"This bitch is wrecking my whole life and you send her a cake!"

"It was a special cake, that's why she had to close the shop," Olga continued. She didn't see why she had to explain her actions to anyone, daughter or not.

"Oh, that's nice, mummy. What made the cake special, mummy? Did you put a laxative in it?!" It was mocking on a scale that would have made Olga proud, had it not been directed at her. She was starting to lose her patience. "I used a very old pharmaceutical sample in the cake. It was withdrawn because of its side effects," Olga went on.

"Side effects! What side effects? Did it give them a bloody headache!"  
"Taking too much makes your face swell and go spotty and it makes your skin orange. All right?!" It was Olga's turn to shout now. "She would have been so ugly that they would throw her right out of the competition!" Olga screamed and then added, "You ungrateful little brat!"

"Grateful? What should I be grateful for? Your stupid plan didn't bloody work, Mother!"

Olga could see that her plan had failed. That she had let her daughter down. It didn't please her. Olga really didn't do failure. She had always dealt with failure and incompetence with a clinical ruthlessness, despite the temporary staff shortages and extra costs of concrete. She could not help feeling a slight pang of guilt. She never felt guilty, ever! This made her angry. It wasn't that Olga understood how harmful it was to allow emotions to fester or how useful it was to deal with these emotions and not bottle them up. It was more basic than that. Her daughter was shouting and screaming at her and had somehow managed to make her feel guilty and incompetent. She had to fight back.

Both mother and daughter were past the point of no return and giving up was something that neither of them would entertain. For the next hour they shouted, screamed and spat insults at each other on an industrial scale. Much of the time had been spent with faces only inches away from each other and when they eventually finished, their faces were drenched with each other's spittle.

There was only one thing that they both agreed on and that was that all this was Harriet White's fault. As tempers calmed and fury abated, they agreed on one more thing. There would be no more Miss Nice-Girl! It was time to take the gloves off and get nasty, very nasty.

The press, having had their pound of flesh, had left quite quickly. Harriet arranged for three taxis to take the staff to the local hospital. Anna had insisted that she was fine and didn't need to go but as Harriet pointed out until they knew what the cause was they didn't know if she, Harriet or Elizabeth would stay that way.

Fortunately, after listening to each of the victim's tales and following a whole bank of tests, the doctors were soon able to pinpoint what had caused this. It took them a little longer to work out how they had managed to ingest such large quantities of the drug that was in their blood but after hearing about the cake this all matched up with the patient that had come in earlier that day - a baker. How such large quantities of the drug had got into the cake mix, no one was sure. The baker was most insistent that he had no idea.

It certainly explained why Elizabeth and Harriet were not affected. Anna was on a self-induced diet and hadn't eaten any. It also seemed to fit with why Tommy was the most severely affected. The doctor explained that the drug had been stopped five years ago, after they had noticed the side effects when the prescribed dosage had been exceeded. Something else that fell into place. Harriet remained concerned as to what the pharmaceutical was for in the first place, fearing that her colleagues could well be subjected to other symptoms, but she needn't have worried. The doctor said as it was an antidepressant, the worst that it could do would be to make them happy. The effects should wear off within a day or two, he assured them, with the spots healing up soon after.

Chapter Four

The following day was a busy one. Blissfully uneventful, with a full complement of staff despite Harriet telling them not to come in. Everyone had turned up promptly and were very happy to be there. Most of their faces were less swollen, except for Tommy's. He still looked a bit like an anaemic orange. He seemed to be wearing his plight like some sort of badge of honour. He was very cheerful, but then again he always was. He had even been happy to give cake another go. Not 'the cake' of course. Maybe a Danish pastry or a doughnut, he suggested. Elizabeth had gone all maternal on him and threatened that if he so much as looked at another cake she would ground him. Quite how she was going to do that no one knew and Tommy just laughed it off.

Harriet invited Elizabeth to sleepover. There were a lot of things that they both wanted to sort out regarding the new shop but Harriet insisted that it would not be all shop talk. They would order a pizza, have some wine and just relax. Elizabeth said that she would go home and pack an overnight bag and would be round at Harriet's by about 7 o'clock. Harriet decided to take advantage of this and when the door was closed at 5:30 she stayed behind. It would give about 90 minutes to catch up, sort out and make plans. It had certainly been another tiring week but also full of excitement, most of it the good kind.

Harriet looked at the clock. It was twenty to seven. She would have to get a move on. She quickly emailed the files that she had been working on to herself at home and closed down the computer. A quick check around the office and she turned the lights off. She had wanted to grab a quick shower and change before Elizabeth got there but there wasn't much time for that now. She debated whether to call a cab. Realistically she could probably walk home before the cab turned up and anyway, the walk would do her good

She usually walked this way home, through the high street. It was the most direct route to her flat and she had always found that whenever she left work after 6 o'clock the streets were relatively empty. Her mind was still spinning with thoughts and plans. Tommy, who actually lived quite some distance from the office, had suggested that he could easily relocate to the new office with her. It would barely add 10 minutes to his journey time and Harriet thought that it would be a real boost to her to have him there. Mind you, she thought, she'd leave it a few days until the happy juice had worn off and see if he still felt the same way.

She hadn't noticed the dark car that had been crawling along behind her since she had left the office. The two men inside had been waiting for an opportune moment. The time seemed right. Their target was obviously preoccupied with her own thoughts. The location seemed good as well. Far enough away from the hub of the high street and there was no one around. They agreed to go now and take advantage of the group of wheelie bins, for 'disposal' before the end of the road.

Despite having followed their target for the last five minutes, they had failed to accurately note her walking speed. By the time they had parked the car, joined up and made their move, Harriet had reached the top of the road and turned the corner. It wasn't a big deal. They were professionals and they were focused. Focused on their quarry, oblivious to everything else around them.

The two men quickly caught up with Harriet. Quick glances confirmed that there were very few people in the street, the nearest of which was quite some distance away. They'd have more than enough time to do what they needed to and hurry back round the corner to their car before anyone came close enough to be able to identify them. They nodded to each other as each pulled short black coshes from their pockets. They were now less than four steps away and they picked up their pace.

Harriet was thinking of her aunties. She had texted them a few times and even tried to call but she got no answer. Yesterday on the train she had emailed them with details of the new premises, together with some photographs that she had taken, and still she had not received a reply. That was very unusual, particularly for Aunty Fizz. Aunty Fizz usually contacted Harriet seconds before she thought of them. They did have company, she considered, and had suggested that they had a lot of work to do, but even so it was odd. Maybe she and Elizabeth could give them a call tonight.

She was just coming up level with the doors of the Pig and Blanket when the doors burst open, spilling a group of about twelve, rather high-spirited young men onto the pavement all around her. She hadn't noticed the smell before but now as the doors opened she caught a strong blast of the sweet smell of beer and the cacophony of noise from a jukebox that had to be set to full volume. She was forced to stop as all around her the melee of laughing and cheering young men started to regroup.

There was a riot of jostling and good-natured apologies as everyone collided with themselves and Harriet. A smile was just starting to form on her face when a blow to her back propelled her into the arms of the two young men in front of her. The shove seemed out of place as it had much more force than any of the other little collisions. As the two young men steadied her Harriet became aware of the commotion behind her, which seemed to be lacking the previous good humour. Instinctively, she turned around quickly.

One of the young men was lying on the floor. His eyes were closed and a thin line of blood trickled from his hair onto his cheek. Everybody had stopped still apart from two men who did not appear to be part of the group. They were dressed in dark clothing and seemed desperate to reach Harriet. She noticed that one of them had his arm raised and looked to be about to deliver a blow to her face from an object in his hand.

Time seemed to stand still and all noise seemed to stop. There was no more laughter, no more apologies, just the soft sound of fabric swishing and the scuff of a shoe on the pavement. Everyone around her seemed to be motionless, as if caught in a photograph, apart from the two dark shapes that were clambering and reaching over anything between them and Harriet.

There was a whoop and a rush of air, like a heavy door closing onto thick rubber seals, and the man in dark clothing that was closer to her collapsed to the floor like a pile of laundry. Harriet saw a flash of colour as the arm of a checked shirt to her left stretched out. She noticed what looked like a leg of pork protruding from the end of the sleeve and saw it connect with the side of the face of the second man in black. At the very same time a slightly smaller piece of pork connected with the other side of his face. It reminded her of clay modelling at school as the man's face changed shape from a round, ordinary looking face into the pinched, elongated face of a weasel.

For about half a second nothing happened and then, as the two legs of pork pulled away, the weasel folded up like a concertina onto the floor. Harriet could see that the legs of pork were actually hands now - one of them in particular was huge, the fist at least the same size as the face that it had just reshaped.

Sounds seemed to come back to her all at once. There was a commotion of voices from the group. It was only now that she realised that the two young men that she had collided with had turned their bodies inwards to protect her. One of the young men was asking if she was all right.

The other one, Jason apparently, just stood there staring at her. In a hushed tone, as if he could not believe his eyes, he said her name quietly. As he grew more confident in the knowledge of who she was his voice got louder. "It's Harriet White!" he exclaimed. "Harriet White!"

"Ha ha, you wish Jason," one of them laughed.

A few of the others joined in and comments were offered regarding Jason's eyesight and the beer glasses that he must be wearing.

"No, it is," said one of the others.

One by one they all realised that it was, although there still did seem to be a touch of uncertainty. What were the chances, after all.

Harriet smiled a little embarrassed and nodded slowly as the dynamic shifted. In seconds it was back to the same good-natured clamouring and excitement that had caused them to spill out of the pub doors. Everyone wanted to have their picture taken with Harriet and she was happy to oblige. With all the buzz that was going on around her, the fact that this had been an attempt on her life had not sunken in.

They told her that it was Andy's stag do and a rather red-faced Andy was grabbed and pushed in front of her. Harriet cupped his face and gave him a kiss on the cheek. All around them came the noises of shutters as cameras on phones captured the moment. Andy's face turned from flushed to lobster-red whilst virtually everyone threatened to show the picture to his bride-to-be. The whole crowd erupted in laughter, including Harriet.

As the laughter died down, they could hear a muffled groan. One of the lads, called Baz, turned and looked at the floor where the two assailants in black were laying. He bent towards the nearest one, his giant hand forming the same leg-of-pork-fist that Harriet had seen earlier. The man on the floor certainly didn't look as if he was capable of groaning. As Baz raised his fist in readiness, someone called out.

"Whoa, hang on Baz, there's someone underneath him."

"It's Paul! Paul!" another voice cried.

"Pick him up!"

The mighty fist curled and the hand grabbed at the collar of the assailant in black. Baz lifted him up as if he was no more than an empty banana skin. Other hands dived in and lifted Paul to stand. He was groggy, but just about able to support his own weight. Harriet pushed through the group, cupped his face and looked into his eyes for any sign of concussion.

"It's Harriet," he said faintly. He looked straight at her but his eyes seemed to be struggling to focus. "Oh wow, you really are so pretty."

"Paul, Paul, it's your mum," one of the boys laughed.

"No, it's your mum!" said another.

Paul shook his head slowly and grinned. "It's Harriet, couldn't be anyone else, the most beautiful woman in the world and she's going to kiss me."

Harriet couldn't help but laugh. "Oh am I now," she said softly.

"I hope so," said a still slightly disoriented Paul.

For a minute Harriet couldn't stop grinning enough to purse her lips. She eventually managed and planted a slow kiss on Paul's cheek.

As the cheers and laughter died down Harriet looked for the assailants. Baz, who was quite possibly the biggest man she had ever seen, was still holding the first one by his collar. Another of the group had lifted the second assailant to an upright position. The man, Terry, was smaller than Baz but he certainly wasn't what you'd call normal sized. Apparently Baz and Terry were brothers, and definitely not the sort of people you'd want to upset, she thought.

It wasn't that they appeared to be aggressive and their faces showed no signs of anger, but any fight with these two would not be a long one, she mused. They simply held the two men off of the ground, effortlessly. In fact they were carrying on with the conversation and occasionally laughing, seemingly oblivious to the dead weights that they held aloft. Harriet turned to Baz. "Is he alive?" she said gently. In truth she didn't really want to know the answer, as the man looked far from alive, but she had to ask. Judging by the momentary look of confusion on Baz's face, it had not been a question that he'd considered. Not being a medical man trained in such matters, Baz just gave him a little shake. The man groaned. His eyes didn't open and none of his limbs appeared to be in any hurry to move. His mouth was moving but his voice was quiet and it was impossible to work out what he was saying. The response though, was enough to satisfy Baz. "Yep," he said.

The crowd laughed jovially. Harriet looked at the weasel, who was held up by his collar by Terry. Terry lifted the weasel higher, until their faces were level. He stared at the man, unable to decide. With his right index finger Terry tentatively poked the man in the chest, in much the same way as you would test a crab for freshness as it laid on a fishmonger stall. The weasel grunted and his right arm lifted reflexively. Terry frowned and slapped the back of the man's hand gently. The cosh clattered to the floor. "Naughty," muttered Terry, still staring at the man's face for any other signs of life.

A slender Asian lad nearest to Terry looked at the weapon. Azil bent down and picked up the cosh, turning it over in his hands and inspecting the weight. Everyone's eyes were on it as Azil slapped it against his palm. Nobody said a word as they all looked from the cosh to Harriet. Azil broke the silence. "This is a serious piece of kit," he said, almost reverently. He looked to Harriet and seemed unable to comprehend just what would've happened if she had been alone.

The stark realisation descended on the group like an early morning fog in November. No one wanted to voice the images that were in their minds, pictures of what these weapons had intended to do to Harriet's face. Harriet started to tremble and her knees felt weak at the thought of it. Baz was making a low growling noise, like a bear in the woods that had just realised that there were just two sheets left on the toilet roll.

"Who would..." The question hung unfinished on Jason's lips.

"I guess someone's not happy that you're the most beautiful woman in the world," Paul thought aloud.

"Shut up," said Jason, elbowing Paul in the ribs.

"It can't be that," said Dan, and then hesitatingly added, "Surely?"

They all looked at Harriet as if somehow waiting for her to confess.

The thought that this attack, this brutal attack, could have any sort of motive was quite beyond her. To think that it could possibly come from this stupid competition, a competition that she had never wanted any part of, did not make sense.

Azil had searched for and found the second cosh. He was gripping both tightly in one hand. "Where were you going Harriet?" he asked quietly.

"Umm, home," she responded. "I was just going home." She turned and looked down the street in the direction of her flat. It couldn't be more than two minutes away. Just down the road a little further, turn left and there it was.

Azil nodded slowly. "I think we should escort you there," he said sagely.

All around her came the sounds of assent. Harriet had no idea how much time had elapsed. She thought of Elizabeth. Would Elizabeth be there, waiting on the doorstep?

Touched by the group's chivalry, Harriet put her hand on Azil's arm. "Thank you," she replied. "It's not far." She nodded in the direction of the flat.

"Okay," nodded Azil in approval. "Shall we?"

He extended his arm, suggesting that she lead the way. As the group started walking, pairs and small groups began to animatedly discuss what could have prompted the attack. Everyone quickly agreed that the only valid explanation must be the competition and yet it seemed impossible that society had moved from 'dog-eat-dog' to 'most-beautiful-woman-eat-most-beautiful-woman'. Obviously they'd never read Cosmopolitan.

Harriet stopped suddenly and spun around, wondering what had happened to

the two assailants. They were there at the back of the group, still held aloft like lanterns by Baz and Terry. The brothers were having their own conversation and Baz was nodding and smiling at something that Terry said. They seem to have forgotten about their cargo as if they were just bags of shopping.

Harriet moved back through the group to Baz and Terry. "What's going to happen to them? What are you going to do with these two?" She nodded in the direction of the two assailants. The brothers stopped walking and Baz looked at Terry. Clearly they had not thought to ask this question themselves. "What's up?" came the voice of Azil, as he too made his way to the rear of the group.

Harriet turned round to him. "I was wondering what's going to happen to these two," she said and pointed.

"Hmm, good point," said Azil thoughtfully.

"Let the cops deal with them!" someone shouted dismissively.

"It's an idea," agreed Azil. "We'll all have to give statements." He looked at Harriet.

"I guess we'd have to do that now, tonight," said Harriet.

Azil shrugged and then nodded. "I guess," he said.

"Ahh man!" said a voice.  
"Not tonight, it's Andy's stag," came another, disappointed voice.

"Can't we do that tomorrow?" said Terry.

"No chance! I'm getting married tomorrow!" said Andy defiantly.

Terry laughed at his own faux pas. "Oh yeah," he chuckled. "Sorry mate."

Harriet slumped. This was not an evening that she wanted for herself and there was no way that she could allow her protectors to be rewarded like this. It was all becoming a little bit surreal. The men in black had been intent on reducing her face to mashed potato - that in itself was hard enough to accept. Now she had the problem of what to do with them, without spoiling anyone's evening. She looked again to Azil. He seemed equally at a loss. Around her she could hear the murmurings and groans of the rest of the group and it struck her that each and every one of them would be willing to do this for her. They wouldn't be happy but they would do it.

Azil pulled out his phone and dialled as he turned his back on the group. Harriet heard him starting to speak but he took a few steps away. Everyone seemed to be coming up with their own suggestions ranging from the bizarre to the simply wrong. Put them in a wheelie bin, look for a skip - although put them in a taxi and send it to the cop shop was the current running favourite.

Harriet was still chewing on her lip as Azil turned round, closing his phone. He wasn't smiling but he did have a satisfied look on his face. "Sorted," he said.

"Nice one Az!" said Jason simply.  
"Yeah, top man," called someone.

It seemed a little odd to Harriet that everyone was willing to accept Azil's words and yet no one asked the question. "How?" she asked for all of them.

Azil let out a little chuckle. "Oh, you'll see."

Harriet frowned. "No, really? Azil?" Harriet insisted. By way of explanation Azil walked to the curb and scanned down the road. Harriet looked in that direction but could see nothing.

After a minute or two Azil came back to the crowd rubbing his hands together. A white van pulled into the curb and as soon as it had stopped, the sliding side door opened. Three Asian men, dressed in what looked like chefs whites, jumped out. Azil went to the passenger door as the window wound down.

The driver lent across the seats. "Come along, yeah, quickly now. We cannot be taking long time," he shouted.

Azil nodded vigorously and turned back to Terry and Baz. "Chuck them in the van," he said, and clapped his hands together. "Quickly, quickly, my uncle's left the restaurant and he needs to be quick!" Two of the men jumped out of the van and helped Terry manhandle the weasel into the van. Baz, grinning broadly, didn't need help. He took a few quick steps to the van's sliding door and simply followed Azil's original instruction. In one fluid movement he threw the attacker into the van. The man in black flew through the air into the van and stopped only when he hit the opposite wall.

Azil's uncle was already revving the engine as the last chefs jumped in and slid the side door shut.

Azil held up his thumbs to his uncle and shouted. "Thanks Uncle Gee! Go, go!"

Baz, invigorated by the excitement, slapped twice on the van side to indicate that they could go. The two quick slaps from Baz's meaty palm sounded more like mortar fire above the engine noise. Azil winced, fully expecting his uncle's van to have dents in it. The van turned back the way it had come and Azil's uncle tooted twice as he sped away.

There was lots of cheering and everyone was slapping Azil's back. Harriet just stood there wondering what on earth had just happened. It certainly seemed to resolve the question of what to do with the two attackers but Harriet wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not. With the rest of the group following behind him, Azil came over to Harriet. "I think it's time that we finished escorting you home and got back to our drinking." He smiled. "If that's all right with you?"

The questions all seem to tumble from Harriet at once. "Who were those men? What happened? Where are they taking them?" Azil smiled warmly and seemed to appreciate her discomfort. "It's ok, pretty lady." He chuckled. "That was my uncle, Dave. He owns the Raja's Palace restaurant."  
"Dave?" There was a mountain of laughter from the group and one of the young men called out, "Davindra!" and the laughter erupted again.  
"Yeah, yeah, his name is Davindra but everybody calls him Dave." Azil was laughing as he explained. Harriet was mortified and could not apologise enough.

With her flushed cheeks making her look like the clown that she felt she was, Harriet continued with her questions. "Where are they taking them? What will they do with them?"

Azil was enjoying this. "Oh, don't worry. They will be chopped up, put in the curry and by tomorrow all traces of them will be spread across the city." Somehow he had managed to keep a straight face.

"Ha ha, literally!" laughed Dan.

Every bit of colour drained from Harriet's face. Her complexion was changing colour so quickly that she was starting to resemble a chameleon.

Azil put a hand on her arm and between bouts of laughter, explained more. "No, no, no, I'm joking, obviously! My uncle will keep the men at the restaurant. There's a very large store cupboard where they will be left to sleep when the restaurant closes. We will have to decide what to do with them next but until then they are safe and will come to no harm."

"Have you decided what to do next?" asked Harriet.

"No, it is not a question for tonight. Tonight's for Andy and we must celebrate. Come on, let's get you home." The answers were all that Harriet could ask for right now. She felt sure that she was not just giving the men over to a group of thugs. She felt confident that whatever happened, these young men would not do anything that she would live to regret.

"Is there a cash machine near here?" she asked. Again the group burst into laughter. It seemed that everything she said or did made them burst out laughing. She was starting to feel like the court jester. Two hands, each the size of dinner plates, grabbed her shoulders and gently turned her 180 degrees where a cash machine was clearly visible. She looked back at Terry. He just smiled. She fished her card from her purse and used it to withdraw £100. Turning back to the group, she pushed the notes towards Azil. His hands flew behind his back as quickly as if she had tried to cut them off. Undeterred, she called for Jason. "You guys have been so amazing, please let me buy you all a drink. I feel bad that I've ruined your evening."

"Duh, doubt it!" said someone, and the laughter started again. Harriet looked quizzical. "The most beautiful woman in the world? How could you ruin our evening? Don't think so!" More laughter followed.

Harriet's cheeks shot crimson again. Despite her best efforts, Jason, along with everyone else, refused to take her money. Azil, ever the gent, took her elbow and said gently, "Come on." Together they escorted Harriet round the corner and to her building. As she was thanking them once again, a taxi pulled up and Elizabeth got out. Harriet grasped one of Jason's hands in both of hers and then thought better of it. She threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug. One by one she did the same with each of them. Whilst she was on tiptoe, hugging Baz, she popped the wad of notes into his shirt pocket and patted it gently. "Please buy everyone a drink for me," she whispered and kissed his cheek. Yes, some might see it as devious, but to Harriet it was just a simple question of knowing whom and how to approach.

"You're really taking this PR thing seriously H," chuckled Elizabeth, with eyebrows raised. Harriet laughed. "Oh, before I forget," said Harriet her voice raised. "Are you going on honeymoon Andy?" The air erupted with catcalls, jeering and laughter, and this time it was both Harriet and Andy's cheeks that looked like traffic lights. Andy just nodded. "Ok," said Harriet, taking control. "How about you guys and my team from the office have a meal at..." She paused to take a breath and looked at Azil, "Uncle Dave's, at the end of the month?" Judging by the response, which quite probably meant that Harriet would have to apologise to her neighbours, everyone agreed. She turned to Azil. "Would that be alright? Can we book a table, for say twenty people?" Azil grinned broadly. "Oh yes, very much so."  
"Great! Could I ask you to make the arrangements for me? Just contact me at Perfect Fit. We're on the high street," she added. "Elizabeth? Do you have a card with you?"

Elizabeth was already fishing in her handbag.  
"There's no need," said Azil quietly, trying not to attract the attention of the hyenas. "I know where you work and I know where the office is," he added a little sheepishly.

"Awkward!" shouted someone.

"Stalker!" added another voice. The laughter erupted again.

Harriet shook her head amiably. "Thanks guys, have a wonderful evening," she shouted and grasped Elizabeth's elbow. They walked up the stairs to the front door as the group rolled down the road like a heavily pregnant woman taking a step aerobics class.

As they went through to Harriet's flat Elizabeth said mischievously, "I never would have guessed. The neighbourhood looks so ordinary from the outside. You go girl!"

Harriet rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't believe it."

Rather than sate Elizabeth's obvious curiosity, Harriet's comment had the same effect as dropping a lighted match into a puddle of petrol. "Come on, dish the goss! What was all that about?" Elizabeth blurted, and then added, "Oh, getting physical - with how many men were there? Is that just another evening around here? I need to relocate!"

Harriet didn't feel that she had the energy to answer that. As she unlocked the door and ushered Elizabeth in she said, "I really need a shower."

"I bet!"  
"I really need a shower," Harriet continued. "And a change of clothes."

Elizabeth didn't respond this time, she just stood there with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised, looking for all the world like some Alabama mamma.

Harriet's shoulders slumped with tiredness. "Are you hungry?"

"A bit. I can wait," replied Elizabeth. "As long as you've got some wine. I could do with a drink."

"Me too!" sighed Harriet. "There's a couple of bottles of white in the fridge, help yourself. Or there's some red in the lounge if you prefer. There's plenty more."

Elizabeth was already making a beeline for the kitchen. "You want one?" she called over her shoulder.

"Hell yeah! But I'll grab a shower first, otherwise it will never happen."
Chapter Five

Vincent looked out of the window, across the wide valleys to the hills, many miles away to the left and right. His brow was lowered not against the bright sunlight but in deep concentration. To a painter, the vista was a gift. The countryside was a patchwork of colours and forms, displaying a pallet of vibrant colours, pastel shades, tones and accents - all brought to life within a potpourri of textures. From the broad sweeping brushstrokes of the soft, yellow rape plants that swept away from the foothills to the west to the darker green splashes of hedgerows and copses.

Draping across the hillside and flowing down the valley that faced the south were the more formal lines of the dark green vines, sunlight glinting on the swollen jewel-like clusters of purple grapes. The large rectangle of the field of sunflowers, their striking heads of yellows and browns showing each plant as a miniature sun, held aloft on gently swaying stems.

The many kaleidoscopic fragments that interspersed, the broader swathes drawing the eye to the deep reds of the poppy field, the occasional streaks of pale blue cornflowers and the liquid silver ribbon of the meandering river that sparkled and flashed in the sunlight.

Vincent was not seeing the view with a painter's eye. He had no desire to capture the moment in a celebration of watercolours or oils. He had no thoughts of committing the scene to postcards or jigsaw puzzles.

He scanned the area closely. He wasn't sure just what he was looking for. Maybe sudden movements or maybe something out of place. But whatever it was, he was looking for something. Over the past few days he had felt it getting stronger, moving closer. He moved from one side of the window to the other, peering sideways at the edges. There was nothing to see. He walked across the hallway into one of the other bedrooms and at each window did the same. Still nothing

Despite having made his rounds twice already today and finding nothing, the feeling of unease hung heavy in his belly. Part of him wanted to go outside to feel the heat of the sun. He could do with a nap and the loungers by the poolside, with their deep buttoned quilting that had already been warmed by hours of sunshine, were just about the most comfortable places that he could think of right now.

He went downstairs, into every room. All of the shutters were open but each window and outer door was closed and most of them locked. He considered having something to eat but wasn't really hungry. He was tired. Weary after being awake since before dawn. Despite his growing feelings of trepidation, there was nothing to do now. The best use of his time would be to take advantage of the situation and enjoy a quick power nap.

He made his way back upstairs and went straight for the brightest room, the room that faced south. With its walls painted a soft buttercup yellow and the white furniture and pale cream tiled flooring, it was as hot as a sauna. Perfect! Getting onto the bed, he laid down almost exactly in the middle and closed his eyes. His tail occasionally flicked as a signal that he wasn't completely relaxed, but within a minute he was fast asleep.

About 2 miles away, at the end of the long, sun-baked road that led to the villa, high on its commanding promontory, sat the tiny village of Vallaques. It consisted of approximately two hundred houses, a small church with a broken bell tower, a collection of barns and outbuildings, a small shop and a rather tatty looking cafe bar. It could never have been described as bustling and these days was hardly described at all.

The church, with its terracotta-tiled roof and broken bell tower, maintained a steady congregation of about a dozen people all year round. Every one female, with not one under 70 years of age. The church was seen as a cool place to sit, away from the midday sun, and a good place to chat and gossip. Rosary bead fiddling was considered optional. The priest, should he be required, could always be found next door at the bar.

For some reason that no one could put their finger on, the church had enjoyed a swelling of numbers within the last few days. Even the priest had popped in occasionally, usually to ask the bar owner if he would be serving lunch anytime soon. No one could have explained why they felt the need to pray or light a candle, and as the numbers included the whole village population as well as the dog, no one bothered to ask. No one was old enough to remember how or when the bell tower had been damaged, or even why it had not been repaired at any point within the last two centuries, but this was a remote hillside farming village and the history and superstitious tales had been passed down from generation to generation. Everyone was aware that something wasn't right and everyone feared 'the smothering'.

This morning tranquil village life was interrupted as the white Mercedes Saloon pulled up outside the cafe. The owner of the cafe looked up from reading his newspaper and spat on the floor. That was all he needed, bloody tourists! Over the clatter of the taxi's diesel engine he could hear the argument going on inside. The taxi driver was explaining that this was the end of the ride and encouraging the backseat occupants that now was a good time to pay him. The three ladies in the back - although at least one of them didn't sound much like a lady - appeared to be dissatisfied with both suggestions. The cafe owner wrinkled his nose in disgust and spat on the floor again. Typical bloody women, never satisfied! He leaned over and turned on the hot plate to heat the coffee. He was running out of spit.

The dog that was lying underneath one of the dusty tables outside of the cafe lifted his head from his paws and he and the cafe owner continued to watch the entertainment. The taxi driver wasn't currently winning his argument, mainly due to volume, but he did have an ace up his sleeve - it was his taxi and there was no way that he was ever going down that road to that place. If it hadn't been for the fact that his rosary beads were hanging from the interior mirror he would have fiddled with them. As it was, removing them, not to mention the ordeal of putting them back afterwards, would have constituted a ridiculous expense of energy that no one was going to pay him for. Already he could see that he would have to get their suitcases out from the boot, if just to get them out of his cab! Once more he advised the ladies of the fare but no one could hear him, and so he pushed open his door, went to the boot and began carefully dropping their suitcases onto the road.

Three quite angry and rather sweaty ladies erupted from the back of the Mercedes. Strangely, and, probably because the driver was no longer there to argue with, they seemed to be arguing with themselves.

"Aw! Just ruddy pay him, will you Tab! I can't be doing with this!"

"I don't think we should be paying him, he hasn't done the job," said the second lady, quietly.

"Look!" said the first lady again. "Just pay him. Just pay him for the trip from the airport to here if you have to but I've got bits sticking where they've really got no business to stick and I have had enough, don't you?"

The taxi driver slammed the boot shut and turned to pick his way between the ladies and the pile of suitcases. The ladies had all climbed out of one door, the one on the left. Why they all had to climb out of one door he couldn't imagine. So turning to the left was not to be his preferred option. He had already resigned himself to the fact that they weren't going to pay him so he turned to the right instead, where the jumble of suitcases were. He looked down for them. They weren't there. He spun round to the left. They weren't there either. He looked round behind him and saw all three suitcases and that ridiculously large handbag - or shoulder bag, or whatever it was - standing neatly in a row.

He spun round again, from left to right and then from right to left. There was no one else around. He looked across at the cafe. The owner was busy, cleaning out a coffee cup with the tale of his shirt. The dog, apparently bored by it all, had gone back to resting his head on his front paws. The taxi driver was worn out, he had after all done more exercise then was probably good for him. That, he confirmed to himself, was another reason why he was not ever going down that road, not for anything!

One of the ladies, the one with the really pale face and the ginger hair, grabbed his wrist and twisted it so that the palm of his hand faced upwards. In an instant, his martial arts reflexes came into action and he raised his left eyebrow. She slapped a note into his hand. Using a taxi driver's skill, honed to perfection over the years, he was able to immediately identify it, without looking, as being slightly in excess of the true fare. Naturally his first reaction was to be aggrieved. Cheated! This so-called payment was far less than the fare that he had quoted and didn't include a tip.

As the taxi drove away the women each grabbed a suitcase and in perfect unison extended the handles. Ffion hefted the large, embroidered bag onto her shoulder and adjusted the straps. "There you are then," she offered. "It won't be long now and I'm sure Fizz will have the kettle on." It was said with a little more bravado than she felt, mainly to convince her friends. The trio, trailing their suitcases behind them, set off down the dusty road. On two occasions Ffion had glanced back at the cafe, longingly. The chance to sit down somewhere cool, under the shade, with a nice cup of coffee and a pastry, was proving to be quite a draw. Maybe some tapas with crusty bread and some local cheeses... She was making herself feel even hungrier. That was until she noticed the proprietor cleaning out a coffee cup by first blowing into it, then spitting into it and finally by polishing it with the tale of his shirt. It was all the encouragement she needed to trek down along dusty road, under the blazing sun, dragging a heavy suitcase.

They had already covered at least 20 metres before Tabitha graciously decided to end their pain. "Oh, this is bloody ridiculous. It's impossible" she declared.

"Aw, come on Tab, don't make it any harder than it is, will you," said Fi.

"Thank you Fi! That's what I'm looking for, support! Three of us acting together to overcome obstacles. Why can't you just bloody admit it, this is torture! It's barbaric! If you two had backed me up we could have insisted that that taxi driver took us all the way there, like he was supposed to!"

"He was never going to do it," countered Fi.

"You don't know that. We should have stuck to our guns. There are three of us and

"come along Tabitha, what were we supposed to do, beat him up?" Eilydh said. She lifted the straw hat from her head, using the back of her hand to wipe sweat from her brow.

"Keep your hat on, Eil, your face will burn," Ffion said gently.

Eilydh replaced her hat and pulled the wide brim down to cover her face. "I'm just saying, it's pointless arguing now," she said tiredly.

"I know, my love, but if we just keep walking we'll be there in no time, don't you."

"That's right! Gang up on me! I'm only saying what we are all feeling," said Tabatha, who was currently one foot stamp away from full-blown petulance. They stood there under the glaring sun. All three of them tired from their travels, each thinking their own thoughts but getting nowhere fast.

Ffion touched Eilydh's arm gently and motioned down the road. "Come on my love, let's get you out of this sun, eh."

"You'd have thought that Fizz would have come to get us, wouldn't you. She must know we're here." The other two had already started walking.  
"It's all right for you!" Tabatha screeched at them. "These shoes aren't designed for walking, they really hurt."

Eilydh's shoulders drop slightly. With her very pale complexion and after spending two hours squeezed into that taxi with no air conditioning, she didn't have the energy to argue. She didn't have the patience to argue with Tabatha at the best of times. Without breaking her stride, Ffion's free arm swung back to Tabitha. Her index finger pointed with unerring accuracy, right at Tabatha's feet. A small bright flash blossomed and was gone, leaving Tabatha wearing a stout pair of hiking boots.

The screen echoed off of the walls of the last houses and ricocheted down the little street, careening from building to building like a supercharged pinball, "NOT WITH THIS DRESS!"

Ffion raised her hand and clicked her fingers as she kept walking. The hiking boots disappeared, replaced with a pair of very stylish half-enclosed sandals.

Tabatha looked at her feet and raised an appraising eyebrow. Leaning against her suitcase she raised her foot, twisting it to inspect the shoe from differing angles. "They're really nice! I wouldn't have thought of that colour but it really goes with this dress and they are so soft! Are they gel soles?!" Even though Tabatha was shouting - she had to, to be heard - her friends did not respond or turn around.

Down at the cafe, the dog heard. He paid no more attention to the noise than Tabatha's friends. Inside the cafe, the owner just shook his head slowly. He didn't even bother to spit.

Down at the end of the long road, Fizz looked up and out of the window. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. They should have been here by now, she thought absently. She glanced back to the window. It was a beautiful summer's day, without a breath of wind to stir the delicate plants in her little herb garden. She cast a gardener's keen eye quickly across them. There were none that required attention, not even watering later.

"Everything okay?" asked Tess.

"Mmm, yes," Fizz replied. "Would you like a coffee?"

"I'll do it," Tess said, grateful for something to do.

Fizz's gaze drifted back to the window and the little plants. She blinked and then looked over at Tess. She cast her eye around the room and then back to the little herb garden. She looked back over the room again. "Do you think I need glasses?" she asked conversationally.

Tess chuckled. "When's the last time you saw a witch with glasses?"  
Fizz mused, "Yeah, I suppose."  
"Why do you ask?"  
"Oh, I dunno. Maybe just for long distance."  
"Like what?"

"Oh nothing."  
"It can't be nothing, Fizz. You must have said it for a reason."

"Well, when I look across the room everything is fine, but when I look outside everything looks a little..." Fizz trailed off as her mind searched for the right word.  
"A little what? Further away?" Tess laughed softly at her own joke.

Fizz laughed too. "No, a little fuzzy, I suppose. You know, not quite as crisp and clear."

Tess joined Fizz at the table and looked outside. Then she looked at the room and again back outside. "Looks alright to me, maybe you do need glasses."  
"Yeah, odd isn't it?"  
Tess went back to the kitchen area and took a pair of mugs from the cupboard. Fizz got up from the table and walked around it to the window. She placed her hand against the glass. The sensation was mild, in fact it was barely there at all, but Fizz noticed it. It was an odd sensation and very difficult to describe. Basically it was like the very faintest dumbing down of the senses. Her fingers still felt the glass, felt the hardness, felt the heat from the sun, but somehow it was very slightly muted. It came to her that that was exactly what she was trying to explain to Tess. The icy stab that went down her back didn't share the same softness.

"Tess?"  
"What?!"

"Can you come here, please?"  
It was the tone in Fizz's voice that galvanised Tess. Very quickly, she moved across to the window and stood next to her sister. Tess was staring out of the window intently but she saw nothing. "What is it Fizz? What did you see?" Tess's voice was urgent. Not being able to understand what was going on obviously rattled her.

Tess had never been one of those people who was prone to panic. There wasn't much that made her jump and being a witch there was little to bother her that she couldn't deal with. She was altogether tougher than her sister. That's what she told people, including her sister. Fizz would never have argued with Tess on this matter, but she had seen a different Tess from time to time and so although it came as a shock to both sisters, Tess's reaction wasn't quite so much of a surprise to her.

The surprise to Fizz was that she had not noticed it before. She had not sensed it, not considered it. She felt a little bit guilty for this because she had taken her eyes off the ball, so to speak. She had lost her focus and this was no time to relax or be complacent. Despite having had reasons to heighten security or at the very least make her question things more, she had rolled along as if they were on some kind of holiday.

Fizz gasped as the realisation hit her. "They're here," she said softly.

To Tess, being the onlooker, this all seemed to be a little dramatic. The softly spoken words, her sister's fixed and glazed stare, were all a little bit Hitchcock.

"What? What! What is it?" spluttered Tess as she grabbed her sister's arm.

"The girls. The girls are here and I didn't notice." It was said by way of explanation and an admittance of failure. Despite what her sister was thinking right now she was not demonstrating a flare for the melodramatic. She took Tess's hand and slowly touched Tess's fingers to the glass. "Can you feel it?" she asked. It was a subtle sensation and she didn't expect Tess to notice it right now. There was too much adrenaline pumping. Tess had gone straight into Witchcon Two.

"No, I can't. What is it?"

"It's a mask," answered Fizz. "Our sensations are being muted. That's why I thought I needed glasses."

Tess focused and grasped what her sister was saying. Meanwhile, as Fizz concentrated harder, she began to pick up on signals that she should have noticed ages ago.

"They're walking down from the village, and I don't think Eilydh is coping very well in the heat."

Fizz turned to her sister for signs of recognition. She wasn't particularly surprised to hear the front door slam instead. She walked into the kitchen area and looked out of the window that faced down the long road. It wasn't long before she saw the tell-tale plumes of dust as she heard the engine racing. Way to go Tess, she thought. Don't worry about considering the consequences, I'll do that. Just go, you go girl, she said to herself.

Ffion stopped. One pace later, Eilydh stopped too. Tabitha, about five metres behind them came up to meet them.

"Aw, Tess is coming in the car."  
The others didn't speak, they just looked up the long sun baked road and to where the villa must be. They could see the rising plumes, the twin vortices of dust, as Tess sped towards them. Eilydh closed her eyes in relief. Tabitha was quiet for once and Ffion glanced at her. She was half expecting to see that Eilydh had used a spell to superglue Tabitha's mouth shut. She hadn't of course. Ffion looked at Tabitha's face more closely, just in case.

Chapter Six

At the Perfect Fit office, things were moving at quite a pace. The cluster of paparazzi and other cameramen hadn't diminished and every day new pictures of Harriet boosted her Youbook profile. Every now and then, one of the more cheeky photographers would burst into the office to get a better, clearer shot.

Everyone, including Harriet, was taking this largely in their stride however they seemed to have slipped quite easily into a routine of a lunchtime drink.

Her working days were getting longer but she seemed to thrive on this and the number of 'Loves' on her Youbook page was increasing faster than ever. Not that she paid any attention to this, even without the increase in business it would barely have registered on her radar and now had been demoted to being less important than a non-strike day to a Frenchman.

Angelique on the other hand had been devoting much more time and effort in improving her chances. These days she had even taken to selfie busking to fund her evening campaign of being seen at all the right places.

Tess reversed the big 4x4 down the ramp and into the rather spacious underground garage. Before the car had come to rest, the large steel door had already closed and clicked into a locked position. At the same time the overhead lighting flickered on, bathing the neat garage in a soft, comfortable glow.

Tess turned off the motor, opened her door and got out along with Ffion and Tabatha. As she approached the staircase that led upstairs, she casually pressed the remote that locked the car doors. For some reason this seemed to make Ffion laugh and Tess turned to see why.

"Aw, Tess, we haven't got we're luggage out and-"

"It's already upstairs," interjected Tess, efficiently.

"-Eilydh's still in there," Ffion finished, laughing as she did so

Tess ran back to the car, pressing the button to release the locks as she did so, and pulled open the rear door. "I'm ever so sorry Eilydh, I thought you were out!"

"Och, I dinna want to get out, it's so nice in here." It seemed that Eilydh's short incarceration had not bothered her one little bit, in fact, her seat belt was still attached. Eilydh had obviously made no move to get out. Next to Tess, Ffion was still laughing gently. It seemed that Eilydh wasn't the only one to have been unmoved by her being locked in the car as Tabatha had already gone upstairs.

The car journey had lasted less than two minutes but the air conditioning had already provided a restful environment for poor, fair skinned Eilydh.

"Come on you daft bat," chuckled Tess. "It's even nicer indoors."

Eilydh hadn't moved, she just looked up at Tess as if to say, 'really'? To her, inside the car was the most comfortable that she had been since their journey started.

Tess lent in and released the seat belt. "Come on, Fizz already has the kettle on, there'll be a nice cup of coffee waiting for us."

Slowly, with a look of resignation and impending loss of her little climate-controlled cocoon, Eilydh allowed Tess to guide her out of the car. This time Tess checked the car was empty before she locked the doors and the trio headed upstairs.

Tess was as good as her word, the villa was much nicer than sitting in the car and the temperature was just perfect. The weary travellers sat at the dining table, drinking their coffee. Ffion looked from the window and back to Fizz.

"Just-in-time then," she said nodding towards the window. Fizz turned to look down to the valley below. There was no colour anywhere. It was becoming harder to see any distinguishing features; fields, hedgerows and even the meandering River were just a blur. Frowning, Fizz looked back at the clock on the wall. It was just past 6 o'clock.

Tess saw her sisters glance at the clock and seized the opportunity to change the subject. "Oh, my word! Ladies, its wine o'clock! Will anyone be joining me?" she asked, grinning. The correct question of course, should have been "red or white?", but no one was quibbling.

"Dinner has already been made, I just need to heat it through. I guess you'll all be hungry after all that travelling, won't you?" Tess looked at the ladies.

"Aw Tess, you're not kidding. I'm starving," said Ffion on cue. "I was even going to stop for tapas at that cafe in the village."

Tess raised an eyebrow as Fizz shuddered. "What stopped you?"

Ffion saw the look on Fizz's face and said, "Umm... I didn't want to spoil my dinner."

Tabitha and Eilydh agreed that they were hungry too.  
"We'll have an early dinner then," said Tess. "About half an hour be alright?" She directed this at Ffion who smiled back, in an "if that's the best you can do" sort of way.

It might have been the alcohol induced laughter. It might have been new smells that wafted on the warm air. It could just as easily have been something else. It's notoriously difficult to work out a cat, but whatever the reason, Vincent stretched and made his way downstairs. Like all cats, Vincent had two modes of movement. Stealth, or no movement at all.

The first person to notice his presence was Fizz, as Vincent rubbed against her leg. Her arm dropped to her side and her fingers gently massaged the top of his head. Vincent tilted his head back, either to make it easier for Fizz or maybe just because he liked the feeling. He then moved quietly amongst the chairs until he came to Tess, who languidly stroked a finger along his jaw line.

Conversation above the table was light and good humoured as the wine flowed. That was until Ffion suddenly gave out a low moan of pleasure. It was not the sort of sound that anyone had been expecting and particularly not at the dining table. Tabitha shot an accusing glance at Ffion. It might have been unfair to suggest that Tabatha looked annoyed that she was missing out on something, but Tabatha did look as if she was annoyed that she was missing out on something.

Eilydh smiled. She had noticed when Fizz had dropped her hand from the table and had already guessed what was happening.

Ffion took a quick mouthful of wine, placed her glass on the table and bent down to say hello to Vincent. "Aw, hello my lovely, there you are then."

It was hard to see who was enjoying this greeting more. Ffion was obviously genuinely enjoying seeing the little cat again. Vincent was thoroughly enjoying the attention as Ffion used both her hands to massage around his neck and stroked his back. His purr was growing in intensity and sounded like a distant V8 engine.

Tabatha noisily pushed back her chair and bent down to see where he was. "Vinnie!" she squealed. "Vinnie, baby. Come on then, come to me." She clapped her hands together in an effort to encourage him.

"His name is Vincent," said Tess wearily.

Tabatha ignored her. "Vinnie, Vinnie, come and see me," she continued clapping.

Fizz opened her mouth ready to explain that Vincent did not like being called Vinnie but gave up and sipped at her wine. Tabitha had been told many times over the years but for reasons best known to herself seemed unwilling to take any notice.

The magic of the moment was lost and the spell between Ffion and little Vincent was broken. Ffion lifted herself back up to the table and picked up her glass. Below the table Tabatha, now on her knees, continued to slap her legs and called for "Vinnie." It had the same effect on the conversation as a fart in a crowded hot tub.

Tess got up from the table and went to check on dinner. Fizz topped up everyone's glass. Eilydh looked as calm and serene as a Buddha on ketamin. Ffion sipped at her wine and looked somehow expectant and, after a short pause, Tabatha screamed like a banshee that had just jumped on her bike only to remember that she had removed the saddle.

As Tabatha, obviously painfully, clambered back onto her chair, wincing and gasping, Ffion, who didn't even bother looking at her, said, "I don't know why you do that Tab. It's the same every time. You know he doesn't like it, don't you." Ffion shook her head slowly. Tabatha gulped at her wine then pushed the glass to one side and picked up the bottle of antiseptic and the cotton wool that had mysteriously appeared. Eilydh didn't offer a comment, she was fussing and stroking around Vincent's neck as the purring started again.

"He's just a bloody cat," Tabatha said between winces. "You'd have thought that he'd have grown out of that behaviour by now."

"Hmm," said Ffion.

Fizz came back into the room. She picked up the bottle of antiseptic and the bag of cotton wool. "Dinner is nearly ready, have you finished with these Tabatha?"

"No! Not yet, I'm still bleeding," snapped Tabatha. "That's stupid cat should have grown out of that by now. How long have you had it?"

"Aw Tab, give it a rest, don't you," sighed Ffion.

"All our lives," answered Fizz conversationally. She was making a conscious effort not to be goaded by Tabitha.

"Really? That would make him... well, you must have got him as a kitten!" snorted Tabatha.

"No, actually he belonged to our mother, before we came along."

"He is your mother's cat? How old is he?" said Tabatha disbelievingly.

"Actually he belonged to my grandmother, and I think to her mother before her," mused Fizz.

Tess rushed in to say that she was serving dinner. Fizz glanced at the table. She had been so busy arguing with Tabatha that she hadn't laid the table. She grabbed the bottle of antiseptic and the cotton wool and called, "Glasses, ladies!" Hands flew to the table, grabbed wine glasses and lifted them high. Fizz nodded and clicked her fingers loudly. The table was instantly set with placemats, side plates, cutlery and salt and pepper. Everyone put their glasses back down.

Tess came bustling in with the food and as she placed it on the table, she said conversationally, "You may want to bear in mind that we are probably in for a very early start in the morning and it'll be Vincent the wakes us up, hmm?" No one said a word, least of all Tabatha.

Chapter Seven

Elizabeth was busy typing when the front door opened. A large, middle-aged businessman bustled through the door and headed straight to the reception desk. Elizabeth stopped typing and lifted a warm smiling face to greet him. Her mouth was just starting to form the shape of greeting as he reached the desk.  
"Malcolm Peters, Vantapharm, 10:30, Miss White." There was no preamble, no nod to civility or any of the usual social niceties. Elizabeth's expression hung neutral on her face, with her mouth slightly open as her mind struggled to deliver the correct response.  
"Trust she won't be late, eh?" he added.

Ever the consummate professional, Elizabeth regained her composure, smiled warmly and said, "Good morning Mr Peters. Harriet is aware of your appointment and I'm sure she won't keep you waiting. Please, take a seat. Can I get you a coffee?" She gestured to a pair of leather club chairs either side of a small glass coffee table and looked at the clock. 10:21. Well, he was punctual and straight to the point, she thought

"No," he said, matter-of-factly. He glanced at the chairs that Elizabeth was gesturing to and then back at Elizabeth. He didn't move from his position in front of the desk and there seem to be a brief look of irritation, but in an instant it was gone and replaced with a smile. It wasn't a genuine, warm or even remotely friendly smile. It was more of a grin really. A large wide-mouthed closed sort of grin, that looked both plastic and patronising.

Mr Peters just stood there. It was as if he was a robot that had just reached the end of its programme. The moment was a little embarrassing and could easily have been awkward but Elizabeth had met all sorts and just put his manner down to that of a busy businessman who was more used to giving orders and instructions, rather than even being aware that others existed. She glanced again at the clock on the wall- 10:22. It never happened but Elizabeth couldn't stop herself thinking, don't be late Harriet.

The door opened again and two young men walked in. Elizabeth naturally expected Mr Peters to take a step to the side. It was what you did when you were waiting. Maybe not! Elizabeth lent to one side of her chair, trying to see round Mr Peters, and to signal to the young men that they could approach the reception desk. Mr Peters seemed completely unaware. She got up and walked around the side of the reception desk and said, "Good morning," in her usual bright, welcoming way.

The two young men smiled a little awkwardly and looked at Mr Peters.

"It's okay, the gentleman's just waiting," she offered.

The explanation didn't seem to ease the situation, as the young men looked first to Mr Peters and then back at her. One of the young men gestured their patience and that she could go back to looking after the gentleman, as he was here first.

Elizabeth nodded slightly in recognition. "I'm Elizabeth, how can I help?" she tried again.

Lauren signed her name on the page and pushed it back across the desk. Harriet smiled, and took the form. A soft chime came from her computer and her eyes flicked to the monitor. A pop-up window had appeared, advising her of her next appointment, in 10 minutes, with a Mr Peters from Vantapharm. She turned back to face Lauren.

"Thanks Lauren," she smiled warmly. "I think that's all the paperwork done." She methodically went through a little pile of forms, CV and photocopies of bank details and ID. It was pretty much second nature but she ticked the items off against the check list in her mind.

"This is your copy," she said, passing a piece of paper back to Lauren. "We will email you later today with your login details and a brief overview of the company and your job description. You won't be alone, you'll be starting with two others, called Daniel and Michael. I think Daniel is about your age, and Michael is a little older. They're both really nice."

Lauren smiled back, a little nervously.

"It's a nice company to work for, we've done business with them for some time now. Business is really picking up for them at the moment and I know that this is just a temporary contract at the moment but it could well become permanent, if things go okay. Do you have any questions for me?" Harriet smiled, as she pushed all the papers into a pile on her desk.

"No, I don't think so thank you. It all seems quite straightforward. You will keep looking for me, for something a bit more permanent and a little more... well, bit more... you know?" Lauren asked awkwardly.

Harriet chuckled. "Of course I will Lauren, this job is hardly going to tax you and to be honest, from what I've seen of you and your credentials, I'd like to think that it won't be long before we can offer you something more rewarding. As it's temp work you will actually be employed by us, Perfect Fit, and that means that as soon as something else becomes available we can move you very quickly."

The young woman smiled warmly and started to push her chair back. "Thanks, ever so much Harriet," she said as she folded her signed contract and popped it into her handbag. "Monday morning, 9am, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed," she laughed. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Yeah, I'm sure you'll be fine but if you have any questions or there's anything you're not sure about just call or email us, okay?" Harriet glanced at the clock - 10:28. Harriet came round from behind the desk and opened the door for Lauren. They said their goodbyes.

Harriet was pleased to see that one of the young men had moved to open the door for Lauren. Some people called it old-fashioned but it was simply good manners, and something that Harriet valued highly. Most of the people that she came in contact with during the day were professional people and most, if not all, seemed to share the same values and standards, but these two young men, in their obviously new suits, were still boys in many ways and it was nice to see that they were polite.

She glanced over at reception and saw what must be Mr Peters, her 10:30 appointment. He seemed to fit the picture that Harriet had formed in her mind from their telephone call and the letter and contract that had followed in the post. He was tall and quite well-built, in a suit that looked neither new nor cheap. Together with his battered briefcase, he was the epitome of a busy businessman. She hadn't pictured the moustache though. It was quite a bushy one compared to moustaches that she had ever seen and it made his face look odd, like he only had one lip.

Harriet had already formed an image of how this meeting would go. He was the HR director for the U.K. division of a multinational corporation and she expected this meeting to be formal, briskly paced and no-nonsense. She walked towards the gentleman, with her hand outstretched and her best toothpaste smile. "Mr Peters?"  
"Aah, Miss White, punctual, good," he noted and ignoring her outstretched hand, walked briskly towards the door of her office. Harriet shot a glance at Elizabeth. They looked like two contestants in a 'who can raise their eyebrows the highest' contest. Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. Even the two young men seemed to be taken aback.

Harriet turned quickly and followed Mr Peters into her office. She can only have been a few seconds behind him but already he had seated himself, opened his briefcase on the desk and had pulled out a small sheaf of papers. Harriet felt compelled to make a point. "It's lovely to meet you, Mr Peters," Harriet said warmly but pointedly. "Can I offer you a cup of coffee? Tea? Maybe a mineral water?"

"With regard to our telephone conversation and the preliminary contracts that I sent you," he continued, seemingly completely oblivious to Harriet's comments. Harriet took her seat and just looked at him. She could do business, all sorts of business, and had every respect for the brisk no-nonsense 'time is money' style of people who needed to cram 16 hours of work into an eight-hour working day, but Mr Peters was something else entirely.

Never judge a book by its cover, she reminded herself and looked surreptitiously for signs of hearing aids. Maybe he hadn't heard?

"I've made a couple of minor amendments to the contracts that were sent to you. Nothing major, same terms and conditions, previously agreed costs and schedules etc, if you could just sign here and here." He placed the two contracts on the desk pointing with his finger to the two small pencil crosses that indicated where she was to sign. This was like doing business with a food blender she thought. Still holding his finger against the first of the pencil crosses, Mr Peters looked up at her expectantly. In a nanosecond he believed that he had discovered the reason for her inactivity. "Ah, pen!" he muttered to himself, and with his free hand reached inside his jacket pocket for a pen.

"What are the amendments, Mr Peters?" Harriet interjected quickly. It wasn't a question of regaining control of the meeting or even gaining control, she was just trying vainly to apply the brakes.

"Here we are," said Mr Peters, offering Harriet a very nice, bottle-green fountain pen. Harriet waited for him to look at her again. Maybe he did have a hearing condition, let's just hope he can lip read, she thought. Taking care to enunciate clearly and slowly, Harriet looked straight into his eyes and said again, "What are the amendments, Mr Peters?"

From the look on his face you'd be forgiven for thinking that Harriet had just given him a vicious slap with a two-day-old John Dorey. "What?"  
"The conditions, Mr Peters, what have you amended?" Harriet repeated.  
"Oh it's nothing. Standard penalty clauses. Just sign here." In case Harriet had forgotten what the pencil crosses were for he generously tapped on the paper with his finger.

Harriet could hardly believe her ears. What sort of penalty clauses could be included in the contract between an employer and an employment agency? She picked up one of the contracts and quickly scanned it to find the penalty clause.

Mr Peters was obviously ahead of her here and was reading out the clause from his copy. "Failure to supply materials within seven days of ordering will result in such penalties as to cover all necessary expenses and costs incurred in acquiring said materials from alternative supplier within the initial seven-day period. Such costs to become payable with immediate effect and to include the payment of a 20% handling charge to cover out-of-pocket expenses."

Whilst it went against the grain to turn down what was arguably the largest contract that the company had ever had to date, Harriet was busy attempting to translate into something professional the phrases in her mind that were so desperately trying to push past her lips. Namely, "WTF" and "kiss my butt". She read the clause for herself. "Excuse my ignorance Mr Peters, but what exactly is meant by the term 'materials'?"

"Well, Perfect Fit are contracted to supplying 200 units to Vantapharm. This is an industry standard clause, to protect ourselves from non-delivery."

In her head, Harriet had started counting to 10. She had gotten as far as 11 before succumbing to the voices of sense and reality. This might well be an industry standard penalty clause when purchasing office furniture or stationery supplies. He may well have a hearing problem. His task to recruit probably a good two thirds of the staff that he needed for this new office was no small thing. But this was just plain rude. Harriet could forgive many things but rude was never going to appear on that list. She took a deep breath and steepled her fingers together on the desktop.

"These 'units' as you call them, Mr Peters, are people. Members of staff. Chosen for their integrity, intelligence and the benefit that they could bring to your business..."

"Yes, quite so," he agreed

"... And as such, cannot be treated as commodities. And furthermore, this is an employment agency, not a robot factory. Are you seriously expecting us to be able to pull prospective employees out of a hat, like magicians?"

Mr Peters opened his mouth as if to speak but Harriet put up a hand to silence him as she continued, "Our commitment to Vantapharm is to provide the very highest calibre of employees to suit your business needs. We are confident that we can and are happy to do so. If those terms do not meet with your approval, then I suggest that we have concluded business, thank you!" Harriet could feel the heat in her cheeks. With her natural pale complexion she guessed that she must look like a clown. She could feel her hands still shaking, partly because she knew that she had just laid down the law to a prospective customer in a way that she never thought that she would have to do or even could do but 'units'! Whatever next?!

She pushed back her chair ready to show Mr Peters the door, convinced that she had just kissed this contract goodbye.

"As you wish," said Mr Peters, and with his Fountain pen he scribbled out the offending clause and initialled his correction. "If you could just sign here and here, and initial the correction." He held the pen up to Harriet. Harriet could scarcely believe it. The man, or robot or whatever Mr Peters was, had been totally unfazed and yes, he had heard. Harriet looked down at the contract with its heavy ink redactions. It was a mess. She opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out the two copies of the original contract that Mr Peters had sent last week. She had read these contracts and was happy to sign. She took the pen from Mr Peters and signed both contracts and handed them to him, fully expecting him to reject them.

Without a moment's hesitation Mr Peters signed both copies, handed one back to Harriet and stood up. "Splendid!" he said and thrust his hand across the desk.

Harriet shook his hand reflexively, as her face performed the goldfish impersonation that seemed destined to become her trade mark.

Before she could gather her thoughts enough to stand and escort Mr Peters to the door, he had already filed his copy of the contract in his briefcase, locked it and was opening the door for himself. "Good day," he called cheerily over his shoulder as he marched through reception and left. Elizabeth looked round for Harriet. She had never known Harriet not to say goodbye to a client.

Harriet was still sitting at her desk, doing the goldfish thing. In one hand was the signed contract. "Is everything okay?" enquired Elizabeth.

"I... have... no... idea," said Harriet, slowly and mechanically  
"He's a bit odd, isn't he?" suggested Elizabeth  
"I don't think I want to answer that," said Harriet. For a while neither of them moved. No one spoke.

Eventually, Elizabeth broke the silence. "Cup of coffee?" Standard office panacea.

"Hmm, please."

Somehow Elizabeth wasn't convinced that Harriet's answer had been as a direct result of her question. Judging by the look on Harriet's face, Elizabeth could just as easily have asked "shave your head and shove a gherkin up each nostril?" and still have gotten the same response. She attempted to clarify, "I'll put the kettle on, shall I?"

As the realisation started to dawn on her, Harriet snapped back into gear. She walked out of her office, still holding the contract in her hand. Everyone was looking at her. Harriet walked over to Amy's desk and handed her the contract. "Amy, could you input these details onto the system please," she said and then turned to face the open office. "Can I have your attention please?" she called out. "Perfect Fit has just signed a contract to recruit and supply..." At this point she stopped and gave a nervous laugh. She was scarcely able to understand what had just happened but it had just happened. "... 200 employees to Vantapharm."

There were squeals of delight and gasps of astonishment as everyone took on board the impact of what Harriet had just told them.

"Amy will put the details onto the system and we'll have a meeting later to define a strategy, but, I don't know about you, after that, I need some sugar. Give me your orders please for cakes and coffee, I think we need to celebrate."

Everyone shouted out their cake order as Amy scribbled it down on a post-it note. Tommy didn't hesitate and even Sarah ordered her favourite cream horn without too much thought. It seemed that cake was no longer a bad word. Harriet reached out to take the note from Amy's hand but Elizabeth snatched it away. "I think someone else should get the cakes, don't you?"

Harriet hadn't even considered this.

"Tommy," Elizabeth called, and Tommy started to get up.

"No, it's all right Elizabeth, I'll go," said Harriet. Elizabeth looked at her sternly and made no move to hand over the post-it note. "It's all right Elizabeth," Harriet reassured.

"After the last time?" Elizabeth was obviously not convinced.

"It's the middle of the morning," Harriet argued and looked at the window.

Outside the high street was busy, bustling with people. Elizabeth frowned. The recent attack on Harriet had not been mentioned at the office - Harriet had insisted that there was no need for anyone else to know.

Tommy stood next to Amy's desk, his eyebrows raised in question. "What's up?"

Before Elizabeth could open her mouth Harriet interjected, directing her response to Elizabeth and acting as if Tommy wasn't there. "I'll go Elizabeth, I need some fresh air." Tommy looked from one to the other, not quite sure what he had just walked into the middle of. Harriet pressed the advantage of Tommy's presence by reaching out for the post-it note. Elizabeth wasn't quick enough to offer a convincing argument and lamely said, "Tommy can go." Realising now why he had been called over and more than happy at the chance to get out of the office for 10 minutes, Tommy agreed. "Yeah, I'll go."

Harriet smiled quickly at Tommy. "Thanks Tommy, but I have to get some cash from the machine anyway, don't worry." Then, arm outstretched, she said to Elizabeth, "Have you got the order there, Elizabeth?" With Tommy as an audience, there wasn't much that Elizabeth could do. Slowly, reluctantly, she gave the note to Harriet. It was nearly midday and the high street was crowded, the coffee shop was only a couple of minutes down the road and no, she couldn't expect Harriet to be a prisoner in her own office.

Armed with a list of the cakes and coffees that everyone wanted, Harriet picked up her purse. "Back in a minute guys," she said as she went outside and headed for Moonbucks.

Harriet walked up the street, lost in her own thoughts. Walking on autopilot she dodged and manoeuvred both people and lampposts without registering either. That is one hell of a contract, she thought. That had to be the most surreal business meeting that she had ever taken part in. The new enterprise park was only just starting to attract businesses and so far Perfect Fit had pretty much been responsible for all the recruitment. Could the opportunities really be this good down at the harbour? By all accounts the answer was yes, and then some. She was starting to get really excited to start work at 'office number two', or was that 'the second branch'?

Although the little car had suddenly lurched across the road from the other direction, and despite the driver's speedy approach, and the fact that he had grated the wheels against the kerb, Harriet hadn't noticed him pull up. She didn't notice the driver getting out, shutting his door and reaching for the rear passenger door.

The car door opened with a grating screech and Harriet was grabbed and bundled inside. In complete shock, she was not struggling. Her assailant pushed in behind her and pulled a length of rope from his jacket pocket. As he quickly tied her hands and then her feet, Harriet's imagination erupted in all directions. She pictured scenes such as this from films and TV - the endings were never good!

Her mind was racing in so many directions. Who was he? Why was this happening again? Would he hurt her? That one didn't bear thinking about in any detail, especially after last time, and she tried to brush the thought away. Again she pictured scenes such as this and this time thought of the victim. Oh my word, I am a victim, she thought! She had never been a victim before this week and it was not something that was on any list of things to do. Not something that was scheduled for today, not something that was in her diary to be done later, not even on a so called bucket list. Like a child's puzzle, her mind connected the dots. A bucket list was a list of things to do before you die! A whimper escaped her lips.

Survival! Now that was something on her list of things to do. As luck would have it, it was actually the next item on the agenda, what a coincidence! Drawing on her inner strength, Harriet concentrated on that topic. What did victims need to do to survive these situations? Escape! Well, yes, that was good but not an option for the immediate moment. Manoeuvre the situation to your advantage! That thought nearly made her laugh. OK, be forceful, demand that the attacker drive her to the nearest police station... In the split second that it had taken her mind to offer this suggestion, the cleaner in her head had already binned it, placed the bin outside and it was already on its way to the landfill.

She needed to think smart. To grasp any opportunity that would be useful later. Images from cop dramas filled her mind. She saw bodies in deep wells, on mortuary slabs, in plastercine as facial reconstructions. Her dad had always told her that these dramas were trash TV. She should have listened, should have watched the discovery channel more.

Cop TV. Cop TV, good cop, bad cop. All she could focus on were cops! "So, Miss White, can you describe the attacker?" she heard the detective in her mind say. See, Dad! It was useful! Harriet concentrated on his description. She made a note of his clothing, the colour and material of his jacket, the colour of his hair and wondered how to describe the style. Unloved and a bit long, she decided. She looked at his eyes - they were actually very pretty, a sort of dark silvery blue. There was stubble on his face. He obviously had not shaved for - what? How long does it take to grow a beard? She had no idea.

The man looked at her looking at him and pulled a fabric eye mask from his jacket. It was just like the ones that airlines provided on long journeys and night flights but she didn't recognise the logo.

Now in the dark, Harriet felt more frightened than before. His hands were pulling her and she wondered if he was going to hurt her when he stopped tugging and fastened her seat belt. This was totally unexpected. What was happening? What was he going to do? He was surely not going to kill her after taken the care to fasten her seat belt. But he had allowed her to get a good look at him, she could give a good description, so he wasn't going to let her go.

The driver's door opened and he got in. He closed the door and fastened his seat belt before starting the car. She assumed that it was the same guy but it could have been a separate driver. She heard the indicator being selected and the car pulled away. It was just like a standard car journey. No screeching of tyres or heavy acceleration. Maybe this was all part of the plot, to confuse and disorientate her.

Harriet considered that she had nothing to lose and with a voice that sounded stronger than she felt, she asked, "Who are you? Where are you taking me?"

"My name Ivan, we go drive," he answered.

He answered! He actually sounded more nervous than she did! "What is this for? What is this all about? Am I in physical danger? Why are you doing this?" The questions tumbled out from all directions in one go.

"We go for drive."

"Where too?"

"I no say."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Is job."

"What do you mean it's a job, are you some sort of... of mercenary? Are you working independently?"

"I dunno."

"What? What don't you know?" Harriet was starting to feel less vulnerable but more confused.

Had she been asked to define the word 'surreal' at this moment, Harriet probably could have done a pretty impressive job, simply by lifting her tied hands and saying "Duh". English was not his first language it seemed. Complicated questions achieved poor responses. Maybe she would do better to ask short, simple questions. "Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"For drive."

"Yes, I see that, but where? Exactly?" she added.

"We just go drive, far away." The answer was given without hesitation and in an almost conversational tone. Harriet was dumbfounded.

"Far away? Where to and why? Far away, is there a specific destination in mind?"

"I dunno."

Harriet could almost hear her Aunty Fizz saying "slowly, slowly, little steps". The thought was calming. Aunty Fizz was always calm, well, unless her sister was around of course. OK, she said to herself. "Why?"

"Is job." As an example of a simple direct question producing a simple direct answer, it was good. As a useful method of gathering information it was about as useful as a chocolate teapot. Harriet tried to focus her thoughts. It was a job. That presumably meant that someone had given him a task to perform, some rules or instructions on how to do it and must be paying him. "Who are you working for?" she asked.

"I dunno. Lady give money. Half now, half later."

"What is the job? What do you have to do?" The driver made some pained sort of noises, as if he was struggling for the right words. Harriet moved her feet to get more comfortable. As she did so the rope around her feet tightened and then went loose. She held her breath and moved her feet a little more. The rope was looser, it felt like it was undone. Carefully and quietly, she lifted one foot and moved it as far away from the other foot as the space would allow. Her feet were no longer tied, that was obvious. Harriet stretched her arms and the rope tightened around her wrists and then suddenly felt loose and started to fall away.

Startled, she tried to catch the rope lest the driver notice that she was no longer bound but it slid to the floor. Harriet sat perfectly still, not daring to move.

"Take far away," the driver was saying. "Umm, make disappear," he finished.

"What?" She had almost forgotten about the driver. "Sorry, what did you say?" she asked.

"Must take far away. Make disappear," he repeated hesitantly.

"Make disappear? What do you mean?"

"Lady tell to me, make disappear, bury," he proffered, as if by mentioning his employer he was distancing himself from the task.

"Bury?" asked Harriet, unsure of what he had said. "Do you mean Bury St Edmonds? That's miles away."

"Bury. Concrete," he said quietly.

"SHIT!" exclaimed Harriet and her hands wrenched the mask from her face.

The driver looked up at her reflection in the mirror and said quietly, "Oh."

"Sorry," said Harriet reflexively, taken aback by her own outburst. For a while, she just sat there. Her eyes were as wide as saucers as the true realisation swept over her. This man, Ivan, was going to kill her. To kill her and dispose of her body in concrete. That was a pretty definite conclusion. Her mind slowly absorbed this information and she pictured herself encased for ever. As part of a bridge, a house \- a what?!

She looked up into the mirror and saw him looking back at her. His eyes looked frightened, worried maybe. Not what she had expected from a cold hearted killer. In truth she had not ever looked into the eyes of any cold hearted killers, at least none that she was aware of. They had never searched for a prospective employee with that particular skill set. Commissioned based sales people, charity fund raisers, parking enforcement officers, yes, but nothing as blatant as an actual cold hearted killer. If someone had listed that as an attribute on their CV she would have remembered, right?

Somehow she didn't think of the two men that had attacked her the other night as killers. That was an odd thought, she considered, as those two had been armed and obviously intent on causing her damage. Maybe it was because the lads had dealt with the matter so quickly and efficiently that her mind had been able to convince itself that the whole affair had not been as dangerous as it obviously was. She would certainly welcome Azil's help now, his calm efficiency, and of course his Uncle Dave would be very welcome indeed. Somehow, she didn't feel the need for Baz or Terry this time. She thought back to that attack. She didn't get to see the colour of their eyes. By the time that she had registered their presence, both their eyes had been closed.

She looked back into the mirror and Ivan's eyes again lifted to meet hers. Are those the eyes of a cold hearted killer? Is that what they look like? That didn't feel right somehow. It was the sort of intuitive feeling she got when interviewing a candidate for a position as a 'well travelled' flight attendant who was unsure where exactly Munich was.

"Sorry, is job," said Ivan apologetically.

Harriet just looked at him.

"I need money," he went on. "Many bills, I must pay for my family to be safe."

Harriet responded resignedly, "Is that what you do? Kill people?"

"No, no, I cook. I good cook, best in all Russia!" his response was fast, passionate and without thought. "I need money," he added softly, by way of explanation.

There it was, just a job as he had said all along, Harriet thought. Her professional interest in all things employment based took over and she mechanically asked, "How much are you being paid?"

"Four hundred pound. Half now, half later," he replied with all the enthusiasm of a call centre worker at the prospect of overtime.

Harriet's eyes widened. Is that all she was worth? She had rather hoped, even expected, to be worth a bit more than that.

As if reading her mind, he added, "Is not much. I need money. Not many jobs."

"How much do you need?" she asked, rather robotically.

"In pound or in rouble?" Ivan asked.

It was said so innocently, with such naiveté, that it smacked into Harriet's conscious mind like a non-sale day at a furniture retailers. "In second-hand bastard breadcrumbs for all I bloody care!" she exploded as she threw the eye mask to the floor.

Ivan dropped his head in shame.

"Oh gosh, I am so sorry," Harriet said. "That was really nasty of me, I don't know where that came from, I'm so sorry."

"Is ok, you are upset," Ivan suggested.

Harriet burst out laughing. It was a strong, hearty laugh and it filled the little car with noise. Ivan half-smiled. It was the sort of smile that an elderly relative offers when the chair that they have just vacated looks a shade darker then before they had sat down.

"You are not a killer, Ivan," Harriet laughed. "How are you going to kill me?" her laugh was slowing now. "How?"

"I dunno," he muttered as his eyes fell back to the road.

"How much do you owe, Ivan? In pounds," she added.

Ivan considered this for a moment. "Maybe £700,000, maybe £800,000. Is a lot of money and I have no jobs."

"Oh! That is a lot of money," Harriet agreed. She was not sure what she had expected but it wasn't that. "How have you come to owe that much money, Ivan?" She was genuinely interested now.

"Bahh! Is long story." He brushed the question away. "But my family not safe until I pay. In Russia, I am good cook, maybe best in all Russia. I have restaurant in Smensk, many, many people come. Always very busy, life is good. One day, man in nice suit, he say to me, you must open more restaurants. I say, I do not have money for this. Man say that we must be partners and he will get money for us, open more restaurants. We open many restaurant, five restaurant and business is good!"

Harriet listened intently to Ivan's story. She thought of her own plans for expansion. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. "So what happened?" she asked after he had gone quiet.

"We have many bills. Five restaurants, many bills, and I contact him to make for pay them. Is ok, we have much money. He is gone. I check with bank. Money is gone."

"Oh no!" said Harriet. "He took all your money?!"

"He take all money, yes, but is more bad."

"How was it worse than taking all your money?" Harriet quizzed.

"When we open new restaurants, he find loan for money. I find that he no pay loans and now men come for me. They are bad men."

Harriet's hands covered her mouth. "Russian mobsters? Mafia?" she asked through her fingers.

"I dunno. Bad men, they hurt me and say they will kill me and my family. I must pay much money, but I do not have it, so I make my family hide and I come here to make money to send home."

"Are your family safe?" asked Harriet, fearing the answer might not be to her liking.

"They are safe, but bad men have their passport, they cannot come here."

This was every bit like the dramas she saw on TV, thought Harriet. Her world seemed so distant and safe. "So, how long have you been here?" Harriet asked.

"20 weeks and two days," Ivan replied.

"And you cannot get proper work, even though you are a chef?" That's a bit odd, she thought. Especially if he was as good as he said.

"I have not work permit, is difficult for me." Ivan shook his head sadly. "I must make advert in paper for job. Advert say 'I van. No job is small'. But everyone wants me to move furniture and car is very small. I get no jobs. What I do?"

Harriet considered his story. The work permit was a hiccup, no more than that. It would probably take her agency less than a week to find Ivan suitable employment, a job that paid well too. Her aunts could probably even get his family here just as easily, they had loads of connections.

They drove on in silence for a while. Harriet looked out of the window, at the gently rolling hills that were slowly giving way to urbanisation. The traffic too was getting busier. Harriet had no idea where they were but just that they must be getting close to a town or city. She thought of Ivan's problems and how easy it would be for her and her company to do something about them. She couldn't do anything about the £750,000 but she was sure that she could find a suitable job for Ivan, and with the help of her aunts, hopefully keep his family safe by bringing them over here.

She thought about her own immediate problems. The fact that Ivan had been contracted to take her out of the picture. He seemed like a man of integrity and certainly he needed the money badly, but was he capable of such an act? There was also the question of who wanted Harriet out of the picture? Was it a rival company? There were many of them and Perfect Fit was very successful, was it that success that was the problem?

Would Ivan complete his task? Was there anything that she could do to talk him out of it? She could certainly offer him more money although he would have to take her word that she would pay him, for she had very little in her purse. She didn't even have her phone. She looked back at the mirror and again into Ivan's eyes.

"You are beautiful lady," he stated.

Despite her circumstances, Harriet smiled warmly. "Thank you," she said. "Ivan, I think I can help you..." She stared up into the mirror, could see the mix of emotions racing across his face. Harriet tried to put herself in his situation. If she had undertaken to do a job, no matter how distasteful, could she renege on it? Would she be willing to take the word of a stranger that they would pay more? Especially as he had been let down before and that his need for money was so desperate. Who was his employer? And were they evil enough to do him harm if he didn't complete the task? He was looking at her expectantly, patiently waiting for her to finish what she had started to say. "What would happen to you if you didn't finish the job?"

"Lady tell me I be deported. I be sent home and bad men will kill me."

Not quite the answer she'd been hoping for. She absentmindedly chewed on her lower lip as she thought this through. Ivan remained quiet but every time she looked into the mirror and saw his eyes - he looked expectant. It was as if he was relying on her to make everything better.

"Ivan," she started again. "Do you want to kill me?"

He was shaking his head so vehemently that she thought it would fall off.

He didn't answer in words, but his communication was pretty definite so she continued. "I think I know how I can help you and your family but I will need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

Again, Ivan seemed to favour non-verbal communications as his head was going up and down like a rabbit's arse in springtime.

"I think I can arrange to get you a work permit and a good job and then to bring your family here. Would that be okay?"

There are times when shakes, nods and every grunt known to man somehow just won't do it. "But, I be deported," he said sullenly.

"Hmm, that is a point. Do you know who your employer is??"

"I dunno. She a pretty lady but not pretty like you."

Harriet's blood went cold. Surely not? The competition? "Ivan, what did she look like?" Harriet blurted.

"She very tall. Her hair very bright. Golden and fluffy like fat sheep."

Harriet translated this information. "Does she have big, umm..." Harriet struggled to find the right word. Instead she used her hands to push up her own breasts.

"Yes, yes she have big boobies," Ivan answered enthusiastically.

It had to be Angelique! It was almost impossible to believe that anyone would go to those lengths and until the competition started Harriet would not have thought it possible. Then again, until the competition had started, Harriet had not heard of Angelique Adamski. Oh dear! "Ivan do you have a phone? A mobile, a cell phone?" she used finger and thumb to mime.

"Yes I have mobile, for jobs." Ivan said nodding his head so vigorously that for a second he looked as if his neck was made of cheap elastic.

"May I borrow it?" asked Harriet.

Ivan reached into his inner jacket pocket and thrust the phone to Harriet. She started to dial the number and looked at Ivan's eyes in the mirror. Big, puppy dog eyes stared back at her. Then she reconsidered and disconnected the call. What would he be thinking? He had no idea who she was calling. "I'm going to call my office and arrange for you to have somewhere to stay and some money. We can find you a good job and in a few weeks we can arrange for your family to come here. You will not be deported, I will see to that, okay?"

Ivan was shaking his head. Harriet wondered what she had missed. "Lady give me half money now, look." He pulled the notes out of his jacket pocket and waved them for Harriet to see.

Harriet stared at him. She wasn't quite sure what this display was telling her. Was it his way of asking for more money? She was still considering how she could actually deliver the promises that she just made. Could she really arrange for his family to come over, safely? Ivan tried to ease her confusion. "I have money," he repeated, waving the notes again. "You can make my family safe?"

"I think so." She would definitely need her aunt's help for this part, she thought. "Let me make a call, let me see what I can do."

"Good morning, Perfect Fit, Elizabeth speaking, how can I help?"  
"Elizabeth! It's Harriet, I need some-"

"Harriet! Where are you? You've been gone ages. I told you not to go. Are you okay? What are you doing? Whose phone is that? It's a terrible line-"

"Elizabeth, Elizabeth, please listen," Harriet cut in. "I need you to do something for me!"

"Is something wrong Harriet? You only went out for cakes."

"Elizabeth, please, everything is okay but I need you to do some things for me and I need you to start right away."

Elizabeth was obviously relaying the conversation to everyone in the office whilst being asked further questions. It took Harriet a while to instruct Elizabeth on what needed doing. Harriet said that this was urgent and that Elizabeth should split the jobs up across the office, to get things moving.

"Where are you Harriet?" Elizabeth asked and was obviously prompted by someone in the office to add, "What time will you be back?"

Good questions, thought Harriet. "Where are we Ivan-"

"Ivan? Who's Ivan?!" Elizabeth was almost shouting down the phone.  
"Look," said Ivan as he pointed ahead and slightly to the left. Amongst the buildings Harriet could see the harbour terminals and the sea. Tall cranes lined the quaysides, the derricks on each one looking as if they were pointing to an object of particular interest to them alone. Harriet ended the call and instinctively swiped at the screen for the video call app, so that she could talk to her aunties. Aunty Fizz was probably already aware that Harriet was trying to contact her and would be looking for her phone. The little display screen didn't alter and Harriet's mind came off of autopilot as she realised this was not her phone. Her phone was back at the office. Great!

Harriet asked how long it would take them to get back and wasn't really surprised to find that Ivan "dunno". Ivan was in fact very reluctant to go back, as his new employer would see that he had not finished the job. Ivan didn't know whether the lady had the power and influence to put his family at risk or even to arrange for him to be deported, but he thought she might and you did not put that to the test.

Obviously the fly in this ointment was Harriet. If Harriet was to be seen in public that would just give the game away. She could hardly sneak back and lay low. She needed some time to think. She asked Ivan to stop so that they could stretch their legs and he pulled into a layby, stopping the car behind a huge articulated lorry carrying timber. The lengths of timber were longer than the bed of the lorry and stuck out the back by a good few metres. Fixed to the end of these timbers was a red and white warning triangle.

From the roadside, the ground sloped away quite steeply, with a row of concrete steps leading down to what was obviously the rear of an old warehouse building. It was no longer used as a warehouse - you wouldn't put curtains at the windows of a warehouse and if you did, you'd probably make sure that they matched. No, this building that had once been a warehouse was obviously now living accommodation. Harriet couldn't tell from here how chic or well-appointed the interior was, but she wasn't particularly impressed that passing traffic could see clearly into the rooms on the second floor.

The pair walked along the pavement as they talked back and forth alongside the lumber lorry. Harriet noticing the interior of the nearest apartments as they walked. As the conversation became more involved they paused at the top of the concrete steps that led down to small patches of grass, with round washing lines and a collection of wheelie bins that obviously served the apartments.

As Harriet told Ivan of her plans, the timber lorry started its engine. Huge gouts of thick black smoke pumped out of the twin exhausts that lifted above the cab. The pair paid no attention as the lorry started to pull out of the layby. Ivan was busy trying to explain to Harriet exactly where his wife and children were hiding in Russia.

It wasn't Harriet that saw the blur of red and white as it swung towards them, it was Ivan. Not that it did him much good. In the fraction of a second that it took him to register that something was coming towards them fast, he had only enough time to throw his arm up to shield them.

The warning triangle itself was quite flimsy, it being made of thin colourful plastic. The 60 foot long and extremely heavy piece of timber that it was attached to was a little more sturdy. Incredibly sturdy, but neither it nor the lorry driver noticed as the lorry swung out into the traffic and the piece of timber swiped both Ivan and Harriet off of the top of the concrete stairway.

The first step that either of them connected with was about 15 steps down. They tumbled, head over heels, with arms and legs flailing all the way down the remaining 40 or so stairs. Ivan's tumble was halted as his body slammed into the back of a collection of wheelie bins. Harriet continued for a few yards more, coming to rest face down with one arm stretched out in front of her, her fingers just touching the edge of a lawned area. Neither of them moved.

Chapter Eight

Marvin pushed open the heavy fire door with his shoulder, whilst with his foot he manoeuvred the little block of wood in place to stop the door from closing. With the door resting against his back, he pulled the two bulging black sacks through the doorway. They had arrived home from work, less than half an hour ago, but already the light was starting to fade. He smiled to himself. It made for cosy evenings in and that made him happy

It wasn't actually his turn to bring the rubbish out but he didn't mind. He had volunteered and not just to stop Malcolm, whose turn it was, from moaning about it. Marvin was happy to do whatever was needed, as once all the chores of been done then they could all relax for the evening.

He looked up at the evening sky as he headed for the group of wheelie bins. It was a lovely evening - still quite warm and it was supposed to be another nice day tomorrow. From his peripheral vision, he noticed a dark shape on the floor in front of him. For a second, it looked like someone was lying there. Obviously they wouldn't be. His smile broadened at such a silly thought.

As he got closer, his smile changed to a look of confusion. Somebody was laying there. It was a woman and one of her arms stretched out in front of her as if trying to touch the grass. Her head was resting on her outstretched arm giving her the appearance of being asleep.

Marvin carefully stepped over her outstretched arm and turned so that he was facing her. Her eyes were closed. Marvin didn't see any point in saying anything to her as she was asleep. The thought struck him that she might not be asleep, she might be hurt. No one in their right mind slept outside on the concrete. He put the rubbish sacks down and knelt down in front of her. "Hello, can you hear me? Hello?" She didn't respond so Marvin gently put his hand on her shoulder and rocked her.

Marvin raced back indoors to get help, his long legs taking the stairs two and three at a time. He burst into the apartment shouting, "Quick, quick, somebody's hurt!" There was no one in sight down the long hallway as he shouted but a few faces quickly appeared from the lounge with a couple more heads peeking out from the kitchen.

Michael, who had been in the kitchen, started down the hallway towards him. "What's up Marv?" he asked.

From behind Michael, Matthew and Malachi had also come to see what the commotion was about. Marvin, with eyes as large as saucers, had already turned on seeing them and was rushing back out of the door. They all ran down the stairway although Marvin was moving far faster than them. His feet touching no more than one stair per flight as he half-ran half-jumped from landing to landing.

The three raced behind him. The fire door was barely starting to close as they burst through it into the small garden area. As they arrived beside the woman, Marvin instinctively made room for Michael as they knelt in front of the body. Malachi glanced quickly around the gardens and then up at the concrete steps that led to the road. There was no one else around.

"It's okay she still alive, her pulse is strong," said Michael assuredly, as he lifted his hand away from her neck.

"What happened to her? How'd she get here?" Marvin muttered rhetorically.

"We can't leave her here!" said Malachi.

Michael shot him a glance. Obviously they couldn't and they wouldn't, it went without saying. Malachi immediately regretted saying that as the heat of embarrassment warmed his face.

"Let's get her upstairs," said Michael, standing up.

Michael started to lift her, with one hand beneath her shoulders and the other arm supporting her thighs as he lifted. Malachi and Matthew grabbed one of her feet each and Marvin gently cradled her head. As they straightened and turned back to the apartment building there was a crash as the fire door flew open and hit the wall.

"What on earth are you doing?" barked Malcolm, striding towards them.

"I found her, she is unconscious," said Marvin, by way of explanation, although most of what he said was self-evident.

"Where are you taking her? Not indoors! You can't bring her indoors!"  
"What? Don't be such an arse Malcolm."

Malcolm stood in their way, his arms crossed defiantly.

"Just get out of the way, you idiot," replied Michael, as he started walking towards Malcolm. There was no malice in his voice, there was no argument either, this was just Malcolm's way.

"Can you finish putting those two black sacks in the bin, please?" said Michael, demonstrating that the conversation was over.

Malcolm pulled his already crossed arms higher on his chest. "No I bloody won't!" spat back Malcolm. "That's Marvin's job!"  
"It's yours actually," said Matthew. "Marvin was just doing it for you today."

Malcolm glared at Marvin.

"I didn't mind," said Marvin apologetically.

"Then you should finish the job, if you started it."  
"Okay. You'll have to hold the lady's head though."  
"MALCOLM!" Michael shouted. He never did have the patience for this behaviour and especially so now.

"Oh dear," said Malachi, obviously feeling embarrassed for his brother and he blushed by proxy. Someone had to blush and it wasn't going to be Malcolm - he still felt as if he'd been wronged.

Despite his frustrations, Malcolm stood to one side to let the others pass.

As they did so Michael said quietly but authoritatively, "The rubbish bags Malcolm?"

Malcolm huffed and snorted. It didn't actually require all four of them to carry the woman, she wasn't very heavy, but none of them wanted to let go as they thought they were helping Michael. Marvin used his foot to prise open the fire door.

Michael had just lifted one foot to get over the threshold when Matthew called out, "Wait, wait..." Before he could finish asking them to wait, he let out a huge sneeze. His whole body shook causing a spasm to travel down his arms into the leg he was holding, which then travelled up the woman's body like a Mexican wave.

"Ooh, sorry," apologised Malachi for his brother.

They carried the woman carefully into the apartment and as they entered the hallway, Marvin asked, "Where shall we put her, Michael?"

"Here," said Michael, nodding with his head to indicate the first bedroom door.  
"Oops, better not, that's Malcolm's room. He won't like that," said Malachi.

Michael grunted in agreement, and using his head, motioned to the next door.

Matthew, who was holding one of Harriet's feet, tugged as he motioned to the doors on the opposite side. "Why don't we use Marley's room. He's asleep on the couch."

Michael grunted approval and they carefully manoeuvred towards Marley's door. Marvin pushed open the door and together they shuffled in. Matthew turned on the light as he passed the switch.

As the light came on, Marvin gasped. "Oh God, she's bleeding!" Matthew sneezed violently. Gently they lowered Harriet onto the bed. Michael scanned her face. It was covered in blood but the blood was quite dark. There was no sign of fresh bleeding but obviously he needed to check. Without looking away he barked orders. "We need a bowl of warm water, a cloth, some antiseptic and a towel." Matthew and Malachi just stood there staring, their mouths open.

"Ok!" said Marvin and he rushed out.

Matthew sneezed again.

"Where's your hay fever medicine?" snapped Michael, in a tone of irritation.

Matthew didn't respond, he just left the room.

"And she'll probably need some painkillers and a glass of water," Michael continued. He looked up at Malachi who still hadn't moved. "Malachi? Glass of water and some pills," Michael repeated.  
"Oh, sorry," said Malachi, and he turned and left the bedroom.

As Marvin rushed into the room carrying the towel, cloth and bowl of water they heard the front door slam. Seconds later they heard the latch click, signifying that the door was locked, followed by the fast purposeful steps as Malcolm thumped down the hallway, not bothering to see how the patient was. Michael just shook his head slowly.

Gently, Michael wiped away the blood from Harriet's face. He could see no obvious wound. Carefully he continued to bathe into Harriet's hairline and soon discovered the cut in her scalp. Bit by bit he cleaned away the blood that had clotted there until he was satisfied that the area was as clean as it could be. "Have we got any cotton wool for the antiseptic?" he asked.

"I have," said Matthew, and he ran to get it. Marvin handed over the bottle of antiseptic without saying a word.

Michael soaked a little piece of cotton wool with antiseptic and carefully damped at the cut on Harriet's head. Her eyes still closed, Harriet winced as the liquid stung. Malachi gasped. "It's all right," said Michael quietly. "That's good. It means that she's just asleep." By now even Malcolm had come to investigate, though his face suggested that he wasn't at all happy with the situation. Michael looked at his brothers. Apart from Marley, who was still asleep in the lounge, they all stood there silently staring at Harriet with wide eyes. It was Marvin who broke the silence.

"She's so white!" he said in a whisper.

"So white," whispered Malachi.

"And so pretty," said Marcus. They all nodded their heads.

"I think we should let her get some sleep," said Michael. He looked down at Harriet. She seemed to be as comfortable as she could be but they had laid her on top of the duvet and he did not want to risk lifting her to move it. "Can someone get a blanket to put over her?" he said and Marcus ran out of the room. Michael put the glass of water and a couple of pills on top of the bedside cabinet where she would be able to find them if she needed them and looked back at Harriet. "Can you take her shoes off please?" He glanced up to see who was nearest Harriet's feet. "Malcolm?" he finished. Malcolm snorted in disgust. "I'm not touching her feet!" he said indignantly. Matthew quickly bent down and removed Harriet shoes. As he placed them by the side of the bed, his eyes closed and his mouth opened - the tell-tale signs. Matthew's hands flew to his face and he desperately tried to suppress the sneeze but it didn't work.

They all winced as Matthew sneezed. It wasn't his fault, he had always suffered from allergies. They use to think that it was hay fever but you don't get hay fever in the winter, and trying to work out everything that might trigger Matthew's sneezing proved to be impossible. They were such violent sneezes. It didn't matter what he or his brothers did, they'd tried everything from tissues to smothering his head with pillows (in a brotherly sort of way), but nothing seemed to work. His sneezes were so loud that they could even wake the dead.

Matthew jabbed his finger excitedly towards Harriet's foot as he struggled to stop sneezing. They all looked where he was pointing but could see nothing wrong. The more Matthew tried to compose himself, the more he sneezed. It looked like a game of charades, where the contestant has to mime clues whilst being tasered. Michael leant over and gently lifted the hem of Harriet's trouser leg. Everyone in the room who wasn't sneezing gasped, sucked air through their teeth or made an "ooo" noise. It sounded like a group of flu victims trying to beatbox.

One of Harriet's ankles was hugely swollen. The skin was a mix of blues, greens and purple tones. The bone of her ankle could barely be seen beneath the tight swelling.

"Have we got an elastic bandage?!" Michael asked, not taking his eyes off of Harriet's ankle.

Malcolm made an odd noise then cleared his throat and said quietly, "I've got one, I'll get it."

"Would a bag of ice help?" said Malachi.

"Yeh, good idea Mal," nodded Michael. He bound Harriet's ankle is firmly as he dared and then gently laid the bag of ice over the top. He hoped that Harriet had no other injuries that they couldn't see but decided that they would have to wait until they could ask her.

After they had carefully covered Harriet with a blanket and turned the light off, they left the room. Michael said that he would check in on her every hour and that they needed to work out a rota so that everyone took a turn of checking her hourly, throughout the night. They didn't include Marley, there was no point. Malcolm very grudgingly said that he would check on her at 11pm. That way it wouldn't interrupt his sleep. Michael thanked him for taking part and the irony flew over Malcolm's head as fast as a horny falcon on a promise.

The time that they had taken looking after Harriet and making sure that she was comfortable had somehow taken up more of their evening then they would have imagined. None of them had eaten and even Marcus had to agree with Malcolm that it was too late to start cooking now. Marcus just shrugged whilst Malcolm snorted and puffed, like a bull at the top of Pamploma high street that had just realised that he had left his shopping at the bottom of the road.

Chapter Nine

Vincent had not been able to rest all night. At first he had prowled around the ground floor looking through windows and doors. Even in the darkness of night he could see the greyness climbing the valley walls and smothering everything. Part of him wanted to leap out and rip at the smothering mass. Tear it to shreds, to leave it slashed and bleeding. He thought of Tabatha's legs and gave a very passable cat like version of a smile. There was too much for him to attack. He knew that. In fact, this was the worst that he had ever seen it and it troubled him.

As the night relinquished its hold and gave itself over to the first strains of morning, he became more and more anxious. He gave up with the downstairs rooms and went from bedroom to bedroom for a better view. By four o'clock he was leaping from room to room so fast that his paws were starting to heat. As the very first glimpse of the sun began to appear over the ridge to the east, he decided that he could wait no longer. He looked into every room and satisfied that now was the time, he moved to the centre of the landing. At this point he was exactly equidistant to each of the five bedrooms. He composed himself and took a few full breaths to fill his lungs. With his head pointing up at an angle of exactly 83 degrees to the horizontal, he took one last deep breath in and howled.

No living creature could have matched Vincent's howl. Somehow, it had the power and volume of more than 100 cats each having their tail trod on at the same time. It had the ferocity of the sun on a freshly burned shoulder and he sustained that chilling pitch for what seemed like an eternity. Any ordinary person within earshot would be doubled over in pain and find that their ears were bleeding. Witches, on the other hand, simply didn't like the noise, and it brought them to wide awake rather quickly.

In each of the bedrooms, covers were being thrown off and reluctant bodies were moving to the end of their bed and standing to attention, facing the windows. His howl continued. Standing at the end of the bed with nothing to do until Vincent's piercing howl finished, Tabatha looked down and saw her slippers. She shrugged. Might as well be comfy, she thought, and one by one stuffed her feet into them.

Above his howl as it started to fade, Vincent heard "urgh, no!" He saw Tabatha bend and pull off one of her slippers and he watched as she pulled her head away sharply, trying to distance it from her feet. She'd found it then, he thought and smiled.

Vincent continued with his duties. To some, it was the teeth jarring sound of so called cat singing. The noise so piercing and tuneless that it would be guaranteed a place on any talent show. To Vincent, it was a battle cry. It told the epic tale of bloodshed and war. Of passion and glory and of a victory that only the stoutest hearts could achieve. He glanced from room to room, looking for the first stirrings. In Eilydh's room he saw the first faint wisps rising from her shoulders. He quickly glanced to Ffion. Again it seemed as if a shadow of her shoulders was rising from her body. Wispy, smoky tendrils were starting to rise. He quickly checked the other three rooms.

Satisfied that everyone was awakening to his call, he looked back at Eilydh. She was always the first, not by much but always the first. The shadows were swirling from her shoulders now, smoky fingers of oatmeal, white, gold and tan. Mixing and writhing like ethereal serpents as her essence took form.

Snatching his gaze away from the spellbinding image, Vincent looked for Ffion. Her colours were more vibrant, vivid. Already her head and all the room above her was filled with the dances of emerald green, ruby red, blood red, steel grey and obsidian black. The swirling was faster, more visceral, defining a power that would not be bound.

Vincent quickly looked towards Tess's room. The form here filled every inch of the space, bold, dramatic and powerful. Here, blacks, browns, flashes of silver and spikes of blood reds whirled and danced angrily. Here the power was more like a volcano, seething and broiling with forces too immense to be contained - forces that could not be controlled, to the point where it would rip itself apart, to literally smash its way through any barrier. The form was almost complete.

The stark contrast in Fizz's room mirrored the sister's personalities. Whites, the lightest greys, almost translucent silvers and the odd splash of amber created a form that even when fully complete could appear indistinct and spectral. Capable of blending into any background, or casting an image so ghostlike as to be discounted as imagined.

Within the villa all was silent but the noises in Vincent's mind were whirling and crashing like earth-shaping storms colliding. Raw voices were rising towards the births of existence. Low feral growls and high keenings of desire laced with snarls and primeval screeches. Tabitha stood perfectly still at the end of her bed as around her a melee of black, dark brown and tan fibres threaded and wove between flashes of intense white, scarlet and steel.

Amidst the cacophony of sounds Vincent's ears twitched and focused on a high keening screech that was building in intensity. He looked to Eilydh's room. Eilydh's body stood stock still at the foot of her bed but overlaying it was a larger presence. No longer an image formed by spectral tendrils of mist and smoke, the form of a huge golden eagle was now all but solid. With its regal head angled high and its broad wings unfolding, one intense amber eye winked and the eagle launched itself at the window.

The mighty bird passed through the window with one long and slow beat of its wings. It was impossible to tell whether the giant raptor had dissolved through the window or whether the window and its frame had dissolved to accommodate its passing. Free of the building, the mighty eagle soared high into the sky. Deadly talons tucking gracefully to its body... for now.

In Ffion's room, her physical body could no longer be seen as massive grey-green leathery wings uncurled like sails, as the beast launched at the window. The wings were too big to unfurl within the constraints of the room but somehow their fluid movement was enough. The whole wall abandoning its solidity to allow passage. For a couple of seconds all was plunged into darkness as the wings fully unfolded and pulled the mighty dragon's tail into the air.

At almost the same time, Tess' essence reared up and launched itself at the window. The sheer power and muscular strength that rippled across its mighty brown body made Vincent wince involuntarily. It seemed impossible that the movement would not be accompanied by the shattering of glass, the splintering of wood in the crashing of broken masonry, as the almighty bear dove headlong to the ground below.

Vincent snatched his head to the opposite room, knowing that the sister's actions would be all but simultaneous. Past the statue-like form of Fizz as she stood silhouetted against the window, he saw the fleeting image of the thick silvery white tail as it too descended, or at least he thought he did.

He barely caught a glimpse of brilliant white fangs protruding from thin dark lips as the timber wolf's snarling head breached the window. Its lean, powerful body thrusting the beast into the dawn. Its muscular hindquarters crossed the sill, trailing two broad paws, one looking slightly browner than the other. Vincent's mind registered the unspoken thought of "a cup of coffee would have been nice!" as the animal disappeared, leaving only Tabitha's impassive face reflected in the glass.

Vincent sat, his tail lightly curling around his legs. He remained still, his ears held high and fully alert. The tip of his tail twitched. This was his duty, his role. With each of the bedrooms in the villa's stubby tower describing a perfect pentagram, his position at its exact centre was not coincidental. His mission was to monitor and guard the witches' bodies as they stood vulnerable in their rooms. Outside in the valley, working as a team, the witches were all but invincible. Here in the stillness of the villa their bodies were at risk, and Vincent would fight to the death and beyond to protect them.

Chapter Ten

Tommy stood patiently at the open door to Harriet's office. Inside, Elizabeth was on the phone, although she wasn't currently speaking. She was curling one finger around in her hair and looking, Tommy thought, more flustered than he had ever seen her. She put down the phone and slumped to the desk with a groan. Tommy tapped lightly on the door and Elizabeth raised her head slowly. She looked tired.

"Is everything ok?" he asked. It wasn't the smartest of questions as obviously everything was not ok, but it served its purpose as an introduction and he was genuinely concerned.

"Oh Tommy," she sighed wearily. "I'm not getting very far with the work permit or any sort of visa."

He asked, "Have we got any other details yet? Surname, date of birth, last known address?"

Elizabeth sighed, "I can't get hold of him! I've been ringing every half an hour but nothing!"  
"You sure it's the right number?" Tommy quizzed.

"Think so. The call just goes straight to voicemail. I've left messages." She lifted her hands in a gesture of defeat.

"Is there a message on the voicemail?"  
"Yeah!" she snorted. "It's gotta be the right bloke."

Tommy hesitated. He wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject, it was the elephant in the room, so he just came out with it. "Any word from Harriet?"  
"NO! Nothing!" she snapped. It wasn't directed at Tommy.  
"Weird!" It was the only response he could give. The situation was completely crazy. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly 24 hours since they had last heard from Harriet. She had given them a list of things to do and told them that some bloke called Ivan would be coming into the office and that they were to look after him, but nothing since. It was so not like her.

"Do you think we should call the police?"

Elizabeth visibly sagged. "I don't know Tommy," she said wearily. "I tried calling her aunts. I can't even get hold of them, not even voicemail." The office phone rang. It's shrill urgency startling them both. Like a cobra, Elizabeth's hand pounced on the receiver. "Perfect Fit, Elizabeth." It was a very shortened version of her normal greeting, but about as professional as she could be at the moment.

Tommy watched her as the caller obviously spoke. Her eyes half closed, she mechanically reached for a pen and paper. "Harriet's away on business right now, I can take a message, maybe I can help. I'm authorised to deputise for her." She fell silent again listening to the caller. "I honestly have no idea." She sighed, "Look, let me take your number and either Harriet or I will call you as soon as we have an answer." She was spinning the pen in her fingers agitatedly.

Tommy watched intently, wondering why she was not writing down the phone number. Maybe she didn't need to, maybe it was already on file, he thought.

"Can you not just work with the plans that you've got?" she said testily. "It's a standard office set up, you know the locations of the desks, can't you just be a bit flexible?" She rolled her eyes and slapped the pen down on the pad. "Ok, ok," she interrupted. "I don't have any other answers for you right now, I'll have to call you back." Elizabeth again went silent, the caller must be speaking but he barely had time to say anything before Elizabeth interjected again. "You do what you have to do and I'll get back to you as soon as I've got something to say. Goodbye!" And with that she slammed the phone down.

Tommy knew when it was best to be quiet and he judged that now was one of those times. The alternative would probably involve explaining to the rest of the office, and his mum, why he had a pen sticking out of his forehead.

Eventually, Elizabeth looked back at him. "Anything else Tommy?"

He was a little taken back by that but Elizabeth was obviously juggling a lot of balls right now. "Can I do anything to help?" he offered.

The comment seemed to take some of the sting out of Elizabeth and she just shook her head wearily. "No, not really Tommy, thanks."

He sat back at his desk. There were plenty of other things to be getting along with. There was nothing that he could do to help this Ivan bloke, not with the scraps of information that he had and anyway, unless the bloke made contact... He let the thought die.

Amy, Zoe and Sarah went to lunch. Tommy went and checked with the others. If James and Anna went at half past, Elizabeth and he could hold the fort until Amy, Zoe and Sarah got back. Elizabeth normally took care of this sort of thing but it was something that he could take off of her shoulders for now. They all agreed and he considered whether to put the kettle on or go back to his desk. There was a scream from Harriet's office. Tommy ran to the doorway and stopped.

Behind him James and Anna raced to see what the noise was. James stopped at the left of the door frame as Tommy stood to the right. Anna presumably had expected to run straight into the office and left with little choice she careened into Tommy's back, propelling him two steps in. At this Elizabeth looked up and urgently waved them all into the office. She punched the button and put the call on loudspeaker. It appeared to be that Ivan bloke.

"Ivan, Ivan, where are you?" Elizabeth shouted.

They could hear breathless panting at the other end of the line.

"Uh, I dunno," he replied with ragged breaths.

"Where's Harriet? Is she with you? Ivan?" Elizabeth shouted again.

Again there was a pause and all they could hear was Ivan's ragged breathing and occasional grunts.

"Ivan!" Elizabeth shouted. "Is Harriet with you?"  
"No," came a grunted reply.  
"Where is she?" shouted Anna towards the speaker, as Elizabeth balled her fists.

There was a faint pause. "I dunno."

This was already turning out to be one of the most frustrating calls any of them had ever taken. None of them had the patience for this and they each had their own line of questioning, desperate to get an answer that they could work with.

"Where's Harriet?" shouted Elizabeth.  
"When did you see her last?" said James  
"Where exactly are you?" threw in Tommy.

There were too many questions, they were spoken too quickly.

"I dunno."

Tommy saw Elizabeth opening her mouth, ready to start another volley of questions. Tommy held out his hand and half whispered. "He called us, let's let him speak, he's obviously struggling."

Elizabeth nodded her head vigorously and held out a hand, gesturing everyone to stop. For a while, there was just the sound of Ivan's ragged breathing and occasional gasps.

Anna whispered to the group. "He sounds like he's in pain."

They all pondered this as they waited.

Elizabeth was obviously not being her usual patient self today. "Ivan," she said in a sort of school teacher way. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

There was a grunt and Ivan started coughing. "No, I not ok." It was a simple statement.  
"Where are you?" Tommy said slowly, and then added, "Can you get to the office?"

Ivan coughed again. "No, I hurt. I no move."

Everyone fell silent at this. Their minds raced trying to fill in the missing gaps, but every answer that they presumed only gave birth to more questions. James covered the microphone with his hand as he, Elizabeth and Anna animatedly suggested questions and voiced their own interpretations of what they knew. It was a bit like asking a committee to get you a glass of water.

Tommy lent forward and gently pushed James' hand away from the microphone. Everyone looked at him. "Ivan?" Around the desk mouths opened ready to speak but Tommy held up his hand and waited.

"I here," came his ragged reply.

"Ok. Do you know where you are?" There was another long pause.

Patiently the room fell silent. Tommy saw that patience was wearing thin. He held his hand out to stop anyone speaking.

"I dunno. I not sure." Nobody heard the last part because as soon as they heard the standard "I dunno" everyone groaned.

Tommy waved his hand, irritated. "Sorry Ivan, say that again."

"I..." he paused. "I not sure."

"Ok. Are you in your car?"  
"Yes, yes. I in car."  
"Great," said Tommy enthusiastically. "Can you drive?"  
"No, drive no more. I hurt."

"What about Harriet? Ask him where Harriet is," Elizabeth blurted, and Tommy tried to cover the microphone.

Shaking his head and talking in a low whisper, Tommy said, "One thing at a time eh!" He spoke again to Ivan. "Ivan, are you on the main road?" Tommy already thought he knew the answer to that one as he couldn't hear any other traffic noises.

"No, car park." Ivan coughed again and cried out in pain.

They all looked at Tommy.

"Which car park?" Tommy continued  
"I dunno," wheezed Ivan.

Tommy drummed his fingers on the desk as he thought. "Are there any signs?" Tommy asked.

Silence.

"Any signs for shops?"  
"Yes," coughed Ivan.

Galvanised by this, Tommy thought of how to get over the next hurdle. Would Ivan be able to read any English? Tommy doubted it. "Do you know the shop?" he tried.

"No!"

"Can you read the sign?"

Elizabeth blew out her breath disparagingly at this and mouthed the words, "Fat chance".

They waited for Ivan. They strained their ears, listening for anything. There were noises and the cry of pain followed by ragged breaths. They couldn't guess what was going on.

Eventually Ivan started to speak again but their hopes were soon dashed. "I dunno. Is very big," Ivan grunted.

They could tell the man was very tired and presumably in a lot of pain. They didn't feel as if they were getting anywhere and doubted that they ever would.

Tommy though did seem to be good at coaxing anything out of Ivan. He was calm and excruciatingly patient. It didn't seem to be getting them very far. "It's a big word, is it?"

"Yeah, big, big word." Each word spoken separately between short breaths.

They all looked at each other, their minds racing to work out what this could be.

"Do you know any pieces, bits, of the word, Ivan?" Tommy persisted.

"Ooph, is hard," Ivan grunted. There was a long silence. No one, not even Tommy, seemed to know what to say to that. "Word start..." Another agonising pause, "Like pig. Not pig. Maybe cooked pig."

"Bacon?" blurted Anna.

"I dunno."

They all slumped in their chairs or where they stood.

It was the sort of quiz that really should have a fantastic prize at the end, thought Tommy, although in truth he didn't know who deserved it more, them or Ivan. It was the worst kind of charades and he didn't think there was any point in asking how many syllables there were. "Pork? Bacon? Chop? Leg?" He was running out of ideas. "Ham?"

"Yes," Ivan spluttered. "Yes!"

"Great, that's really good," he said, as he snatched the pad on the desk. He flipped to a clean page and wrote 'HAM' in block capitals at the top. "Do you see any other words?"

"Villa, like at Doblensk."  
"Villa? Like a house?" Tommy queried.

Elizabeth seemed to have given up, she was staring at the desk and shaking her head slowly from side to side.

"Yes, Villa. We have. How to say? Not work, live at Villa Doblensk, two weeks."

Tommy wrote the word 'Villa' next to 'HAM'.

Anna wrinkled her nose as she mouthed the words repeatedly to herself. Eventually she gave up too. "Ham Villa? Does he mean like McDonalds or Pizza Hut?"

Tommy shook his head, a little annoyed at this as it didn't help. "Have we got any idea where he was going with Harriet?" he whispered to Elizabeth.

"No, she didn't say." Elizabeth answered dejectedly and then added, "She said that they were near the new office, near the harbour."

Tommy racked his brains but could think of nothing. He tried to picture all around the harbour, remembering car parks and anything that sounded like 'Ham Villa'. He imagined driving through the streets but still couldn't picture anything remotely close. As his mind drifted, he pictured the drive home along the main road.

All of a sudden he jumped up, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets and searching. "Google, Google, I need... James have you got your phone?"

James pulled out his phone and opened the search engine. He looked up at Tommy, waiting for instruction. Tommy was actually jumping up and down on the spot, waving his hands excitedly. Apart from the huge grin on his face he looked as if he had just used chilli seasoned toilet paper. He made to snatch the phone but James pulled it away.

Tommy started slapping his own forehead. "Argh, what's the logo? Oh God, I can't think, what's the logo??" he repeated pointing and waving his finger at James' phone. "The logo for Hammond's Furniture Village!"

James quickly typed the name of the store into his phone.

As they waited for the screen to refresh Anna said, "Isn't that the house with the grin? My mum loves that place."

"YES!" shouted Tommy. He could picture the logo in his mind now. James held up the phone and there indeed was a stylised picture of a house with a smiling mouth.

"Ivan, Ivan, are you there?" he bellowed into the phone. There was a delay of a few seconds. Tommy was just about to repeat himself when Ivan answered.  
"I here." The man sounded almost asleep.  
"Ok. Is there a picture." He couldn't think of any other word that meant the same. "Of a house? A happy house?"

Ivan coughed and spluttered as if he thought this was funny. "Yes, is house? Happy mouth."

"Got it," shouted Tommy. "There's a Hammond's Furniture Village on the main road. There's a massive car park, set back behind some bushes. I know it. It's not that far." Without waiting for any other signal or approval from Elizabeth or any one, he turned and faced the phone. "Stay there Ivan, I'm coming!" he shouted and ran to the door.

Elizabeth snatched her mobile and raced behind him. "I'm coming with you."

James and Anna just looked at each other. They were the only two left in the office. One of them had to be in charge now. Anna knew exactly who that was and she smiled. They heard faint wheezing from the speaker and realised that Ivan was still on the phone. James looked at Anna and held his hands out as if to say "what do we do"? Anna creased her brow as she considered this and then reached over and ended the call. She was in charge, after all.

Chapter Eleven

Gliding majestically high above the eastern ridge, the early morning sun gently warming her back, the eagle surveyed the bowl of the valley below. The sun lit up the ridge's edge like a silver band on a fine crockery dish. As she soared back and forth along the ridges updraft she watched the light as it slid down towards the valley.

In her mind she sensed the powerful beat of the dragon's wings as the mighty beast swept towards the furthest edge of the valley. She sensed the slow, graceful arc as it dipped one wing and glided round to face the villa. Soaring at a much higher altitude than the dragon and with eyesight so sharp that she would be able to catch the movements of even a baby rabbit anywhere below, something felt wrong. She knew exactly where the dragon was and yet she couldn't see it.

Troubled, she scanned the valley. She could sense the bear's thundering charge, could feel the pounding race of the wolf's paws and the silent darting track of the snow leopard, but none were visible. The sun's rays had halted. The light that had started to wash down into the valley highlighted the scenery to a point roughly half way down the valley walls, but no further. Below that line everything was shrouded in a grey, impenetrable mask.

The eagle soared higher, until the whole valley was visible to her in one glance. She saw how the whole valley, together with the promontory on which the villa stood, described an almost perfect capital Q. The tail of the Q jutted into the valley's bowl and led out, down the long dusty road to the village of Vallaques. She saw the comparatively small gap in the circle, where the river and a gravel road cut through into the fields.

The countryside all around the valley was now bathed in golden sunlight. The ridge and the dusty road that form the spine of the promontory glimmered as if gilded. Yet the bowl of the valley lay shrouded in a constantly swirling fog that smothered all, giving the look of a half-eaten bowl of soup. The road from Vallaques that led down the spine to the villa angled downwards into the bowl, making the slopes of the valley side the shortest and most shallow of the feature.

The greyness that smothered the valley crept up the gentle slope, inching closer to the villa and the road to the village. The mighty dragon, with her wings as broad as yacht sails, was the first of her sisters to react, powerful beats propelling her easily to the shallow slopes. As the dragon neared the slopes she dived low and spat out long gouts of flame, incinerating all in her wake. For a while colour and sunlight returned to the slope but inexorably the smothering crept forward again.

The eagle glided gracefully downwards. In the stillness of the air, without the beating of her own wings, there was a silence to the valley. She heard the bellow of the huge bear and the galloping drumbeat as it thundered across the valley towards the gentle slopes. She heard the piercing howl of the timber wolf's anguish, before it to changed direction. She saw the dragon's massive silhouette as it glided, curling around the villa, ready to pour fire on any darkness that attempted to breach this high ground.

Her senses peered below the domed, copper roof of the villa's tower. She felt the stalwart presence of the cat, the ferocity of its determination and the immensity of its resolve. Her mind pictured the bear and the timber wolf forming a pincer towards the base of the villa. The dragon patrolling in slow arcs above it and the incisive unseen stabs as the snow leopard picked off any smothering that moved faster than the mass. As she pictured these things in her mind, her sisters below performed the actions.

The cat felt the approach of the single form as it rose up the slope around the side of the villa. Hidden from view beneath a thin copse of young birch trees and tucked away from the ridges end, the smothering shape stole closer and closer to the villa's sheltered terrace. He rose to a stand as his spine flexed and his back began to arch. His tail bushed and quivered as adrenalin flooded his body in readiness. High above him, the eagle sensed his stirring and she altered her glide path.

The cat licked his drying lips. He could feel the direction of the smothering shape's approach as keenly as if he was watching it. He did not tilt his head to that direction but simply moved his eyes. Twenty tendons tightened, in preparation of thrusting needle sharp claws. Despite the risk that the shadowy form presented he looked forward to his chance to strike - to unleash the pent up fury within.

Following every sensation that the cat sensed as if it were her own, the eagle focused on the copse of trees. Beneath its insubstantial canopy, her keen vision spotted the subtle shifts of light that marked its passage. Her wing flared to fine-tuned direction and she tucked both wings tight to her body. Hurtling towards the trees like a golden spear thrown by the Gods, her approach was fast, deadly accurate and as silent as fate.

The only soul that knew of her lightening dive was the cat, and his tail tingled in anticipation of the deadly strike. In a move that seemed impossible, the precision required together with timing beyond the accuracy that any master watchmaker could hope to achieve, provided only two outcomes. Success, or personal obliteration.

These were not considerations felt by the eagle, as she exploded through the topmost leaves of the young trees. Instantly, her massive wings flared out as her muscular legs thrust down. Mighty talons like curved scimitars extended for the strike. Despite the astonishing breaking source provided by her broad wingspan, the blow to her prey was like being hit by a truck.

Before her downward momentum could drive both her and her prey into the earth, her mighty wings powered her skyward again with muscle-rippling thrusts. Held within the vice-like grip of her steely talons, her prey was dragged upwards. She felt the weight of her cargo lessen and instinctively her talons dug in for better purchase. Still the weight lessened. With the force that she was expending to maintain her grip and the razor sharpness of her talons, this must mean that she had sliced straight through the fabric of her prey.

She let go of the prey and struck again, hoping for a more secure hold. She felt the lunge connect and tightened her claws. Still the weight was less than before. She relaxed her wings to enable her to take her prey to the ground where she could inspect it for a more suitable purchase point. There was no fear that it might escape or even struggle. One precise slash of her cruel beak would see to that.

As she neared the ground with the weight of her prize diminishing all the time, the eagle accelerated her fall, fully expecting a jarring thud as she landed. There was no thump. No bone-jarring stop. The landing was as soft as falling through a marshmallow cushion onto a bed of fresh snow. For the briefest moment, she wondered if she had actually landed.

She looked down at her prey. She searched where her talons had grasped it, expecting to find slashes and rents and a shredded, pulped flesh. Instead, she watched, mesmerised as the form beneath her simply dissolved. The greyness somehow dissipating from its already spectral existence and leeching into the ground. She stood on top of her capture with her head cocked to one side in thought as she felt herself lowering to the soil like a chick on a punctured balloon.

Instead of seeing a murky pool of shadowed ground, all colour smothered beneath a cloak of muted grey, she could see just where the shape had been as the soil, the tiny flowers and even the decaying leaves that lay like forgotten soldiers of an earlier battle that had given the last of themselves for the greater good, appeared more vivid. Turning first one way and then the other, and lifting each leg to inspect the hidden ground, the eagle could not reconcile what she was seeing. Everything was more colourful, not less. The area seemed somehow more alive.

For a while the majestic predator paced the ground. Occasionally stabbing with her beak and dragging her talons across the earth, as if to be able to understand better. Bemused and frustrated, she lifted her head and gave a piercing shriek of annoyance at her failure to comprehend. She suddenly leapt into the air and threw out her wings. Powerful beats, driving her up into the sky, desperate to get back to a place where she could again feel in control.

Inside the villa's tower, the cat felt her anguish. He too was confused at the missing sensation of achievement. He had been holding his breath in anticipation of the vicarious surge as the mighty predator wrenched all threat from her prey. He knew that the shadowy form no longer existed but where celebration should be there was just a void. A feeling of anti-climax and a gnawing bone of understanding that was just out of reach.

The others felt it too. A shared sensation that somehow left them feeling vulnerable and uneasy. The eagle flew back to her vantage point, high in the sky, back to what she knew. There was an urgency in her movements, not from fear but from a nagging feeling that she was missing something. To her, this was worse than anything that might cause harm and no matter how high she flew or how fast she sped, she could not leave it behind.

Elizabeth appeared for all the world like a swan. She sat in the passenger seat with her legs outstretched and her hands held loose in her lap. She looked calm, peaceful and relaxed. Just out for a drive with another young driver who had delusions about his ability and his car's performance. Like a swan majestically gliding down the river, beneath outward appearances, her mind was kicking for all it was worth and in every possible direction.

Tommy was speeding through the midday traffic like someone desperate to see blue flashing lights behind him. His brow was low and his eyes were fixed and focused as he swung the car from gap to gap. Occasional horn blasts from other motorists angered by his recklessness, or envious of his thrill seeking freedom, were all soon lost as he pushed the little car faster and faster.

Elizabeth did have concerns about his speed, but not too many. Since the tyre squealing start of their journey, through the high street and the imminent fear that they would soon be sporting one of the many jaywalkers as a bonnet ornament, colour had somehow come back to her knuckles. It didn't seem as if her fingernails had left any permanent marks within the car's interior and over time her other concerns had relegated thoughts of her own safety to a back seat.

Harriet's whereabouts and physical safety remained her prime thought. The state of Ivan's health, the information that he could provide and whether they'd be able to find him galloped along as a close second. Other concerns ranged from how they were coping back at the office. Whether that idiot workman who had called earlier had the sense to complete his task at the second office or whether he would walk away. Whether, with Harriet missing, it actually mattered if the work was completed. Whether Tommy had enough petrol. And increasingly, the all-important question of "are we there yet".

The intermittent lane changes, the occasional heart stopping braking followed by equally hard acceleration, the blur of the passing scenery, all just blended into the background. Even Tommy's non-nun friendly audio descriptions of other drivers failed to register against her thoughts. It was Tommy's shouting of her name that broke her reverie. Startled, she lurched up right against the seat belt, her hands flew to the side of the seat and gripped it as if it had just come loose from its mountings.

Her head spun from looking ahead, looking out of the side window, looking at Tommy and then repeating the dance from the beginning. "What? What is it? Where?" All these questions were valid in their own way, although at this point only the first question being relevant. Arguably, the second question too, as strictly speaking it was just the first question, only more polite.

Tommy gestured with a flick of his head back over his shoulder, and said simply, "Over there."

"What? Where?" Elizabeth swivelled in her chair and strained to look out of the rear window. Failing to see anything obvious such as a big flashing arrow pointing to a sign that said "here he is" did nothing to improve Elizabeth's grasp of the situation, or her manners. "What?" she repeated.

Tommy, having thankfully paid full attention throughout the whole journey, calmly reiterated his earlier comment. "It's over there."

"What?" Elizabeth was obviously getting more agitated as she swivelled backwards and forwards in the chair like she needed the loo. Proving that repetition is actually the spice of life, and possibly because Tommy had not expanded on his answer quick enough, Elizabeth repeated, "What?" Had this been some sort of entry examination for mastermind, now would be a good time for Elizabeth to check whether she'd brought a return ticket for the train.

Tommy checked his rear view mirror, then the passenger-side mirror, indicated and swung the car quickly into the lane on the left and immediately left again into another lane. As this sort of driving manoeuvre had required his tongue to protrude slightly between his lips, he had not been in a good position to say more at this time. It could have been an ideal opportunity for Elizabeth to do a few more repetitions but, for reasons of her own, she chose not to.

As they drove up to the top of the off-ramp and onto the bridge that crossed the main road, Elizabeth seemed to have worked out for herself what he meant. Still, it was nice to have these little chats now and again.

They raced into the car park which was fortunately only half full and Tommy slowed the car to a speed that was still maybe a little inappropriate for a car park. The pair craned their heads and scanned the area looking for Ivan's car. On the second circuit it dawned on them that they had no idea which was Ivan's car. No one had actually asked him for the make and model, or even the colour. His answer might have been the standard one of 'I dunno'. But, then again, I dunno.

Having absolutely no idea what they were looking for (would it be a new car, an older model, small, medium or large?) did put them at somewhat of a disadvantage. Even being only half full, there was still a lot of cars. Elizabeth snatched her phone from her lap and search for his number. Tommy raised an eyebrow. This put Elizabeth right back into the 'smart' category, or maybe just showed a predilection for admin. Either way, it would be the break they needed.

She dialled the number and held the phone to her ear. After a few rings, it went to voicemail. "Shit!" she said, throwing the phone into her lap in frustration.

It looked as if they had no choice other than to look into each and every car, one by one. Tommy drove around again, slowly, looking for any indication, any sign to narrow their search. Quite what he expected to see, he wasn't sure. Having decided that there was no alternative, Tommy drove towards one end of the car park, where the parking seemed more sporadic. They had to start somewhere.

He pulled in next to a battered little car at the end of the line and they got out. Obviously it wouldn't be that little car, that was one that they could easily discount. It looked like a wreck and had probably been dumped there weeks ago. Elizabeth ran to the first car on her side. Tommy closed his door and pressed the button to lock it, disconsolately. Having so many places to look somehow seemed to take the spark out of him. He hardly had the will to start. Idly, and for no other reason other than to delay the inevitable, he glanced into the window of the little banger. Slumped low in the driver seat against the door laid a man with blood all down one side of his face.

Could this be him? The first car that Tommy looked into? How unlikely was that? On the other hand, they were looking for a man who they knew was in a lot of pain and the last time they had spoken to him, seemed very tired. Lying in the car, slumped against the door with blood all down the side of your face, would certainly put you on the shortlist, Tommy thought. Nervously he reached for the driver's door handle, but then stopped. What if it wasn't Ivan? What if this was someone else? Someone who had been murdered and dumped here in this car park so that the body wouldn't be discovered for months? Tommy could just picture himself explaining to the police how he had discovered the man quite by chance, and why his fingerprint on the door handle was the only fingerprint that they could find.

He looked around for Elizabeth. She was miles away! Racing from one car to the next, searching quickly and efficiently. He peered back into the little car, taking great care not to touch anything, just in case. It had to be this one. Tommy shouted out for Elizabeth. She continued racing from car to car to car. He cupped his hands around his mouth like an improvised megaphone and shouted again. As Elizabeth stopped and looked round at him, he gestured wildly at the little car, making an exaggerated downward point of his arm towards it. She ducked between the lines of cars and ran over to where he stood.

"Look!" he said, sounding a lot calmer than he felt. He pointed down at the side window, towards the driver seat. His hand was visibly shaking.

Elizabeth looked at him quizzically and then into the car. She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth.

"That must be him?" said Tommy. "Don't you think?"

"I guess." Nervously, she looked around and then back at the man. "What if he's dead?" Tommy hadn't actually considered that one. Elizabeth called out his name, quite loudly. They saw the man stir and then go still again. Tommy and Elizabeth just looked at each other. It had to be him.

Elizabeth tapped lightly on the window with the knuckle of her index finger. "Ivan! Ivan!" The man's eyelids flickered. "Are you Ivan?" Elizabeth checked. "If your name is Ivan, nod your head," she commanded. There was no movement inside the car for a while and then slowly, ever so gently, the man gave the smallest of nods.
Chapter Twelve

Harriet stirred. As she started to wake, she became aware of many things. She became aware of pain - there was a pain inside her head like the worst hangover. There was a stinging, tightness to her scalp. There was tightness to the left side of her chest and an ache in her left arm. She was aware of the sensations but in no hurry for further investigation. For now, she was content to just lay still.

She also became aware that this was not her bed. It was comfortable enough but the material felt course and a bit scratchy. There was no feeling of soft cotton. She felt that she was fully dressed and that she had a blanket covering her. She also seemed to be laying on top of a blanket and she couldn't easily work that out. She felt that this was not her bedroom. She had no idea why she was fully dressed, why this wasn't her bed, why this wasn't her bedroom or how she had gotten here, but she was not yet ready to consider any answers.

She became aware that she needed to pee and that her mouth was as dry as yesterday's bread. For a while she just lay there, balancing her need for the bathroom and her need for a drink against the pain in her head. Instinctively she knew that the pain in her head would only feel worse if she was standing. Her lips parted and muscles in her tongue ripped it free from the roof of her mouth. She tried to lick her lips, but it felt like rubbing two pieces of sandpaper together.

She had to get a drink. Somehow the feeling of dehydration and a parched mouth took precedence over everything else. Using her elbows to brace her, she made to sit up. As she did so, she became aware of an even larger pain. Her ankle felt as if it was being gripped by powerful jaws, even the slightest movement made her wince. She became aware that apart from the pain, her ankle was as cold as a polar bear's buttock. She was vaguely aware that her foot was lying underneath what felt like half of a fragmented iceberg.

Despite all these sensations being enough to fuel 1000 questions, they were all filed in her mind under "things to do later". Despite the fact of the very real sensations of pain, discomfort, dehydration and a growing need for the loo, the main focus of her attention at the moment was something altogether less tangible. It was the worst of feelings. The feeling that would instantly cover you in goose bumps. Chill your temperature down to that of a block of cheese on a deli counter and simultaneously filling you with the urgent need to move, whilst at the same time not allowing you to do so. Harriet became aware that she was being watched.

Unconsciously, Harriet held her breath. Desperately she focused on any sound. She was listening for the sound of movement, the sound of breathing. The only sound that she could hear was the sound of her own pulse as it hammered its way through her skull like an eager soldier on his first march. These feelings are the stuff of nightmares. Rationally, opening her eyes would be the easiest way to dispel or confirm her thoughts, but with sphincter muscles taut enough to crack a nut - any nut - she didn't want to risk over tightening.

She had little choice. Harriet had to confront her demons. She opened her eyes. It took just a few seconds for her eyes to focus in the dim light of the room. There was no light in the room but the door was open to a different brightly lit room and silhouetted by this bright light a huge wall of bodies came into view. In just a fraction of a second she made out the shapes of at least six very tall, very dark bodies. She discerned that these bodies were tall, some nearly as tall as the door frame, and that they were all dark. Their clothing was all dark and their faces all dark. All apart from the 12 wide eyes that shone like lasers, straight at her.

"PHIDT!" The complete lack of any moisture in her mouth and the Olympian grip of her sphincter meant that fortunately this was the closest that she got to the real thing. There was a scream, ready and waiting in her chest, powerful enough to force its way past parched vocal chords. The overwhelming need to work out what she would scream at and why was the only reason that she had not let it loose. One of the dark shapes turned, there was a click and the room was flooded with light. It didn't help.

Instinctively she pulled herself up on the pillow, her back pressed against the headboard. Her eyes darted from shape to shape. None of them moved, but that did not help her to relax. The tallest one, who stood in the centre of the group, spoke quietly. "Don't worry, you're perfectly safe, no one's going to hurt you."

Harriet whimpered. Harriet's eyes danced along the group. Still no one moved. It didn't seem that they intended to hurt her but who, why, where and what were only

the start of the questions that were currently trying to force the top of her head off.

"My name's Michael," he continued softly. "These are my brothers. We found you outside, last night. You weren't conscious. Your ankle is very swollen, we've bandaged it. You can probably feel the ice pack eh? You also have a cut to your head. It's not a big cut and we've made sure that it's clean. We don't know if you have any other injuries."

"Where are my..." said Harriet, scratchily. It took them a few seconds to work out what she had actually tried to say.

"There's a glass of water next to you, on the bedside cabinet," said one of the brothers. Harriet glanced sideways at it, not turning her head. Cautiously she picked up the glass and took a sip, then another and then greedily, she finished the glass.

"Would you like a coffee?" someone asked. Harriet nodded vigorously. Too vigorously. It felt as if the anvil inside her skull had just broken loose and was now rolling around inside her head. She winced and put a hand up to the side of her head.

"There's a... a... achoo!" one brother started to say, but ended with an almighty sneeze.

"Yeh, there's a couple of headache pills, as well," Michael finished for his brother, and pointed at the bedside cabinet. Harriet found them and picked them up eagerly. She remembered that she had drunk all the water but that someone was making a coffee. She closed her fingers around the pills. She was starting to feel a little more relaxed now as the supposed threat subsided. The space left inside her mind as the threat concerns retreated was soon taken over by the need for the bathroom. That need had never gone away, but now it was starting to make its presence known more forcibly. The timing wasn't great, thought Harriet, but conceded that things could have been a whole lot worse. The fact that she still needed to go was a blessing.

Harriet looked at the brothers. It was the first real chance she'd had to take a good look at them. They were tall, very tall. Added to that, and the fact that they were all dark skinned, was the fact that they were all dressed very much alike. It was as if they were wearing a uniform or something. They all wore black jeans, a black top and a black jacket. The jackets were quite rugged, donkey jacket style. Ideal protection against the elements. They each wore a hat too. It was a knitted hat, machine made, which sat close on the head with a thicker rolled band. As she took in their appearance she noticed that the jackets all had a badge, a logo of some kind on the breast pocket. It was part of the jacket, not something that was pinned on. Michael was the nearest to her, as he stood squarely at the end of the bed, and although she didn't want to appear rude she took this opportunity to read the label.

It was a simple label, machine stitched in two colours, with white letters edged in silver. They read "D Wharf". As she let out a short involuntary laugh, Harriet became aware that shock was not the only thing that could add urgency to one's need for the bathroom. She winced.

"You ok?" Michael asked genuinely, but his eyebrows displayed a different question. Namely what was funny?

"Sorry," said Harriet. D Wharfs. You're the tallest D Wharfs that I've ever seen! She laughed. Michael smiled at her, but he didn't laugh. "I'm sorry," she said. "You must get really sick of that." Michael smiled lamely. Harriet could feel her cheeks colouring and felt a desperate need to explain herself.

"We work at the harbour," said Michael dryly. "On D Wharf," he added.

Tough audience, thought Harriet, and she tried desperately to redress the matter. "Oh, I see." Part of her hoped that she would get away with her little playing dumb routine whilst the other part of her hoped that she wouldn't, as she didn't really want them to think of her as an airhead. The little voice in her head told her that it might be best to shut up. "You all work there then?" she asked, desperately trying to dig herself out of the hole.

"Ahmm!" coughed someone to his side, and tapped at their watch.

Harriet looked at him. He was wearing what Tommy would describe as a face like a slapped arse. Not the happiest bunny in town, she thought. Michael half turned and looked at the watch that Mr Grumpy was holding out on his outstretched arm. He nodded.

"Look, I'm sorry but we've really got to go," said Michael. "We're going to be late for work."

"Oh, sure. Of course," said Harriet, and moved to get out of bed.

"No, no, don't get up," said Michael quickly, as he held his hand out to stop her. "You need your rest. Marcus will stay here and look after you and we'll get back as soon as we can."

Harriet stopped in mid-movement, unsure of quite what she should do.

"Please," said Michael. "Stay where you are. Marcus will see that you've got everything you need and if you're feeling up to it we can have a chat later. Is that ok?"

Harriet didn't know quite how to respond. It was very kind of the brothers but it was obvious that she couldn't stay here. Fortunately before she could respond, there was an "excuse me, coming through" at the doorway and the brothers parted. The young man, Marcus presumably, hurried into the room with a mug of coffee. Harriet could smell its rich aroma already and if she had had any moisture in her mouth at all, she would've salivated.

The rest of the brothers filed out of the room and Michael said their goodbyes. It was a little bit strange as none of the others spoke. She heard the front door close and muffled footsteps as they descended stairs. Marcus put the coffee down on the bedside cabinet next to her and took a step back.

"I'll do some breakfast later if you want," he said cheerily. "Give you five minutes to come to. First, is there anything else you need?"

"Umm, the bathroom?" Harriet said meekly.

"Oh, yeh," said Marcus. "Turn left out of here and it's the..."

She could see him counting in his mind.

"...third door on the right." He quickly left the room.

Harriet threw back the blanket and went to swing her legs off of the bed. The pain that shot through her left ankle was so intense that it made her see stars. It felt as if someone had grabbed her ankle with an oversized pair of red hot pliers and was squeezing them. She couldn't help it. A scream leapt from her lips and she quickly bit it down.

Marcus came running back into the room, his eyes as wide as a Lion's grin. "Oh my God, what's up, what have you done?" Harriet was sitting upright on the bed, her fingernails digging into the bedding for all she was worth. An almost defrosted bag of ice lay on the floor, next to the bed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Marcus. "I forgot about your ankle, you ok?"

Harriet nodded slowly but did not release her grip on the bedding.

"Do you want me to help you up?" he said.

Harriet shook her head slowly. It was all she could offer as a reply as the pain started to fade.

"Oh. Ok," said Marcus, but it was clear that he did not know what to do next. There was silence for a moment as Harriet regained her composure and as poor Marcus tried desperately to think of what he could do to help. "Umm, I don't think we've got a bucket," he apologised. "Umm! I can, er, get you an umm... saucepan?"

Harriet held out her hand to stop him and shook her head slowly. Taking a short breath, she said, "It's okay Marcus, it's okay. It took me by surprise a little, that's all." "You sure? Can I do anything?" Harriet thought for a moment. There was no way that she could walk to the bathroom. She could crawl on her hands and knees, probably, and if it was between that and a bucket she would crawl on her hands and knees over broken glass first.

With Marcus's support, Harriet made it to the bathroom. She felt rather humbled at her poor command of the English language. 'Euphoria' was the best word that she could think of right now, and she knew that there had to be a better word to describe this feeling of relief and the return of being able to think clearly again. When she had finished she clambered her way back to the door using the edge of the bath and the door frame. As she opened the door, she could see Marcus a little way down the hall discreetly waiting for her. She smiled. He really was so considerate, she thought. Together, they made their way back to the bedroom and Harriet dropped heavily onto the bed. Marcus helped her to get her foot back on the bed and went for some more ice. Harriet drank her coffee greedily. It was the best cup of coffee that she'd had for ages. Before she finished she made sure to take the two headache pills. The pounding in her head felt worse now that she wasn't concentrating on her bladder.

Marcus came back with a fresh bag of ice and another cup of coffee. It seemed that he was a mind reader too. He sat on the edge of the bed and listened as Harriet gave an account of her injuries. She couldn't remember what had caused her to fall down the concrete steps, but she could remember that she had. Marcus told her how many steps there were, give or take, and how miraculous it was her injuries were no more severe. Harriet considered this. Whilst she had a vague recollection that she had fallen down the steps, she had no idea of the details. Her head was thumping and making it impossible to think.

As Harriet savoured the second cup of coffee, she wriggled and readjusted in an attempt to get comfortable. It seemed that no matter which way she lay, something hurt somewhere. She looked down at her clothes. They certainly looked as if they'd been slept in. Vainly she tugged and smoothed out creases but it had no real effect. She felt like a discarded dish cloth.

Marcus's voice, although quiet, startled her. He had sat on the side of the bed so quietly that she had forgotten he was there. "You don't look great," he suggested. "Why don't I run you a nice hot bath and then you can see if you can get a bit more sleep?"

Harriet had to admit that she was tiring quite quickly, and that the thought of the bath did sound appealing.

"Whilst you have a rest, how about I wash your clothes? For you?" Marcus added.

Harriet's grip on her coffee mug tightened. She didn't like the idea of someone else doing her washing for her and the fact that he was a man, and virtually a stranger, made it even worse. "No thanks!" she blurted, all too quickly. "I'm ok." As if to reinforce this idea she brushed the crinkled fabric of her trousers.

Marcus didn't say anything. Harriet slowly looked up at his face. His eyes were wide and his eyebrows looked as if they were trying to distance themselves from the rest of his face. He didn't need to say anything, that look said it all.

"I can't ask you to do that," said Harriet weakly. It wasn't much of an argument and it didn't seem to have convinced his face.

"I was only going to put them in the washing machine," he said reassuringly. "And maybe run the iron over those creases."

Harriet couldn't help but feel foolish. Marcus seemed to sense this and understand her hesitation.

"It's no problem," he continued. "And I'm sure that it would make you feel a whole lot better. What do you think?" he said kindly.

Harriet had been staring at her coffee cup and only now looked back at Marcus's face. It was wearing a soft smile. Still it didn't feel right.

"What about that bath? Shall I go run one for you? It can't hurt those aches and bruises eh?"

Harriet nodded meekly. Marcus beamed and rushed out of the room.

The soak in a hot bath had certainly made Harriet feel better. She had even reluctantly allowed Marcus to put her clothes in the washing machine, well, most of them. The rest she washed herself in the bath water. Dressed in a t-shirt that was so big on Harriet that it came down past her knees, Marcus had helped her back to the bedroom. She felt absolutely exhausted and hadn't noticed when Marcus crept out of the room and quietly shut the door.

Knocking on the door woke Harriet, and it took her a few seconds to remember where she was. It was pitch black in the room. There was another knock on the door and a voice called her name. "Yeh,umm, hello," she said sleepily.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeh, sure." A tall dark shape came into the room. "Oh dear, do you mind if I put the light on?"

"Sure."  
"Mind your eyes."

Despite the warning Harriet squinted as bright light filled the room. Marcus came round the side of the bed and placed a steaming mug of coffee on the bedside cabinet. He held out his open hand. "I've got you another couple of headache pills, if you need them," he said. Harriet's headache had subsided dramatically as she slept. No longer did she have the feeling that her head was being used for football practice, and in its place was just a muzzy vagueness. She took the pills anyway, they couldn't hurt.

At the end of the bed her clothes lay neatly ironed, as promised. Harriet clasped Marcus's hand and squeezed it. "Thanks Marcus, you really are an angel," she said.

Marcus chuckled. "Thank you, that makes a nice change," he laughed. "My brother's all think I'm dopey." She smiled up at Marcus and realised, without having asked herself the question, that black men do blush. She released his hand.

"Have I been asleep long?" she said, as she sipped her coffee.  
"Quite a while."  
"What time is it?"

Marcus looked down at his watch. "6:45," he said casually.

"What?" said Harriet, disbelievingly. "Oh my God, your brothers will be home soon, won't they?"

Marcus laughed again. "They got home about two and a half hours ago," he said.

Harriet could scarcely believe this, she hadn't heard any noise at all. "They've been awfully quiet. I didn't hear a thing. They must have been creeping around on tiptoes," she said. She wondered how she hadn't heard them. "Hardly!" chuckled Marcus. "They're about as quiet as an elephant's hen do!

So how do you feel?" asked Marcus.

"Pretty good actually," said Harriet.

"It must be your coffee." Marcus smiled warmly. "Headache?" he enquired, raising one eyebrow.

"Not for me thanks," Harriet replied, straight faced. "I'm still trying to get rid of the last one."

"Are you hungry? You haven't eaten all day."

As if on cue, Harriet's stomach gave an empty gurgle of response. They both laughed. The question didn't take much thought. Harriet was starving, and the spicy smells of cooking that had wafted in when Marcus came into the room would have been enough to tempt anyone. "I am, actually," she said, as she finished her coffee.

"That's good. Dinner will be in about 15 minutes. Do you feel up to join us at the table or would you rather that I brought something in here for you?" Marcus said accommodatingly.

Harriet had never felt comfortable eating anything in bed. She had always been brought up to believe that there was only one place to eat your food and that was at the dining table. "No, I'll get up," she said.

Marcus beamed. "Excellent!" He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a hairbrush. "In that case," he went on, "you might want this."

"Oops! That bad huh?" said Harriet, and she could feel herself colouring up. It seemed that white girls blush just as easily as black boys.

"I take it that you will be up to getting dressed yourself?" said Marcus.

Harriet giggled. "Yes thank you."

"Phew, that's a relief," he said, and the look on his face showed that he meant it.  
"Thanks Marcus!" Harriet protested. "Talk about give a girl a complex!"

Marcus's face suddenly got a whole lot darker and he flustered. "No! I, God no! I didn't mean it like that," he stammered.

Harriet laughed and slapped him gently on the arm. "I'm kidding, Marcus," she said, still smiling. Marcus nodded his head knowingly. He had been her stooge, her patsy. It seemed that she really was feeling better.

Marcus picked up the empty coffee mug and made for the door. "Oh, I forgot. Don't start getting dressed yet, I'll be right back," he said, as he hurried out of the room.

Harriet wasn't sure quite what to make of that statement. She sat up in bed with her hands folded in her lap, waiting for his return. She heard his footsteps as he ran down the hallway and into the room. He was carrying an aluminium crutch, just like the ones they had in hospitals.

"Michael found this at work," he said eagerly.

It was a very welcome piece of apparatus, thought Harriet, but it was also a good prop for teasing. "Oh!" she said quietly, and looked down at her hands.

Marcus stopped moving and just stood there, lamely. It seemed as if he had done something wrong and he didn't understand what.

"Did you tell him that you didn't want to help me anymore?" said Harriet quietly.

"No! Definitely not! I didn't know anything about it until he got home," Marcus said, sounding genuinely wounded. "You... you... don't have to use it. I'm happy to help you," he continued eagerly, trying to put things right.

Harriet slowly lifted her head and looked up at him, then her face exploded into an enormous smile. "I see what your brothers mean," she said grinning. "You can be a bit dopey." Despite falling for it twice in as many minutes, Marcus couldn't help but laugh at himself.

Chapter Thirteen

Feeling altogether much more civilised, Harriet made her way down the hall towards what must be the lounge. It was slow progress as she was finding it very difficult to use the crutch. It must have been used by one of the brothers, she thought, as it was much too tall for her and she clung onto it with both arms as she stumbled down the hall. Someone stepped out of the doorway ahead of her. "Hi," he said and then stopped still. He rested his hands on his hips as he watched her, a broad grin starting to bloom on his face. "Hang on," he smiled. "I think that's a bit big for you." He came down to Harriet and knelt in front of her. "Swap my shoulder for that for a minute?" he asked, and Harriet did so gratefully. "It's adjustable," he volunteered, as he struggled with the little button that reduced its height. "Try that," he said as he handed it back. It was much better. It now fitted comfortably into Harriet's armpit, although the handle that stuck out was too far away for her to reach. "Ah!" he said, and made the necessary adjustment. It felt so much better now that Harriet was tempted to ask for an eye patch and a parrot.

"Thanks," she said. "I feel like a proper pirate now."

"Where's your bandage?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"Oh, I took it off when I had a bath. I couldn't put it back on myself. It's in the bedroom, do you want me to get it?"

"You need to wear it," he frowned. "That ankle needs support. I'll get it." He strode off quickly to the bedroom. Harriet felt a little bit awkward and didn't know whether she should stay where she was and wait for him or continue on into the lounge. She decided on the latter as even just standing here with one foot waggling behind her was tiring.

One of the brothers helped her to sit on the huge corner settee. She had no idea which one it was, other than it wasn't Marcus. And unless he had had a really good day at work it wasn't Mr Grumpy either, she thought. Whoever it was that had helped her in the hallway came into the lounge carrying the bandage. He pushed a footstool over to her and patted the top. Harriet obligingly lifted her left foot onto it. He was very gentle as he studiously inspected her ankle, the frown never leaving his face. He started to bind it again quite firmly.

"Thank you," said Harriet. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Michael," he replied.  
"Thank you Michael, I'm Harriet," she countered.

"Hmm." Another brother came into the lounge. This one wasn't Marcus either.  
"Ah, the medics on the case then," he said warmly.  
"Yes. It looks like my ankle is in good hands. Hi, I'm Harriet, pleased to meet you."

"Marvin, pleased to meet you Harriet," he said, and extended his hand to shake hers.

Michael, a.k.a. the medic, didn't seem to say a lot. He seemed altogether far more serious than most of his brothers, but he was very considerate and he helped Harriet over to the dining table and made sure that she was seated comfortably. One by one, the brothers all came and sat down and introduced themselves. Michael came back from the kitchen carrying a bottle of beer for each of the brothers. He looked at Harriet. "What can I get you to drink? Beer,water,glass of wine?"

"Ooh, a glass of wine would be nice, thank you," said Harriet.

Michael raised an eyebrow in a paternal sort of style. "Are you sure?"

The question made Harriet feel a little uncomfortable, like a naughty schoolgirl who knows that she's not allowed wine. She felt herself starting to blush.

Just then Marcus came hurrying into the room carrying a plate full of freshly cut bread. "Don't worry about Harriet, Michael." He said airily. "She's a lot better than she was this morning and I think she knows her own mind." Harriet smiled at him, grateful for the support.

"Red or white?" came Michael's deep voice from the kitchen.  
"Um, I don't mind, whatever you have, thank you," said Harriet. This was met with silence and Harriet looked up at Marcus.

He raised his eyebrows as if to say "go on, tell him".  
"Um, red by preference, but I really don't mind," she explained. Silence again was the answer that she got back, but this time no one else was looking at her so Harriet decided to wait and see.

A generous glass of red suddenly appeared on the table before her. Before she could say thank you, Michael was gone again. He returned a couple of minutes later together with Marcus, each carrying plates of food. It looked and smelled divine.

"Wow!" said Harriet, genuinely. "Who's the Chef?"  
"I did it this afternoon," called out Marcus. "I had to do something, you were rubbish company," he laughed.

"Touché!" said Harriet, and raised her glass in a mock toast.

During dinner the brothers explained how they had found Harriet and carried her up to the flat. Harriet asked if they had found anyone else outside and Michael responded quickly. It was the first time during the meal that he had spoken. "Should we have done? Was there someone with you? Were you attacked?"

"No, no," said Harriet, shaking her head. "There was a man with me called Ivan, we were standing at the top of the steps talking when we were knocked down. I remember bouncing off of him a couple of times rather than the steps themselves." She stopped talking, thoughtful for a moment. "He must have been in a worse way than me," she mused. Around the table the brothers all looked at each other. One of the brothers got up from the table and went to the window at the end of the room. He peered outside for a moment and then re-joined the group.

Michael shook his head. "They won't be there now," he said. They all thought it was odd that they had not seen anyone else. "You didn't see anyone when you put the rubbish out, Malcolm?" quizzed Michael. One of the brothers at the end of the table was puffing himself up indignantly. "No! Of course not. I would have said something," he spluttered defensively.

"Hmm," said Michael, as if giving the matter some thought.

There were many more questions during dinner and Harriet told them of the new office that she was opening near the mall. This seemed to serve as an explanation as to what she was doing so far from home. Harriet thought it was prudent not to mention that Ivan had kidnapped her or any of the incidents caused by this stupid competition. In fact, she was quite surprised and pleased that no one had mentioned it. Michael, ever the studious and responsible one, asked, "Will anyone know that you're missing? Will someone be worried about you?" Harriet swallowed the last mouthful of wine from her glass, nodding vigorously. "Yes, yes they will. I was going to ask actually, has anyone got a mobile phone that I can use to send a text?" Most of the brothers were quick to volunteer and it was only at this point that Harriet realised that she had no idea what Elizabeth's number was, or Tommy's, or anyone else at the office for that matter. Their numbers were all stored on her phone and her phone was obviously back in the office.

She looked for a clock to see what the time was but couldn't find one. Michael told her that it had just gone 7:30. The only number that she could remember was the office number and no one would be there at this time of night. Would they? They certainly shouldn't be but she had to try. She was about to amend her earlier request and ask if she could make a call. She thought of leaving a message on the office answer phone asking them to call her back but without having a phone for them to do so on it was a bit pointless. She could at least leave a message telling Elizabeth that she was safe and that she would call back tomorrow. Yes that was it. One of the brothers handed her his mobile and she made the call.

When she had finished, Michael suggested that she should have left a number.

"How could I? I don't have a phone," said Harriet, stating the obvious.

Michael thought for a moment. "You can borrow mine," he said seriously.

Harriet didn't want to appear rude, heaven forbid, but that suggestion seemed about as helpful as giving a drowning man a glass of water, she thought. Instead she said, "I'll call her from a phone box tomorrow when I'm out."

Michael snorted. "I don't think you'll be going anywhere," he said confidently.

She noticed that someone had refilled her wine glass and, feeling a little flustered by this latest comment, she picked it up and took a healthy mouthful. "I can't stay here," she countered, equally confidently.

Michael was slowly shaking his head. "I think you should stay off of that leg for a day or two, Harriet, your ankle is still very badly swollen and you should rest it."

Harriet hadn't really considered this, and in fact, it was dawning on her that it was a bit late now to find other accommodation for tonight. She felt uncomfortable about imposing on their kindness and generosity any further. They had been amazing and looked after her wonderfully and seemingly without a second thought. She reached into her trouser pockets, searching. "Are you looking for your little purse thing?" said Marcus. Harriet looked up at him eagerly. "It was in your pocket, so I put it on the bedside cabinet for you," he explained.

He got up from the table and she guessed that he was going to get it but, she didn't want to assume and started to rise. Michael put a hand on her shoulder and shook his head slowly. Marcus came back into the room and handed Harriet her purse.

"Thank you," she smiled. She wondered why she had wanted it. She had considered offering them payment for her board and lodgings so far, but that would have been rude. Even ruder owing to the fact that she had less than £20 in there. She slipped her purse into her pocket and took another drink.

They moved to more comfortable chairs and Michael insisted that Harriet rest her foot on the footstool. He also insisted on placing a large bag of ice across her foot. Now that she was fully awake, she didn't find this very comfortable. They discussed what she was going to do next and Michael suggested that either Malachi or Marley should stay home tomorrow to look after her. Finding Malachi was easy, he was the one that was nodding quickly and blushing, but which one was Marley? She didn't have a clue.

"So, opening the new office, um, does that mean that you're going to close the other one?" said Malachi, tentatively.

Harriet shook her head. "No, not at all," she said, quickly.

"Oh, sorry," he said, looking a little sheepish.  
"No, business is very good at the moment and I think that there is a real need for an employment agency down here at the harbour. It seems like a good opportunity to open a second office." For some reason she looked at Michael as she said this.  
"You'll probably find a couple of customers here in this room," laughed someone and then sneezed. Harriet glanced at Michael. He seemed to be frowning but Harriet had not yet decided whether it was a frown or just his look. "Do you specialize in maritime employment?" Michael asked.

"No. I don't really see that it's different from any other employment," she replied as she thought. "Does it normally involve shorter contracts or more permanent placements?" she asked.

"Some and some, I guess," he replied, his eyebrows raising a little.  
"Realistically, it's good to build up a database of as many job types as possible. That way you've got more options and more opportunities for job seekers," she mused.

"So does that mean that people come into your office looking for work, you find out what sort of thing suits them and then look for an employer for them?" said Matthew.

"Sort of," Harriet replied. "We have a large client base of employers, mostly regulars, and we take great pride in matching the right set of skills and values to meet that need. Hence, 'Perfect Fit'," she added.

"For whom?" said Matthew.

Harriet raised her eyebrows. "Well, for both parties, obviously. It has to suit everyone, for their sakes, and otherwise no one would have any faith in us. We wouldn't last five minutes." Matthew nodded as he took this in.

"If I came to you looking for a job..." said another brother. Harriet looked round. It was the grumpy one. "... and I wanted to do, oh I don't know, something new, something different." He seemed to be searching for the right words and was waving one hand in a small circular motion, as if it was turning a handle to generate the next sentence. "Do you think that you be able to help?" Harriet was nodding.

"What if I had no other skills, other than for the job that I already do, but I wanted something completely different. I suppose I'd have to accept a non-skilled job, something that didn't pay very well." Harriet stared at him for a second, waiting to see if there was another part to this question. That was a real frown she thought. She wasn't sure how she'd be able to get that onto a CV but it demonstrated a lot more skill than Michael's. The grumpy brother seemed to have answered his own question, or at least enough to satisfy himself, as he was now just looking at the floor.

Harriet straightened up in her seat and turned to face him better. "So, Marley," she guessed. He didn't look her way. "What sort of skills do you use in your current job?" she asked. He still didn't look at her. Instead, he seemed to be trying to fold his face. Collapse it down a bit, so that it took up less room. He seemed to be forcing his eyebrows down at the same time as he pushed his chin up, as if his nose was a hinge and that the natural closed position of his face would be that his bottom lip sat directly under his eyebrows.

"Marley?" Harriet repeated. He still wasn't taking any notice and Harriet glanced at some of the other brothers. They didn't seem to be aware. "Marley," she repeated, a bit louder. "In answer to your question of finding a completely new job..." Not a flicker! He just sat there folding his face. Harriet looked at Michael. "Is Marley alright?" Michael looked round.

"Yeh, he's asleep," he said casually. He bloody isn't, thought Harriet, and she stared back at Marley, frowning herself. Michael looked at her, puzzled, and then followed her line of sight, to see what she was looking at. "That's Malcolm. Marley's asleep," he said, nodding his head first to brother grumpy and then to another brother who was slumped in his seat, with his mouth wide open, obviously asleep.

"Oh crikey, I'm sorry Malcolm," Harriet apologised quickly. "I obviously haven't got used to your names yet, I do beg your pardon." Malcolm snorted. Marcus gave a hearty laugh. "I don't think that it helps much that mum gave us all names that start with M!"

Matthew laughed too. "We've given up when it comes to post," he chortled, shaking his head slowly from side to side.

"I am sorry Malcolm," Harriet reiterated. "Going back to your question."  
"What question?" he said, as if he'd been accused of something.  
"About finding new employment that you might not have the skills for?" she said nervously. "Oh!" he said, crossly. It wasn't the sort of conversation that encouraged you to take part, she thought, and decided to give an answer that hopefully didn't require his input. "I'm sure that you'd be surprised just how many transferable skills you've picked up in your current role. There are many, many skills that can be migrated to new employment. All that I would say to someone in that position is that they come and see me, have a chat. I'm very confident that they wouldn't go away empty-handed, and I'm sure we could help." Malcolm gave a short sharp nod, like a woodpecker whacking an old tree. "Hmph!" Whether that was a word or noise, and what it was supposed to mean, Harriet thought it best not to ask.

"Sorry Harriet," said a little voice. It was Malachi, the bashful one, or that was her best guess anyway. She raised her eyebrows and looked at him. "What sort of businesses do you deal with usually? I mean, if there is such a thing as usual," he added, nervously. "It's Malachi, isn't it?" she said tentatively. He nodded vigorously. Harriet continued. "I can't really think of the usual business, we deal with so many and they're so varied. I suppose working in the city does mean that there is a high level of administrative roles but we do so much more. There's a huge new business park that only opened last year. It's currently half full and expanding rapidly. So far Perfect Fit has been responsible for 95% of all recruitment." Malachi was obviously listening intently.

"What sort of companies?" said Michael.

Harriet blew out her bottom lip. "Gosh! Well, there's a couple of manufacturing sites, one dealing in plastic mouldings and the other one more metal-based. There is a high-tech data centre, a couple of wholesalers and a reasonably small chemical research type unit. The staff there are highly specialised and Tommy deals with those recruitments, I'm not really sure of the details. And there are a few smaller businesses. Owner-operator, that sort of thing. Oh, and the latest one is massive. It's the new UK base for Vantapharm. We've just been contracted to supply all their staff, admin, logistics and chemists."

Harriet glanced around the room. Malachi, Matthew and Marcus all seemed to be impressed by the news. Malcolm just snorted and shook his head.

"That must make them one of your biggest customers," said Michael.

"Hmm, one of the biggest, yes, not the biggest though."

"They're certainly our biggest customer," said Matthew, wistfully.

"Yeh," said Michael, but he didn't sound as if he was pleased by that fact.

"Would that be mainly import or export?" Harriet asked.

"Hah! Import, export, storage and generally buggering us about," snorted Matthew.  
"They do that alright!" chipped in Marcus.  
"But, we do have many other customers that are a lot more straight forward," chimed in Malachi.

"They keep you busy then?" Harriet offered lightly.

This was met with a mixture of nods, slow head shakes and a variety of grunts and noises.

"What sort of thing will they be doing at this, this business park?" asked Michael. He was clearly trying to gauge what impact it would have down on D Wharf.

"I don't know exactly," said Harriet. "The site is not really big enough for mass storage or distribution. I think it's going to be mainly the UK head office and a decent size R&D unit."

"Sorry Harriet," said Malachi. "R&D?"

"Research and development," echoed Harriet, Marcus, and Matthew in unison.

Malachi's head spun from one to the other, his blush deepening all the time. "Of course, sorry," he apologised.

Matthew leaned forward to look past his brothers. "That shouldn't affect us too much, should it Michael?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said exasperatingly, and ran his hand backwards and forwards across his hair.

It all went a bit quiet as they each tried to calculate the impact. Harriet looked quizzically from one to another. Matthew started sneezing. After it became obvious that the sneezes were not about to stop anytime soon, Matthew got up and left the room, holding his hand up as if to apologise.

"It's not really going to affect me much," shrugged a cheery little chap on the middle of the big settee.

"Huh! I'll get the worst of it, as usual," grunted Malcolm, adding the perfect balance to the cheerfulness.

"I'm sure it can add a lot more work for me," said Malachi thoughtfully, looking a little dejected at the prospect. "Not that it's all about me. We're all part of a team," he added quickly.

Michael sighed. "Yeh, I think it's you, me and Marley that'll bear the brunt as usual.

It was all starting to sound a little depressing, thought Harriet, and she interjected to try and lighten the tone and understand more. "I'm getting the picture that their business is not a question of containers in, containers out, all neat and simple?"

"I think a lot of it is," said the cheerful little brother again.

Harriet could not remember what his name was. She would have to keep her ears open rather than ask.

"It bloody should be," said the Anti-Happy. "Lift them up, put them down, lift them up again, put them down again. It's all I do all day! Their bloody containers go up and down like a whore's drawers!"

"MALCOLM!" Michael shouted.

"Well..."

"There's a lady present."

Harriet giggled. "It's quite all right Michael," she said as she laughed. "They're not your favourite customers then Malcolm." It was more of a statement than a question although it did beg the question, did he have a favourite customer?

"Malcolm operates the big crane," said Matthew, as he walked back into the room with a box of tissues. That was a pretty good role choice, she thought, at least as far as his interpersonal skills were concerned. Harriet was still missing something. She still didn't understand what was so bad about picking up a container and then putting it down again even if he had to do it a couple of times. Marcus seemed to sense her confusion. "We get quite a few containers coming in from Vantapharm. From a few different countries. Asia, Africa, USA, with the most from Russia. Sometimes we simply have to lift them from one ship, put them on the quayside, then drive to a holding area. Then we have to crane them off again and then that ship moves out of the harbour, the next one comes in and we repeat the process. Then we have to reload the ship, in reverse, with the container from the first ship."

"That sounds a bit like a giant Rubik's cube," suggested Harriet.

"It's bloody ridiculous," said the happy little chap, or was it Malcolm? Oh yeah, it was definitely Malcolm!

Marcus continued. "They do involve a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, but it's relatively standard. The ones that really cause the trouble are the ones when you have to lift them off, move them to the holding area and then wait for the Vantapharm guys. They seem to work to their own schedule. Leaving us with the boat stuck in the harbour doing nothing, and at least one more stuck out at sea. Then when they arrive, usually in a couple of big vans, we have to pick up different containers, move them into a sealed warehouse and wait. Their chaps go in there and we have to close the doors and seal the unit, usually for hours."

"Yes we have to open all the containers and move pallets from one container to another. It's a lot of to-ing and fro-ing with a forklift," said Malachi. "Some containers they open while wearing full hazmat suits. They never tell us why and they don't provide us with any explanation, I don't know what they do."

"It can take a day or even two," said Marcus. "It's a lot of work for us and it ties up the whole wharf. I can never understand why they can't ship what they want from one place straight to another, instead of using us as some sort of hub whilst they play about."

Malcolm grunted and left the room. Marcus got up and went to the dining table. He refilled Harriet's wine glass and handed it to her. She smiled appreciating. He mimed drinking from a bottle of beer and Michael nodded. Matthew, Malachi and the ever smiling brother all indicated their agreement. The brother at the end was still fast asleep. His long legs stretched out in front of him and his hands resting lightly on his lap. Harriet thought for a minute. Marley, yes that was it, Marley. He was obviously tired. He'd fallen asleep almost as soon as he'd finished his dinner. Fortunately, he didn't seem to snore.

The cheerful little chap, sitting on the middle of the settee, leaned forward. "I know they can be a bit time-consuming and awkward," he said. "But we always charge them a premium for all these extra services and it works out at a lot of money." He was beaming with pride.

"It's a good job too," said Marcus, coming back into the room. He handed the beer to his brothers. "They don't exactly pay very promptly."

"Hmm," said the happy brother, his face creasing. "But we've got use to that now and we've got a good cash flow, enough to cover it," he said, rallying again back to his broad grin. He was a bit like Malcolm only upside down, thought Harriet.

"Oh, and I nearly forgot," said Marcus. "When they finished mucking about with the containers, we have to store one, sometimes two, fully sealed in the warehouse and then wait for their little ship."

"Little ship?" quizzed Harriet.

Marcus laughed. "Yeh, it's a dinky little thing. It can only hold two, maybe three containers at a push. It's a good job that it doesn't have to go very far."

Harriet raised an eyebrow.

"Where does it go, Marv?" said Marcus.

"Umm, I can't remember," said the happy chap.  
"Europe," said Malachi, thoughtfully.  
"Melutha," said Michael.

Harriet wrinkled her nose. She had never heard of that place. Michael smiled. "It's northern Spain. It's a tiny little cargo port, I think it used to be used for transporting fruit. Not anymore. Grubby little place. To be honest, I'm surprised it's got the equipment to lift off the containers." He swigged at his beer.

"Is there a Vantapharm place their then?" asked Harriet. She didn't know of one but then again she'd never thought to find out.

Michael shrugged. "Not that I know of. Just a single line train track that leads off into the middle of the country, as far as I know."

A deep rich chocolate smell was drifting in from the kitchen. Whatever it was it smelt delicious, thought Harriet.

"So, how many people work at your office Harriet?" said Michael.

"Eight altogether, including me of course."  
"And how many people will you need at the new office?"  
"I was thinking, four or five to start. We'll have to play it by ear a bit."

"When do you think you will be open?"  
"That's the thing. Quite soon really. It's mainly a question of getting the network and telephones in place, office furniture, stationery, etc. I really need to be sorting it out. There was someone going in to deal with all the cabling and once that's done I could do with being there to set things up." Michael went quiet. He was obviously thinking.

"How's your foot?" said Marcus.

"No idea. It's so numb I can't feel it. It's cold though."

"Good," said Michael.

"Umm, I was thinking," said Malachi, a little hesitantly. "Would you be more comfortable in my room tonight?"

"Ooh, Malachi, we've only just met." Harriet giggled.

Malachi's face turned the colour of cooked beetroot. This wasn't helped when Marcus, Matthew and Marvin burst out laughing. "No, no, no, it's opposite the bathroom. I, I, just thought." He swallowed hard. "I just thought it would be easier for you, with your bad foot, and everything."

"I'm sorry Malachi, that was cruel of me," said Harriet softly. "I couldn't dream of putting you out. I can sleep on the couch." She looked around at the brothers on her left and then back to Michael who sat next to her on the right. "If that's all right?"

"Oh, it's no problem," said Malachi easily. "I can sleep in Marley's room."

"Where would Marley sleep?" said Harriet, slightly confused.

"Where he is," said Malachi, as if it was obvious. He nodded over at the sleeping Marley.

"Oh no, I couldn't put Marley out either," she responded quickly.

"He's all right," chuckled Marcus. "He didn't mind last night," he added.

Matthew laughed. "He usually sleeps there," said Matthew.

Harriet put two and two together. It must have been Marley's room that she slept in last night, she guessed. "It's the first time that his room has been used for days," laughed Matthew. Marley was oblivious to all of this. Harriet looked at Malachi, hoping to find the truth. He nodded. "He nearly always sleeps on the settee," he said. "Honestly, you can sleep in my room, I'll just need to tidy it up first and I can sleep in Marley's. It'll be fine." Harriet wanted to protest but didn't seem to have a valid argument. She finished her wine.

The smells coming from the kitchen were very strong now. The lounge was filled with the rich scent of chocolate and nuts. It smelt as if someone was baking a cake.

Malcolm came into the room and said," Coffee?" Everyone said yes. If it was as nice a cup of coffee as the ones that Marcus made that would be lovely, thought Harriet. She felt a tug at her glass and looked up to see Malcolm. He was attempting to take her empty glass from her and seemed to be wearing a slight smile. Oops, I've drunk too much again, thought Harriet. I must be squiffy.

The boys all got up and made their way to the dining table, all except Marley. Malcolm brought in their coffees and then came back in with some little white tea plates, placing one in front of everyone. Cake? Harriet thought. Surely not?

Malcolm came back into the room with a large plate and he placed it in the middle of the table. "Chocolate muffins," he said. Harriet looked up at him. She was doing the goldfish thing again. Malcolm didn't seem offended. She looked back at the huge chocolate muffins and then back at Malcolm. It would never win any prizes but that was most definitely an attempt at a smile he was wearing.

"Mind, they're still hot," he warned as he sat down.

There were lots of "ooos" and "aahs" and waving of burnt fingers as paper was pulled from the sides of the hot muffins. Harriet wanted to show patience, to act like a lady, but the smell and the sight of those steaming brown muffins was too much. She wanted that more. As it happened, she did demonstrate more patience than the boys, or maybe it was because her hands were more delicate than theirs and burnt easier.

When she eventually managed to get some of the muffin in her mouth, the rich chocolate taste and the cloudlike airiness of the muffin overwhelmed her. It had to be the nicest cake that she had ever eaten. She could barely bring herself to chew it, let alone swallowing any, it seemed criminal. "I can't believe that you've made these Malcolm," she infused.

"Well they didn't make themselves, did they," he huffed.

And there it was, back to bleak, thought Harriet. There was something reassuring about that.

"He makes the best cakes in the world," said the happy brother, with maybe a bit too much muffin in his mouth. Still, she knew what he meant. "They really are Malcolm," Harriet agreed. "It is definitely the nicest muffin that I've ever eaten, ever!" Malcolm grunted. Not in appreciation of the complement, he just grunted.

Michael finished his cake and the fingers of his right hand gently drummed on the table. "I've been thinking," he said. It sounded ominous. Harriet glanced at him. His left hand was idly turning his coffee mug, twisting it slowly until the handle was facing him. He did seem to be deep in thought, she had to give him that.

"You say that Elizabeth is looking after the office." He paused, considering his words. "And that you could do with being at the new office, to get it ready." Another pause. "You could always stay here, just until your leg is better." He nodded over at Marley. "We've virtually got a spare room." Matthew laughed, or was it Marcus? She didn't look. "Your new office is just a short taxi ride from here."

He looked at Harriet now, eyebrows raised questioningly.

"I couldn't possibly," she said. Michael just looked at her. Harriet's mind raced through all the reasons why she couldn't possibly. She needed a change of clothes, she needed her phone and she needed her laptop. True, none of that was insurmountable. "You could always get someone to fetch you some clean clothes and your phone," suggested Marcus. Harriet looked back at Michael. His features hadn't changed. He was still looking at her with eyebrows raised. It could be quite convenient, she thought. "No, I couldn't. Thank you ever so much, it's really kind of you, but I couldn't."

"Why?" said Mr Charisma. Harriet looked at Malcolm. They were playing the charm offensive, she realised. She shook her head. "No, I really couldn't. Thank you. Thank you so much." She looked around the table, everyone was just staring back at her. "Maybe just for a couple of days," she weakened. "I would have to pay for my keep." It would be handy for the new office, I suppose." Like a sandcastle standing firm against the incoming tide, her defences were a little bit crumbly to say the least. She looked around the table again. Talk about impassive. If it wasn't for the fact that two minutes ago she had seen them all eating cake, she could easily have believed that she was having this conversation with a group of shop mannequins.

"It's entirely up to you Harriet," said Michael, breaking the silence at last. "No one is forcing you, it just might make your life easier for a while, that's all. You're not going anywhere tonight, are you? Why don't you sleep on it, give us an answer in the morning eh?" She had been here for what, 24 hours? She couldn't deny that it had felt good. Well, apart from the ankle, the bruises, the headache, the dirty clothes, the lack of personal possessions and familiar things and the fact that she was surrounded by strangers. Apart from that, it had been good. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. It was time out from all the pressures and problems. It was time out from that bloody competition. From the increase in attempts to do her harm. Harm that even extended to her friends at the office.

She sat there, deep in thought. She thought about all her friends at the office. Their huge, swollen orange faces. The spots! She thought back to the fear that their outward appearance might not have been their only symptoms. She remembered the surge of relief to hear that they would suffer no lasting consequences. She remembered the days after and how they had taken it all in their stride. The competition didn't have long to run now. She didn't know exactly how long, she had tried not to think about it anymore than she had to. What if the severity of these attacks increased? She had to do whatever it took to protect them.

She thought of the other people that had been involved. Azil, Andy, Paul. She pictured the two massive brothers, Terry and Baz, and how they had carried the attackers along the road by their collars, seemingly oblivious to their weight. She remembered Uncle Dave, coming instantly to their rescue. To her rescue. She guiltily wondered what had become of the two attackers. Realistically, dealing with the attackers was her responsibility, after all it was her that they had attacked. So many people had been drawn into this.

She frowned, wondering who had been behind all these attacks. It certainly seemed to suggest that it was Angelique. Ivan had pretty much described Angelique as his employer. Ivan! What had happened to Ivan? She felt convinced that he must be badly hurt. He must have managed to get away somehow though. What would happen to him and his family, when Angelique discovered that the plan had failed? It didn't seem to fit that it had all been down to Angelique. The poisoning? Maybe. The hiring of Ivan? Certainly. The two determined attackers, armed attackers at that? Did she have those sort of connections?

Harriet pictured the two heavy looking coshes, as Azil slapped them against his palm. They had intended to do that to her face! She shivered. If the boys hadn't come out of the pub at exactly that time, and if Baz and Terry hadn't been in that party, those attackers would probably have killed her. Partly because of the swift and effortless way that the boys had dealt with the two men, she had been able to push the attack to the corner of her mind. Something to deal with later. After the fuss of the competition, after she'd got the new office up and running and after things had settled down a bit.

The thought of the attack had never really gone away, but it had been manageable in her mind. Something that she did not have to deal with, to talk about. That evening after the attack when she and Elizabeth had had pizza delivered and had drunk probably a bit too much wine for a school night, she had given Elizabeth a very much watered-down account of what happened. That and the wine had meant that Elizabeth didn't have to worry, and that in turn meant that Harriet didn't have to worry either.

Harriet drew in a deep breath. It was a reflex action that would power the deep sigh that followed. It was simply one of the bodies' automatic functions, something that required no conscious effort or thought. As soon as she had taken the breath, she thought about it. It pulled heavily, stretching the bruised muscle on the left side of her chest. It was discomfort rather than pain. Like the tenderness on the top of her head. Like the dull ache and stiffness of her left elbow, where a large yellow and blue bruise was already forming. Her ankle, that was a different matter. At this moment in time it was uncomfortable, partly due to the fact that it was almost frozen, but it would be painful soon enough as soon as she got up. Yet more symptoms of attacks on her, attacks intended to do her serious harm. She had no reason to believe that she was pushed down the stairs deliberately but, then again, she had no idea what had caused that plunge.

The inescapable truth was that it was a direct result of the abduction by Ivan. She didn't list Ivan as an attacker somehow. She didn't really think that he could have carried out his duties. He was as much a victim as she was. In some ways more so. At the end of the day it was still another attack. Another attempt to kill her. She looked up at the faces around the table. Smiling, happy faces (mostly). She felt the weight of their generous offer as a burden.

She needed to keep her friends from harm. She needed to sort out this new business venture. She needed to hide away from recognition. From the media. From Angelique. She needed her ankle to heal and get back to full strength and she needed, really needed, to stop people trying to kill her.

She took another deep breath and the free wince that came with it, and in a tone that was part reluctance, part relief, with a side order of gratitude, she said, "Ok."

She looked up now. To a group of faces that all seem to be pleased and relieved with her decision. Even Malcolm didn't seem too grumpy. It was a little bit strange but they all seemed to have been holding their breath, waiting for her decision. "Ok, thank you. I'd love to stay." Michael, who was sitting the closest to her, gently laid a hand on her shoulder. "Well done," he said. It seemed an odd thing to say really, but maybe it was simply because he had witnessed the torments on her face and was just happy that she had made a decision.

Harriet smile quickly turned into a grin. It was the sort of grin that children wore when they woke up on Christmas morning. The sort of grin that told of happy endings after a week of constipation. It was the grin of someone who had just had their life saved. "It'll be nice to have a break from people trying to kill me for a few days," she blurted, and then realised that foot and mouth disease didn't only affect farmers.

There is an expression that says "you could have cut the air with a knife". It was quite apt now. The only expression that might have been more apt would have been "you know that goldfish thing that you do Harriet? You might want to trade mark it. You'd earn a fortune in royalties". There is another saying used quite often in common parlance. It is usually shortened to its initials as "WTF". It had quite literally come from nowhere tonight and although it remained unspoken, it was clearly the judge's favourite and clear winner.

The comment, the direct result of the feeling of relief and subsequent euphoria, took Harriet by surprise as much as it did everyone else. This was clear by the fact that she was doing the goldfish thing and by the fact that it had taken her mind a little too long to regroup its thoughts and show that it was meant as an ill judged joke. It was too late for that now. The "Private - Do Not Enter" sign had well and truly fallen off of the door and the tourists were coming in.

Harriet, left with little choice, did try the "I was only joking" ploy but it didn't work. She tried desperately to play things down but against the evidence of her injuries, and the fact that someone called Ivan had been with her at the top of the steps and was now nowhere to be seen, very quickly in their minds put Ivan in the frame. The brothers quickly cast Ivan as 'most wanted'.

Harriet pleaded Ivan's innocence. That he had not pushed her down the steps. This led to further questions as to who was he? She didn't have an answer. What was she doing with him? That was complicated. How did she know him? A bit more complicated. Where was he now? In the end Harriet's answers and hesitations seemed only to serve to back her into a corner and prove Ivan's guilt.

She could hardly protest that he was innocent and that he had only kidnapped her in order to kill her as a job, because he needed the money. She did manage not to mention the burying in concrete bit but it hardly counted as a victory. Michael keenly noted the use of plurals in her statement and whilst it took the heat off of Ivan, at least for now, it only seemed to make things worse overall.

In the end, Harriet was pretty much compelled to tell most of the story. It turned out that all the brothers had a Youbook account but that none of them were aware of the 'Beauty of Youbook' competition. Her relief was akin to a one armed man getting his first pair of slip on shoes. It was, however, short lived as everyone apart from Michael decided to check this out on their phones. They very quickly got up to speed, checking out the prizes, the competition entrants and of course the leader board with all its statistics. Malachi was the first to notice that although Harriet was still in the lead, Angelique had gained some ground within the last 24 hours, due to Harriet not being seen in public, by all accounts.

Her scream, in unison with Michael's, stopped everyone in their tracks. Her scream showed more terror, she thought, but had to concede that Michael's demonstrated more authority. Anyway, as a team, their efforts did stop everyone from their ill-conceived but team spirited attempts to redress matters by loving Harriet's page.

Harriet picked up the aluminium crutch and excused herself to go to the bathroom. When she returned she was comforted to find out that Michael had explained why their well-meaning displays of solidarity were so ill-conceived. There seemed to have been a hubbub of activity whilst she was out of the room. More coffee was being made which was a huge relief to Harriet. It might have been the wine, it might have been the intense interrogation, whatever the reason her mouth did feel like an un-decorated pizza base.

Michael had moved to sit next to the happy brother, who had a pad of paper, pencils and a ruler in front of him. Ol' Grumpy-Chops was clearing away the crockery from the table and Harriet was very pleased for him that he had found a lot of crumbs on the table to moan about. Where she sat at the head of the table, she was now flanked by Marcus on her left and Matthew on her right. Marcus helped her with her chair and took the aluminium crutch away, leaning it against the wall. She still couldn't decide whether he was an actual mind reader or a fully paid up card-holding empath.

With fresh coffees all around, Michael spoke out. He was trying to compile a list of Harriet's needs, the logistical considerations and the definite 'must not do's'. At one point Michael suggested that Marv make a separate list of things that they must not do. Marvin! That was it, the happy little chap was called Marvin. Harriet tried to think of a way of combining happy and Marvin so that she could remember his name. She couldn't think of anything.

It was surprisingly quite comforting, that everyone had some thoughts and input. Harriet had always prided herself on not relying on anyone else, but many hands did seem to make light work, as the adage suggested, and the fact that there were a few suggestions that she hadn't considered didn't really surprise her. There were a few struggles when Michael suggested that Harriet's every move be covered by two minders, but these were soon resolved. As Harriet explained, the competition that was at the heart of all these problems would finish soon and after that she would be able to go back to her normal life.

Matthew tried to insist that she had to win and Marvin quickly seconded this. They did seem to struggle a bit as Harriet protested that neither the competition, nor the prizes (as generous as they were), meant anything to her. She had a comfortable lifestyle, business was good and she didn't really care if anyone thought she was beautiful or not. "Oh, but you are, you really are," said Marvin. "I think that you're the most beautiful woman in the world," said Malachi, and then quickly added, "I hope that doesn't offend you. I'm not being sexist or anything." Harriet smiled warmly and reached her hand across the table to grasp his. She couldn't help but love that cooked beetroot face of his, which was rather fortunate as she was seeing rather a lot of it.

By the time that they had finished discussing, and Michael and Marvin had made their lists, it had gone midnight. Despite having slept quite a lot recently, Harriet was feeling tired. She felt more concerned for the boys. They had done a hard day's work and now had to do another one, with less sleep. Michael explained that there were no massive demands on them at the moment and apart from regular day-to-day duties, the first container ship was not due in the harbour until midday. They could afford to get into work a little later tomorrow.

Matthew and Marvin tenderly lifted the sleeping Marley's legs onto the settee and placed a cushion under his head. Matthew bent down behind the settee and came up with a neatly folded blanket, which together they used to cover Marley. Harriet couldn't help but smile at this. The fact that the brothers looked after each other was lovely, but the fact that this was such a regular occurrence that it formed a routine was quite amazing.

She looked at Michael. "Is he always this sleepy?"  
"Always."  
"Does he sleep at work?"

Michael laughed at this. "Hell no! At work he's just a blur. From the time we get there to the time we leave, he races around like a leopard, or maybe a cheetah. That's probably why he's so sleepy at home. He burns himself out."

"What does he do?"  
"Loads actually," said Michael pensively. "To be honest, I think I'd be lost without him." He chuckled. "He's always racing around from one area to the other, running errands, passing messages and generally being my right arm." There was a warm glow of pride on Michael's face, it was obvious. "And boy, can he move! I've never seen anyone run as fast as Marley." For a moment Michael just stood there looking towards Marley with a soft smile on his face. He turned to Harriet. "Anyway, you might not, but I really need my beauty sleep," he said. "Come on, I'll show you to your room, madam."

Chapter Fourteen

Broad powerful wings moved the eagle across the sky. From below, it appeared effortless. It was anything but. At this time of day the heat from the sun should have provided ample thermal currents, allowing her to glide for hours and conserve her energy. Instead she had had to rely on the rhythmic pumping of her muscles as they moved the broad wings in an arc whereby their tips almost touched beneath her, sweeping up to finish above her head, powerful muscles pulling down on the air as if swimming through water.

It was something that she could do for hours. She had been doing so for most of the day. There were thermals, rich sources of heated air that pushed up from the ground below, and when she was above that heated air her extended wings captured the breezes like a windsurfer's sail. She had from time to time ridden these thermals, allowing her muscles time to rest as she circled the valley far below.

This rich power supply was there, as it should be, but only above the ridge itself. The huge valley, which should have produced all the lifts she needed, provided none. It wasn't because of a lack of sun. The sun was high in the sky, she could feel it across the top of her wings and her head. She knew the reason why the valley's bowl was unable to provide the buoyancy she craved. That knowledge gave her no comfort.

She was tiring, feeling the fatigue of constantly propelling her massive wingspan through the air. She was hungry too. Below her, she could sense that her sisters were feeling the same. Whilst their battles had been altogether more face to face as it were, more hands on, they had been no less repetitive, no less draining. Whilst the mighty dragon had spent a lot of her time patrolling around the villa, occasionally darting down to assist, she had also periodically traversed the valley from end to end and from side to side - searching for a weakness, for a break in numbers.

The bear had shown incredible stamina as she pounded back and forth through the ranks of greyness. Crushing and ripping at the murky masses. Likewise, the wolf and the snow leopard had been doing the same near the base of the ridge that led up to the villa. Their combined efforts and the fact that they had sustained their attacks for so long without pause was remarkable. But the eagle could feel them slowing down and their need to rest aching muscles and refuel empty bellies.

Inside the villa Vincent stood stoically at his post. She sensed his hunger and another underlying need. Unlike the rest of this little army his post was indoors on carpet. He had spent all day in the same position, nerves and senses on full alert at all times, but now he needed to pee. She knew that he would not leave his post, not for a minute. She had urged him not to be so tough on himself. She could watch and alert him, he knew that. His standards were very high. He had the ultimate position of trust, of responsibility, and he remained deaf to any suggestion of reprieve from his labours. She respected his devotion but sometimes there was a fine line between doing something morally valiant and just being the most stubborn. She'd given up trying to convince him. He had gone from determined, through resolute, to downright bloody stubborn. Stubborn was something that he did very well. She knew from past experience that any attempts to suggest an alternate argument to his position would be as effective as trying to clean your teeth with a vacuum cleaner. Even with the rotating brush attachment, the results would suck.

Piercing, golden eyes swept across the vista below her, scanning for any signs that their efforts had been worthwhile. Searching for any indications that their containments were being breached, desperately craving any sign that would give this smothering grey mass meaning. Why was this happening? Why, despite their persistent and prolonged skirmishes, were they having very little effect?

Gliding high above the ridge, the eagle circumnavigated the wide valley's border. Her long-distance vision tuned to seek anomalies within the seething mass. She followed the western slopes heading south on a journey that would curl round crossing the river and the roadway, their fingers stretching out into the landscape beyond, back round towards the villa. They had seen before that this smothering was less active without daylight and she wished for that time to come.

The river glistened a silvery reflection of the sun. Winding its way down the valley it looked almost molten, like mercury or burnished steel. Alongside the river where the two arteries reached out from the valley, the road sat in stark contrast, dark and matte - too matte. There were always some reflections from the road surface, sunlight sparkling off of little stones. Now there were no reflections. No highlights. No little sparkles, like tiny diamonds against felt cloth.

The eagle pulled down on her mighty wings, adding power to her flight, broad sweeping beats that she repeated faster and faster. The sudden increase in her movement and the growing concern in her mind was felt by her sisters. Her senses reeled as urgent requests for information stabbed at her. The mighty bear rose up on her hind legs, her full height lifting her head into clear air as she searched the sky for the eagle. The snow leopard instinctively ducked into a crouch, taut and defensive. Her powerful back legs braced and poised to pounce. The Timber wolf lifted her head and howled. It was a raw howl of frustration. She was tired, she had had enough, the last thing she wanted now was an adrenaline rush.

The eagle's long keening screech pierced into the hillsides, lancing into the minds of tiny animals and anyone that had braved the fresh air, her talons reflexively curling inwards, grasping for soft flesh. Anger filled her veins. The creeping grey smothering was flowing down the road and out of the valley like an ebbing tide of gloom. No conscious messages were sent to her sisters. No plea for reinforcements given. They knew. In the split second when realisation of what was happening had dawned on her, they knew. Their shared consciousness acting as one.

The bear pounded across the valley floor, massive muscles rippling down her back as she raced. The lighter, sleeker leopard tore along the ground to match her sister, choosing the route part way up the sloping hillside to reach her destination above her prey, providing a height advantage to pounce. The air was filled with a whooping beat as the dragon's wings thumped through the air like a carpet beater, flailing the fabric of the sky. The timber wolf loped towards the melee, her eagerness to fight alongside her sisters tempered only by the reluctance of the weary.

The dragon was the first to reach the deep V-shape where river and road cut through the hillside, spurred on by ferocious passion rather than any tactical considerations. Her renewed vigour fuelled by fury and wrath as she threw down wave after wave of fire, her outrage making her see red, which was quite a natural state for a dragon. The call from the eagle to pull back and pause her onslaught initially proved hard to obey, but she could feel the lightning approach of the leopard and did not want to singe her tail by mistake.

The dragon reared her head and flew higher to gauge the overall picture. From this elevated position she could see the gap that her fire had created as slowly the space was filled by the grey. She saw the large mass that had already left the valley and that was now leaving the road and fanning out across nearby fields. She could see the surgical incisions being made by the leopard and the wider cuts as the bear smashed her way through the throng.

Individual targets were defined naturally and the dragon banked southwards to extinguish the escaping clot of greyness. Slightly higher, the eagle mirrored the dragon's manoeuvre. Her task was to pick off the stragglers. The bear and the leopard were driving back up the narrow road into the valley, slashing and gouging all in their wake. The timber wolf continued towards them in long, loping but measured strides.

At command headquarters, the villa, Vincent too felt the surge of adrenaline, the rush and the urgency. His task was not to join them, although he desperately wanted to. His day had been one long haul of restrain, with no physical exertion. He ached for the release of pent up emotions - his part in the proceedings were equally exhausting from mental activity. It had been a long day and he had been forced to stay alert, missing at least two much needed power naps. Added to his cerebral challenges was the teeth-clenching need for a wee. He glanced through the window to the east. The sun was weakening towards dusk and the tantalising hope of a break renewed his strength.

The bear and the leopard decimated all the smothering within the narrow gorge. For some reason the pervasive grey cancer did not extend to the water or cross it. As they retreated towards the river and slated their thirst from its coolness, the mighty dragon roared up from the south. Her approach was fast and low and a little bit noisy. Again and again she torched any signs of smothering that dared to show an interest in this route.

The timber wolf exploded into the gorge at a pace much faster than the measured strides she had used to get there. She stopped suddenly, glancing all around her, as if she had been expecting to have run into the middle of a fierce battle. As the group were unified by a shared consciousness, her actions seemed a little odd. Individually they sensed the fading of the day. The smothering seemed to be a lot less active without daylight and one by one they made their way back to the villa.

Gone was the urgency of the day. Gone was the need for speed as they made their way home. The snow leopard blending seamlessly into her surroundings as she stealthily weaved her way back to the villa. Her route was high along the valley wall where she twisted and ducked between bushes and hedgerow. The bear used a path slightly lower and at a relaxed cantering pace. The timber wolf followed a similar route to the bear, bringing up the rear in her trademark loping gait. The dragon and then the eagle would be the first to return, unhampered by terrain and vegetation.

Vincent sensed their approach, urging them faster with his thoughts. Not until the last creature had returned to the villa, their essence safely returned to their bodies, would he relinquish the baton of responsibility. By that time, he would almost certainly be cross-eyed.

The dragon landed awkwardly on the small balcony outside her room, massive wings folding like origami to her body. At the end of her long neck, her head was angled against the domed roof. Her thick tail, tipped with its sword sharp barbs, flicking sideways in a display of frustration that Vincent knew all too well. Her outward form dissolving like coloured smoke as it passed through the window and into Ffion's waiting body.

Through the next window, Vincent saw the golden eagle's more precise landing. Her mighty talons curving gently around the handrail of the balconies edge, measured movements of her broad wings steadying her balance. Twin golden eyes blazed into the room as her form dissolved wispily back to fill the statue that was Eilydh McLeod.

There was a quick stamp of footsteps and a warm hand lightly fussed the top of his head. "Aw, thank you my lovely," cooed Ffion, as she passed on her way to the stairs. "Let's get the kettle on, don't you," she chirped, as she made her way quickly downstairs. Vincent watched as she went. He turned back to find Eilydh kneeling in front of him. Her long slender fingers cupped tenderly around the side of his face. "Thank you Vincent," she said softly. "Go on." She gestured with her head, letting him know that he was at last free to go downstairs. His head lent in against her cupped hand but his body did not move. "Och, go on man, you can go." They both knew that he wouldn't. Eilydh shook her head in resignation. "Och, you are one stubborn little beastie Vincent, do you know that?" Eilydh smiled as she got up to follow Ffion.

Downstairs in the kitchen, the kettle was boiling and Ffion was noisily clattering coffee mugs and spoon. Eilydh entered the room. "Open the door, Eil, will you. They'll be here soon, and anyway, it's bloody hot in this kitchen." Eilydh turned and went to the large sliding door. She slid it open wide, allowing the air from the terrace to breeze in. Oddly, the air was cooler than that of the kitchen and Ffion felt its cool draft against her legs. "Aw, there you are then," she sighed appreciatively. "Thanks Eil."

As Ffion poured the coffees and Eilydh fetched the milk from the fridge, neither of them noticed the silent flash of fur as the snow leopard darted past and up the stairs. Vincent watched approvingly as the big cat bounded silently up the stairs, leaping high over him and straight into Fizz's room, her lithe movements all but a blur. He watched as her spirit curled around her body and was quickly absorbed.

Fizz was wearing a wide smile, the sort normally worn when good friends are reunited after a prolonged absence. In his way, Vincent was doing the same. He stood up on all fours as she approached, his tail standing fully upright and quivering at the tip.

Fizz bent down and cupped his head with both hands as she planted a big kiss on the top of his head between his ears. "Thanks for looking after me, my little soldier," she said warmly. It was all a little bit too familiar for his liking but on this occasion he didn't mind. She had been away for a long time.

As the big brown bear lumbered onto the terrace she noticed the open door to the kitchen. Manoeuvring her mighty frame between people, furniture and the intricacies of navigating through the house were doable but not preferred. She glanced up at the balcony outside of her room. Taking a few steps back, all the while never taking her eye off of her balcony, she gave a mighty leap. There was a soft thump as she connected with the edge of the balcony but powerful front legs heaved her over the banister. Back on all fours, she walked towards the closed window. Vincent closed one eye as he waited for the crash and the shattering of glass. Instead, without breaking her stride, the solid form of the bear simply dissipated as her spirit slipped back into Tess.

Vincent had been a spectator to this event many, many times, but still he expected that one day Tess would forget to transform from the muscle, sinew and bone of her alter ego and calmly smash through the wall. Maybe this was due to the bear's impressive character? Or maybe, and more likely, it was due to Tess's determined, no nonsense style.

In sharp contrast to the muscle bound lumbering of the bear, Tess skipped towards Vincent wearing the same huge and welcoming smile as her sister. "Top man, Vincent! Thanks for keeping me safe buddy," she said, as her fist nuzzled against the side of his face. Vincent tilted his head back and looked up into her eyes, the look said without words that he wouldn't have it any other way.

Downstairs, the four ladies sat at the dining table, savouring their coffee whilst helping themselves from the large tin of shortbread biscuits that Eilydh never travelled without. Upstairs, one rather small but incredibly brave soldier stood resolutely to attention. He wasn't driven so much by old-fashioned values or rigid discipline. The truth was that he absolutely dared not move. One misjudged movement, one inappropriate step for cat kind, could break the spell and transform the stairs into a cascading, whitish water torrent as his bladder gave out.

Not far from the villa, the loan timber wolf ambled across the hillside. Wolves as a rule didn't harbour feelings of injustice. They didn't feel that they had done the majority of the work and yet somehow been left out of the glory. They didn't feel that someone should have waited for them instead of rushing on ahead. Throughout their evolution, no wolf had ever suffered from feelings of being hard done by. But this one did.

A small yet noticeable whimper announced the wolf's arrival at the kitchen door. Slowly it made its way through the kitchen, into the hallway to the bottom of the stairs. The limp was a nice touch. With a look of resignation and fatigue, the wolf carefully placed one front paw onto the bottom tread of the stairs. There was a slight pause as she gathered her strength before she continued. The wolf ran up the rest of the stairs and at the top of the landing used one massive paw to swipe the cat out of her way.

The long, piercing howl stabbed through the air like a lightning bolt. Downstairs, all four ladies leapt up. There was a crash as one of the chairs fell to the floor and in a scene reminiscent of the first day of the annual sales, four middle aged ladies tried to pass through the same doorway at the same time. They were just in time to see a black cat race through the kitchen, leap the door sill and all but fly into the trees beyond the terrace.

Fizz's hands flew to her mouth. Tess and Ffion elbowed their way roughly through the door frame as they raced outside. Eilydh, brow furrowed, looked slowly from the terrace and back to the stairs. Fizz was shaking as Eilydh put her arm around her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her.

The two made their way slowly through the kitchen and stood inside the door to the terrace looking out. "It canny be that bad," said Eilydh reassuringly. "He wouldn't be able to move that quickly if it was bad." It was logical and Fizz felt that Eilydh must be right, but it's not easy to be logical when it's one of your own.

They could hear Tess and Ffion bustling through the undergrowth as they called for Vincent. Time seemed to stand still. Fizz reached out with her mind, expecting to feel pain and fear. There was quite a strong sensation of pain but also a sensation of overwhelming bliss. That didn't make sense. She looked at Eilydh as if her friend knew what was happening. Eilydh pushed out her bottom lip and shook her head slowly - it was a mystery. In the trees, and getting further away as they broadened their search, Tess and Ffion continued calling.

The movement to the left of the terrace caught Eilydh's attention. She elbowed Fizz and nodded her head in that direction. Walking casually back towards them was a black cat. It was Vincent, and he was walking proudly with just a hint of bandiness, looking for all the world as if he had just got laid.

Fizz stumbled onto the terrace, dropping to her knees to welcome him. Vincent didn't change his pace, he ambled up to her eventually and brushed the side of his face against her outstretched arm. He fully intended to carry on walking into the kitchen and get something to eat, he was starving. Fizz had other ideas. She stretched out and grabbed him with both hands, pulling him towards her so that she could inspect him. She couldn't see a mark on him, nothing. She made to pull him towards her for a hug but a soft outstretched paw braced against her chin in the universal language that said "do you mind, that's soppy".

Eilydh walked to the edge of the terrace and called out. "He's here!" There was no answer. "Tess, he's back," she shouted. "Ffion, you can come back now." "What?"

It was Tess's voice but it sounded miles away. Just how far had they gone? She called out again and Fizz called out afterwards. "It's ok Tess, he's come home!"

There was no reply, although they could hear bashing and crashing within the woods and guessed that the search and rescue party were on their way back. It was either that or Armageddon.

Vincent tucked into his food like a cat possessed and Eilydh and Fizz went back to the table. Fizz picked up Tess's chair and put it back in position. She took a mouthful of coffee and grimaced.

"Och, they'll be cold by now," said Eilydh, and she went into the kitchen to put the kettle on again. Fizz gathered the mugs and placed them on the draining board. She got fresh mugs from the cupboard as Tess and Ffion ran onto the terrace.

"How is he?" said a rather flushed Tess.  
"Eating," said Eilydh, nodding with her head in the direction of the slurping noise.  
"Is he okay?" said Tess, as she got her breath back.  
"Och, he's fine," Eilydh chuckled.  
"Aw, thank God for that then," said Ffion.

Tess followed Ffion through the doorway. She still didn't seem convinced that all was well as she looked down at Vincent, who was still feeding. "What was it then?"  
"I've no idea," said an equally confused Fizz.  
"It must have been something!" said Tess indignantly.  
"Och, away," said Eilydh. "Look at the wee laddie." Tess was never comfortable with unanswered questions but as Ffion pointed out, some things in life would always be a puzzle.

"I've got to be having another one of those biscuits," said Ffion, as she made her way back to the table. "I don't know about you, my lovelies, but I'm starving. What are we going to do about dinner then?"  
"I've already done it," said Tess.  
"Aw, there you are then."  
"I've just got to heat it up and do some rice," Tess added.

"That's lovely," confirmed Ffion. She had no idea what it was but she was a simple girl who enjoyed simple pleasures and therefore needed to ask no more.

Eilydh and Fizz came back into the room carrying the five coffees. "Where is Tab then?" enquired Ffion. Fizz just shrugged. "What is she doing then?"  
"No idea," said Fizz. Ffion pushed back her chair and went to the bottom of the stairs. "Tab where are you then?" she called. There was no answer but she could hear movement upstairs. It sounded as if it was coming from the bathroom. Ffion shrugged and went back to the table.

"When will we be having our dinner then?" Ffion asked no one in particular.  
"Usual time. About eight be alright?" said Tess, casually.  
"Oh, I think a bit earlier Tess, don't you?" said Fizz. "We are all pretty hungry."  
"Ok. Half seven then?" shrugged Tess. "Is that alright with everyone?"  
"What's the time now then?" said Ffion. Fizz looked at the clock on the wall behind Ffion. "About twenty to six."  
"Aw, there you are then," she said contentedly. "I best not be having too many biscuits then. Don't want to spoil my dinner, don't you." She smiled as she loaded her left hand with biscuits.

They heard a noise on the stairs. Fizz looked up. "Alright Tabatha? There's a coffee for you here."  
"Thanks," said Tabatha, sounding very subdued. "I'd have rather had a tea."

Fizz frowned and looked at Tess. Tess just shrugged.

"Is everything all right lass?" said Eilydh.  
"Yeah."  
"What's up, my lovely?" asked Ffion.  
"Nothing." They all looked at each other as Tabatha went into the kitchen. They heard some clanking as Tabatha put something into the waste bin noisily. There was a hiss followed by a low growling. Fizz got up frowning and went into the kitchen.

Eilydh was wrinkling her nose. "I don't think she's very well," she said.

"Oh my word!" squealed Fizz. "What on earth happened to you?"  
"It's all right," said Tabatha unconvincingly, and turned away.  
"Come here, let me see," Fizz insisted and turned Tabatha to face her. "Oh my God!"

The other ladies had come into the kitchen now, intrigued by the commotion. Ffion inhaled sharply. "Bloody hell's bells!" blurted Tess. "What happened?"

There were four very angry looking deep scratches going from just above Tabatha's right eye, across her nose and across her left cheek.

The bleeding had mainly stopped, apart from the tip of her nose where a blob of blood was growing and threatening to drip.

"What did that Tab?" said Ffion quietly. "Why didn't you say something?"

Tabatha turned and pulled away from Fizz's scrutiny. She seemed to find the attention unwelcome, which was unlike her. Eilydh, who was standing next to the bin, asked, "Is your tummy alright, dear? Are you not well?" Ffion shot Eilydh a questioning glance. It seemed a very strange question to ask. Fizz took hold of Tabatha's arm gently and led her to the dining table. "Let's clean you up shall we. I'll put something on that for you." The other three ladies parted as Fizz led a rather meek Tabatha out of the room. Calling back over her shoulder, she said, "Can someone make Tabatha a cup of tea, please."  
"Three sugars," added Tabatha.

Ffion turned the kettle on and reached for a clean mug, carefully stepping over a very bushy tailed Vincent. Tess wrinkled her nose and looked at Eilydh. "Hmm," agreed Eilydh, nodding to the bin. Tess lifted the lid on the waste bin, releasing a rather pungent aroma. There wasn't much in the bin, she had emptied it last night after dinner. All she could see was a pair of fluffy slippers. There was definitely a pong in there somewhere. "I'd better empty that," she said, pulling out the bin liner and tying the top with several knots.

"Oh dear!" said Ffion, pulling her head away.

"You seem to have disturbed something Tess, don't you?"

Eilydh and Ffion went back into the dining room, Ffion bringing in Tabatha's cup of tea. Fizz was standing next to the seated Tabatha, gently dabbing at the scratches. The stringent smell of antiseptic filled the room. Tabatha was making rather a lot of noise and pulling away from Fizz. "That does look nasty though, don't you?" empathised Ffion. She'd probably be making the same noises herself if it was her, she thought. Tess came back into the room carrying a bottle of wine. "Wine o'clock ladies?" she asked rhetorically.  
"Aw, God, yes Tess. I think we all need one, don't you," enthused Ffion  
"I'll not be saying no," added Eilydh.  
"Can you get the glasses Fi?" said Tess, and gestured to the glass cabinet.  
"Is there anything I can do to help with dinner?" said Eilydh.  
"No thanks," said Tess.

Fizz turned to her sister. "The bread?"  
"Bugger!" said Tess, and she looked up at the clock. Still holding the bottle of wine, with the corkscrew sticking out from the top, she ran into the kitchen and something clicked. "Bread machine," she said, in answer to Eilydh's raised eyebrows. "I hope it's in time."  
"Och, well. It either will be or it will nay," she added philosophically.

During dinner they discussed the day. Eilydh, who sat opposite Tabatha, couldn't help but keep glancing at the plaster that covered Tabatha's nose. Like a thick lone hair sticking out on the cheek of an elderly female relative, it was strangely compelling. Towards the end of their meal, Eilydh motioned to Tabatha's cheek and the angry scratches that blazed dark red beneath the newly forming scabs. "Those scratches match the ones on your leg, don't they?" Tabatha's whole face turned the colour of a ripe tomato. "What do you mean?" she blustered.  
"No Lassie, I didn't mean anything, I was just saying." Very few people that knew Eilydh would have believed that. Tabatha glanced from one to the other. "I was just thinking how unlucky you've been," said Eilydh, generously.  
"It's not luck!" exclaimed Tabatha, quietly. Tess, who was sitting next to Eilydh, was starting to think that she understood Eilydh's comment. She gestured at Tabatha with her fork. "What would you call it Tabatha?"

Tabatha snorted. "It's not bloody luck!" Tess was convinced now that she was on the same wavelength as Eilydh and she was not going to let Tabatha off the hook that easily. "Go on."  
"It bloody hurts, if you must know. I'll probably be scarred for life."  
"Physical scars are always easier to bear then mental ones, don't you agree?" said Eilydh. Both Ffion and Fizz had stopped eating now and they were watching with interest.

"Can I have some more wine please?" Tabatha all but demanded, as she greedily downed what was in her glass.

Tess poured for her without saying a word.

"Was it a gorse bush? Gorse can be terribly nasty," said Eilydh.

Tabatha's eyes darted from face to face. Caught on the hop like this she was desperately considering whether to agree or not. It was like a game of chess where you had to think many moves ahead of your current one. Tabatha hated chess.

Whilst her sister and Eilydh were happy to prolong Tabatha's misery and patiently wait until the hook was in place before reeling her in, Fizz could feel the blood boiling in her veins. "Did Vincent do that?"

Tabatha gave a nervous laugh. "Ha ha, how could he, we've been out all day."  
"That was why he ran outside, wasn't it?" Fizz accused bluntly.  
"How do I know why he ran outside?"  
"What did you do to him, Tabatha?" Her voice was strong and calm but beneath the table Fizz's hands were balled into tight fists, so tight that her fingernails were digging into her palm. Her legs were shaking.

"What did I do to him? What about what that little shit did to me! Look at me!"

Ffion slammed her fork noisily onto her near empty plate. "Aw, Tabatha. I don't believe it. How could you?"  
"Oh, that's right, take his side why don't you! You don't know the half of it."

Eilydh was slowly shaking her head. Tess's hands rested on the edge of the table, the white knuckles of her fists testament to her passion.

"He's a cat!" exploded Ffion. "What could he possibly do to you, eh?"  
"Who ripped my legs to shreds yesterday?" she said, pushing back her chair and lifting a leg. "He didn't do that to any of you. He was fine with you."  
"Aw no, come on! You were teasing him."  
"What!" Tabatha blurted. "And that makes it right, does it?!"  
"It does in my book," said Tess coldly.

Fizz, who had been silent throughout most of this interchange, had been trying to understand what had happened. "It was when you came in, wasn't it? When you were on all fours. What did you do? Snap at him? Try to bite him? Try to show your superior power with those huge fangs?!"  
"No, no, of course not. What do you think I am, some kind of monster?" She looked around the room at each of them in turn. Eilydh was twisting the stem of her glass, watching it intently. Tess lifted the bottle and offered to top it up for her. Ffion looked as if she might jump up and punch Tabatha on the nose. "He was in the way. Alright!? I just swiped at him. Pushed him out of the way. That's all."  
Fizz suddenly burst out laughing. Everyone stared at her. Fizz knew Vincent, she also knew Tabitha. She had formed an image in her mind of what had probably happened. "I can picture it," she said as she laughed. "You, in the form of the huge and powerful wolf, swatting him aside just because you can. Teaching him a lesson for scratching your legs yesterday."  
"That wasn't it! The little bastard shit in my slipper. I didn't realise until this morning when I got up quickly and stuffed my feet into them. I couldn't do anything about it, we had to go. All day long, all I could feel was poo oozing between my toes. It was disgusting. It's ruined my slippers. I've had to throw them away." Tess raised her eyebrows and nodded. There was no such thing as a puzzle for life after all.

In an effort to keep herself busy, Ffion collected the plates and took them into the kitchen. She went to the bin to scrape the waste into it. She wanted the food scraps to cover Tabatha slippers but they weren't there. She opened the dishwasher and found that it was empty. She loaded it noisily, slamming the door shut with what can only be described as a butt-swipe.

Tess came into the kitchen with the empty wine bottle.

"Where is he now then, the little man?" said Ffion, still angry.  
"He's fast asleep on Fizz's bed."  
"Aww."

"Don't worry about Vincent," Tess assured her. "I've never known anyone to be able to get one over on him."  
"Aw, bless his little heart, don't you," Ffion smiled.

"Apparently, he took umbrage that some stupid, lumbering wolf could take a swipe at him. He did what any agile cat would do when faced with a long meaty nose in front of him." Ffion burst out laughing. "Aw, he did that alright."  
"Did you know that he was busting for a wee?"  
"Yes I did. The poor little soldier's eyes were almost crossed but he wouldn't give in."  
"Oh no. Vincent would never give in. Tabatha would do well to learn that, and quickly!"  
"That must be why he raced outside. To have a wee. He wasn't the one in pain, was he!" The laughter was hearty and genuine.

In the kitchen they busied themselves with preparations for tomorrow. Ffion was happy to help and under Tess's guidance she cleaned the bread maker and loaded it with ingredients. Tess lifted a huge square dish from the freezer and placed it in the cold oven to defrost naturally. Ffion looked at the contents eagerly. Poking out from what must be some sort of stock were all sorts of vegetables, with large pieces of pale meat protruding here and there between plenty of tomatoes. "Pork chops?" she asked, trying to identify the meat.  
"Yep, just need to add some cream when it is cooked."  
"They look massive Tess," said Ffion appreciatively.  
Tess chuckled. "They are a bit, aren't they. I reckon we'll be hungry." It didn't look particularly appetising in its current state but Ffion was sure that by dinnertime tomorrow it would taste divine. "Lush!"

Back in the lounge they had been discussing what to do tomorrow. It seemed to be a thankless task and they didn't appear to be making any headway. None of them relished another day like today, especially if it ended with the same real lack of results. "Something's been bothering me all day," Eilydh noted. "One of the nasties got a bit close to the villa. Vincent alerted me to the fact that it was moving within the trees, so I went down to deal with it. I couldn't get a grip on it, it just seemed to tear. It dissolved like mist into the ground. The odd thing was that where it had been became vibrant and colourful." The room fell silent as they each thought back through the day.

Fizz was nodding slowly. Eilydh took this to mean that Fizz knew what it meant. She looked at Fizz for an explanation. Fizz just sat there, deep in thought.

"Do you know what it is then?"

"No. I haven't a clue. It happened to me a few times though. Not every time," she added hastily. Tess and Tabatha looked on, puzzled. Ffion wasn't taking much notice, as with her scorched earth policy, there would be little to see.

"I don't know if that really matters," said Tess, as she thought it through. "What I don't understand is why there are so many of them."  
"And where they're coming from, don't you," added Ffion. Tess thought for a moment and then asked, "What did it look like from above? Could you see any sort of source point?" She looked between Eilydh and Ffion. Ffion blew out her cheeks and raised her eyebrows. "Naw. Not really." Eilydh was just shaking her head slowly.

The silence went on for a while. No one seemed to have any suggestions as to why some smothering was putting colour back into the ground whilst others didn't. As to the source, it was only really Eilydh and Ffion who had that aerial viewpoint.

Tabatha spoke at last. She was a bit hesitant and seemed to be unsure of whether to voice her thoughts or not. The last thing she wanted tonight was anymore ridicule. "I can't be sure," she started, and then fell silent again. "When I was scouting over to the..." She looked around the room as if trying to gather her bearings. "To the east?" At the risk of having got the geography and direction all wrong, she pointed. Tess nodded. Galvanised by the unspoken confirmation, Tabatha went on. "I can't remember exactly where, it was quite a way along the hillside, but there was an area where it all seemed to be, I don't know, thicker, I suppose."

Nobody had any more than a vague idea of the area that she was referring to and so they concentrated on the meaning of "thicker". Tabatha described how despite attacks and lunges, the smothering didn't just come back as much as the gap was instantly filled. It seemed to be filled by twice as much as she dispatched. She didn't know whether any of her attacks had resulted in an increase in colour to the ground, but that would be hard to tell as the smothering was replaced so quickly. Also that level of delicacy and awareness weren't usually attributed to either Tabatha or Tess. Along with Ffion, they were considered as the big guns. the ones that smashed their way through obstacles with the most impact. Tess looked at Eilydh.

Eilydh just shrugged. "Canna say that any mass stood out more than any other," she offered. Tess looked down at her forearm as Fizz laid her hand on it gently. She looked up at Fizz's face. "Could I have a brandy, do you think?" Tess glanced up at the clock.  
"Ha ha, is it too close to her bedtime?" laughed Tabatha.

"We've all got an early start in the morning," Tess advised.  
"Oh," said Tabatha quietly, feeling mildly chastised.

Tess glanced quickly around the faces.  
"Would you have a wee dram?" said Eilydh. "There's a bottle upstairs, if not."

Tess just smiled warmly and gave a short nod.

"I'll just go to the loo," said Tabatha, and she got up and headed for the stairs.

Tess followed her on her way to the kitchen. She grabbed Tabatha's arm lightly as Tabatha started on the stairs. "There's a little man upstairs who's going to be getting us all up at sunrise."

Tabatha's eyes dropped.

"And," Tess emphasised, "is wholly responsible for looking after each of our physical bodies, whilst we are out. You might want to remember that." To her credit Tabatha said nothing. As Tess released her hold, Tabatha just turned slowly and went up the stairs.

Chapter Fifteen

Tommy could see that he dare not open the driver's door. The man inside, hopefully Ivan, was so slumped against it that it would have been impossible not to fall out as soon as the door was opened. He leaned back and looked at the car. It had four doors. He motioned to Elizabeth to go around the car and in through the front passenger door. Tommy grabbed the handle of the rear door directly behind the driver. It opened. Before doing anything else he looked over at Elizabeth. She'd had the same success and had opened the passenger door wide.

Tommy clambered into the back seat. He didn't really know why he had chosen to do this as from here there was nothing he could do. Elizabeth climbed across the passenger seat on her knees. She looked nervously at the man - he didn't look well. She wasn't really sure what to do next. Using the back of her fingers, she gently laid them on his cheek where there was less blood. His skin was cool, not cold, whatever that meant. She felt a little bit silly and rather naive for not knowing what she was doing. The fact that his skin was cool but not cold could mean that he was still alive but very weak, or could mean that he had only recently died.

"Ivan," she called quietly. Nothing. "Ivan," she repeated, this time rocking his shoulder gently. There was a faint grunt. As vital signs went, it didn't actually tell her all that much but it did answer the major question. He was alive. Feeling a little bit redundant in the back seat, Tommy lent over the top of the driver's seat and suggested, "What's his pulse like?" Elizabeth followed the line of Ivan's arm, looking for his wrist. His hand, or at least the one that she could see, was buried inside his jacket. "On his neck," prompted Tommy.

Elizabeth bent awkwardly and placed the tips of her fingers against the side of his neck. She couldn't feel anything. "Am I in the right place?" she asked, feeling rather inadequate.  
"I don't know," said Tommy. "Push a bit harder." Elizabeth stared at him. It didn't sound much like valuable medical advice but she was being ever so gentle, maybe that wasn't enough to find a pulse. She swallowed and repositioned so that more of her fingers were laying on the side of his neck. That way, she figured, she had a better chance of feeling anything. "Anything?" asked Tommy, almost as soon as she had touched Ivan. "Sshhh!" she admonished.

Tommy raised his eyebrows. He couldn't understand how silence could help you feel something.

Elizabeth was staring at nothing, her mouth partly open. After what seemed like a very long time to Tommy, she started to smile. Tommy looked at her inquisitively. "Yeah, he's got a pulse," she enthused. She felt quite proud of herself.

"Is it strong? Or weak?" asked Tommy, ramping up the pressure. The smile immediately dropped from Elizabeth's face. She concentrated hard. What did a strong pulse feel like? It wasn't something that Elizabeth had ever been asked, or asked herself. She closed her eyes in concentration, desperate to gleam any information from the side of this poor man's neck.

"How many beats?" Tommy asked impatiently.  
"Do you want a go?" Elizabeth snapped. It was actually a valid question she thought, and tried to count. It was actually quite easy to count the pulse. But Elizabeth soon realised that without a watch, all she would have would be a number. It could be 72 but it could just as easily be 72 in 30 seconds as it could be 72 in two minutes. It was no good. Elizabeth decided to defer to her colleague. "Wadup, wadup, wadup, wadup," she mirrored. Tommy looked at her for a moment. He had no idea how many that was, or even what they should expect to find, but it didn't sound bad. Not really bad...

Having established that he was alive, Elizabeth decided to change the direction of her investigation. He had a pulse. He was breathing. She hadn't actually checked that bit but logically you can't maintain a pulse without breathing, she figured. They needed to assess his injuries. The blood on his face and head was old and dried. From this position that was all that they could ascertain. They needed to move him.

"Can you hold him up whilst I open the driver's door?" asked Tommy.

Elizabeth was about to ask what good that would do but conceded that at least they would find out whether he still had a right arm or not. Elizabeth grabbed at the man's lapels and she tried to slide him into a more upright position. If she had needed any further proof of her original diagnosis, she got it now. The man cried out in pain. His left hand came out of his jacket and he clawed at Elizabeth to stop her. Tommy scrambled out and opened the driver's door. The man was holding his eyes tightly shut and his hand slipped back inside his jacket. He was trying to take a succession of shallow breaths but each one seemed to hurt him more.

Tommy knelt down with his knees on the sill of the car door and used his hands against the man's shoulder to prop him up.

Elizabeth blew out her cheeks. "Well, at least he's awake, I suppose," she said sheepishly.

Tommy decided to press the advantage. "Hello Ivan. Are you Ivan? I'm Tommy, we spoke on the phone." The man didn't react. It seemed to be all that he could do to control his breathing. Tommy continued. "We spoke on the phone," he said, as he mimed a telephone with his finger and thumb. It was an automatic action that was wasted on the man. His eyes were still squeezed tightly shut.

Elizabeth looked at Tommy. She was worried, this was serious. "We need to get into a hospital."

The man jerked, causing him to again cry out in pain. "No, no," he protested.  
"She's right buddy," agreed Tommy. "You need to be seen by a doctor."  
"No, no hospital," the man spluttered. Tommy and Elizabeth exchanged glances and she shrugged. "We can't leave him here," she half whispered. "We don't have a choice." Tommy nodded irritably. His mind was racing with thoughts of what to do for the best. Their combined medical expertise would be barely enough to apply a sticking plaster.

"Ivan? Are you Ivan?" Tommy felt that the first thing that they needed to do was to establish his identity.

The man's breathing seemed to be easing. "Ivan," he said. "Yes, Ivan."

"Is that you? Are you Ivan? We spoke on the phone, it's Tommy, you remember?"  
"I dunno," said the man, frowning slightly.  
"That's got to be him!" said Elizabeth, and Tommy could find no argument with that.

As conversation was now flowing freely, Tommy decided to ask further questions. "Ivan, where do you hurt?" There was silence for a moment but the man's frown suggested that he was trying to process the question. "Here." Tommy looked down at the man's body quickly to see if he had missed any indication that Ivan had made. He wrinkled his nose in puzzlement and looked at Elizabeth. She just shrugged.

"Ivan, do you hurt?" Tommy hadn't consciously thought about that question but now that he had asked it, it seemed like the right thing to do, it would show whether the man understood "hurt".

"I hurt."  
"Good!" said Tommy, excitedly. "No, sorry, I didn't mean that. Of course it's not good. I mean," Tommy stopped. The knowledge that all he had just done was add confusion rang in his own ears. He needed to start again.

"Ivan, are you hurt"  
"I hurt."

Tommy smiled at Elizabeth. "Where do you hurt?"  
"Here."

Tommy slumped back on his haunches. This was getting them nowhere  
"We've got to get him to hospital," whispered Elizabeth, and Tommy knew that she was right.  
"No, no hospital." Ivan was getting agitated again.  
"Why?!"

Ivan took a slow painful breath before answering in measured, clipped tones, as if the reasons were obvious. "Ill, Eagle."

Tommy's mouth just dropped. He had always thought of himself as reasonably intelligent, sadly not multilingual, but smart enough. It seemed that re-evaluation was necessary. He looked up at Elizabeth. She was smart. He knew that for a fact. Intelligent and quick. That's why she was the manager of course. She didn't look any smarter than him right now. She was being more decisive than him and that, he reasoned, was the sign of a manager. She held her mobile phone in front of her and was preparing to dial. "I don't care what he says," she said defiantly. "I'm calling an ambulance."

Ivan's right arm flew out at Elizabeth. He screamed in pain and his left hand clutched at his chest and then at his right arm. Despite what must be pretty horrific injuries, Ivan was faster than both of them. It was obviously causing him an incredible amount of pain but Ivan's hand was curled around Elizabeth's wrist in a vice like grip. "No, no hospital. Ill, Eagle!" Tommy tried gently to pull Ivan back into the seat but Ivan did not release his grip on Elizabeth's arm.

"He's hurting me!" cried Elizabeth.  
"Ivan, you're hurting her, let go."  
"No, hospital," Ivan coughed, but he did let go of Elizabeth's arm.

Tommy's expression became stern. "Look, your health is more important than any bloody bird, don't you get it? You could... whoa, whoa. I get it."

Tommy screwed his face uptight. "You're in the country illegally, aren't you?"  
"Ill, Eagle," Ivan repeated, and nodded slowly. Elizabeth made a little noise, as if she was about to laugh, but had stopped when she realised that she and Tommy were the punch line.  
"Bloody hell! So, what do we do now?" Tommy's question was more for himself than anyone else and it was a difficult one to answer. The three of them remained silent and still, looking like some strange modern art exhibit.

Elizabeth looked down at her phone. "I could see if I can get him an appointment at my GP," she tried. She wasn't really sure what the difference was between her doctor's surgery and the hospital but Ivan hadn't reacted, so maybe it was worth a try. Ivan probably didn't understand what a GP was, she thought. Should she tell him and risk the same response? She decided not to. At the end of the day he obviously needed medical attention and if this little omission achieved that, then it had to be done.

"How do we get him there?" Tommy asked. Obviously he could drive Ivan there, that wasn't a question, but could they get Ivan from his car and into Tommy's without killing the man? "Ivan, we are going to take you to a GP." He paused, waiting for a reaction. When none came he moved on. "Can we get you into my car?"

Ivan looked at Tommy. "I dunno," he answered, and gave the slightest shrug of his shoulders.

Elizabeth frowned.  
"I think that was different," said Tommy.  
"How!"  
"I think he understands. I just don't think he knows if he can manage it."

Ivan looked at them. "Sorry," he said.

It took more than 20 minutes to get Ivan into the back seat of Tommy's car. In the end they had had to get Ivan out of the car and Tommy had to almost carry him. The problem was made much harder as they could not touch any part of Ivan's right side without him screaming in agony and collapsing, but he was in there now, upright and with the seat belt on. Elizabeth climbed in next to him to support him. She insisted that they lock-up Ivan's car and bring the key.

Tommy pulled away from the car park, driving as carefully as he could. They turned onto the main road in the direction of home. "You'd better call the GP then," said Tommy. "They'll see him without an appointment, will they?"

"I suppose so. They're doctors aren't they?" Elizabeth fully believed that appointment or not, Ivan would not be turned away without treatment, but she called the surgery nonetheless. After all they were more likely to be amenable if she was upfront and honest with them. She held the phone to her ear for a long time. Tommy looked up into the rear view mirror and into her eyes. "It's ringing," she said. She waited. Again, Tommy looked into his mirror at her. "It's still ringing," she said. "They must be busy."

When the call was answered it took Elizabeth by surprise. She had gotten used to the rhythm of the ringing. Fortunately the hypnotic repetition had lulled her into a bit of a trance so she had no idea how many times it had rung.

"Hello," said a voice so flat that Elizabeth wondered if she'd got a crossed line with someone calling the Samaritans.

"Oh, hello," she stammered. "Umm, I am a patient at your surgery and-". It was as far as she got.  
"You have appointment?"  
"Well, no. That's the thing, you see, this is an emergency, I need to see the doctor today, right now."  
The receptionist snorted. "Fully booked."  
"I, um, I know this is short notice but this really is an emergency."  
"You must make appointment."

Elizabeth pulled the phone away from her face for a moment. "Ok, may I make an appointment now, please?"  
"Name."  
"Elizabeth. Elizabeth Watson."  
"Date of birth."  
"The 16th of... wait, it's not actually for me, you see." There was no response at the other end of the line, it was silent. "Hello. Are you there?"  
"You wish to make appointment."  
"Yes, yes please, but it has to be for today."  
"Next appointment is...." There was a slight pause. "... Three weeks."  
"Is there no way that the doctor can see Ivan today? He really is not well."  
"Who's Ivan?"  
"He's my..." It was becoming obvious that Elizabeth would have to lie. She looked at Ivan. He was older than her but not old enough to be her dad. He was too old to be a boyfriend. He could be her brother, she thought. No, that wouldn't work. He could hardly speak a word of English and the only Russian that she knew was vodka. Her mind raced through all the alternatives. Cousin, uncle, pen pal? "Sorry, he's my... my fiancé," she blurted.

She looked up into the mirror. Tommy was looking back at her with very wide eyes and he was mouthing the word "fiancé?" silently. She shrugged and shook her head. Lifting up her hands as if to say "what could I do"? She went back to the call. "Sorry, would it be okay to bring him in to the doctor's now? We're on our way," she added, that last bit to push the point. It was true and it might help.

"You must have appointment."

Where did they get these people from, she wondered. "But, it is an emergency."  
"Go to hospital."  
"But he's bleeding, badly." Ok, she thought, that was an exaggeration, a simple honest mistake, mixing the past tense with the present.  
"Go to hospital."  
"It's too far away," she pleaded. She was quite impressed with herself at this. "He might not make it, the surgery is nearer."  
"No appointment, no see doctor. Go to hospital."  
"What if he dies!?" Elizabeth shouted down the phone.  
"Oh well. Go to hospital." Elizabeth was incandescent with rage. They were doctors for God's sake! Didn't they swear an oath to protect life at all cost or something? "I want to speak to your manager," she demanded. "Your supervisor or... or the doctor himself. I want to speak to them now. This is an absolute outrage. You call yourself medical professionals, hah! You're no better than cold blooded murderers! I'll be writing to the press about this. This will be all over social media, local radio, TV and obviously my MP!" The line was dead. Elizabeth had no idea how long it had been dead, but it was definitely dead.

She clenched her fists and screamed in frustration. It took a good couple of minutes to compose herself, after some seriously angry looking out of the side window, some incoherent mumbling and a slap against the door. When she calmed down a bit she looked up into the mirror. Tommy had been silent throughout all this, choosing to focus on his driving instead. "How'd you get on?" he asked, without expression.

"Grrr! I can't believe it, they won't see us without an appointment! I don't believe it! They've not heard the last of this, I can tell you." She glared back up into the mirror, realisation dawning on her that Tommy knew all this. "Tommy!" she shouted, and brought her fist down hard on the top of his seat.

Tommy thought he'd give that a couple of minutes before he went back in. Eventually he had to ask, they couldn't just drive around all day. "So, what do we do now?" Elizabeth had been mentally fighting with herself for the last few minutes - trying to balance Ivan's needs with his wishes. Not wishing to aggravate or upset him, but there was no other alternative. "We'll have to take him to hospital, we'll have to."  
"No, no hospital. I be deported. No hospital." Ivan was fumbling for the door handle.  
"Shit! No!" Tommy anxiously glanced at the traffic around him. They were doing 70 miles an hour in the outside lane on a dual carriageway. There was nowhere Tommy could go. He couldn't just jump on the brakes. He couldn't even change lanes at the moment, the traffic was too dense. "Elizabeth! Stop him!" he shouted.

Elizabeth was trying to lean over Ivan, to peel his fingers away from the door handle, but she was hampered by her seat belt. She punched at the release and as the belt started to reel in across her body she lunged across.

In many ways it would have been too late, as before she could reach his hand he had yanked the handle towards him. The door didn't open. It did have an impact on Ivan though, as when Elizabeth lent heavily on his right side, he blacked out.

Tommy drove straight to the ambulance bay at the hospital. He shouldn't have done, as the space was reserved for ambulances. But he figured that today he qualified and besides, this was a point where he knew that he could get a doctor or nurse's attention and a trolley. Elizabeth had managed to check on Ivan after she had crushed him. He was breathing, he did have a pulse and in a way it wasn't altogether a bad thing that he was unconscious.

The examinations showed that Ivan was in a worse way than either of them had expected. He had no less than five broken ribs, a collapsed lung and a broken leg. His right shoulder had been dislocated and there was some soft tissue damage to his upper arm. Further tests revealed damage to his spleen that had required its removal. The cut to his head, although quite a nasty one requiring 17 stitches, was largely superficial. The wait whilst he was being treated would be a long one, they were advised.

They had considered leaving him there and going home, but had decided that it was not fair on Ivan to wake up in a strange place without a friendly face. With his poor English, they would also be needed to keep him out of trouble. To weave some sort of cover story so that he didn't get deported. Critically, he was the only link to Harriet and they had to be able to talk to him to find out what had happened to them both and why he had left her. Where was she now?

Tommy gave Elizabeth the keys to his car, together with very strict instructions to drive carefully. She thought that that was a bit rich coming from him, but she understood the link between boys and their toys and decided to keep quiet. Elizabeth was going to go home and change, and most importantly, bring him back a chilli cheeseburger, with fries and onion rings. There was no way that he was going to pay these ridiculous prices for a hospital sandwich. The name alone meant that he'd never be able to eat it. "Hospital" and "sandwich"? Those two words just did not go together, ever.

When Elizabeth got back, and he could not believe what had taken her so long, Tommy pounced on the burger. To him it was a true lifesaver. Elizabeth advised Tommy that after washing and changing at home, she had phoned the hospital near the harbour. She couldn't find any others nearby, and no, Harriet had not been admitted. They couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or not.

After what seemed like hours, but in reality was actually just hours, the doctor came to see them. At this point Tommy had eaten the onion rings, the fries and half of his burger. The doctor told him that he could not eat here. In a quite superhuman effort, judging by the look of astonishment on Elizabeth's face, Tommy managed to squeeze the remainder of the burger into his mouth in one go. He was delighted to be out to prove the doctor wrong and to educate the man. The doctor seemed particularly unimpressed and Tommy put this down to the fact that the man had probably been working extended hours.

He assured them that Ivan's injuries were no longer life-threatening and that hopefully he may be able to go home within a few days. He told them that Ivan had surgery to remove his spleen, which had been the cause of his internal bleeding. Had they brought him in an hour or two later, it would probably have been a different outcome. The internal bleeding had been a serious concern. Ivan's vital signs were now stable. They had also inserted a metal plate in his broken leg, and he was currently heavily sedated and on morphine for the pain. Yes, they would be able to speak to him soon but warned that it would not be for long and that Ivan might not make much sense. Now, it was probably fortunate at this point that Tommy was still trying to masticate a mouthful of burger. A nurse would be along to see them shortly, he explained, to take down some of the patient's personal details. The doctor wanted to know how Ivan had come by his injuries. Fortunately, Tommy had had some time to think about this and managed to come up with some convincing fiction.

Elizabeth sat on the chair next to Ivan's bed. Tommy stood beside her - he'd had enough of sitting down. In the pale glow of the dimmed overhead lights Ivan looked peaceful. He had a large white bandage on his head that made him look like he belonged at a kiddie's dressing up party. His face had been cleaned of all the dried blood and he actually looked quite serene. He was stripped to the waist and his right arm, heavily bandaged from shoulder to wrist, was resting on top of the bed covers. Snaking into his left hand was a tube that led up to a bag on a drip stand.

The two were speaking in hushed tones as they discussed his injuries and wondered when he would be able to leave. Judging by the look of him now, they didn't think that it would be soon. Elizabeth lent closer to Ivan, and speaking quietly she asked, "Ivan, can you hear me?" His eyelids flickered in acknowledgement. Slowly his lips parted and a croaky voice said, "Da." Elizabeth frowned and looked at Tommy.

"It's Russian for yes," he told her.

She turned back to Ivan. "Do you remember what happened?"  
"Sleep now," Ivan croaked, as if dismissing her.

Again, she turned to Tommy.

"I really don't think we're going to get much out of him tonight," said Tommy quietly.

Whilst Tommy had somehow resigned himself to waiting, Elizabeth was more anxious and frustrated. She was desperate to find out where Harriet was, and equally importantly, how she was. She understood that Ivan was sedated and drugged, but after a long, fraught and emotionally draining day she just wanted some little fragment of information that she could take away. "Ivan, you know who I am? Do you remember Tommy?"

Ivan's croaked response was so weak as to be almost inaudible. "No hospital."  
"No hospital?" said Elizabeth to Tommy, unsure that was what she had heard.

Tommy just nodded.  
"It's not going to do any good Elizabeth. Let's leave it for now. We can come back tomorrow. He'll be able to tell us more tomorrow."

Conflicting emotions danced across Elizabeth's face. She knew that Tommy was right but she was desperate for something, any little thing. "He's going to freak tomorrow," said Elizabeth, as she considered what Ivan's reactions would be when he woke. By then the morphine would have worn off, or the dosage reduced, and he was bound to realise where he was. She was frightened of what he might do. He was unlikely to flee, he wouldn't get very far in that state, but any unguarded comments that he made to nurses or doctors could easily alert them to the fact that he was in the country illegally. Tommy's description of how Ivan had come by these injuries had seemed to convince the doctor quite easily, but if Ivan started to give a different story a suspicious doctor might feel compelled to alert the police. She shuddered.

Tommy was obviously thinking the same thoughts. In fact, Tommy's mind had raced ahead, picturing Ivan being deported and how they would never see him again.

Whilst they were both independently trying to develop a plan to forestall such events, a nurse was walking briskly over to them carrying a bundle of clothes and some papers. "Hello," she said cheerily. "These are Mr Alexandrepov's things." She lifted the bundle of clothes and footwear and then placed them at the foot of the bed. "This fell out of his jacket," she said. "I think it's best if you look after them." She handed Tommy a passport, a small wallet and a separate pile of banknotes.

Tommy's eyes expressed astonishment but his hand reached out to take the items. It would be expected of him, he thought. "We can keep them for him, if you'd rather. We can put them in a locked drawer but a few people would have a key to the draw. I think it's best if you keep hold of them for him."  
"Ok. Yeah sure," Tommy answered mechanically. The passport had obviously provided Ivan's full name and his date of birth, two very important things that Tommy had thought that he would be forced to fabricate and then pray that they didn't ask Ivan. He felt a surge of relief. The nurse pointed to Ivan's clothes. "You might want to take his clothes with you as well. I'm sure he'd appreciate a change of clothes for when he leaves."

"Yeah, of course," Tommy nodded, and reached for the bundle. "No problem."  
"I just need a little bit more information," she said, waving the paperwork in her hand. Tommy swallowed hard as he tried to think what else they would need. His mouth felt suddenly too dry to speak so he nodded.

"Would you mind if we did that over at my desk?" the nurse asked, pointing with a handful of paperwork to a distant desk with a tall table lamp on it. "I think your friend needs to rest now," she added, showing that the request was also an instruction.

Tommy picked up the bundle of clothes and he and Elizabeth followed the nurse to her desk. "Right," she said, examining the paperwork, looking for the gaps that indicated the missing information. "What's his address?" Her pen was poised and she didn't look up, which was fortunate, as Elizabeth looked as if she had just been told that her great grandmother had been arrested for prostitution. "Address?" repeated the nurse, this time looking up. Tommy quickly gave his own. Ready to add that Ivan had been staying with him, if he needed to. "Telephone number?" Again Tommy gave his own mobile number and made a mental note to practice a Russian sounding accent. "Next of kin?" Tommy looked as if his own great grandmother's reputation was also now in tatters. He shot a glance at Elizabeth.

"Um, me! He's my fiancé," said Elizabeth quickly, but at the same time as Tommy was saying. "That's his wife, in Russia." The nurse looked up slowly, first at Elizabeth and then at Tommy. "They're getting divorced," Tommy blurted, hoping that the nurse did not notice that his face was glowing brighter than her desk lamp.

The nurse hesitated, unsure of quite what to write. "Best if we put your name down," she said sagely to Elizabeth.  
"Um, yes," said Elizabeth, as she pulled her left hand from the desk and into her lap.  
"Name?"  
"Oh, sorry. Elizabeth Watson."  
"Who's his GP?"  
"He.... he doesn't have one," said Tommy, and then added, "He's not registered yet."  
"Thank you. That's lovely," said the nurse, as she shuffled the papers together.

She smiled warmly at them and put the papers to one side of her desk. "Now, do you have any questions for me?" They had lots but tried to focus on the obvious ones. Elizabeth went first. "When can he come home?"  
"We will have to see," said the nurse warmly. "He'll stay here for a few more days."

Elizabeth nodded and looked disappointed.

"Don't worry, we'll look after him for you. He is in the best place."

This had given Tommy a little more time to think. "What's the earliest we can come and see him tomorrow?"  
"Visiting hours are 2pm until 4pm and 6pm until 8:30pm."

Elizabeth's crestfallen look was real.

"The doctor will come and see him some time after 10 o'clock. I can give you a ring if you like. You can pop in any time," said the nurse in a confidential tone. "Family only though," she said pointedly at Tommy.  
"Thank you," said Elizabeth quietly.

The nurse made to get up, signalling that this little meeting was over. "Oh, contact number?" she said, suddenly remembering that she had promised to ring. Tommy and Elizabeth both started to quote their mobile numbers at the same time. Tommy quickly stopped as he realised that his number was the number that he had given as Ivan's. The nurse wasn't listening to him anyway, she was focused on Elizabeth.

Tommy drove Elizabeth home and they sat in the car outside her building as they discussed what to do next. Elizabeth had been holding the bundle of Ivan's clothes.

"We need to get him some clothing," she said, giving them a cursory inspection.  
"Yeah, at least this gives us an idea of his size," said Tommy, nodding towards the bundle. "I can get something tomorrow. What should we get?" Elizabeth looked at the clothing. "I don't know. A pair of jeans, maybe a sweatshirt, something like that. He'll need some underpants and socks and shoes, trainer's maybe. These aren't much good anymore." She indicated to the lightweight pair of boots. The sole of the right one was virtually hanging off. Tommy nodded. "What about his jacket?"

Elizabeth unfolded the jacket. It was very scuffed and had a long rip down one sleeve. "This one is only fit for the bin."  
"I'll use the money that he had. There's two hundred quid there."

Elizabeth shot him an icy glance. "You don't know what that money is for," she said sharply.

Tommy didn't say a word. "We'll go in tomorrow morning. Make sure he knows to keep quiet."  
"I'll have to go in tomorrow," Elizabeth corrected. "Family only."

Tommy didn't like the sound of that. So far he had had a better track record of communicating with Ivan. Elizabeth looked at him, frowning. She was obviously thinking the same thing. "I'm going in the morning, just to make sure, and you can go in the afternoon."  
"We can both go in the afternoon," said Tommy  
"What about the office? We can't both be out all the time. No. I'll go in the morning, quickly, and you can go in the afternoon and see what you can find out."

Tommy didn't argue with that. They still had a lot of work to do at the office and especially in Harriet's absence, they had a duty to keep on top of things. "You can get him some clothes at lunchtime, take them in for him in the afternoon," said Elizabeth.

"There's no rush."

Elizabeth looked at him.

"He won't be coming out for a couple of days.

"Hmm," she agreed. "Maybe you had better get a sweatshirt a size or two bigger. It's got to fit over those bandages, don't forget." Tommy blew out his cheeks. This was going from a relatively simple shopping trip into something else. He'd have to kiss goodbye to his lunch.

Elizabeth looked at the clock in the car. "Is that the right time?"  
"Yeah!" said Tommy, slightly offended at the thought that it wouldn't be. It was nearly half past eleven. It had been a long day and exhausting too.

Elizabeth opened the door and motioned to the clothes. "Should I leave these here?" she said, indicating the passenger seat.  
"Yeah, might as well," Tommy shrugged.  
"Ok. I'd better go. I'll get in early tomorrow to make sure that everything is ok."  
"I'm sure it will be. Anna's a good kid." Elizabeth smiled. She looked exhausted.

"See you tomorrow then," said Tommy, and he started the engine.

Chapter Sixteen

Angelique had heard the big motorbike pull up outside. Someone was banging on the front door. She wasn't going to answer it. Where was that stupid cow Sojka! The banging continued louder, more insistent. "SOJKA!" she screamed. There was no reply. Now the motorcycle rider was hammering on the door with his fist. It didn't sound as if he was going to go away. She peered out of the upstairs window. Damn! He had seen her. "I need a signature," he shouted, waving a parcel. It wasn't a very big parcel. It wasn't for her. He could get stuffed.

The motorcycle rider was banging on the door again. It sounded like he was trying to break the bloody thing down. Angelique could feel her blood boiling. This wasn't her problem. Why couldn't he just sod off. "SOJKA! DOOR!" she screeched. Angelique stomped out onto the landing. Apart from Angelique, the house was silent. The banging started again. It was rhythmic and prolong, with one heavy bang per second. Angelique ran to the upstairs window and threw it open.

Before she was able to offer her opinion on what he should do with the parcel, he shouted up at her instead. "Adamski? I need a signature."

Angelique slammed the window shut and stormed downstairs. If he wanted a new asshole that badly she'd rip one for him.

She threw open the front door as she took a deep breath. The motorcycle courier was about to experience the nearest thing to having his face sandblasted without sand. The breath hung in Angelique's chest, the scowl on her face fell away to nothing. The courier, probably because he was overheating, had removed his crash helmet. In the eyes of one of the most beautiful women in the world, and they should know, he was gorgeous.

His long dark hair cascaded to his shoulders. Chiselled features, carved from rich olive toned skin. High cheek bones and a jaw line that was sharp and angular beneath rugged stubble. Angelique took in his clear steel blue eyes and luxuriant eyelashes that gave his eyes a boyish charm. An aqualine nose pointed down to a full mouth that was more kissable than a baby's bottom. His warm open smile softened his rugged masculine visage and hinted at hedonistic mischief. Wrapped in black leather, his athletic frame promised strong muscular arms designed to sweep you up and carry you off into the night.

It was a 'Mills and Boon' moment. No word was spoken. They looked at each other across the wide expanse of the doormat. Their eyes met and each saw the burning desire within. Inch by inch, their eyes savoured the contours of each other's body.

It was the courier that spoke first, his deep voice dripping with musky overtones. "Angelique Adamski! I can't believe it. The most beautiful woman in the world, right here in front of me." A brief stab of anger flashed across Angelique's eyes but it was gone in a second. She thought she was. He thought she was. Youbook was obviously used by bitter and twisted mingers filled with jealousy!

"I need a signature for this," he said, as he held out the parcel.

Angelique teased open the top of her dressing gown and brushed her fingers through her hair. She took the parcel and signed for it without taking her eyes from his lips. Mesmerised by the chocolate rich huskiness of his voice, Angelique radiated a smile that few had ever seen. "I couldn't take a picture with you could I?" he asked. "For my Youbook profile?" he added, and fumbled in the pocket of his tight leather trousers to pull out his phone. Angelique held her breath as her eyes followed his hand. "But I look awful. You've caught me in my dressing gown," she cooed coyly. "You'd look good in a bin bag," he said throatily, and he meant it.

Angelique had to agree with him, but she didn't say so. Instead she moved in closer to him, laying her head against his chest and looking up into his eyes. Neither of them knew whether the little button on the phone had got stuck or whether he was suffering from an undiagnosed palsy. The reason didn't matter. He went home with 37 pictures of him with Angelique Adamski, and she, with a small cardboard box.

The pictures showed Angelique looking quite beautiful, in a homely, girl next door sort of way that she had never shown before, and she experienced a huge surge in loves. Whilst Harriet White's numbers had remained virtually static for the past few days, owing to no one having seen her, Angelique's popularity lifted her once again into the position of a contender.

Angelique took the little parcel back up to her bedroom. She gave the label a cursory glance, just in case it was a diamond encrusted necklace or a gem laden tiara, sent to her by a billionaire admirer. It wasn't. It was addressed to Ms Olga Adamski. It was from Russia apparently and according to the label, was to be delivered with full diplomatic privileges. Angelique grinned. Not the heart stopping happy grin of one of the most beautiful women in the world, but the other one. The malevolent grin.

What was mummy dear having delivered all the way from Russia? And since when had she been a diplomat? Angelique's fingers drummed on the top of the parcel as she considered. Grabbing her nail file she ripped the parcel open. She ripped out the inner packaging until she found a black velvet drawstring bag. She wrenched open the bag and tipped the contents onto the top of her dressing table. Diamonds! Lots of them!

The phone rang. Angelique looked at the display. She recognised the number as the doctor's surgery. Ahh, mummy dear. She grinned. She answered the phone in her sleepy, you've just woken me, voice. "Hi mummy. What time is it?" she yawned.  
"Darling. I am expecting delivery today."

No shit, thought Angelique.

"It is very important and you need to sign for it."  
"Can't Sojka do that?" Angelique purred. "I'm having a lie in."  
"I don't care who signs for it," said Olga flatly.  
"Ok, mummy. I hope I'm not in the bath when they come," said Angelique, sweetly and with extra sugar.

Angelique scooped up all the diamonds and put them back into the velvet bag. She popped the bag into her handbag. She might have to make a little trip to see a friendly jeweller, she mused. Mummy dear would have the delivery covered by insurance. Not the insurers that other people used. It would most likely be the insurance where the sender replaced the items lost in transit, or spent 24 hours watching the cement set on top of their relatives before they joined them. The courier company could hardly take a signature signed by 'Mickey Mouse' to court. Angelique smiled. Everyone was a winner.

This auspicious start to her day filled Angelique with a sense of enthusiasm that she had not had for a while. She reached for her phone. The little phone had no idea whether today was the day when it would meet with the wall of destiny. It wouldn't even have had a clue as to which wall. It was a machine - arguably the luckiest machine in the world, nonetheless. Angelique stabbed with her thumb at the icon to open Youbook. The little screen hung motionless for a second before showing that the most beautiful woman in the world, as voted for by the world, was Angelique Adamski!

It wouldn't have been possible to fit a larger smile on Angelique's face. She was back in her rightful position and the competition had less than a week to run. She was so happy that she would have been willing to hand over the bag full of diamonds. Right, she thought. Time for a quick bath and then off to the jewellers, before anyone made her do just that. Angelique had always prided herself on knowing her strengths and her challenges. She understood that she suffered from a weakness in terms of resolve. She needed to convert these diamonds into hard cash before anyone unscrupulous talked her into giving them back.

The days of perpetual pampering and unquestionable devotion were getting closer. It was proving to be very challenging indeed not to order a cab or a limo to take her into town. She had to be strong, she had to endure public transport for maximum exposure. It was an opportunity not for the fainthearted, to capitalize on her success. Angelique knew just how to capitalize.

She could hardly have had a nicer day. The genuine warmth of her smile drew people, flocking to her, eager to take her picture and to wish her well. She had done a little business with a very friendly jeweller. She had done a little shopping, naturally. She had breezed carefree through the busy streets, smiling and flirting with all she met. She had treated herself to a delightful alfresco lunch sitting in a prime location at an elegant terrace at the front of a renowned and revered Italian restaurant.

She had giggled girlishly as the Italian waiters fought each other to serve her. They spared nothing in their attentions. Pampering her and romancing her so that she truly felt like a princess, or as they poetically put it, "La Bella Contessa". All things considered, it was the best lunch that she could ever remember and boy could those Italians be romantic! Their desire to please and their exotic accents as they plied her in their beautiful language were enough to turn a young girl's head. She would never forget their parting gift. The phrase "it's on'a, da 'ouse" was something that she would always cherish.

Chapter Seventeen

"Good morning. Perfect Fit. My name's Elizabeth, how can I help you today?" It was a greeting so warm, cheerful and full of vitality that it made Harriet feel proud.

"Elizabeth, its Harriet."

"Oh my God, Harriet!" Elizabeth exploded. "I got your message this morning. Where are you? I called the number from the answer phone but all I got was some strange man who said that he couldn't talk to me now as he was driving. What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Elizabeth, Elizabeth it's ok, I'm all right."

"Oh God, we've been so worried. Where are you? What's going on?" Elizabeth sounded and felt like she had just had her second quadruple espresso with double extra shots. Harriet could feel the unhidden emotion. She was touched at the depth of her friend's concerns and couldn't help feeling a little guilty for not contacting Elizabeth sooner. "I'm ok Elizabeth. I'm sorry I couldn't let you know sooner. I'm with..." she hesitated. "...friends."

"What friends? Where? Where have you been? Harriet, what's going on?"  
"It's a long story," said Harriet. "I need you to get some things for me and send them to me."

"Send them to you? What do you mean? Aren't you coming home?" Harriet realised that at this rate, this telephone call would go on for a very long time. Her friend deserved an explanation but Harriet thought that it would only lead to many more questions. How could she tell the story without mentioning that she had been kidnapped, without mentioning Ivan? She didn't dare mention Ivan.

"I'll get to that in a minute," said Harriet. "How's everything at the office? Is everything under control? Is there anything you need from me?"

"Yes, yes the office is fine," Elizabeth said dismissively.  
"Any problems?"  
"Well to be honest, some of the work is piling up a bit. Tommy and I have been busy with, er, other things."

"What other things?"  
"Well, like trying to find what had happened to you, for a start."

Harriet felt the sting of that comment. Elizabeth hadn't said it as a jibe, it was just a statement of fact, but Harriet felt its impact nonetheless.

Harriet needed to explain the situation - well most of it - to Elizabeth but for her own peace of mind she needed to know what was going on at the office. She still had a business to run after all. "What's Tommy up to right now? Can't one of the girls help with his work?"

"Not really," said Elizabeth. "He's desperately trying to sort out that Ivan chap for you. He's on the phone at the moment, using his contacts, to try and sort out a retrospective visa. It's not an easy job." The news was like a double-edged sword to Harriet. They knew about Ivan. Of course they did. Harriet remembered the phone call that she had made to Elizabeth as her and Ivan sat in the car. That was a relief. It gave her the freedom to tell more of the story. Only, was there any point? She had no idea what had happened to Ivan or where he was.

It wasn't particularly comfortable but Harriet had to be pragmatic. "Tell Tommy to put that to one side for now-" she started to say.

"Are you kidding! We daren't do that! It's a bad enough mess as it is. The last thing we want is that blowing up in our faces."

"I don't know where he is, Elizabeth," Harriet said quietly. She felt like she was giving up on him somehow, that wasn't good.

"He's in hospital. I've been waiting for a call from the nurse, to see if I can see him. I need to tell him not to talk to anyone."  
"WHAT? You know where he is? Oh God, Elizabeth, how is he?"

It was quickly becoming apparent to each other that they needed to relay their own stories. It was also obvious to them both that each of them was holding one half of the story. They really needed to get together. Harriet made herself comfortable. She needed to tell her part of the story first.

She told Elizabeth how Ivan and her were talking together one minute, and that the next thing that Harriet knew was when she had woken up in a strange bedroom and in pain. She told how she had slept through most of yesterday, finally waking in the evening after the office was shut. A couple of times she had to tell Elizabeth to hang on and that she could ask questions afterwards, otherwise the story wouldn't get told. Harriet had listed her injuries, in particular her ankle, and how she had to rest it. She told Elizabeth that she was very close to the new office and if Elizabeth could get her some clean clothes, her phone and laptop, that she could do a lot from here.

Elizabeth had kept silent as she listened to the story but professional training and her own instincts had meant that she had not just sat there passively. When Harriet finished Elizabeth looked down at the pad of notes and questions that she had made. "What were you doing there in the first place when you only went out to get cake and coffee?"

Harriet frowned. That would be opening up a whole new can of worms. "It's complicated. I'll come back to that if I may."  
"Ok," Elizabeth accepted, and grabbed for a red pen to circle this question. "Of course I can get something sent down to you, in a taxi, but I can't help thinking that if I can send a taxi down to you for you to take delivery..." Elizabeth paused to think. She wanted to choose the right words and not to sound rude. Harriet could guess what was coming. "Why can't you just get a taxi here?" Even though Harriet had guessed at the question, she hadn't been able to prepare for it in her own mind. It wasn't straightforward and she really didn't like not being able to tell Elizabeth everything. If she did, then Elizabeth would worry more and somehow Harriet didn't think that she would remain as willing to help Ivan as she was. Tommy would almost certainly feel the same way.

She felt the need to protect Ivan, from Tommy and Elizabeth. It didn't really sound rational but Harriet figured that it wasn't really Ivan's fault. He was in an awful position, truly tragic, and Harriet wasn't even sure that they would be able to help him. There were so many difficulties and obstacles. In a strange way she felt sort of grateful to Ivan. She couldn't really tell anyone that, she couldn't explain it properly, but she reasoned that if Ivan hadn't taken the job, been more or less forced through circumstances, then someone else would have done. It could so easily have been someone who wouldn't think twice.

In terms of being a "perfect fit" Ivan had proved to be, well, totally inept at this task. She thought of the ferocity of the previous attack. The sheer determination and willingness to attack her face and head with heavy lead coshes. If it had been those guys, she reasoned, she wouldn't be having these issues now. She'd be dead, with an office block or multi-storey car park as her tombstone.

"There are reasons Elizabeth," Harriet answered with a heavy sigh. She was about to expand on this but Elizabeth got there first.

"Such as?"

"Oh boy, where do I start?" It was a classic case of thinking out loud - an unguarded comment in the middle of a conversation between two friends and colleagues. There were some colleagues, Tommy for instance, who would have let this slide, seen where it went, simply put it to one side as they listened and then later forgot about it. Elizabeth wasn't that sort of animal. Mentally, Elizabeth was more like a hybrid, a cross between an elephant, a cobra and a Doberman. She wouldn't let it go, she wouldn't forget and she would strike. And she did.

"What do you mean, where do you start? Have you just been making up a story so far? Are you lying to me?"

The strike, as Harriet had expected, had been fast, no-nonsense and straight to the point. But Elizabeth had gone a lot quieter when she had asked "are you lying to me". Elizabeth was obviously feeling hurt and Harriet felt absolutely terrible. Her eyes misted and a big fat tear formed and spilled over and down her cheek.

Harriet tried to halt these feelings but it was too late. In the same way that every journey starts with one single step, that one single tear had opened the floodgates. Harriet sobbed. Everything that had happened in the last days and weeks, all the tension, all the worry, all the terror, had turned into liquid and was cascading down Harriet's face like a monsoon rain.

Malachi, today's chosen minder, came running into the room. His eyebrows had resigned from their role, the position that they had held for many years, and decided to become his new fringe. His eyes looked like the eyes of a rabbit that had just run straight onto the M25. His whole expression would have been more suited on the face of Mrs Jones - oh sorry, Sister Jones, anyway I'm pleased to tell you that you are expecting twins.

He looked at Harriet and then around the room as if looking for support. He ran out of the room and came back with a towel. He wasn't satisfied with a towel for some reason, so he ran out again and reappeared with a roll of toilet tissue. Harriet was oblivious to the running in and running out bit, but between her sobs she did become aware of his wailing. She held up one hand and waved it to signify that she didn't require help. "It's... it's ok mal," she started, and then burst into tears again. Oddly, Malachi did not appear comforted by this. From the phone that Harriet had dropped onto the settee, she could hear Elizabeth's duet.

There is a certain beauty that can only come from teamwork. Anna didn't know why Elizabeth was sitting in Harriet's office and blubbing like, well, a professional blubber. She did know that action was required, from someone. She picked up the phone and advised the caller that Elizabeth would phone her back and disconnected the call. Anna knew just what was needed. She ran into the kitchen and came back with a thick roll of paper towel, shouting at Zoe as she passed. "Can someone make Elizabeth a cup of tea?"

"She doesn't like tea."  
"Coffee then, plenty of sugar."

Eventually, Harriet's tears abated and she began to gather up the pile of soggy, partly shredded toilet tissue. Malachi, who had looked close to tears himself at one point, had calmed and been sent off to make Harriet a nice cup of coffee. He was grateful for the task, but all things considered, he didn't think that he would ever be the same again. The phone rang and Harriet fumbled amongst the cushions to find it. She looked at the display. It was the office. That's okay, she thought, she could cope with that.

"Are you ok?" Elizabeth sounded a little nasal, as if she had a cold.

"Yes," said Harriet, wearily. "I'm ok, thanks. You?"

Elizabeth thought that Harriet sounded a little nasal, maybe she had a cold.

"Sorry about that," apologised Harriet.

"Don't be silly. You started me off though," Elizabeth chuckled. "I think I worried Anna."

Harriet chuckled too, and decided not to mention the effect that her outburst had had on Malachi. "What were we talking about?" Harriet said. She couldn't remember exactly where they had gotten to but she knew that it was unfinished business. She heard a rustling of paper.

"You were going to tell me..." Elizabeth stopped. That was wrong. She corrected her question, letting Harriet know exactly where they had gotten too. "No... I asked the question 'why can't you get in a taxi' and..." There was no one to see her but Harriet nodded. "I think its best that I don't. Just for a few days."

"Why?" There was no way that Elizabeth was going to allow Harriet the soft option.

"It's this competition." She sighed heavily. "I was attacked again. Someone wants me dead." It would have been a very sharp knife indeed to be able to cut through that atmosphere. "I'm safe here and the competition finishes in just a few days."

There was a long pause. Harriet allowed Elizabeth the time for that to sink in. "I see," said Elizabeth, quietly. "It wasn't that hard to tell me the truth was it?" She chuckled but it was obviously fake. "So, how does Ivan fit into all of this?" Harriet stomach tightened into a block of ice. It felt as if she was playing Russian roulette with six bullets and a real Russian. "Ivan's separate. He's in trouble and he needs our help." "OK." Elizabeth reached for the red pen again, but allowed Harriet to continue.

"Ivan and I were talking, at the top of a very long flight of concrete steps. Something, and I've got no idea what it was, knocked us down the steps. I was unconscious but someone found me, took me in and cared for me. I was pretty lucky, considering. When I woke up there was no sign of Ivan and his car was gone. The boys here are happy for me to stay and they are looking after me. In fact, they make sure that I'm not alone."

"More boys!" said Elizabeth.

Harriet smiled at Elizabeth's mock consternation. "Yes, more boys. They're really nice, all of them."

"All of them? You make it sound like a gang. How many are there?"

"Seven. And let's get it out of the way now shall we? Seven dockworkers."  
"Have you ever fancied getting out more, I mean, meeting people, you know? It's not healthy to be so insular."

"Oh, you know me. I prefer a quiet life."

Elizabeth told Harriet of how they had come by Ivan and how they had fought against him to get him to hospital. Harriet was absolutely horrified by his injuries and the thought of how frightened he must be. She knew of his fears of being deported and the reasons why. "Has the nurse rung?"

"No. You know me Harriet. I decided not to wait. I called them."

Harriet chuckled at this. That was Elizabeth's way alright.

"Apparently the doctor has seen him and he's sleeping. Tommy and I were going to go in this afternoon to see what we could find out about where you might be, and to try and stop him worrying. And stop him talking to people. Well, we don't need to find out about you now, do we! Maybe one of us can pop in for five minutes later."

Harriet considered this. It would be better for Ivan if they saw him this afternoon. "Can't you both go?"

"We're a bit behind really. There's quite a bit to catch up on."  
"What about the others, would they be willing to do some overtime?"  
"Maybe."  
"Look. If you can send me down my laptop and stuff, I'm sure there's a lot that I can do."

Harriet gave Elizabeth the list of the items that she needed and the clothes that she wanted and the address where she was staying. "If you can get that lot to me ASAP, that would be great." "I'm not too keen on sending it by ordinary taxi," Elizabeth said, concerned. "I would feel better to send it by courier. What do you think?"  
"Malachi's here with me today, so he'll answer the door but yeah, with my phone and my laptop, I guess you're right. What about those clothes for Ivan? Why don't you use the business credit card? It's in my handbag."

"He had two hundred pounds on him. Tommy was thinking of using that."

Harriet winced. "No. Use the credit card," she said.

The following day, after having being able to organise tradesmen and suppliers, Harriet felt that she had really moved the new office forward. It had taken quite a bit of persuading but eventually Michael had agreed that it was probably okay if she went to the new office to supervise. It was rather touch and go at times but as Harriet had already told the tradesmen that she would be there (Michael didn't need to know that bit), she had to go.

There had been a compromise of course. She was to have not one, but two minders for the day. They would all go to D Wharf in the morning and then Marley and Marcus would take the minibus and escort Harriet to the office. The boys were under very, very strict instructions to look after her. Malcolm had insisted on making them a packed lunch. Harriet could not believe this when she was told, but Marcus had nudged her with his elbow and winked. She had no idea what that meant but it would be interesting.

Harriet soon saw what Michael meant about Marley. The boy was a whirlwind. He raced around with Marcus in his wake and they very quickly transformed the empty shell into something resembling an office. The computers would come tomorrow and hopefully the telephones, and Harriet was assured that the new signs would be in place by the end of the week. The new office was in a prime location between the mall and the nearby business district. Sitting at the corner of Bridge Street and Harbour Way, with huge windows onto both streets, made the office very light and open. With the flurry of activity that was going on inside the building today there had been a lot of interest from people passing. There was hardly a moment when there was not a small group of people looking through the windows.

At this point, the onlookers had no idea what the business was other than that they could see it was an office of some kind. At first, this was probably why people had taken so much interest. It hadn't taken long however before someone had spotted that the pretty lady perched on one of the new desks and smiling and laughing with the team who were putting the office together was Harriet White. Cameras on phones soon began to snap shots to add to their owner's social media pages. The loves on Harriet's Youbook page poured in thick and fast.

By lunchtime, when all the furniture deliveries had been made and the tradesmen had all left, Marcus fished out the little bag with their lunches and the trio sat cross-legged on the floor as they ate. Malcolm had prepared a salad for them in which Harriet could not recognise more than half the ingredients. It was a feast of flavours and textures. The looks of obvious delight on their faces prompted many more pictures to be taken and uploaded. Some of the captions that people put with them reflected their looks of enjoyment in a way that would have made Harriet blush, but her profile ratings soared.

Mid-afternoon, when they have positioned all the furniture and had the office looking as presentable as they could, Harriet suggested that they pop down the road to purchase items for the staffroom. Marcus was horrified by this idea. It meant that Harriet would be out on the street where security would be a lot more difficult to manage. Harriet had brushed this off by pointing to the crowds and stating that there was obvious safety within numbers. The second argument was that this was an ideal time, as the boys could carry purchases for her. Marley was easily convinced, and had even popped outside and ran down the road to see how close the shops that they needed were. It wasn't long before Marcus folded too.

They were quite an imposing sight. Two rather tall black men, either side of a very pretty woman walking with the aid of an aluminium crutch. It meant that even busy shoppers and workers, who had hurriedly popped out at lunchtime, did a double take when they saw them. The recognition of the woman as the pretty woman from the Youbook competition led to a lot of selfie pictures and swelling in numbers. What had started as a trio soon became a mini parade.

When they received a phone call from Michael saying that they were done for the day and needed picking up, the crowd of people outside the new office had swollen to three people deep. Even though all the faces outside looked friendly, both Marcus and Marley had insisted that Marley would fetch the minibus closer when they left. The trio decided that it might be best if none of this was mentioned to Michael. He'd never know. That was unless he managed to catch a glimpse of any one of about two hundred pictures on Youbook that showed a smiling Harriet White, the most beautiful woman in the world, sitting inside a minibus with D Wharf printed on the side.

Chapter Eighteen

Tommy walked briskly into the ward and scanned the two rows of beds, looking for Ivan. It wasn't that difficult to spot him. There were just two beds without visitors and unless Ivan had lost all his hair overnight and aged 40 years, he would be the one near the opposite end of the room. As Tommy approached, he could see that Ivan was asleep. He was about to put an end to that as he needed Ivan's input. He dropped the bags that he was carrying next to the small cabinet and pulled the chair to a better position. Sitting down heavily, he looked at Ivan's body, searching for somewhere that was not bandaged that he could use to wake him. He looked into Ivan's face, noting the one eye that was screwed up tight and the one nearest to him that was open - wide. It shut again as soon as it registered Tommy.

"Hi Ivan, it's me, Tommy." Both eyes were tightly shut. "It's Tommy. You know. Harriet sent me," Tommy said, wearily. He had been rushing around like a mad man for the last 90 minutes, missed his lunch and could feel the shirt sticking to his back. He wasn't in the mood for this. He blew out a sigh, then said quite loudly, "Ivan!" The eye opened again. Tommy wasn't a medical man and it occurred to him briefly that there might be something wrong with Ivan's eye. He had enough injuries after all and who was to say that one eye was or wasn't affected. "What's wrong with your eye? Should I get the nurse?" Ivan's other eye sprang open, giving his face a much more symmetrical look. "I stay sleep," Ivan hissed.

"Afraid not buddy." Tommy shook his head slowly. "I need your signature."

"I sleep. They go," Ivan whispered.

"It's ok," said Tommy, and he bent down and pulled some papers from one of the bags. He reached inside his jacket for a pen. "I need your signature Ivan. It's a visa application. I've been working on this all morning and if you could sign it we should have your visa within a few days. Can you sign?"

"I dunno."

Tommy mimed signing the paper. "Can you sign? Your name." Ivan stared at him.

Tommy slumped back in his chair. He had guessed that explaining things to Ivan wouldn't be easy but somehow he hadn't figured that it would be this hard.

"For visa?" said Ivan.

Tommy leapt up like a jack in the box. "Yes! Yes, for visa."  
"Take long time. I be deported."

"It's a quick visa," Tommy said quickly, trying to maintain momentum. "We can get this processed in a few days, then no deported, ok?"

Ivan looked at him warily as if waiting for Tommy to burst out laughing and say "ha ha sucker". It didn't happen. Not in the 30 seconds that he sat there looking at Tommy.

"Can you sign?" said Tommy again, but the enthusiasm was fading.  
"I sign," Ivan agreed, and after a couple of attempts he managed to sign the forms. Tommy read out the rest of the details to verify them as Ivan interspersed each of Tommy sentences with one of his own. For Tommy it got a bit boring after a while, as the sentence was the same one repeated over and over. "No be deported?"

Tommy explained that as soon as the doctor said that he could leave, Ivan would stay with Tommy, and that no one apart from Tommy, Elizabeth and Harriet would know where he was.

At the sound of Harriet's name and that she was okay, Ivan looked as if five years had been rolled back. Ivan asked if Harriet was okay and where she was. He seemed happy to accept Harriet's address as safe. Tommy smiled at that. Ivan obviously appreciated the secrecy.

Tommy held up the bags and told Ivan that they contained new clothes and some money. It was clear that Ivan understood the money part as he asked how much. He seemed very disappointed when Tommy told him the amount and Tommy quickly realised. "I have your money. Two hundred pounds and your passport and driving licence, safe." They were getting along like a house on fire and could now boast the word safe as an addition to their common language. Spurred on, Tommy detailed the clothing that he'd brought. It was very clear that every scrap of that part of the conversation had gone straight through Ivan as quickly as a vindaloo through a toddler.

Tommy told Ivan that he would be back soon but that he had to go now to deal with the visa. "Ok," Ivan nodded, and pulled back the covers to get up.

"Whoa! What are you doing?" said Tommy so loudly that some of the other visitors turned to see what was going on.

"We go," replied Ivan with a short nod.

"No no no. I, go. You stay," Tommy corrected, and tucked the bed clothes in tightly.

It didn't take a genius to see that Ivan desperately wanted to get out of hospital. He looked completely crestfallen. Tommy sat down again. As he was trying to make Ivan understand, a middle-aged woman appeared at the end of Ivan's bed with a trolley.

"Hello dear," she greeted Ivan, and she started loading some things onto a tray. Ivan just stared at the woman. "You missed dinner because you were asleep," she said carefully, enunciating each word slowly. "I thought you'd like an early tea dear," she beamed. Laying the tray on Ivan's lap, she pointed to the plate and bowl. "Shepherd's pie," she said, pointing to a brown sludge with a grey topping. "And Pavlova. It's very nice. I might be able to get you seconds if you want." She seemed very pleased with her efforts and smiled broadly. Ivan just shook his head slowly, not taking his eyes from the tray.

"Not hungry dear? You've got to eat something," she nodded. "Doctor won't let you go home if you don't eat." Ivan whimpered like a puppy that understood the word neuter. He grabbed Tommy's arm. The lady was obviously used to reluctant diners. "You've got to eat dear. Would you like me to feed you?" she said, picking up a spoon. "Try the Pavlova." By now Ivan was shaking his head quite violently and whilst Tommy didn't understand any Russian, he judged that it wouldn't be possible to say a nice word whilst pulling a face like that.

"I don't suppose you have a sandwich?" Tommy interjected quickly, as much to save Ivan as to save Ivan's fingernails going through his own arm. "A cheese sandwich maybe?" He looked quickly at Ivan for approval but there was only shock. "He's allergic." This last part was a gamble but Tommy thought that everyone likes cheese. It did seem to turn the lady's frown upside down and she beamed again and pointed to the tray. "There's no gluten in it dear."  
"It's not gluten," Tommy said, as if he had a clue what he was talking about. "It's, it's complicated. Very rare condition." He nodded wisely.

"Oh!" She whisked the tray away to her trolley and came back with what Tommy recognised as a hospital sandwich. Tommy tried to hide his grimace and made a mental note to make it up to Ivan later. The sandwich packet was tossed into Ivan's lap and followed with a teaspoon and a small tub of yoghurt. The foil lid showed a picture of a strawberry. Tommy looked at Ivan to see whether this choice was acceptable. The look suggested that 'acceptable' was a bit strong and maybe 'less offensive' would be more apt. Tommy turned to thank the lady, but she was gone.

High above the valley, about a mile north-east of the villa, the eagle peered down at the landscape. She was looking for any signs of an increase in density within the greyness. It was impossible to tell. The group had started this morning by scouring clear an area at the base of the promontory. The dragon then sped away towards the river. Normally the eagle would have scouted first for any villagers, although it was very early in the day (and anyway, dragons don't really exist), it would still make life a little difficult if she was spotted. They could probably convince any locals that what they had seen was a large crow with heartburn, but maybe not before any rumours had spread. The bear and the wolf lumbered off in the approximate direction that Tabatha had suggested last night. The snow leopard had not been tasked with any particular duties and had some ideas of her own that she wanted to explore.

Inside the villa, Vincent just sat there, emitting the same low growl that he had been issuing for the past 30 minutes. The object of Vincent's displeasure, the litter tray, appeared to be unaffected by this. It can be difficult to be upset by someone's actions when they clearly mean well, but Vincent was a cat and therefore spared from such emotional baggage.

Dragons can't produce a sonic boom. For a start, they can't fly fast enough to do so. Another reason is because everyone knows that they don't exist. The elderly shepherd that sat with his trousers around his ankles, half perched on the smooth rock, was well aware of both of these facts. He reasoned as there was no one else in sight that the loud noise and what had looked like a long orange and white flame must have come from himself. He made a promise to himself to not eat so much tapas and took another long swig from his hip flask.

The dragon had not been careless or wanton. She had known exactly where the shepherd was. She also knew, on some mystical level, that his eyesight wasn't that good. The rough home-distilled brew that he kept in his hip flask also rendered him a less than reliable witness. The fact that he had been in this area for the past two days watching over the group of two dozen or so sun-bleached boulders whilst his sheep decimated a field of asparagus 3 miles away had convinced her that speed was better than caution this morning.

She flew back below the ridgeline and performed a couple of circuits of the villa. She sensed the less than happy cat inside. Safe within the bowl of the valley, some distance away from the village, she swept her mighty wings and flew up to a height where she could get a better overall perspective of the situation. The only feelings coming from the eagle were a mild frustration and a larger amount of deductive reasoning.

The snow leopard had been busy. Starting near the base of the villa before sweeping out to the west and now, some distance away in the middle of the valley, she had been busy sampling. No less aggressive than any market researcher in any given town, she had slashed and pounced through a random selection of the smotherers. Sadly, as she was not affiliated to the guild of market researchers, her findings that clipboards are unnecessary and each survey doesn't have to take that long would not be used as a benchmark.

Meanwhile, the wolf and the bear had been less than discriminate. They had each been slashing, ripping and gouging, but not stopping to record their findings and not getting very far either. The eagle, with her keen eyes, had not been able to discern any real difference along the half mile track of their task. The dragon, feeling slightly redundant at this point, had patrolled elsewhere and largely incinerated for the sheer hell of it.

After many hours, and above the differences of their shared consciousness, the eagle had suggested that the bear and wolf come away from the area where they had been searching. As the tactician within the group, and with her eye-in-the-sky capacity, she suggested that starting at the most southerly end of their search pattern would mean the dragon could be employed as a principal clearing force whilst she and the bear tried to gauge the effectiveness.

The wolf and the snow leopard would not be needed and were therefore tasked to protect the villa and the road. The snow leopard was to take the west whilst the wolf patrolled the eastern flank.

Time and time again the dragon poured fire as she worked her way northwards. No sooner had her flame scorched the area then the bear had leapt forward to see the results. Every time a void that had been left by the dragon's fire barely a second or two earlier had been filled again by the smotherers.

The snow leopard, starting from a vantage point high on the ridge, had started and pounced on any grey form that had strayed from the mass. The timber wolf found that her area was relatively clear and her labours less arduous. She paused and sat to watch the mingling mass and noticed that rather than mingle and fumble aimlessly, the tide of greyness appeared to be flowing in one direction - down the spine of the promontory south and east of the villa.

After a well-earned rest the wolf decided to amble - it was far too hot to run - in that direction. At no more than a walking pace, she followed their line. As she went further south their paths became closer, narrowing until there was less than six-foot between her course and theirs. She figured that this was probably due to the angle of the terrain and her course was now further down the slope than when she had started. Still their paths converged.

She quickened her pace to a trot and deliberately steered towards the top of the ridge, much as the grey mass was doing. At the edge of a shrubby copse of willows she stopped to get her bearings. She was a long way south of the villa. It occurred to her that she was closer to the village than the villa and that probably wasn't a good thing. She bounded up to the road without a hint of caution.

She estimated that she was some thirty metres away from the first houses. It was only an estimate, as between her and anything lower than the roof line was all grey. Masking her mind from the others before they became aware, she leapt into the fray, snarling and growling furiously. She lunged and ripped with her powerful jaws, flecks of spittle flying in every direction as her head twisted and her jaws snapped.

She was actually doing a fine job, decimating the greyness with a passion that she had not used since this started. Chasing and slashing, bounding and ripping, she was oblivious to her surroundings. A pair of grey forms, barely discernible as two separate items, branched off down a narrow street. She pounded after them, her sharp claws sliding on the cobbled surface. Her jaw was opened wide. When she pounced the two forms disappeared as one. BOGOF she thought with satisfaction. Bite one get one free.

Spinning faster than a cockerel's head in a henhouse, she sprinted back up to the main road. The numbers ahead of her were easily manageable and she tore into them. She stopped and slowly looked around, searching for stragglers, and realised that she was closer to the cafe than she had expected. The dog sensed her, lifted his head and stared in her direction. He began to snarl and bark. She howled. The dog understood that howl. It was a howl that said "so tell me, do you feel lucky, punk". The dog did feel quite lucky and then felt luckier still as he raced into the cafe, his snout barely beating his tail.

The alpha predator sniffed the air and turned slowly away. She began walking out of the village when her keen eye spotted a grey shape down a side street, as it turned into another street. She hadn't worked this hard for one to get away, so she bounded down the cobbled street. Behind her there came a large group of men from the village. Intrigued to see what had caused the dog to be more energetic than it ever had been, they had spotted the wolf walking away.

They came armed with sticks, rope and a large net. The wolf turned the corner into the even narrower street and saw the grey shape just metres ahead. Her front legs splayed slightly, her head lowered and her lips pulled back from her massive fangs. Her growl was something that no mortal ever wanted to hear. She moved forward slowly. There was no need to rush. The fact that it was all over was a certainty and the timing was deliciously imminent. The grey form stopped moving forwards, the wolf didn't. The grey form was immobile. The mighty wolf leapt into the air to deliver the crushing blow at the shape's centre. The grey form dissolved to nothing as the first claw found its mark. The rustic wall that had caused it to stop didn't budge.

The wolf fell to the floor with eyes crossed, vision blurred and an intense pain to its lupine snout. Whilst outward signs would not show beneath the fur of her muzzle, she just knew that the huge bruise that would be visible later on her nose would keep everyone else amused for days. Great!

The wolf was just about to get back on her feet when the net fell across her back. She was surrounded by figures bellowing and screaming and beating her again and again. Swamped by sheer numbers, she was soon overpowered and her four massive paws were bound together tightly with rope. Long scratches down her face, a massive bruise to her nose on its way, maybe even a black eye, and some of the places where she'd been beaten were going to be visible in a summer frock. If anyone else tells me that they've had a bad day, I'll bite their bloody head off, she thought.

Vincent howled in anguish. A member of his team had been hurt and was in trouble and he took that personally, very personally. The snow leopard was the nearest to the villa and she flinched. Almost immediately she heard Vincent's howl. It was a howl of anger, not of pain, but she could feel the pain of the wolf and she could sense its desperate plight, maybe better than the wolf could herself.

The bear had been in mid-leap and had wrenched her body into a new direction whilst still in the air. Barely had her feet hit the ground than she was thundering like a runaway locomotive towards the villa. Within the whole valley there was not one thing that could stop her charge. Not a tree, not a fence, not a gate, and if she met with one of those obstacles now she would probably not even notice. Her ears were flat to her head, her mighty flanks rippled and froth flew from the corners of her mouth.

The dragon pulled down hard on her wings as she leapt into the air, flattening anything beneath her. Before she could reach a point that was considered safe for aerial manoeuvres, she had arched her neck back and looped upside down to face the direction that she needed. It was an impossible move, one that was deemed to require supernatural power, but as she herself was a mythical beast she didn't think that mattered, and if she had to pay a fine for her dangerous manoeuvre it would be worth it.

The eagle was the only one who didn't instantly aim towards the villa. It wasn't because she didn't care, it was because she too had sensed the enormity of the situation, and she knew that the first thing any of them needed was a reliable "Sit Rep.". It stood for situation report, she'd heard it in some action film and thought she'd use it for herself one day.

The three remaining witches met at the villa, their forms unchanged, the huge dragon barely fitting onto the wide terrace. Inside the villa they were all aware of Vincent's anger. Speaking without words it was the bear that spoke first. "He's not still upset about that bloody litter tray is he?"  
"No, it's the fact that..." The Snow Leopard angled her head. "Yeah, he is, a bit. He's angry at the situation and is fretting to get involved."  
"What the bloody hell was she doing in the village anyway," hissed the dragon.  
"She's hurt."  
"Badly?" They could each sense the wolf and her pain, but the snow leopard had always been more tuned into these things. "A bit beaten up but nothing that won't heal."  
"If she gets a chance to." The snow Leopard and the bear spun towards the dragon. It was a possibility. A very real possibility in the hands of villagers but neither of them had dared to voice it.

The bear, never one for inactivity at the best of times, was restless. Her snout was lifted as she tasted the air. Her front paws were taking little steps to the left and right but her hind quarters stood still. "We need to get going. The longer we leave it..." The sentence hung unfinished in the air. Each of them was trying to think of the best strategy. "I can go to the village and scout," said the snow leopard.

The bear growled in assent. The snow leopard could do that easily, but then what?

The dragon knew that she could not really take part. She was massive, breathed fire and looked like, well, a dragon. The villagers were hardly likely to nod a greeting to her as they carried on with their chores. She could create a diversion though, set light to a barn or a house. One that was just a little way off so that the villagers would be compelled to rushed to the rescue. Her tail swept from side to side, scraping on the terrace.

None of them noticed the eagle's approach. She swept in fast and low, using her massive wingspan as an air brake, as her razor sharp talons skidded on the tiles of the terrace. The bear turned. "Well?" she snapped at the eagle, as if the whole thing was her fault. "Safe enough for now."  
"Where? Let's go!" The eagle moved closer to the group, shaking her head slowly.

The dragon clenched her foot, dragging deep furrows into the tiles of the terrace. "Oh, shit. Sorry. I forgot where I was." Using her heel she tried to rub out the marks that she'd made. The eagle told them where the wolf was and said that they needed to work out a plan.

"Let's put the kettle on."  
"WHAT!" bellowed the bear.

"She's in a big barn," said the eagle, huffily. "They've closed the door and fixed it with a big chain and padlock. She is safe at the moment."  
"Well, let's go and break her out then," said the bear in frustration.

"They can accept seeing the wolf. Maybe. Maybe a bear. They might even accept a bear and a wolf on the same day, but the snow leopard?" The eagle shook her head slowly before turning to the dragon. "And you can forget it!" The bear growled in frustration.

The snow leopard was on the balcony in one silent leap. The eagle was close behind her and the bear followed soon after. The dragon waited until everyone was safely inside before she too made her awkward way to the balcony. Vincent received a fuss to his head and a thank you as each of them, now in human forms, went downstairs. The recognition of his care was right and proper but it annoyed him. It made him feel useless.

Ffion threw open the big sliding glass door and went out onto the terrace. Tess and Eilydh made the coffees. Ffion went over to the deep gouges and brushed the debris away with her hand. She made several strange hand movements before pointing to the affected area. A blue flame sparked from her finger and was instantly gone. The terrace was returned to its former glory. Ffion smiled to herself as she got up from her crouched position. She saw Vincent speed walk off into the trees and she walked back to the open kitchen door. "He won't be using that bloody litter tray, will he?" she chuckled. Tess just grunted. As they went out onto the terrace, clutching their cups of coffee, Fizz was already seated at the metal table. "She's feeling a bit sorry for herself. She's still trussed up like a chicken, don't you know," she added in disgust. "They're not likely to put a wolf in a barn and untie her, are they?" said Eilydh gently.  
"I suppose not."

"What about the villagers? What are they doing?" Tess blustered irritably.

Fizz wrinkled her nose. "I can't be completely sure, that smothering," she said, gesturing with her head towards the valley, "makes everything fuzzy. Unclear." She thought for a moment. "I don't think they know what to do. They all seemed to be in the church. Obviously having a meeting but I can't make out any more detail."

"How long until it gets dark?" said Eilydh, looking up at the sky to answer her own question. "Two or three hours I guess," she answered herself.  
"We can't really just go down and ask for our wolf back," Fizz thought out loud.  
"I can fly down and keep a lookout," said Eilydh. "If anyone gets close to the barn, they won't think too much of being attacked by an eagle."

They nodded.  
"I can keep a lookout on the ground," said Fizz. "They'd never know I was there."  
"What about the dog?" huffed Tess. Fizz just raised one eyebrow and looked at her.

"Tess and I can walk down there. We can say that we are just having a look around," said Ffion.

Tess snorted. "What, like tourists? How many tourist you think they get here, Fi?"

"Aw, I don't know. What then?"  
"You and I go down," said Tess, thinking on her feet. "We can use an 'ignore us' hex."

"Not on the whole bloody village. Don't you."  
"Well, if there's too many of them, we can duck away somewhere." They all fell silent. "Don't forget neither an eagle or a snow leopard has opposing thumbs. We need to be there to open the padlock and lift the bar."

She had a point. A concerted effort would need to be made by all witches and in differing forms. But it could be done. Eilydh finished her coffee and stood up. "I'll be off then," she said, and made her way upstairs.

"We'll take the car," said Tess.

"They'll see it," said Ffion.  
"Not if we park up the road a ways. It will be quicker coming back."

Ffion looked unconvinced.

"It's a long walk Fi. Walking one way in this heat is bad enough but there and back?" Ffion thought of when they arrived and how they had only walked part of that distance. It hadn't been very comfortable. "Right you are, my lovely. I'll just have a quick wee then."

Tess looked at Fizz. "You ok?"  
"Hmm," mumbled Fizz.  
"Come on then sis." They got up and went back into the kitchen. Tess shut and locked the door.

After Eilydh and Fizz had transformed and left, Tess picked up the car keys and motioned to Ffion. Vincent would be upstairs again, in charge and on sentry duty. They made their way down the stairs and into the garage. Ffion bent to tuck her long legs into the foot well. She reached down for the lever to slide the seat back, to give her more room. "Whoa, what was that?" she said, and her hand flinched away. "What?" said Tess, as she started the engine.  
"I dunno. It felt like something brushed against my hand," said Ffion, as she tentatively felt around under the seat. Tess looked at her. "Nothing there," said Ffion, and then shrugged the disquiet away with a chuckle. "Aw Tess, I'm going as batty as my old nanny." Ffion giggled at this and shut the door.

The eagle perched on top of the broken bell tower above the church. Her eyes scanned for movement within the village but found none. Three hundred metres away south of the church, the snow leopard surveyed the area. Satisfied that the coast was clear, she crawled in closer to the barn. Stealthily she made her way around the barn. Behind a large tractor, parked tight against the doors, the big double front doors were sealed with the massive wooden bar, chains and a heavy padlock. She searched down one wall of the barn, looking for gaps in the oak planking or weak points. She searched behind the barn where the area was full of rusting machinery. It was stacked haphazardly against the rear of the barn and so she moved on.

On the second long side of the barn she found a small door but nothing else. Inside she could sense the wolf. Tightly bound and very uncomfortable, lying on the hard packed earth. The snow leopard could sense the tight bindings around the wolf's muzzle. She could sense that the wolf was overheating in the still air of the barn and very dehydrated. She let the wolf know that she was nearby and that help was coming. The wolf's response was weak.

Tess parked the car some distance from the village, having first turned it around to face towards the villa. She and Ffion reluctantly got out of its air-conditioned comfort and Tess put a masking spell on the vehicle so that no one could see it. She had parked tight to one side of the road but it wasn't very wide. Any vehicle that came this way would undoubtedly hit it but no vehicles had gone further than the village for years. They made their way cautiously through the village. Weaving behind houses to avoid the main road and the church. They crouched beside an outbuilding, twenty metres from the barn and surveyed it.

They felt the brush of thick whiskers as the snow leopard squeezed between them, keeping low to the ground. Without speaking, she told them of the impossible situation - the big heavy doors at the front that were barred and chained and the tractor that was parked directly in front of them. She told of the sturdiness of the planked walls. The only glimmer of hope that she could show was the small door on the opposite side. Tess immediately got up to run around the barn and check this door for herself, but was stopped by a white paw with claws extended, and a voice inside her head that told her to wait until she had made sure that the coast was clear.

Tess closed her eyes and nodded resignedly. She opened her eyes and bent to look at her sister. The leopard was gone. Fizz returned soon after and said that the coast was clear.

Whilst Ffion waited Tess ran around the back of the barn, scrabbling over the mass of old machinery. She reached the door and tried it. It wasn't just locked, it felt solid. Tess kicked at it. Finding her way back to Ffion, Tess noticed that Ffion had a grin that stretched from ear to ear. "What is it Fi? Have you found a way in?"

Ffion was crouched on her haunches and with a grin like a garden gnome. "You can't feel it?"  
"Feel what?"  
"I didn't either." Ffion had her hands clasped together and was giggling like a two-year-old that had just learnt the word "bum". She looked at Tess and then nodded at the roof of the barn.

Tess looked up at the roof and could see a little black shape that seemed to be furiously digging at the tiled roof. She could not make out what it was, as the size looked to be no bigger than a good-sized gerbil, only square. "What on earth is it?" she said, furrowing her brow. "It looks like an animated toilet brush or something." At this, the digging on top of the roof stopped. The square black thing turned around towards them and shot them an unmistakable glare. "Vincent!" Tess screamed, and Ffion quickly put a hand over Tess's mouth.

"What the... How did he get here?" Tess's eyes were transfixed as Vincent turned back to his digging and clawing. "I don't understand how he got here," said Tess, who was struggling with the concept. "If it was Fizz that would be different. She can move so stealthily that no one, I mean no one, would know that she was there. But..." Tess stopped as she felt Vincent's glare again. They watched in silence as first one and then another terracotta tile was pushed a short distance. Then with his tail sticking up in the air like a furry antenna, Vincent disappeared from view.

The eagle landed on the roof and peered into the gloom. As her eyes adjusted she could make out the wolf. She was lying on her side with her head on the dirt and not moving. Down by her front paws, she could just make out Vincent. He was scrabbling and clawing at the heavy rope. Despite his efforts, he didn't seem to be making very quick progress. The eagle pulled her head from the hole to examine it. It was too small. She would not be able to get through. Down below, Vincent stopped and looked up at her. For a second he stood there motionless and then darted away out of sight.

The eagle could hear scurrying noises and the crash of things falling over and being knocked off of shelves. She poked her nose back into the hole only to have it forced back out by a small furry face with fiery eyes. One of Vincent's front paws snaked out of the hole and he heaved himself onto the roof. He glared at the eagle, making her take a step back, and then attacked the crumbly old tiles.

Three more tiles were dislodged in very short order, leaving a space big enough for the eagle to get through. Vincent gave her a withering look and disappeared back into the hole. The eagle dropped in and flew down to the wolf.

Within minutes her powerful curved beak, together with Vincent's ferocity of movement, had managed to shred the knots on the rope. They did the same with the smaller rope across the wolf's muzzle and Vincent clawed it from her face. He bent down and licked the wolf's snout before wriggling his head underneath her muzzle and pushing her up.

Vincent didn't retire from his bullying. Like a mother determined to get her student offspring out of bed, he pushed and shoved until the wolf gave in and finally stood unsteadily on her feet. Vincent moved round to the little door. There was a lock with the key in place, but with none of them having opposing thumbs it was impossible to turn it.

The eagle flew out of the hole in the roof and back to where Tess and Ffion were crouched. Through mental imagery she told of the little door and the key. "I don't know how but one of you will have to get in there." Ffion understood. Tess tugged at her sleeve and pointed to the chaos and jumble at the back of the barn. "We can climb up there," she said, pointing.  
"Aw no. We'll break our ruddy necks."  
"Not if we're careful," said Tess enthusiastically.  
"There you are then," said Ffion sarcastically. "I hadn't thought of that. Being careful it is then."

They made their way to the mass of metalwork and clambered towards the roof. The metalwork kept shifting and giving way. "It's no good. We can't both go. I'm sure that it would take the weight if it was just one of us." Tess looked up to the roof line and mentally measured the gap between it and the last piece of junk. "You'll have to go Fi. You've got longer arms than me. You can pull yourself onto the roof."

"Aw, ruddy hell Tess. I'm not a bloody gymnast, don't you."

Under the gaze of the wolf's half-lidded eyes and Vincent's megawatt glare, a very sweaty and rather grubby Ffion carefully made her way down the beams and shelves. The last two and a half metres proved to be the easiest as the shelf snapped and she fell. But it got the job done.

Vincent in particular had no time for reunions. Hugs and kisses had never been his thing anyway. Using only threatening stares and angry mewling, Vincent took Ffion to the door. She grasped the long key first in one hand, and then with two, and turned. She didn't think that it was possible but this key had to somehow be a relative of Vincent's. It didn't budge. She wiggled and twisted the key as her fingers, slippery with sweat, struggled for purchase and became sore. Eventually something gave with a hard click.

"We've done it boyo!" she said proudly to Vincent, and pulled the key from the lock. The key slid out surprisingly easily. Surprising, until Ffion saw the end. The reason for the loud click noise and sudden freedom of movement became clear. The end of the key had broken off inside the lock.

Weary, dirty and pretty pissed off, Ffion resulted to a tactic that she had seen a locksmith perform when Ffion's Nanna had gotten herself locked in the privy. She took half a dozen steps back, turned, and howling a string of Celtic obscenities, threw herself at the door, tackling it like a rugby prop forward. The door burst open with a loud crash and Ffion went headfirst into the dirt.

Vincent coaxed and pushed the weary wolf to the door. Biting her ankles seemed particularly effective. Outside, Tess and Ffion picked up the wolf and carried her as quickly as possible to the car. As a wolf, Tabatha was quite a weight and Ffion thanked her lucky stars that it wasn't Tess. Eventually the wolf had been laid in the boot area of the big 4x4 and everyone else piled in. In the front were two women. One of them looked particularly dirty, as if she had been trying to eat mud pies. On one back seat sat a snow leopard, perfectly upright and gazing around as if it was a normal Sunday afternoon drive in the country. Hanging on the back of the other rear seat was a golden eagle, her head bent awkwardly down due to the lack of headroom.

As Tess pulled quickly away, Ffion suddenly shouted. "Stop! Hang on Tess. Where's Vincent?" A single black paw darted out from beneath Ffion's seat and four little claws pierced the skin on her ankle. "Ow! It's alright Tess. Carry on." A few people in the village noticed the swirling dust that curled up like two fingers from the road. Here in the hills, dust devils were not uncommon and no one took any notice. It was the dog, oddly enough, that thought it odd to see dust devils as a synchronised pair, but that wasn't for him to worry about and he laid his head back on his paw and went back to sleep.

Chapter Nineteen

Olga's day had been one of those mixed days. Not everything had gone right but not everything had gone wrong either. Some things just required a little bit more patience. As a businesswoman Olga confidently knew that any patience on her part could, and would, be billed for. She employed a sliding scale of remuneration on such occasions, depending on the value of the item, the length of time that she was expected to be patient for and her mood. It wasn't a calculation that required complex equations or algorithms. She simply decided on a figure and that was it.

Not everyone worked that way of course. The courier company for example, that had signed for the parcel at the airport and then allegedly delivered it with a signature from 'Mickey Mouse' to prove delivery, were particularly unwilling to work with her on her terms to resolve the situation. That was fine. Olga was sure that the situation would resolve itself quite quickly.

The jeweller in Moscow on the other hand was a true professional. After a short discussion about the well-being and the whereabouts of his family, he had quickly grasped what was required of him. Not long after that he understood that this was not a partnership, and that Olga had no interest in the challenges before him. Generously, she thought, she provided him with full details of the courier company and wished him well.

There had been a few further calls to business acquaintances both here and overseas which had proved to be quite productive. Sojka had been given yet another lesson in when and where to vacuum when Olga was on the phone, and some cream to help bring out the bruises. As a conscientious employer, Olga took on-the-job training very seriously.

One of the nicest things about today was that Angelique had gone out quite early. She loved her daughter to bits, what mother wouldn't, but Angelique's petty concerns and tantrums were very draining. Just lately Angelique had been like a bear with a sore head and on one occasion Olga had given consideration to finding out if Jimmy Choo had any shoes made of concrete or lead within his catalogue. Something stylish for a young lady to wear on a boating trip maybe?

Now, with the time at teatime, Olga sat relaxed in the lounge enjoying a very pleasant cup of peppermint tea. The new crockery added to her enjoyment. She was considering calling Sojka to fetch her a biscuit (that was what you had with afternoon tea) when she heard the front door slam. There are subtle differences in door slams. With a practised ear you could tell a lot by these. During her teenage years Olga had been a devotee of this art form but she'd grown out of that over the years.

The lounge door burst open leaving a remarkably accurate impression of the door handle within the plaster of the wall. Angelique stormed in and threw herself into an armchair.

"Hello darling. Would you like a peppermint tea?" Angelique's face suggested that the answer might be no. Olga reconsidered. "Chamomile tea perhaps?"

With the current conversation being just a little bit one-sided, Olga just looked at her daughter. Sometimes, just occasionally, it was hard to believe that Angelique was the most beautiful woman in the world. The girl didn't always help herself. Somehow Olga sensed that Angelique probably needed some time to herself. "How was your day dear? What have you been up to?"

"Are you bloody mad or stupid!?" Angelique shouted. Other people had spoken to Olga like this in the past, as any of their grieving relatives would affirm. Angelique remained the only person who still did. Olga knew her ways. Granted, Angelique had said farewell to her teenage years but Olga knew that these were still difficult times for any young woman. Emotions, hormones and inherited genes could make any sweet little girl angry from time to time.

"Your competition ends soon doesn't it? I bet you can't wait for it to be over, hmmm?"  
"You spiteful old hag!" Angelique screamed and looked around for something to throw, something that didn't involve her getting out of her chair.

"Now, now Angelique, that's no way to talk to your mummy."  
"You're lucky that you are my mummy or I'd have to find something black to wear."

Olga cocked her head in thought. "You'd look nice in black. I think it would suit you," said Olga thoughtfully.

Olga continued on in the same theme. She seemed to be oblivious to the huge landmine directly in front of her, the one with the big "Keep Off" sign on it. "I can picture your lovely golden hair falling over the shoulders of a little black dress." Olga nodded to herself. The picture that she had formed in her mind was very stylish. "It would be perfect for the most beautiful woman in the world."

It was certainly the right thing to say if Olga had wanted to encourage her daughter into physical exercise. Angelique leapt up from the armchair, reached the large occasional table and with one quick movement swept the table lamp, the crystal vase and the TV remote across the room. The table lamp's porcelain base shattered, whilst the silk lampshade buckled. The crystal vase shattered noisily against the wall. The TV remote faired a lot better. It didn't even lose the battery cover.

Even in the midst of rage, Angelique had an eye for detail. She stormed across the room and picked up the TV remote. Cogs in her head paired the item with the TV. It was a good throw, very powerful. Admittedly the TV was rather large and would have been impossible to miss, but it was still a good throw and the noise was very satisfying.

"Oh Angelique! What was all that for?" Angelique's eyes flew open wide and she stood with her hands on her hips. "Uh! Uh! What was that for? You stab me! In my heart! My own mother and you ask 'what was that for'!"  
"Don't be so silly. I didn't stab you."  
"You don't even know when you're doing it! I hate you! I really hate you!"  
"That's enough Angelique. You're being mean now."  
"Mean! Me? You never wanted me to win. You never thought I was beautiful. I bet you're happy now."

It took a little while for Olga to grasp the situation. To realise what was at the heart of Angelique's outburst. It was that bloody competition again. Her shoulders sagged into the chair. "Oh darling. Of course I think you're beautiful, you take after me after all." Olga smiled. Angelique didn't see the smile, which was fortunate. Like a prize bull taken straight from their happy place within the Carmargue, Angelique could now only see red.

"Why? Why do you hate me so much?"  
Olga chuckled. "I don't hate you. You're my daughter. My beautiful girl."  
"Beautiful girl! Your beautiful girl but not good enough to be the most beautiful woman in the world."  
"You are the most beautiful woman in the world. Of course you are and of course I want you to win." Mainly so that you bloody shut up about it, Olga didn't say.

"LIAR! Oh yeah, you'd say that now wouldn't you. You're a bitch mother. An absolute bitch!"  
"Thank you darling, you know I try."

"Well, I won't be staying here. I'm going somewhere where I'm appreciated."

Olga really thought that she was being supportive, showing that she was listening and taking an interest in her daughter's life. "Oh, where to, darling?"

"As far away from you as possible. Somewhere where people think I'm beautiful."  
"Ha ha, that could be anywhere darling," said Olga, waving her arms expansively. "The most beautiful woman in the world darling. In the world."  
"I can't believe you're laughing at me." Angelique's voice had lost its volume. "Just because I didn't win. Is that it? Am I an embarrassment to you now?"  
"Of course you'll win."

Angelique stared at her mother. The stupid cow didn't have a clue. She hadn't looked on Youbook. That showed how much she really cared. "Well I didn't win. Did I!"

Olga's mouth dropped open. "It's finished? I thought there were two days left to go."

"You haven't even looked. Have you! She's so far in the lead that I'll never catch up."

Olga's face hardened. Someone was being mean to her daughter and as a parent, Olga would see about that. First things first, she needed to find out who. "Who is darling?"  
"Have you actually got dementia? Harriet bloody White!"  
"Her again? I thought we had taken care of her."  
"What, with a cake with some nasty medicine in it? Oh please."  
"But you were winning after that," Olga frowned.  
"It takes more than that mother," Angelique spat. "I couldn't leave it to you, obviously. I had to do something myself."

Olga glowed with a deep sense of pride. "Excellent darling. What did you do?"  
"Not enough. Obviously! You just wait until I get my hands on that idiot, Ivan. He's a dead man."  
"Ivan? That's a good name. A proper Russian name. Where did you get him from?"  
"Huh, the free paper. He was Russian alright. I thought he could do the job."  
"Ivan who? Where did he come from?"  
"I don't bloody know. Russia somewhere. He said he was desperate. He needed the money to bring his family over. They can come over for the bloody funeral when I get hold of him."  
"Did he say where he was from?" Olga's skin tones had turned a few shades darker, darker still around her eyes.

"I can't remember."  
"Think darling. Think." Olga encouraged.

Angelique sighed and flapped her hands. "Dinsk? Minsk? I don't know."

"Smensk." It wasn't a question. The icy coldness in her mother's voice surprised even Angelique. "Where is he now?"  
"No idea." Angelique wasn't overly interested in Ivan at the moment. All she could think of was the competition and her prize, her prize that was slipping away from her minute by minute.

Olga was thinking. She thought of an advert in the free paper. Ridiculous. Did they have free paper? "Sojka!" she yelled. The young housekeeper came running into the room.  
"Madam?"  
"Do we have the free paper?"  
"Free paper?"  
"Yes, you stupid girl. The free paper. A newspaper." Sojka didn't really understand what her mistress meant. "Do we get a newspaper that we don't have to pay for?"  
"No madam."

Olga just stared at her. She was trying to decide whether this stupid girl was lying. She stared hard it Sojka's eyes. Frustrated by not being able to tell, Olga waved her away with a flick of her hand.

"Yes madam."  
"And clean up this mess," Olga shouted as Sojka left the room. Olga turned back to her daughter. "Do you have his number."  
"On my phone," replied Angelique with disinterest.

Olga noted Ivan's number on the little pad that she kept in her bag. It was clear that Angelique had no idea where he was now but he can't have got far, Olga reasoned. She made a few calls. Eventually she relaxed. "So, this competition." Her mother's mood had turned to match her icy blue eyes. She was cold, businesslike. "It's too late," muttered Angelique, shaking her head. "She'd have to be dead for me to win."  
"Mm, I think so," said Olga, in total agreement. "Where is she now, back in her office?"  
"No. She's opening a new office. At the harbour. It's all over Youbook. But I don't know where she is now, I mean, right now."

Olga made a few more calls. Her instructions were clear but non-specific. Angelique listened intently, learning from the master. If anyone heard or recorded that call there was nothing that could be used against her mother. After some time with nothing happening and because Sojka's fussing around with the vacuum cleaner was very irritating, Angelique went off to the kitchen in search of food.

Chapter Twenty

In the sleepy farming village of Vallaques, most of the villagers headed towards the barn. Leading the way were a group of a dozen men, each carrying a shotgun. There was no room for a wolf in this village. It was simply too dangerous. The big tractor was driven to one side, the padlock undone and the chain removed. The heavy wooden bar was lifted from its carriers and the men checked that their weapons were loaded. Some had torches taped to the barrels. Other people were carrying torches and lanterns. Men, women and children marched in through the doors confidently. It was safe. The wolf was tied up.

The wolf was gone. There were bits of rope strewn around the area and a fair bit of debris at the back of the barn where a shelf had been knocked down, but there was no wolf. Someone spotted the side door as it creaked in a breeze. It had been smashed open. The wolf couldn't do that. Men with guns, led by women and small boys armed with lanterns and torches, checked the barn and then checked outside. Nothing.

About two metres from the doorway they found an area where something heavy had left an imprint in the dusty soil. They all agreed that a collection of indentations at one end showed a face. The priest had seen pictures of the Turin shroud and it had looked just like that, he advised. People knelt on the ground and made the sign of the cross, until young Pedro pointed out two other indentations which suggested that whoever had made the marks sure had an impressive cleavage. The theological debate that followed soon became rather heated.

Almost the entire village tried to fit inside the cafe. There was a lot of noise, a lot of shouting and a lot of opinions. Everyone wanted answers. They wanted brandy or holy wine. The only thing they didn't want was to pay for it. The cafe owner spat on the floor. Bloody village people.

A couple of miles down the road the witches were going over their day. Tabatha lay on the couch, having had all her wounds bathed and bandaged where necessary. Vincent made periodic checks on the patient and nuzzled his head against her hand.

Fizz told them of her findings. How some of the misty grey shapes simply vanished when attacked whilst others seemed to bring more colour and vibrancy to the earth, making it seem somehow more alive. She had found no way of knowing which was which until she had clawed or bitten. It gave no clue as to what they were or where they had come from. They seemed to have a vaguely human shape but no one could say any more than that.

Eilydh went upstairs to retrieve her bottle of whiskey. "A wee dram helps me to think," she told the following eyes as she retrieved a glass. She lifted the bottle towards the room, her eyebrows raised in question. No one else wanted to join her, or maybe they didn't want to make her share. They could all do with some answers and if her whiskey helped Eilydh to think then they'd leave it to her. No one else said no to a glass of wine though. "Aw, lush," said Ffion.  
"You can talk," responded Tess. Quick to react and just as quick to misunderstand, it seemed.

Even with the alcohol to enhance their thinking, no one had any ideas about how they could use Fizz's findings. Ideas were considered about how they could separate the two types of forms, but that line of thinking went downhill fast when no one could suggest what they could do with the two separate groups if they managed to separate them. The whole situation just seemed to go round and round in their heads. There was no rhyme or reason that they could see and more importantly, they had no idea where they were coming from. Could the grey forms multiply? It was all useless. The area had always been plagued by this problem, or at least for as long as anyone could remember, and they had long since learned not to mention the smothering greyness to the village people.

Everyone in the village who had spoken to the witches - and a lot wouldn't - immediately set about performing every superstitious ritual that they knew. Sometimes even that wasn't enough and so they developed new ones. One thing the village people all agreed on was that somehow the witches were to blame, what with them being outsiders and everything.

It didn't make for a great atmosphere. They weren't really on speaking terms with anyone in the village and never felt that they could pop down the road and ask to borrow a cup of sugar. There were positives though. They didn't get village people knocking on their door and asking if they would babysit their goat for an hour whilst they popped into town for urgent matters such as emergency rosary bead re-threading.

That sense of not being part of the community bothered Fizz more than it did Tess, but what bothered them both was the fact that the smothering seemed to be getting worse. Eilydh sipped at her whiskey as she pondered. "It always seems to be at this sort of time of year," she thought out loud. "Just when the weather is hottest. Makes it tougher to deal with when it's so bloody hot. We should be sitting on the terrace topping up our tans, instead of running around getting sweaty," said Ffion.

The atmosphere was all a bit melancholy. Tess, looking for a positive, drank a mouthful of wine and said, "You and I can start searching again tomorrow. If we can find where we left off."  
"I'll look forward to that then, will I?" said Ffion, not fully grasping the positive.  
"We'll no' find it easy. I canny remember where we finished," said Eilydh, equally positively.  
"Wasn't it just past that dip in the ground?" said Tess.  
"No my lovely. It was a long way past that," said Ffion.  
"I think that dip used to be a wee stream. It carries on into the valley," Eilydh suggested.  
"It is a stream," Fizz corrected.

Ffion looked at her. "I've heard of dry ice, my lovely, but not dry water. It's as dry as a Friday night in Mecca," she said, pointing with her glass in the vague direction of the south-east.  
"Now it is," Fizz agreed. "In the winter it's a regular stream and in the spring, well, it bubbles along like a coffee machine."

Tess nodded slowly.

A little voice from the settee chipped in. "I thought that was where it was worst. You know, thicker," said Tabatha. No one answered.

Harriet was home alone today. There was a lot going on at the wharf and everyone was needed. There was nothing really that Harriet could do at the new office, nothing that she couldn't do equally well from here, and there was a lot she could do on her laptop to help the main office. If she could get stuck in to some of the more important admin, that would free up Elizabeth for interviews and meetings, and as she said to Michael, it kept her out of harm's way.

The boys had left for work early, but not before every one of them had told Harriet to be careful. Stay indoors. Don't answer the door to strangers. And keep away from the windows! She had easily agreed to stay indoors, she had all she needed. She was also fully aware of stranger danger and all that, but as she had pointed out, they were three floors up so what was the, "stay away from the windows" all about?

Michael, Malcolm and Malachi still thought that it was better to be safe than sorry and insisted that she should keep away from the windows. The view wasn't all that, unless you liked main roads, and anyway, she had a lot to do and so it was easier for her to agree and even to allow them to shut all the curtains. 10 minutes after they left, she opened them all again.

Harriet made a list of all the things that she needed to check up on, both with Elizabeth and with tradesmen at the new office. The IT infrastructure was pretty much all in place and today the engineers were going in to link it and the main office onto their new cloud-based system. It was all quite exciting. Harriet's lack of easy mobility and her need to keep a low profile had made her very anxious about not being there. Not being in control. She was in constant contact by phone and actually, things had gone a lot smoother than she had expected. She was feeling good.

She phoned Elizabeth and got an update on Ivan, Tommy's new best friend. Well, according to Ivan he was anyway. Tommy didn't comment. Elizabeth explained that dealing with Ivan did require some patience, quite a lot of patience, and every day he was coming up with new tasks that he needed Tommy to attend to. Tommy had asked when Harriet was coming back, as if that meant that he could maybe delegate some of his responsibilities. Poor Tommy, thought Harriet. "What about Ivan's family?"  
Elizabeth laughed. "I think that's one of the things he wants to delegate. He doesn't really know what to do."  
"Hmm, me neither." Harriet made a note to have a word with her aunts on their return. Harriet had looked at the office calendar and asked how she could help. There were quite a few things actually and by the time that Harriet had finished making notes she was half way down the second page of her pad. Elizabeth said that she would send some files and they agreed to have a chat at the end of the day.

By the afternoon, Harriet had got a lot of work done and dealt with quite a few phone calls, at least three of which were from the boys making sure that she was okay and that the curtains were still shut. It was a little white lie and she made a mental note to make sure that she drew the curtains before they got home. At first she didn't realise what the noise was. It sounded like a repetitive banging noise. Then she realised it was coming from the front door. She hobbled as quickly as she could down the hallway and had even started to turn the lock when she remembered her instructions, not to open the door to strangers etc.

"Who is it?"  
"Parcel for Harriet White."

Harriet relaxed. Parcel delivery seemed innocuous enough. Then she thought who knew that she was here? "Can you leave it outside?"  
"It needs a signature."

Harriet thought on this. "What is it?"  
"I don't know, I just make the delivery."

It all sounded plausible, thought Harriet. It was a woman's voice so it was probably ok. "Who is it from?" Harriet felt pleased with herself, even the boys would have to agree that she was being careful.

"Perfect Fit," came the reply.

Curious, thought Harriet. Elizabeth hadn't mentioned that she was sending a parcel but they had talked about a lot of things. Harriet was convinced that this was all ok and she opened the door.

Harriet recognised the insignia of the company on the courier's jacket. The woman was tall, with a very trim figure. A few loose strands of platinum blonde hair stuck out beneath a large baseball cap, which was pulled down and covering most of her face. She handed the box to Harriet. It wasn't particularly heavy and was just a little larger than A4 size. Paperwork that needed Harriet's signature, she guessed. The courier pushed a clipboard in front of Harriet. There were a few names and addresses on the page, complete with a few scribbled signatures. It all looked perfectly normal. The courier handed Harriet a pen. Harriet was surprised at the courier's hands. They were beautiful. Slender, tanned, very well-manicured and sporting a pair of platinum rings whose stones would have been worth a fortune had they been real, she thought. She took the pen gratefully and immediately felt a sharp pain in her finger. "Ow!" She winced and looked at the pen. The courier quickly snatched the pen away and hurried down the stairs. Harriet looked down at her finger. It was bleeding.

It was just a tiny little mark and Harriet popped her finger into her mouth to clean off the blood. She took the parcel into the lounge and set it on the table. Her eyes seemed to lose their focus and it felt as if the room was spinning around. Harriet grabbed the back of one of the dining chairs for support and slowly she slid to the floor.

Chapter Twenty One

Tess had set the alarm this morning. Half an hour before dawn was still a pretty painful time to get up but the alarm could be turned off, unlike Vincent. They had all learned over the past few days that leaping out of bed at Vincent's urgent command and leaping into action without any breakfast, not even a cup of coffee, wasn't the kindest start to a working day. She went downstairs and put the kettle on as Fizz prepared some fruit and heated some croissants.

"Aw, that smells proper lush," said Ffion approvingly as she helped herself. She had tried to say that she liked a continental breakfast but a mouthful of croissant has never done anything for anyone's linguistic skills, not even the French, and she was forced to say it again after she'd swallowed. Tabatha seemed to be moving quite stiffly and her face displayed the reason that Jackson Pollock didn't do portraits. Her face looked like a panda had stumbled into a horror movie.

"Bloody hell Tab. I think you should stay here today," Ffion noted. "You'd frighten the ruddy vegetation, don't you," she added through a mouthful of melon.

Tabatha smiled weakly.  
"I think she's right Tabatha," said Fizz.

"What? About the vegetation? Thanks."

Ffion spluttered and sprayed the table with whatever fruit she was currently chewing.

Fizz grimaced. "No. I just think you need some time to recover."

Tabatha responded by lifting up her nightshirt to show massive blue and yellow marbled bruising across her thighs and buttocks.

"Bloody hell Tab!" The sight had obviously shocked Ffion, as she had even stopped eating.

Eilydh sucked in a breath between her teeth. "It's a good job that that's covered Tabatha, and that no one can see it. It's pretty bad."  
"Yeah. I'm hardly going to get the chance to show it off, with a face like this," she said, and dropped the hem of her nightshirt.

"I think you should stay here," Fizz repeated. "You're not going to make it any better by using those muscles today."

Tabatha nodded slowly.  
"She would heal quicker as a wolf though," said Tess.

"Bloody hell Tess. You're a slave driver aren't you?"  
"I didn't mean it like that Fi," Tess answered defensively. "I think Tabatha should stay here but as a wolf. She'd heal faster."

Eilydh nodded sagely. "That's true."

"I was thinking earlier-" said Tabatha.  
"And it's not even dawn. Steady on Tab, my girl. This is turning out to be quite a day for you, don't you." Ffion laughed.

Maybe breakfast wasn't such a good idea after all, thought Tess.

Tabatha pulled a face at Ffion. "Ha ha. No, I was thinking. You know I said that I thought that the smothering was thicker where that dried upstream was?" She paused and looked around to make sure that she had everyone's attention. "Well, the smothering always seems to happen at this time of year, right? And that seems to be the same time as the stream dries up." The look on their faces didn't show that they were on the same wavelength. Tabatha went on. "What if the grey can only come out when there's no water?" Ffion made a noise. "Pffff! That's as mad as when my Da said he wanted to learn to River Dance."  
"Men can dance," Tabatha said quickly.  
"He's only got one leg," said Ffion, and she burst out laughing.

It had sounded like a good idea to Tabitha. Oh well.

Eilydh finished her croissant and said, "She might have something there."

Even Tabatha was surprised by this endorsement. "Really?" she beamed.

"Mmm," continued Eilyadh, licking crumbs from her lips and wiping her fingers on a napkin.

"Yeah. You've seen how they don't go near the river. I think they don't like water," Tabatha said enthusiastically.

Eilydh shook her head. "No Lassie, it's not that."  
"Oh."  
"The stream starts underground, ok? I think the grey things are underground too. I think that they can't come out when the stream is running because there's not enough room to." This was obviously a work in progress as Eilydh was still frowning in concentration.

Fizz looked at Tess. "It's feasible," she said.

Tess was already convinced, at least for now, and was thinking how that information could be used to stop them. "If we can find the source. There must be a hole. A gap in the rocks or something. If we can find the source then surely we can block it up."

"How?" said Tabatha.  
"We can fill the hole and pack it tight," replied Tess.  
"Won't the stream just push through that?"  
"Yes. I'm sure it would but that stream won't run again until the spring. That gives us months to come up with a permanent solution."

"Only if we are right," said Ffion.  
"There's an easy way to find out," said Tess with raised eyebrows. She finished her coffee and headed for the stairs. "Come on then," she called back.

One of the best things about being a bear, and any bear will tell you this (apart from Pooh Bear, he can be a bit of an old romantic at times) is that they don't have to watch endless repeats of old war films at Christmas. One of the worst things about being a bear, as any non-bear will tell you, is that their vocal range doesn't make them very tuneful. One of the worst things about being a witch is having to work alongside a witch who has transformed into a bear and who won't stop trying to hum the theme tune from 'The Dambusters'.

Whilst Vincent took up his place on the landing as per usual and the timber wolf laid outside under the shade of the trees, a mighty dragon and a big brown bear with a curiously singed bottom made their way through the greyness to a particular spot. The snow leopard chose to patrol along the southern ridge from the villa to the river and keep the smothering in check. High above the valley the eagle soared. Although it was tiring, she chose not to glide but to stay in powered flight as it helped to drown out that bloody bear.

The dragon spat out huge gouts of flame and the bear ripped and clawed at the hillside. Working in unison they set a steady rhythm. After a while the bear thought that she had found the exact spot that they were looking for but it was difficult to be precise as the sweat trickled into her eyes. The eagle and the snow leopard were summoned as they both had eyesight that was keen and perfectly tuned to spot movement. Together they located the source of the now dried upstream and hopefully, the smothering.

The dragon filled her huge lungs with air and then sucked in just a little bit more for good measure. With the snow leopard sitting precariously on her neck and trying to aim for her, she exhaled a sheet of fire that went on for quite a while. As soon as she had run out of breath, the bear, guided by the thoughts of the snow leopard and the eagle, pounced. She drove her mighty fists into the soil and rock. Feeling it sink beneath her. Relentlessly she pounded and thumped.

The dragon used her talons to pick up and deliver small boulders to place in the path of the bear's pile driving blows. The bear fell backwards onto her rump, exhausted by frantic exertions. All around her the grey swirling continued. At least she had given up with 'The Dambusters' theme. The dragon screeched and flicked her head sideways telling the bear to vacate the area.

She blasted a lungful of fiery breath at the hillside. Scorching and blackening the area where the bear had been. Two more breaths fuelled her onslaught, incinerating everything in her path. Slowly, the grey smothering mass started to fill the void. They could all see that the area was being filled from the edges and not from the centre.

For the rest of that day the dragon flew low over the valley, blasting her fiery breath. The bear thundered backwards and forwards over the same area again and again. She was trying to see if she could produce stripes like a lawnmower but it didn't work. The snow leopard ran like she had never run before - a claws slashing, teeth snapping, ever hissing popsy.

By late afternoon they had reduced the swirling grey mass to less than a third of its original size, until it looked like a huge monochrome cowpat on the middle of the valley floor. Weary and grinning, they made their way to the villa. The grin was working quite well for the snow leopard and not too bad for the bear. The dragon looked as if she had tried to swallow a fence post sideways and the eagle just looked weird.

In the village the air felt less oppressive. The sky looked brighter. The sense of gloom and foreboding that had hung over the village for some time didn't feel as overwhelming. Some of the more optimistic village people and those with rheumatoid arthritis had even put down their rosary beads. They may have lost a wolf but they had gained a sun. The feeling of renewed hope and vitality even spread outside of the valley and an elderly shepherd could be seen giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to one of his rocks.

Michael unlocked the front door and the boys poured into the hall like school custard. Marcus called out Harriet's name and Malcolm snorted and tutted. "The curtains were open. "What did we say to her, hmm?"

They made their way down the hall and looked into the kitchen. It was empty. Marcus and Matthew called out to Harriet. They entered the lounge and saw her lying perfectly still on her back. On the table sat an unopened cardboard box with a courier's address label.

Michael dropped to his knees and his hands went straight to Harriet's neck, to feel for a pulse. Her chest was rising and falling but he hadn't noticed that. The rest of the brothers stood around as he checked Harriet's vital signs and any indication as to what had caused her to be like this. Together, he and Marcus picked Harriet up and laid her gently on the settee. Michael gently slapped her face. There was no response. He lifted one eyelid and saw her pupil contract. He called her name as he shook her shoulders. Still no response.

He looked up at Malcolm, who was the nearest of the onlookers. "Have we got any smelling salts?"

"Why are you asking me?" Malcolm snorted indignantly. "Why would I have smelling salts?"

"Anyone!" Michael said in frustration, raising his head to look at each of their faces.

Malachi apologised for not having any and everyone else shook their heads.

"Anything like that?" More shaking heads.

They tilted Harriet up and tried to get her to drink some water but it just spilled down her front. They tried washing her face with an icy cold flannel but she made no response. It was all very odd and outside of Michael's medical expertise. She was breathing, she looked calm and restful, but something wasn't right. Michael called his doctor for a home visit and was told that the doctor was very busy but he would get there as soon as he could. There was nothing else that they could do.

Malcolm busied himself making dinner, Marley fell asleep on the settee and Marcus tidied up all the paperwork that Harriet had left out and closed her laptop.

In the villa, celebrations had started early. Everyone, including Tabatha, joined in to make a meal and white wine flowed as only white wine can. As the sun started to descend and the mass of grey forms constricted and shrunk as it did every night time, it felt as if the valley was alive again. Scents from the meadows below wafted lazily on the breeze. The terrace was full of the aroma of jasmine. It had been absent for so long that it took Fizz by surprise. There was an occasional waft of fragrances from her garden. They heard the chirruping calls of birds that had been missing from the valley since before they could remember.

Tess and Ffion manoeuvred the metal table and chairs and the terrace hummed with the sounds of laughter and high spirits. Even when they realised that they had more work to do tomorrow, more of the same, it no longer felt like a chore. They looked forward to the opportunity to rid the valley of the smothering greyness and they would consider a more permanent solution later. Tess went around the table refilling people's glasses and occasionally humming 'The Dambusters' theme quietly. No one minded. Fizz took a sip from her glass and then a more generous mouthful. She laughed along with everyone else and lent forward to chink glasses in a toast to what they had achieved.

She sat back in her chair and raised her glass to her lips. Her hands went completely numb and the glass tipped over her dress before smashing on the tiled floor. Everyone looked around to see Fizz's eyes wide open and fixed. Before anyone had a chance to say or do anything, her mouth opened and she screamed, "HARRIET!"

It took four witches to hold her down and stop her screaming. Four witches who were finding it increasingly difficult to suppress their own urges to scream. Fizz stammered out through gasping breaths that Harriet was hurt and in big trouble.

Malcolm was chopping vegetables in the kitchen when he heard the scream. It came from behind him. He spun around and saw a middle-aged woman in a state of distress hanging head, arm and shoulders through the door of the microwave. Malcolm dropped the knife, stood perfectly still and screamed.

In the lounge they all heard the scream and even Marley woke. A middle-aged woman with spiky brown hair was protruding through the screen of the TV, her hands gripping its lower edge.

Malachi was in the hall, combing his hair in front of the big mirror when he heard a new scream. It came from right there in front of him and he blinked. When he opened his eyes he was staring into the face of a slender woman, with a mass of flame red hair which was billowing out behind her as if propelled by a wind machine. Her head and shoulders were through the mirror as her hand shot out to grab him.

There was another scream, from the kitchen again, two screams in fact. They came from Malcolm and the long-haired woman with the pointed face that was clawing her way through the oven's glass door.

On the dining table Harriet's laptop lid popped open to an upright position. On the screen, with her muzzle protruding through it, was a dog. It was a lovely dog. It looked like a big German shepherd.

Because there was a lot of screaming emanating from the kitchen, Michael and Marcus had ran from the lounge into the kitchen without seeing the woman that was coming through the TV or the nice doggy on the laptop. As they entered the kitchen the woman in the microwave screamed again. It was a different scream to her first one that had been shrill and piercing. This was more a scream of shock and surprise.

It took just a second before the woman in the microwave began shouting at them. They turned to face her and then spun around to the opposite side of the kitchen as the woman in the oven started shrieking. Malcolm, Michael and Marcus backed into the corner near the sink, trying to keep out of reach of both women.

"WHERE IS SHE? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER?!" microwave woman shrieked.

"I'll hunt you to hell and back boyos!" screamed oven woman, in a voice that seemed to burn their skulls from the inside.

None of them knew who these women were or what they were doing bursting through their electrical goods and home furnishings, but it didn't take an idiot to work out that they were referring to Harriet. It was Marcus that spoke first. "She's in there," he said, and pointed towards the lounge. "What have you done to her?" screeched microwave woman. Her face was turning red and spittle flew from her lips as she snarled. Oven woman's eyes blazed red as she continued to scream at them.

There was an almighty noise in the lounge. It sounded like rolling thunder or the deep hungry growl of a massive bear. "What have you done?!" Even the little dog on the laptop screen was growling. Microwave woman was screeching again and as the three brothers looked at the microwave, her shape seemed to have changed into a snarling leopard. The image was barely there for a second but it was enough to make each of the brothers make a small whimpering noise. They looked at oven woman. Her angry face was replaced with that of a ferocious dragon. Long fangs protruding past leathery lips and wisps of smoke rising from nostrils. They blinked involuntarily and the dragon was gone. Microwave woman was screaming, "Bring her to me!" As oven woman screamed, "NOW!" with such force that it seemed to enter their heads like a spike.

Marcus nodded nervously in agreement and took a step forward to comply. He stopped and looked from oven to microwave. He was trying to gauge whether he could get past them without being grabbed by their flailing arms. The women drew their arms back in through the appliances and he raced past.

As Marcus ran into the hallway he saw the curved beak of a golden eagle slashing through the air in his direction. He blinked and the image was gone. The woman's face that had taken its place was no less daunting. He turned quickly into the lounge. Their television was a good size. It was wall mounted. It had to be. They didn't have a table big enough to support it. Blasting from the TV now was not the early evening news, it was the hot breath of a brown bear, so massive that it almost filled the screen. One paw slashed into the room. The paw looked bigger than his own chest. He turned away towards where Harriet lay and saw the doggy on the laptop screen. It was a relief but it was short lived. In a blink the image of the doggy was replaced with something so hideous that he knew it would share his nightmares forever.

The image was part woman and part mutilated panda from hell. This time, Marcus screamed. The image was instantly replaced with the doggy again. Its lips were curled back to show some rather substantial teeth as a voice inside his head barked, "Wolf, actually."

Carefully, and after screaming at Matthew to help him, the brothers carried Harriet into the kitchen. At first they thought that it might be the wrong Harriet, judging by microwave woman's reaction. She didn't just scream in a way that sounded like it could crack walls, her scream cracked the kitchen wall. Shards of broken ceramic tile cascaded to the floor as the crack snaked down the wall like a lightning strike.

"What have you done to her!" The two women screened in perfect harmony.

The boys just stood rooted to the spot. They were shaking so violently that it looked as if Harriet was undergoing some fat reducing therapy. "Bring her to me," screamed microwave woman. With shuffling steps the brothers moved Harriet within reach of the microwave woman's hands. They fully expected to have found a hand around each of their throats by now. Instead the woman was touching Harriet, searching for clues to understand Harriet's condition. Microwave woman threw back her head and wailed, "You've poisoned her!" Marcus tried to shout that they hadn't and that they had found Harriet like this on their return from work but his voice was barely audible over Matthew sneezing.

Microwave woman looked back at Harriet before bellowing, "Tess, I need some herbs from the garden. Quickly!"

The boys had seen horror films before. Quite a few actually. They went through that phase when the only films that they would watch were horrors. They hadn't expected herbs.

Marley poked his head into the hall. "The bear's gone."

It seemed cold comfort when in the presence of microwave woman and oven woman. Microwave woman was speaking again. She was looking at Harriet and tenderly stroking her face as she spoke, but can't have been speaking to her. "Yes, yes, a sprig of that. Two leaves from that one there. No the one on the left. The blue one Tess, the blue one. Yes that's it. I need a sprig of that one, no, towards the back. Three petals from the purple flower, don't tear them. One of the berries from the one on the right. Not that one. Let me see. No, throw it away. A berry from there, the other hand. Yes, yes, that's it. A stem of that one. Oh for Pete's sake woman, it's right in front of you. Yes that one. A fresh leaf of that one. That's right but make sure it's a fresh one, not one that's started to dry out. I need the top two inches of a stalk of, um, yes that one. Thank you. You'd better add the seed head from the one over there. Left hand side Tess. That's it."

Marcus just stared at her. Matthew stopped sneezing. Marley gave a little scream. Apparently the bear was back and was handing Marley some bits and pieces of plants and growling for him to take them to the kitchen.

Fizz's eyes opened wide as Marley entered the room. "Another one?" She looked down at his hands and said, "Right. Have we got a pestle and mortar?" None of them knew how to answer that question. Microwave woman bellowed, "A bloody food blender then!" as she rocked her head from side to side. She seemed to know instinctively who the cook was. An accusing finger shot out from the microwave door straight towards Malcolm as she screamed, "Well, have you"?

Malcolm opened a cupboard door and lifted out his pride and joy food processor. He was almost in tears. Microwave woman asked if he had the little attachment for grinding coffee and he nodded vigorously. She gave Malcolm specific instructions on what to add to the little grinder, how long to grind it for and what to add next until all the ingredients had been ground and mixed together. She inspected his efforts and told him to add two teaspoons of the herbs to two tablespoons of water before stirring. She took the cup from Malcolm and with one hand she gently prised Harriet's mouth open. The look on her face was almost reverential as she slowly poured the contents into Harriet's mouth, sip by sip.

Matthew and Marcus were instructed to take Harriet back into the lounge and lay her on the settee. Microwave woman shouted at them to put a cushion under Harriet's head. Her voice was still coming from the kitchen. "How did she know there wasn't?" whispered Matthew. "Because I'm watching you," came the echoed response from the kitchen.

The bear had disappeared from the TV. Michael peered carefully into the hall. The only thing that he could see in the hall mirror was the reflection of Malachi's prone body, lying on the floor where he had fainted. Tentatively he peered around the kitchen doorway. The oven door looked like their oven door, the microwave looked like their microwave and Malcolm, leaning against the sink, looked like he needed a change of underwear.

Michael retreated back into the lounge and looked towards Harriet. She looked peaceful. Her laptop was closed. Michael's brow furrowed. What the hell had just happened? Had he imagined it? No, his brothers had all reacted the same way as he did. Maybe it was some kind of mass hallucination. His shoulders relaxed and he looked around the room.

He noticed that all of his brothers were staring in one direction. They looked like the cast of 'Watership Down'. He turned to follow their line of sight. "Shit!" he said, as he jumped back. On the TV, looking like a giant family photo, were four women and their pet dog. He stood transfixed as one of the women turned her eyes to look at her immediate neighbour. "I think you've got some explaining to do," said the woman with the spiky hair.

Michael wasn't sure that they did but her look suggested that he should try. He swallowed dryly. "Who are you?"

"Aw no. Who are you then?" said the tallest woman, as she jabbed a finger through the TV screen and into the room and waved it to include all the brothers. Michael wasn't appreciating this 3-D TV. It was way too realistic for his liking. "I'm, um, Michael," he answered in a dry scratchy voice, and then coughed to clear his throat. "These are my brothers." He indicated with his head. "And this is our house."

"Obviously!"

Michael couldn't see who had said that but the dog was rolling its eyes.  
"What is Harriet doing here?" It was spiky haired woman again.

Michael's mouth opened as if to say something and then closed again. He didn't know where to start. They knew who she was and that this wasn't her home but he had no idea what else they knew. "It's a long story," he said nervously.

The shorter, curly haired woman rolled her eyes. Two seconds passed before she said, "Well?" Michael started to explain how they had come home from work and found Harriet lying on the floor unconscious. The slim woman with the flowing locks of flaming red hair (could you say ginger, he thought? Some people were sensitive about that) spoke. She had a soft, pleasant voice. "I think you'd do better, to start at the beginning laddie."

It didn't sound threatening, more like a suggestion, and Michael took it eagerly. Michael started to tell how they had discovered Harriet lying outside and how they had carried her indoors and looked after her. As he started to tell the story, his brothers relaxed and added their own part. Matthew tried but had started sneezing again and he had been forced to give in. The short woman with the curly hair kept staring at him and frowning. She held up her palm to indicate that they should stop talking and said to Matthew, "Come here." Matthew shook his head as he sneezed violently. "No," he said, in the way that a child would after they had done something wrong. "Come here," she said again, and with the 3-D finger she pointed to the floor in front of the TV.

"No," said a rather frightened Matthew again. "No" he said again, this time sounding both uncertain and disbelieving as he looked down at his legs. They were walking him towards the TV. "No!" he pleaded, this time looking down at his legs as he was saying it. They kept walking. "Michael," he called to his brother, and held out his arms towards Michael. Michael took a step forward but the glare that he was getting from the red-haired woman made him stop. Her hair was flowing out behind her. Almost horizontal but no one else's hair seemed to be moving.

Matthew was standing in front of the TV now and sneezing enough for Marley to search for a packet of screen wipes. The curly haired woman was scrutinising Matthew now. Her hands came through the TV and grasped each side of his head, twisting it first one way and then the other. "Hmm," she frowned. A soft blue glow seemed to surround Matthew's head. It quickly brightened and then with a popping noise disappeared. The woman stared at him for a little longer and then smiled. "That's better," she said.

A croaky voice from the settee said, "Aunty?" They all looked at Harriet who was starting to sit up. "What are you doing here?" she croaked. "Hi Aunty Tess, Ffion, Eilydh. Tabitha."  
"Can someone get the wee lass a drink?" said the red-haired lady.  
"Um, beer? No, coffee. Maybe a glass of water?" Marcus corrected himself and ran into the kitchen.

Over the next couple of hours Harriet and the boys told their story. During that time the spiky-haired lady had disappeared from the TV and returned a short while later with a very large plate full of what looked like cheese straws. "Oh, yum," said Harriet excitedly, and she hobbled over to the TV to take the plate.

Chapter Twenty Two

He crept through the house without making a sound. Careful steps on the staircase produced not one creak. On the landing, he paused. Listening for any signs of movement, any change in the shallow breaths of the sleepers. Slowly he made his way into her bedroom. Cautiously, he continued his way around the bed, every step considered and applied lightly. There was no light to guide him or to give away his presence. He stood perfectly still for some time, just watching the rise and fall of her chest. Listening to the rhythm of sleep. Satisfied, he ran his tongue over his dry lips and pounced.

He knew exactly where to go, what to aim for and with a click that was barely audible in the still night, he turned off the alarm clock. There was no way that he would be denied. This was his right. And he was determined to be involved. Vincent jumped down to the floor from the bedside cabinet and sauntered away. There was no longer any need for stealth. If anyone awoke he would just give them the look. He was a cat. He was supposed to be nocturnal.

At first light Vincent took up his position. Took a deep breath. Angled his head and woke them all up. He didn't do it for their gratitude. He wasn't that insecure. Cats aren't.

Ffion didn't stand rigid at the foot of her bed. There was no spectacle of the mystical powers that drew her essence into a mighty form. Instead she got out of bed, scratched one buttock and went downstairs for breakfast. She still rubbed the top of his head as she passed and she chuckled as she said, "You're a little sod Vincent, don't you."

After breakfast they made their way back to their rooms. Tabitha insisted that she wanted to be involved. Vincent instinctively knew when the witches were ready and he took up his place on the landing. Head angled, battle cry given, he watched as five spectral forms took shape and leapt through the closed windows into the dawn. The eagle swept into the sky to take up her usual position. The dragon decided on one last revolution of the valley to make sure that there were no stragglers and the bear, the snow leopard and the timber wolf galloped side-by-side.

The land creatures attacked from the west, driving the grey mass back to where they had seeped from the ground. It wasn't intentional, they just happened to be going that way. Clawing, biting and the odd swipe from a big brown paw reduced the numbers down before the dragon had completed her flight and joined them. They knew she was coming. They could sense her approach and they parted to one side to watch her aerial display. She blasted the grey mass, banked and circled for a second approach. As she flew out and around in a wide arc the bear, the snow leopard and the wolf raced in for a quick bite. The eagle's primary role was rather redundant today and even she swooped and pecked before rising out of harm's way.

The dragon flew in low. Flames erupted across the dry earth and as she turned to bank away at the end of her run she blew two perfect smoke rings. Racing in again to pick off any stragglers, the witch's attacks were felt by their shared consciousness by four different cries of; "He loves me, he loves me not".

Within an hour, as the village was starting to wake, it was all over. There was nothing grey or murky left in the valley. Not a trace of gloom or misery as the sunlight poured into the natural bowl.

A group of friends sat amongst meadow flowers and surveyed the damage that they had made on the eastern slopes.

"Aw, they won't like that, will they?" said the dragon, pointing to the scorched earth.  
"You get wildfires round here all the time," said the leopard.

"Och, it'll grow back before you know it," said the eagle.

"Yeah, the village people are never happy until they've got something to complain about," the wolf mused.

"Pah, they can always go west," said the bear, nodding over her shoulder.  
"Wasn't one of them a fireman?" said the dragon idly.

"Who?"  
"The village people."  
"Yeah. I think so."

The dragon lifted leisurely into the sky and headed south. The eagle followed at her own pace and the other three settled into a relaxed cantor. It was time to go home.

A few early risers were out and about and the dog had claimed his position underneath the table early, just in case. That big dog had looked like a German Shepherd and he didn't want to find out that it had gotten up early and secured the place with a towel. They all heard the noise. You couldn't miss it but whatever it was it flew in from the east, with the sun behind it making it impossible to see. They did see the huge tongue of flame that torched the barn however, and when they looked into the sky above it they saw the perfect "O" of the smoke ring.

It made a nice change to have lunch on the terrace. Ffion was stretched out on a sun lounger \- she didn't want to go back home without some sort of tan. Tabitha was on the lounger next to her doing the same. She wasn't sure whether bruises tanned or whether she was simply adding another colour to the patchwork quilt that she had become. Eilydh sat with Fizz at the table, under the shade of the canopy.

Fizz had been rather quiet this morning. "There's been a large fire down in the village," she said in a conversational tone. At the mention of the village, Tabatha lifted her head. "Really? Is it still burning? How many houses are involved? They're all quite close together down there." She thought of the great fire of London that had caused so much destruction purely because of how close all the buildings were to each other. The fire in that village could end up just the same. She wasn't bothered. She didn't have any fond memories of the village at all.

"They've put it out now, no one was hurt."  
"Oh." Tabatha's head dropped back to the cushion. She wasn't interested any more.

"What caused it? Do they know," Eilydh asked with a smirk.

"Oh yeah," said Fizz. "Lightning strike."

"When?" said Tabatha, doubtfully. She still wasn't really interested but she hadn't seen or heard a storm.

"It was this morning, about the time that we got back to the villa."

"Lightning? I didn't see any storm. What makes them think it's lightning?"

"That's what I've told them. They're quite happy with that." Ffion got up from the sun lounger and made her way towards the kitchen. "I'm going to put the kettle on. Anyone for a coffee?"

"I think a glass of wine would be better, don't you?" said Fizz. "We can make a toast." Fizz looked at Eilydh and raised one eyebrow. Eilydh was not so much nodding as gently rocking backwards and forwards, with just a hint of a satisfied smile.

Tess brought out the wine glasses and Ffion the bottle. "To a good job done and a flaming success," said Tabatha, and she chinked her glass against the others.

Eilydh cocked an eyebrow at Fizz. Fizz just shrugged. "Good enough."

"We need to get back," said Fizz thoughtfully as she sipped at her wine.

"I know," said Tess. "The cars all ready and I've tidied up."

"Could I come with you?" said Eilydh.

"Of course you can," smiled Fizz warmly. "It's a long drive though." Eilydh's face lit up. "Oh, that's nay bother." Tess looked from Ffion to Tabatha. "Sorry. We need to be with Harriet..."

"God yeah. Of course you do," said Tabatha.

"You're welcome to stay here or whatever you want," Tess added.

"Would there be any room in the car?" Ffion asked.

Tess laughed. "Plenty." She looked at Tabitha and raised her eyebrows questioningly. Tabitha nodded eagerly, a broad grin on her face.

"How long a drive is it?" said Ffion.

"Long," said Tess.

"Do you stop on the way?"  
"Yeah, sometimes. I'd like to get home as quickly as possible though, for Harriet."  
"What if I help you with the driving?"  
"That'll be good," nodded Tess. "We can do it in one hit."  
"Would that be alright for you Eil? It's a long time in the car."  
"Och yes." She smiled at the thought of the comfortable car and the air conditioning.  
"We'll set off in a couple of hours, shall we? That way we can stop for dinner and then drive through the night."

With the villa all closed behind them, they drove down through the village. Not counting the noisy child in the pushchair, this was at least the third vehicle that had passed today, tooting its horn to move pedestrians. The cafe owner shook his head and spat on the floor. It was starting to get like a bloody motorway services around here. The last thing he wanted was a cafe full of truck drivers. They were such a miserable bunch.

Tabatha glanced towards the barn. Her brow was lowered. Part of her didn't want to look. It made her shiver just to think of what could have happened there. "Oh my word," she said quietly. The hulking great barn was just a pile of charcoal and half burnt timbers. You'd have had to have known that it was once a barn to know what you were looking at now. She looked back at her companions in the car. Tess, the driver, was looking straight ahead. Fizz was looking at the smouldering pile. Eilydh was looking at Fizz and Ffion was admiring the scenery in the opposite direction. "Did you see that?" she asked incredulously.

"Lightning," said Fizz.

"Oh, come on. Who said it was lightning? That's a bit hard to believe."

"What do you think Ffion?" said Eilydh, without turning her head.  
"Well!" said Ffion. "They bloody deserved it. I'm not sorry, if that's what you think."

Eilydh patted her gently on the knee. "You're not responsible for lightning lass," she said, poker faced. "Smoke rings maybe, but nay lightning."  
"A smoke ring? You didn't?" said Tabatha in awe. Ffion just shrugged.

Chapter Twenty Three

It had been a late night, what with one thing and another - the shocks, the explanations and all the talk. Malcolm had been rather reluctant to finish dinner or go into the kitchen for any reason, come to that, so they had ordered a takeaway. The young man who had delivered their dinner hadn't wanted a tip, even after lugging what was quite a heavy load up three flights of stairs. Maybe it was the sight of seven rather tall, grim-faced black men that had answered the door and just stared at him. Maybe he thought that their meal was expensive enough and didn't warrant a further service charge. No one asked him. They just paid him and watched him leave, as he made his way downstairs moving faster and faster.

Harriet woke this morning to the smell of bacon. After a quick shower and dressing she made her way down the hall, almost salivating with anticipation. She no longer needed the aluminium crutch. Her ankle was still bound in an elastic bandage, Michael insisted on that. It was no longer really painful, at least most of the time. It was just uncomfortable. It didn't slow her down as she clip donk clip donked her way to the lounge.

It was quite noisy round the table that morning, as everyone slurped at their steaming coffee. She really must find out where the boys got their coffee from, she thought. Lips smacked between "mmm" noises as they tucked into their bacon sandwiches. Bacon and avocado sandwiches were a new thing to Harriet but after today she could never go back to an ordinary bacon sandwich. They were yum.

"Thank you Malcolm. That was amazing," said Harriet gratefully. Malcolm answered with a short nod. Whether that was a hint of a smile or not though, she couldn't be sure. "I'm glad to see that you're able to go back into your kitchen again," she smiled teasingly.

"I am not using that microwave," said Malcolm sternly. "I want it replaced. Today." Everyone apart from Malcolm laughed. "I mean it," he said, in a way that everyone knew he meant it .

"The microwave is fine," said Michael quietly. "There's nothing wrong with it." Harriet did notice his quick glance at the TV as he said this.

"I don't care. I want it out of my kitchen," Malcolm insisted.

"I suppose you want..." Marcus started, but Harriet squeezed his forearm tightly. Marcus looked at her, she was shaking her head. "... Er, a new one," he recovered, and Harriet let go of his arm.

"Yes I do," said the Malcolm that everyone recognised. "With a grill in it and wipe-clean front. And a plate warmer setting." There was nothing wrong with the old microwave, apart from the fact that you couldn't look at it without imagining a screaming woman sticking out of the front of it looking like she wanted to murder you. Oddly, no one seemed quite so bothered by thoughts of a dragon in the oven. Maybe that was because it hadn't screamed as much. Malachi couldn't pass the mirror in the hall without quickening his step too.

Harriet's mobile rang. She fished it from her pocket and looked at the screen. It was Tommy's number. "Hi Tommy. How are you?" she greeted cheerily.

"Hi Harriet," he sighed. Harriet's brow creased. "What's wrong?"  
"No. Nothing's wrong," Tommy answered, sounding weary. "We still on for tonight?"

Harriet muted the call and spoke to Michael. "It's Tommy, he wants to know if tonight's still on. What should I tell him?" Michael raised his eyebrows. It wasn't a question as far as he was concerned.

"Of course it is," said Marcus, Matthew and Marley together.

Harriet released the mute button. "Hi Tommy. Yes, everything is fine."  
"Uh good," sighed Tommy, again. Harriet could hear another voice in the background and Malcolm was saying quite loudly that they had to go shopping.

"Can I put you on speakerphone Tommy? Is that alright?"

Tommy was speaking away from the phone. He must be talking to Ivan she thought. "Yeah. Fine," he replied. His voice sounded strained, agitated. "Ivan wants a word."

There was a scuffle of noises as Tommy handed the phone to Ivan. Everyone sat perfectly still to hear what was going on. "Hello Hair-yet. You are hear me, yes?"  
Harriet grinned. "Hi Ivan. How are you? How are you feeling? How can I help you?"  
"Er, I dunno."

Harriet realised that she had spoken too quickly and asked too many questions. "Sorry Ivan. How are you?"  
"I ok."  
"How can I help?"  
"Is no help. I must cook dinner. I must. Is ok?"  
"What? Tonight?"  
"Da. Tonight I must cook for you and your friends. Special dinner."

Harriet giggled. It sounded like a lovely idea. By all accounts he was a very good chef. "One moment Ivan. Let me ask everyone. Ok?" Harriet muted the phone and asked what they thought. Everyone thought that it sounded wonderful and even Malcolm seemed happy enough. She released the mute button again. "Hello Ivan?"

"Is here." "That sounds lovely. There will be a lot of people. Is that okay?"  
"Is good. How many people?" Harriet started to count the number of people using her fingers.  
"Eleven," shouted Marvin.  
"Is good," said Ivan, and there was a scuffling noise as he must've handed the phone back to Tommy.  
"Sorry Harriet," said Tommy. "He's been doing my nut. Is that okay then?"

There was laughter around the table as Harriet replied. "It's fine Tommy. Absolutely fine. Do we need to get anything in for him do you know?"  
"Uh. I don't know. Oh God! He's writing something on the pad," said Tommy. "I think it might be a shopping list. It's in bloody Russian!" Everyone burst out laughing again. Tommy sounded frazzled already. That did sound like it was going to be one very painful shopping trip.

"Is there anything we can do Tommy?" said Harriet, genuinely concerned. She heard Tommy's sighed. "Fire me? Shoot me? Hang on Harriet, Ivan is talking to me. Can I get back to you?"  
"Of course. Let me know what we can do. If there's any shopping we can get for you. If you need any cash."  
"Yeh. I'll get back to you." And he ended the call.

There was a buzz of conversations around the table - talk of what dinner might be, whether Tommy would survive the shopping trip, where everyone was going to sit. Malcolm was getting most insistent that they needed to get the new microwave this morning. Michael, ever the pragmatist, was concerned with the seating arrangements. Malachi said that there were two good sized tables in the corner of warehouse two. There were loads of stackable chairs as well. A bit dusty but nothing that wouldn't clean off. He suggested that they could get some chairs and one of the tables in the minibus. Marley said he would help. "What about the microwave?" insisted Malcolm.

Michael groaned but Marley was on the case. "We can get that first, then the table and chairs, no problem."  
"I'm going with you," said Malcolm. "You won't know the right microwave to get."

No one argued with that. Malcolm could hardly complain if he chose it himself. That wasn't strictly speaking true, he'd still find something to complain about but hopefully not so much. Marley grabbed the keys to the minibus and Malachi and Malcolm started to put on their shoes.

Suddenly Malcolm cried out. It was the sort of cry that you'd make when you had mistaken your front door for the shower and stepped boldly through it, naked. It was quickly followed by a selection of noises. Gasps, minor-league screams and the calmer sounding but equally shocked voice of Malachi. "They're back!"

"Who's they, boyo. The cat's mothers?" said a cheery voice, followed by a bubbly infectious laugh. Harriet smiled. She recognised that voice immediately and she didn't need to turn round to know what was happening. She did turn round as she called out, "Hi Ffion. Can you stop scaring my friends?" She laughed.  
"Aw, how rude. I've brushed my hair and everything, isn't it."

On the TV screen, Harriet could see Ffion behind the steering wheel and Aunty Tess sitting next to her, and in the back sat Eilydh in the middle with Aunty Fizz and Tabatha either side of her. Tabatha was looking out of the side window but Aunty Fizz was leaning between the seats. Harriet could just make out the pointed black ears of what must be Vincent on Fizz's lap. A huge grin spread across Harriet's face as she clasped her hands together. "Is that Vincent?" She knew that it had to be. "Hi Vincent," she squealed with delight. He didn't reply of course, but one ear twitched.

"Aw, is that a bacon sarnie I smell? God, I'd love a bacon sarnie. Aw, we've got to stop and get one Tess. We have to. My stomach thinks that my throat's being cut, don't you." Tess just nodded.

"Where are you?" called out Harriet, as the boys all stood in silence. They didn't seem as frightened as they were last night but they still looked quite a long way away from comfortable. "Coming home my lovely. After we've had a bacon sarnie," she added quickly, and turned to face Tess. "Keep a lookout Tess, I've got to have one."

Tess smiled warmly. "I don't think we're going to be lucky on this side of the tunnel. You might have to wait a bit longer." Before Ffion could start talking again Fizz called out from the back seat, "We are nearly at the tunnel."  
"Oh, bloody hell. You must have been driving all night?"

Fizz grinned and nodded her head to the two front seat occupants. "Tess and Ffion have."  
"That's why I need a bacon sarnie," blurted Ffion. "I'm gasping, I tell you, proper gas ping." This last word was said as two separate words, as only Ffion could. "You haven't got a spare one have you, my lovely?" She was looking directly at Malcolm. Either she had remembered him as the cook or somehow she instinctively knew.

Malcolm blushed. "Ha ha, I could make you one if I could get it to you." He lifted his hands into the air to show that it was a futile thought. "Aw come on." Ffion was looking wide-eyed between Malcolm and Tess and then Harriet. She couldn't understand why he couldn't understand. Her cognitive powers, which were usually very good, seemed to be overpowered by some sort of bacon lust.

Harriet turned to Malcolm. "Could you make them one?" Malcolm huffed and looked a little flustered. "Have you got enough bacon? You'd need enough for five," she added.  
"Yes but..."

A very excited voice came from the TV. "Aw come on!"

Malcolm just stood there dumbfounded, not knowing quite what to do, what was expected of him. He sensed that it was a joke and that he was the punch line. He wasn't very good with jokes. Harriet reached out her hand to him and said gently, "Please Malcolm, she's not going to shut up if you don't."

Marcus took the bewildered Malcolm by the arm and led him into the kitchen. At the sight of Malcolm being led into the kitchen, Ffion's excitement seemed to burst like a mud dam breaking. "Is he doing it? He's doing it, isn't he? Oh my God. I've got to stop, Tess. I've just got to."

A couple of minutes later, Malcolm came out of the room with five bacon sandwich sized parcels, each wrapped in a couple of layers of kitchen paper. Ffion was beside herself. She was actually squealing and bouncing up and down on the seat. Malcolm reached the table and just stopped. Harriet quickly took the parcels and hurried over to the TV. She handed the packages to Tess, the top one of which was immediately whipped out of her hands. Michael was shaking his head slowly. "How do they do that?" He didn't expect an answer, which was fortunate, because there were only five people who could have answered and they were all busy eating.

When Ffion had finished, and she did seem to eat faster than everyone else, she thanked Malcolm and started the car again. "When have you got to get to the tunnel?" asked Harriet.  
"When we get there," said Tess, as she licked her lips.  
"What time is your booking for?"  
"When we get there," said Tess, frowning as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

Fizz, who had now finished eating and was wiping her hands, thanked Malcolm and then turned to Harriet. "We wanted to be with you tonight. You know. We didn't want you to be alone."  
"Thanks Aunty. I didn't either. Tommy and Elizabeth are coming over with Ivan. Ivan's going to cook a very special meal apparently."  
"Aw, you haven't got room for five more have you? We're all housetrained," said Ffion.  
"Ffion! That's rude. You don't invite yourself," scolded Fizz.  
"I'm only asking, don't you," said Ffion, who didn't seem at all chastised by this.

Michael caught Harriet's attention. "They can come, can't they?" he whispered. The look on Harriet's face was as if she had just been given ten Christmases, all in one go. "Can they get here in time?" he whispered.  
"Bloody hell we can, boy!" shouted back Ffion.

Harriet explained the problem with Ivan and his Russian shopping list and poor English. She was certain that he wouldn't mind the extra numbers but she was worried that he wouldn't be able to get the ingredients that he needed.

"Don't worry darling. I can help him with the shopping. It'll be fine," said Fizz.  
"Can we bring something my dear?" said Eilydh softly, and then answered her own question. "We can bring the drinks."  
"You won't have time, Eilydh," answered Harriet.

Eilydh chuckled. "Och, I'm sure we will lass, I'm sure we will."  
"Ok, that'll be great. Thanks. We'll, er, see you soon then."  
"Och yes dear. Very soon." The big screen went dark.

Marley, Malachi and Malcolm went off to do their shopping. "Right then people," said Michael, as he stood up. "It's off to work we go, I think we've got guests coming." It was like a well-oiled machine, the brothers all seemed to know their tasks and soon began scurrying around the flat with a vacuum cleaner and cloths and generally tidying the place up. Harriet grabbed a duster and polish and started in the lounge.

Together they made short work of the cleaning. Michael made a tour of every room, making sure that nothing had been overlooked. He looked around the kitchen and spotted the microwave. "Marvin," he called out. "Can you get rid of this please?"  
"Yeah, sure. What shall I do with it?"

Michael rubbed his chin. It was too good to throw away. "Can it go in the hall cupboard?"

Marvin scampered off down the hallway. "Yeah," he called back from behind the cupboard door.

Matthew called out from the lounge. "We'll need to move the table." Michael and Harriet walked back into the lounge. Matthew indicated where he thought it should go and they both nodded in agreement. It was a huge lounge and if they moved the table to be more central, they could easily add another table or two to make it longer.

As Harriet and Matthew put the chairs back in place, her phone rang. She patted at her empty pocket. They looked around the room and followed the sound to find her phone on the settee. It was Tommy's number again. "Hi Tommy." If Tommy had sounded flustered before, he was sounding super flustered now. "I don't know what to do Harriet. I've got no idea what he's talking about and he is getting properly agitated. I'm not sure who's going to punch who first."

"It's okay Tommy, it's okay." She tried to sound as reassuring as she could. She needed to calm him down. "The cavalry is on its way."  
"Oh, did she call you then?"  
"Who?"  
"Elizabeth. I called her earlier. She's coming over but what good can she do. This is a bloody nightmare."  
"No Tommy. I haven't spoken to Elizabeth. My aunt is coming to help you."  
"Your aunt? What can she do?"  
"She's going to help with the shopping. It's ok."

Tommy huffed. Twice he started to say something but stopped. He had a picture in his mind of a crazy Ivan and a little middle-aged woman, who probably had her own ideas of what shopping to get. He'd be stuck in the middle like some interpreter come referee. "I don't suppose she speaks Russian?" he said tiredly. He knew she wouldn't. He was clutching at straws but all he could do was clutch at straws, or Ivan's neck.  
"No problem," said Harriet, calmly.  
"What! She can speak Russian?"

Tommy's voice was so loud that Harriet had to pull the phone away from her ear. "She's on her way Tommy, don't worry."  
"Oh my God." The sound of relief in Tommy's voice was like an over inflated air mattress with a slow puncture as the tension drained. Harriet stood there silent, allowing Tommy to recover. "Do you know when she'll be here?"

"No. She said that she'd be there in plenty of time but I don't know any more than that I'm afraid." In the distance, Harriet could hear Ivan speaking fast in what must be Russian. His voice sounded a little higher than it had before. There was a noise like a doorbell, only a long way away. "That must be her. It's her," Tommy shouted, and she could hear him running to his front door. She heard the catch being opened and then, "Oh, it's you." It was the sort of greeting that was normally saved for an ex who had come round to collect their CDs.

"Charming!" Harriet could hear Elizabeth's voice.

"Can I have a quick word with Elizabeth, Tommy?

"Hello. Who is this please?"  
"Hi Elizabeth. It's Harriet." She chuckled. "He's got lovely manners hasn't he. Such a credit to his parents."  
"Hmm. And you want to see the state of this place," said Elizabeth disapprovingly.

"I think he's a bit upset." Harriet could hear some muttering in the background. "I think Ivan's giving him a tough time and he's panicking."  
"Do you think?"  
"Aunty Fizz is on her way. She'll sort it out."  
"Fizz? Great. Can she speak Russian?"  
"Let's put it this way," Harriet chuckled. "Tommy's going to love her. Can you sort those two out till she gets there?"  
"Oh, I think I can see to these two alright."  
"Really? But you haven't got time for that. They should be with you soon." Harriet laughed mischievously.  
"Yes. Thank you, Harriet," said Headmistress Elizabeth. "I thought she was in Vallaques."  
"They were. They've driven straight from there. They're coming tonight too."  
"Oh great, Tess as well then?" Elizabeth sounded genuinely pleased.  
"Yeah. All of them actually." Harriet sounded as if she was apologising.

"Well, look Harriet, I better sort these two out then. They don't even look as if they've had a shower."  
"Ok Elizabeth. I'll leave you to it. Good luck." Harriet chuckled and ended the call.

There was a commotion at the front door and Harriet turned. She started to walk down the hall until Michael raced past her. "I've got it," he shouted. "Matthew, Marvin, Marcus!" he shouted over his shoulder. Harriet stopped dead. It had been so easy to just be normal and answer the door. The colour drained from her face and her legs started to shake. Michael threw open the front door wide, one foot positioned slightly behind the other and his hands balled into fists in front of him. The top of his head was in line with the top of the door frame and he pretty much filled the space where the door had been. The other three brothers had thundered down the hall and now formed a rear-guard behind him.

"Whoa, Bro!" said a rather startled Marley.

Harriet could see Michael shoulders drop and the other three brothers turned to walk back. "What's wrong with your bloody key!" he said crossly. Marley was pushing into the doorway now. Harriet could see the door key in his right hand and a very large cardboard box that was obviously heavy. "Duh, yeah. Not easy when you're holding this," Marley bit back defensively.  
"Where's Malcolm? And Malachi?" said Michael, still looking for someone to blame.  
"Coming up the stairs with two big folding tables," Marley countered. He looked down the hallway and saw Harriet standing there with her hands at her mouth. "Oh shit. Sorry Harriet. I didn't..." He didn't finish the sentence. He should've remembered the situation and the fact that they were still on high alert but he knew that his brothers were here, and like Harriet it had been easy to slip back into normal life.

They put together the tables and after a quick clean, they covered them with tablecloths. The lounge was starting to look like a banqueting hall, Harriet thought. The chairs were brought up and cleaned and put in position. They were a little lower than the dining chairs but the boys shrugged this off, saying that they would sit on them. With their height it would even things up down the tables. Malcolm had unpacked his new shiny object and whilst he fussed over the controls Matthew had taken the packaging to the bin. He'd figured that Malcolm probably wouldn't.

They all sat down to a well-deserved coffee. There was nothing else to do now, except wait and worry.

Chapter Twenty Four

There was a stout knock at the door. Michael, Marcus, Matthew, Marley and Malachi all shot up from their chairs in sequence. It looked as if they had all been goosed into some sort of Mexican wave. Harriet didn't move this time. The grim faced posse made their way down the hall to the door. Michael opened the door and was greeted by a middle-aged woman with brown spiky hair, a tall slender woman with a long tress of wavy intense red hair, a short woman with a mop of curly dark hair and a woman with long straight blonde hair. For a minute he thought that this must be a group from the local WI seeking donations for this month's cake sale. Then the lady with the brown spiky hair had thrust out her hand to shake.

"Hello. You must be Michael," she said with a warm smile. "I'm Tess." Then due to the look of bewilderment on Michael's face added, "Harriet's aunt?"

Michael regained his composure, apologised and shook her hand. It was a firm shake.

"Sorry, we've all been a little bit jittery lately," he said. "Please come in. Harriet's down the hall in the lounge." Michael waved her in and as she stepped into the hallway she was confronted by a long line of the brothers. Tess made her way down the hall, shaking each of their hands in turn. She said, "Hi I'm Tess, you must be Marcus. Hello I'm Tess, you must be Matthew. Hi, Tess, Malcolm?" And so on.

Next came the tall red head lady. She spoke very quietly with a soft voice and told everyone that her name was Eilydh. The shorter lady introduced herself as Tabatha and seemed reluctant to lift her gaze from beneath her fringe. Michael looked back to the landing just in time to hear the lady with long blonde hair squeal. She was staring wide-eyed at two large stacks of boxes that stood against the wall. He hadn't noticed them when he opened the door and by the look on her face, they were a surprise to her too. There was a young man behind her. Michael hadn't seen him either.

They introduced themselves as Elizabeth and Tommy, friends and colleagues of Harriet's. Tommy also didn't take his eyes off of the boxes as he walked into the hallway. Michael looked at Marcus and motioned his head to the two stacks of boxes on the landing. A voice called out from the lounge. "Sorry. I meant to say. It's the drink." It was the spiky-haired lady, Tess. Marcus pulled back the flaps on the top box. It was full of bottles. He picked it up and carried it in doors. "Boys," said Michael, nodding to the landing and one by one they filed out and picked up a box. Michael retrieved the last one and brought it in. He bent to put the box down so that he could flick the latch on the door and lock it. A soft voice beside him said "It's all right laddie. We are all safe now. No one who is not invited can get through that door." Michael wasn't sure what to make of that. It was as if she had read his mind and felt his concerns. He looked at her, then back at the door, and shrugged as he picked up the box.

There was a lot of noise in the lounge as Harriet greeted her Aunty Eilydh and Tabatha with hugs and kisses. She moved on to Elizabeth and Tommy with hugs and cheek kisses. Everyone was seated and Malcolm went off to make coffee. Tommy looked as if he hadn't slept last night, whilst Tess, Eilydh and Tabatha, who hadn't slept last night, looked great, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Harriet seemed to be looking for something or someone. She turned to Tess. "Where's Vincent?"

Tess looked at her quickly. "He went shopping with Fizz," she said, and turned back to her conversation with Marcus.

"Who's Vincent?" asked Matthew.  
"He's a cat," answered Harriet. She was aware of how the answer sounded but thought that rather than try to explain, she would wait until Vincent arrived.

There was a lot of chit chat as everyone got to know each other. Michael was talking to Eilydh and Malachi seemed to be glancing in her direction quite frequently. After a moment she touched Michael lightly on the arm and excused herself. "It's Malachi isn't it," she said. Malachi nodded nervously. "Look laddie, I'm sorry about the other night. For scaring you."

"That's ok," he said, not very convincingly. "What, um, happened to the big bird?" Part of him didn't want to know in case it suddenly made a guest appearance.

Eilydh smiled. It was a warm and generous smile. "Och, dinna fret. She's... she's resting. You'll no' be seeing her." Malachi didn't understand why he found her words so comforting and reassuring, but he did.

Tommy was talking to Tabatha, who for some reason seemed rather coy today. She seemed reluctant to look at people. Harriet thought that she'd have a word with her in a minute, see if everything was all right.

"Standby," said Tess. "They're here." A few seconds later there was a knock at the front door. Marvin looked at Tess. "You've got good hearing. I didn't hear a thing," he marvelled. Tess just smiled, happy to leave it at that. Michael made his way down to the front door this time accompanied by just Malcolm. He had a pretty good idea of who to expect and the lady at the front, with the curly hair and a black cat sitting on her shoulder, he recognised immediately. She didn't look half as frightening as she had last night but he wouldn't forget her face. Next to him, Malcolm flinched.

"Hallo Michael," she beamed. "I'm Fizz." She shook his hand and stepped into the hallway.

Behind her, Michael recognised the tall woman with the mass of curly light brown hair. She had been the driver in the car and he vaguely remembered her face from somewhere else but he couldn't think where.

"Aw Malcolm, my lovely. That Bacon sarnie. Proper lush boyo. Proper lush."

Malcolm looked at her quickly but then nervously back to Fizz who was now standing directly in front of him. She stood up on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He had closed his eyes, believing for all the world that she had been leaning up to bite him. As he opened his eyes again he couldn't think why he had thought that.

She linked her arm into his and said, "Show me this new microwave then."

He smiled a broad smile that was reaching places on his face that it had never been to before and together they walked off down the hall.

"Hallo Michael. Ffion, it's lovely to properly meet you." She shook Michael's hand and then gestured to the smaller man behind her. "This is Ivan. He's going to cook us something proper special. I can't wait. I'm starving." Ivan didn't hold out his hand. "Ivan," he said, looking a little embarrassed. "Where is kitchen?" Michael just pointed down the hallway towards the kitchen as Ivan stepped in. "Aw Michael. There's some shopping on the landing. Would you mind my lovely?" Michael glanced back at the landing. There was a huge pile of carrier bags and open cardboard boxes. They were in plain sight but he hadn't seen them when he'd opened the door and he hadn't noticed them as he greeted everyone. He shook his head and made a mental note to see his optician. Maybe his doctor.

He grabbed the two cardboard boxes and called out, "Marley! Marcus! There's shopping on the landing, can you give me a hand please." The two boys ran down the hall. Marcus's eyes opened wide when he saw all the shopping bags. "All that?" said Marley, surprised. They gathered up the shopping bags, threading some onto their forearms so that they didn't have to come back, and took everything to the kitchen. Whatever they were having for dinner, there sure was a lot of it.

The kitchen was a hive of activity. Ivan had taken over completely. Moving things out of his way and talking quickly in Russian. Fizz was doing a sterling job, trying to keep the peace and to help Ivan in his efforts to make the kitchen something workable for him. Ivan gave instructions, Fizz relayed them to Malcolm, Malcolm tried to comply, and everything went wrong. Within five minutes it had become difficult to tell who was the most flustered.

Fizz grabbed Malcolm's arm and led him to the doorway to the hall. "I think he's use to a professional kitchen," she said, trying to maintain her calm. "It's obvious that he's going to need help. Would you be able to help him, Malcolm darling?"

Malcolm nodded eagerly. He was a very good cook but he had no knowledge of a professional kitchen and was very keen to learn. Fizz related this information to Ivan. He looked Malcolm up and down but then went off on a rant and started rearranging the kitchen again.

"Malcolm," said Fizz. "I can help you put your kitchen back to the way it was but for now, would you mind if I arranged it for him?" she said, jabbing a finger towards Ivan. Malcolm nodded. Fizz called Ivan's name. He either didn't hear her or had other concerns. She clapped her hands together twice to attract his attention and he looked at her. She stared back straight into his eyes for a moment and then nodded as if some non-verbal communication had taken place. She clicked her fingers and there was a flash of pale blue light.

Malcolm blinked and this was not his kitchen. Everything had changed - the layout, even the equipment. The double oven was now a bank of ovens. The smooth halogen hob had been replaced by two very large gas hobs and in the middle of the room stood a stainless steel prep table with a full complement of knives. Malcolm beamed. It was like the kitchen that he'd always wanted. Ivan by now had lost interest in Fizz and turned around.

"Da, da," he squealed in obvious delight. He started talking again very quickly, urgently, but this time Malcolm understood everything he said. Malcolm looked at Fizz. She smiled back at Malcolm and laid a hand on his arm. "What a relief. He'll understand everything you say, just talk normally. Do you think you can work with him or should we just barbecue him now?" Malcolm laughed. "I think I can. If I change my mind I'll let you know."  
"Oh do darling, I won't be far away. Now if you'll excuse me, I need a bloody drink." She turned and walked into the lounge.

They had all heard the commotion in the kitchen and all eyes were on Fizz as she entered the room. She pushed out her lower lip and blew out a slow breath. "Never work with children, animals or highly strung professional Russian prima donna chefs."  
"Tell me about it," said a voice at the end of the settee. It was Tommy.  
"I think we should all have a drink," said Fizz. "We should toast Malcolm, the man's an angel." She glanced around the room. Half of the occupants were re-evaluating their understanding of the word "angel", the other half laughed. It was a clean divide. Black and white, you could say.

Everyone seemed to get on with everyone else, famously. The wine helped. It always did but there was generally a really good feeling in the room. People had naturally gyrated into pairs and small groups and there were many conversations going on at any one time. Michael and Eilydh were deep in conversation and Michael had asked if they could borrow Harriet's laptop. They wanted to look at Google Earth but neither of them were sure how to. Fortunately Marvin was on hand and the trio sat together at the table with Marvin in the middle, operating the laptop.

Tommy and Elizabeth were deep in conversation with Tess, and Marley and Ffion were chatting and laughing as if they had been friends for years. Someone sneezed loudly. There was a chorus of "bless you" and Matthew said thank you automatically before realising that it hadn't been him. Tabatha didn't seem to be speaking to anyone. Her glass was empty and she was just sitting there looking at her lap. Harriet picked up a bottle and sat next to her. She topped up Tabatha's glass and asked what was wrong. "Nothing. I'm Ok," said Tabatha lightly, but she didn't raise her head. Harriet bent lower to look into Tabatha's eyes and saw her face clearly for the first time. "Not quite the look I was going for," said Tabatha awkwardly.  
"What on earth happened?" said Harriet.

Tabatha looked at Vincent, who was sitting by her side. He gave a short nod and Tabatha stroked the top of his head. "It's a long story," she sighed. Harriet called her Aunty Fizz and after a short discussion the three of them left the room.

Harriet came back into the lounge a few minutes later and called for Elizabeth. The ladies were all in the bathroom and when Elizabeth came in and saw Tabatha's face she gasped.

"Is there anything we can do to soften it?" said Harriet.

Elizabeth looked appraisingly at Tabitha's face and then nodded. 20 minutes later, when they had all emerged from the bathroom, Tabatha was looking straight ahead. That was until she got to the mirror in the hall. She stopped and looked and turned her head from one side to the other. "You're a bloody genius Elizabeth," she said.

Harriet popped her head into the kitchen on the way past, just to see if everything was okay. Malcolm was busy on the shiny prep table and he looked up when he heard Harriet. With that silly grin he looked like a different person.

Ivan dodged between stirring pans on the hobs and peering into the oven doors. He smiled when he saw Harriet too. "Is ok," he assured her, then he stopped what he was doing and looked at Harriet. "You ok?" he asked. Harriet just grinned and nodded vigorously.

She was ok. She felt better than she had for a long time. She was surrounded by people that she cared about, and everyone, in their own way, seemed to be happy. The smells coming from the kitchen were intoxicating and she was really looking forward to her dinner, whatever it was.

Back in the lounge, Michael was talking to Fizz. "Can I ask you, a question?" he said, looking a bit uncomfortable. Fizz took a sip of her wine and nodded. "That thing you do..." Fizz was looking up at Michael with a smile on her face and slightly raised eyebrows that Harriet guessed were supposed to look interested and warm. Harriet knew her aunty better than that. She could see that Aunty Fizz was trying hard not to laugh. "That thing," Michael continued. "Where you can sort of appear. And come through things like 3-D." Fizz's eyebrows were getting higher and her lips were pressed even tighter together. "How'd you do that?" Michael blurted.

Fizz took a sip of her wine, mainly to buy herself some time. "I've noticed that you seem to be able to do it through anything made of glass." Michael had obviously put a lot of thought into his hypothesis thought Harriet. She was impressed.

Aunty Fizz stepped in quickly. She wanted to work with Michael on his theory. "Ahh. Do you know how glass is made?"  
"Not really," said Michael, as he rubbed his chin. "I know it's made from sand but I haven't got a clue how they get sand into glass." Harriet could see that Michael was thinking about this and Aunty Fizz was letting Michael do all the work for her. He shook his head. "I don't know. It's magic I guess."

Aunty Fizz patted Michael on the arm and smiled up at him. "Exactly," she said. "Spot on."

Malcolm came bustling into the room and cleared his throat. "Would you all like to be seated, please." He waved his hand in the direction of the long table.

It wasn't just Harriet that noticed the change in Malcolm. There were murmurs all around the room but every one of Malcolm's brothers just looked at him. That was the moment that Michael knew that he would have to get someone else to operate the crane. "Aw, thank God for that then," said Ffion. "I was so ratty hungry, I was thinking of having a chomp on Marvin."

They all took their places at the table and Tess and Michael went around the table, making sure that everyone's glass was topped up. Ivan and Malcolm rushed into the room like a pair of sand devils, whirling around and placing plates before each diner.

Everyone tucked in greedily. Before long the lounge was buzzing with noises that some thought were more appropriate for the bedroom. Harriet was delighted to see that the two chefs had joined the group and were able to eat with them.

"Aw bloody hell Malcolm. That's nearly as good as your bacon sarnie."

Everyone clapped and cheered. Malcolm turned the colour of cooked beetroot and Ivan nodded slowly as he smiled.

Elizabeth leaned forward and looked to Harriet. "Wedding bells?"

Harriet nodded energetically. "It was love at first bite," she said knowingly.  
"Aw, tell him I feel the same way," shouted Ffion.

Next came a fish course. It included lobster and a fish that Harriet didn't recognise. She didn't recognise the vegetables either, or maybe it was seaweed, she couldn't tell. The source was light and smooth and yet formed a froth where it reached the fish, like a wave breaking onto it. Apparently it was an Ivan signature dish and it went a long way to explaining why his restaurants had been so successful.

As they waited for the main course, Ffion quietly mentioned that she thought that the servings were a bit small. Ffion had never been able to do quiet. When the main course was served she was delighted to see that her whispered comment had made it as far as the kitchen. Her plate was twice as full as anyone else's.

Elizabeth nudged Harriet. "Is there a religion where a woman can take two husbands?"  
"I can't think of one."  
"Think harder," said a singsong voice from the other end of the table, through a mouthful of food.

There was a generous pause before dessert as the chefs cleared and tidied the kitchen. Conversations filled the gap accompanied by the not to occasional squeak of corks being released from bottles. Harriet was pleased to see that Tabatha was back to her old self. The emergency make-up that Elizabeth had applied was hiding the panda-from-hell look.

Harriet moved round the table, occasionally joining in with conversations and generally looking like the happiest person in the room. Marvin, who was seated next to Eilydh, asked if she and Harriet were both related, as they had such pale skin.

Eilydh shook her head as she laughed. "Where I come from laddie, everyone looks like me. We think we have a tan when our faces turn blue," she said.  
"Who's got a blue face?" laughed Tabatha. Fizz and Harriet looked nervously towards her. Tabatha had adopted her own two-for-one system as far as drinks were concerned and was starting to have a little difficulty with some words. "I've got a, hic, blue bum," she said and stood up, turning her back to the table.

Fizz looked horrified. "Oh my word. I hope she's wearing clean underwear."  
"I hope she's wearing underwear. I'm not. There you are then," said Ffion, possibly a little louder than she had intended to.

Tabatha had eventually managed to grab the hem of her dress and had pulled it up. She was wearing underwear, classic white, which showed off the bruise that almost completely covered her left thigh to the knee and out from the top of her underwear.

It had only stopped the conversation for a few seconds as people looked on, shocked to wonder what had caused such a massive bruise. Tabatha, having done her party piece, had forgotten it and was sitting back at the table, trying to work out which glass was hers. In the end she chose to empty the one in front of her and the ones to her left and right, just in case.

Elizabeth was still giggling as she turned her head to look at Harriet's aunties. She wondered what they made of the floor show. Aunty Fizz seemed to have found the whole thing quite amusing. Tess's expression was just blank.

"Ah well, we've all done it," said Fizz, as she picked up her glass.

Tess's eyebrows rose quizzically. "Have we?"

Fizz slapped her sister gently on the leg. "Come on..."  
"Barcelona. Two years ago?" Interjected Eilydh.

A smile crept slowly up Tess's face as she remembered. "Yes. And didn't you..." she started, wagging a finger at Eilydh.  
"She did," said Ffion, nodding her head gently.

Eilydh, who could have changed her name to Rose now, to match her complexion, jumped in, "I seem to remember that you..."  
"Good times," shouted Tess. "Good times," she repeated wistfully.

Elizabeth glanced back at Harriet. "So what's the story?" she said, nodding her head over her shoulder.  
"I think we need to find out," said Harriet.

They were interrupted by shouts from the kitchen of "mind out, coming through" as the two chefs wiggled their way through the hall door and into the lounge. They were carrying a large tray on which sat an enormous fairy castle. Glasses and bottles were hurriedly cleared from the table and extra arms guided the tray safely down. It was the most beautiful fairy castle that anyone had ever seen. Standing nearly a metre tall and looking to be made mainly of meringue. The many conical turrets were made of what looked like raspberry jelly and every window shone like gold. Little balconies jutted out around some of the windows with tiny roofs that looked as if they were tiled with slivers of nuts. At the entrance to the castle was a shortbread drawbridge held up by sugar chains over a berry red moat. Each of the turrets and the little balcony roofs looked like something from a snow dusted winter wonderland.

"Oh, heavens. Is that white chocolate? I love white chocolate," said Ffion, and then nudged Marvin sharply in the ribs with her elbow. "Have you found that religion yet? Come on."

The comments broke the reverie and everyone burst out laughing and clapping. Ivan looked a little confused until Fizz explained why Ffion was looking for a new religion. The poor man looked horrified. "I have wife. I have wife. I have children," he stammered.

No one wanted to destroy their showpiece dessert but Ivan insisted. When it became obvious that no one was prepared to desecrate the masterpiece, he strode off into the kitchen and returned with a huge flat bladed knife and did it himself. It didn't seem possible but it tasted as good as it looked. Ivan insisted that every part was edible, which was something that Ffion could already confirm.

A spoonful of the red berry moat was added to each plate. Michael had been the first to sample the moat and he was still coughing whilst Matthew patted him on the back. "Vodka?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.  
"Of course," replied Ivan, as if his pedigree had been challenged.

Another hoarse whisperer, this time Tabatha, asked, "How much vodka?"  
"Plenty," nodded Ivan, enthusiastically.

Ivan insisted that the fairy castle would not keep and that it must be eaten. Ffion was only too happy to oblige after warning Ivan that he was getting a divorce. Fizz decided against translating this. Everyone did their best to eat as much of the castle as they could, although most of them declined the offer of extra moat. Apart from Eilydh, who apparently thought that it was quite pleasant.

Harriet and Elizabeth helped the two chefs to clear the table and take all the crockery back into the kitchen. It did look like a professional kitchen - a professional kitchen that would take all night to clear up. Harriet called her Aunty Tess. Tess nodded and called her sister. Together the ladies rolled up their sleeves and closed the kitchen door behind them.

Behind the kitchen door they had a nice little chat, saying what a lovely evening it had been and how it was the best food that they had ever, ever eaten. As they talked Fizz tapped idly against the worktop and the prep table with a wooden spoon whilst Tess jiggled an empty saucepan against the metal hob rings. It wasn't very convincing but at least they had tried. Conversation over, the two sisters held hands and the room became filled with an intense blue light. The light disappeared almost as soon as it had started to glow and with it all the debris. The place looked immaculate, spic and span and ready for someone to make coffee. They nodded at each other and went back to the lounge.

At five minutes to midnight, Tess and Ffion brought out the champagne. As the clock on the wall signalled 12 o'clock, startling the brothers as it had never chimed before, corks were popped from champagne bottles and glasses filled with bubbles. Mobile phones all around the room chimed with vibrating and chirruping. They would each have the same message and no one needed to read it. Harriet was very tense. She should have felt joy, elation and pride but instead she felt embarrassed, unworthy and strangely a little bit dirty.

Tess wrapped her arm around Harriet's shoulders and said quietly, "I know. There is nothing in the world that you could have done to prevent this and not one part of it changes you." Harriet looked at her aunt through eyes that was starting to mist. She smiled weakly and nodded her head. "Except of course," said Tess knowingly, "I think you'll find that as from now, you're bloody rich."

"Ladies, gentlemen, and my two fiancés," shouted Ffion, and she gave an exaggerated wink to Malcolm and Ivan. "Please raise a toast to the most beautiful woman in the world, Miss Harriet White." There were shouts and cheers and chinking of glasses but not enough to drown out Ffion. "As her appointed agent, please send any proposals of marriage for Harriet 'care of' me and we'll get back to you. Please send any proposals of marriage for me on a bacon sarnie. There you are then. Chop chop Malcolm. What are you waiting for boyo. Get into that kitchen before the rush starts."

Harriet was surrounded by all the ladies in the room. Not to ply her with proposals of marriage but they could have done if they'd wanted to, it's a modern world. They were there to support and reassure her. For someone who had just been crowned the most beautiful woman in the world (as voted for by the world), Harriet White looked very humble. It was just her way.

What Harriet couldn't deny was that at last it was all over. That was the end of all the attacks and the worries. As Elizabeth pointed out to her, that was something worth drinking too. Corks popped, champagne flowed and every time that Michael thought that they had finished the last bottle there seemed to be one more, tucked into the corner of the box. He was in no fit state for an eye test right now but he was beginning to accept that this probably signified the start of early onset bifocals.

Some people, probably whilst looking for the loo, managed to stumble upon an empty bedroom and laid on the bed "just for five minutes". Everyone else fell asleep sitting upright on the settee in a line. With the long tables jutting off into the distance and a very large corner sofa covered end to end in a line of eyes-closed mouth-opened bodies, the lounge resembled a picture postcard of Eastbourne.
Chapter Twenty Five

As the very first light of dawn traced its golden finger across the land and songbirds wiped the sleep from their eyes, Vincent stretched out on the blanket behind the sofa where he had slept. He walked into the room and glanced at the chorus line of snorers. He gauged what would be the exact centre of the room and walked over to sit. With his tail curled around him he sat upright, angled his head to precisely 83 degrees from the horizontal, took a deep breath and thought "Nah. Better not." He sloped off into the kitchen for a drink of water.

Ffion was the first to wake, although part of her wished that she hadn't. It was probably the rumbling emptiness of her stomach that had woken her, or maybe it was the subconscious fear of being the last person in the queue when everyone woke up and wanted the bathroom. Slowly she stretched stiff limbs and tried to part sticky lips with what felt like a glue stick instead of a tongue. As she got up from the sofa the long line of people that had been sleeping - leaning against each other with heads on shoulders - toppled like a line of dominoes squashing the still sore buttock of poor Tabatha.

After christening a toilet seat, that now it had warmed would probably not cool down for quite some time, she made her way into the kitchen and put on the kettle. As she stood there in the half-light trying to work out where the mugs would be and why the kettle was so loud, Malcolm walked in behind her. Their conversation of "I'll do it" and "Uhh" was hardly a memorable one, but everything that needed to be said had been said.

Ffion made her way back to the lounge, passing the growing line queuing for the toilet, and she slumped back on to the now empty settee heavily. The coffee was lovely and the addition of a little sprinkling of selected herbs from Fizz's garden worked a treat. What was the point of being a white witch if you still had to suffer from hangovers, Tess had told her.

It's a fundamental rule of science that every action produces a reaction, and as everyone began to surface back to the land of the living, the reaction started to form. It started with an odd likeness of the stomach, like a small family of butterflies on an early morning flight. A distant rumble like the murmurings of an angry volcano far, far away built quickly and steadily until finally the pressure was too much. Ffion erupted, "What about a bacon sarnie, my lovely? I'd love one of your special bacon sarnies, Malcolm. Tell me you've got the pan on, don't you?" She strained her ears but couldn't make out any noises from the kitchen. "Aw, come on Malc. I'm dying here. Make us a bacon sarnie, my lovely, and I'll give you a snog."

More coffee was brewed and the smell of bacon started to waft from the kitchen. "You'd better pucker up," said Tabatha, elbowing Ffion. Ffion nodded but mentally set things in order. At the top of the list was a bacon sarnie, and then another one.

Marcus had been the first to look at their phone. There was one message and he knew what it was but he went through the motions and opened it. There it was. It was official.

Elizabeth glanced over his shoulder and shook her head. "Let her find it," she said sagely.

Everyone settled back at the tables, except for Marley. He had been badgered and browbeaten by Ivan and had gone out shopping. He wasn't long. He came back carrying a cardboard box and as he walked into the kitchen an excited Ivan charged in behind him.

"Is ok. Thank you. Now go. Leave my kitchen."

Whilst most people were content with their bacon breakfast, there was still one person who considered a bacon sarnie as an appetiser. Well, one person and a chef. A few minutes later the kitchen door was thrown open and Ivan came bursting through with plates of French toast on which sat delicate scrambled eggs and some sort of beetroot and onion jam. It was five-star food, even if most people had to use the back of a spoon to force it into already stretched stomachs.

As the breakfast things were cleared and Tess and Fizz agreed that the chefs could do their own bloody washing-up this morning, conversations started again. Somehow this morning, Harriet's aunties had found the time to contact a friend. A Russian lady affectionately referred to as "Vanessa the Aggressor". They had given Vanessa all the information that they had and tasked her with finding Ivan's family and making sure that they were safe. They expected to hear from her sometime later today and would then make the arrangements to bring them here. Ivan won the first prize in this morning's biggest eyes competition and also the blubbing competition. He danced around the room as best he could and wanted to kiss everyone. There were no takers but it was nothing personal.

Eilydh and Michael told everyone what they had been discussing last night and Marvin linked Harriet's laptop to the big TV so that everyone could see what they had discovered. Michael had started by filling in the work that D Wharf did for Vantapharm. The strange shipments and switching of containers. The men who came down to work in the warehouse wearing hazardous material's suits and insisting on having the warehouse doors closed so that they could work in secrecy. The switching back of containers and reloading onto ships that would take the cargo elsewhere and the small boat that just took two or three containers.

Michael told them what they knew. That this little boat supposedly went to a very small port called Malutha, which had a single-track railway line that stretched inland for quite some distance and then just stopped. He pointed to the large display showing the Google map of Melutha. The road to the port was so small and winding that no lorry that was large enough to carry even a single container would be able to use it. Therefore the cargo, whatever it was, had to be transported on that train line. Marvin maintained the scale of the map as he slowly followed the train line to its end. "What is that at the end?" squinted Tabatha, and she pointed to a small collection of buildings and some odd looking machinery. It looked like rather a short metal tower with a wheel at the top. "Aw, there you are then," said Ffion knowingly. "That's a mine head." Ffion had been satisfied by her explanation but everyone else was still looking at her. "Come on. It's a mine head," she repeated, pointing at the screen. She got up and walked to the TV and tapped one finger on the strange tower and the wheel. "There you are. That's the winch they use to lift in and out of the mine. I grew up with one of those, almost in my ruddy back garden. Noisy buggers when you don't grease them," she added, for anyone who was interested.

"So that's a mine then?" squinted Tabatha.  
"Defo my lovely."  
"What sort of mine? Coal?" said Matthew. Ffion didn't even look at the screen, she was walking away now shaking her head. "How'd you know it's not coal?"  
"The buildings would be larger. There'd be conveyors taking the coal up to be sorted. There'd be somewhere to store it and cranes to load it. No, it's not coal." She seemed very certain of this and as their current coal expert, they had to accept her findings.

"It's all very interesting," said Fizz, who was obviously not finding it very interesting. "Though why are you telling us?"  
"Och, look where it is Lassie," said Eilydh. "Show them Marvin." She sat back in her chair, arms folded, nodding at the screen.

Marvin panned the map to the right. Very slowly, bit by bit, so as not to go flying off somewhere at such high magnification.

"No?" said Ffion in awe.  
"What is it? What am I missing? What can you see?" Tess was getting impatient now. Other people seemed to know what it was but she couldn't make anything out that meant anything to her.

It was only Eilydh and Ffion that'd had the opportunity to see it from this perspective before. Marvin continued to scroll the picture until a ridge could be seen. It protruded into the semi-circular bowl of what looked like a valley, at the end of which stood a single building.

Tess leapt from her seat and nearly nutted the TV as she took it in. "It's the villa. That's Vallaques," she said, tapping the screen. "Go back," she said urgently to Marvin. "Can you zoom out a bit?" Marvin did. They looked at the villa, the eastern slope of the valley and the minehead, just over the ridge.

The location certainly looked to show something that was more than coincidence. And where did Vantapharn fit into all this, if indeed they did? There were more questions than answers and Michael said that he would see what they could find out. Malcolm made more coffee and soon the inevitable happened. Everyone's attention turned to Harriet. Fizz asked when the new office was due to open and Harriet replied that it was supposed to open next Friday. She didn't seem very sure of that now.

"Why not?" said Tommy. He had made plans in his head to move to the office with Harriet and as far as he knew everything was in place to open next Friday. "Is something wrong? Amy has already sent letters to all the big and medium-size companies. Can we change the date now?"

Harriet sighed wearily. "I don't know what to do Tommy."  
"What's the problem?" said Tess, as she pulled up the seat next to Harriet.

Harriet opened her phone and showed the message to Tess. She had received a similar message to everyone else, stating that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. But she had also received a personal message which gave her a telephone number to call and told her that she would be expected to be available to accept her prize and take part in a promotional photo shoot together with a number of promotional appearances, the dates of which were to be advised.

"It's going to be a busy time," Tess agreed, and handed the phone to her sister.

A small group of people massed behind Fizz, peering over her shoulder to read the screen. No one could see how Harriet would be able to fit all that in and open the new office. It was Ivan who had an idea. Harriet still didn't know how it would help in practice but she had to admit as she thought it through, that the idea of some sort of agent, to manage all her commitments, could take the pressure off. Her Aunt Fizz had suggested Angus the accountant as the best man for the job, and it sounded reasonable. He was an old friend of the family and a very shrewd businessman. Tess would give him a ring.

Chapter Twenty Six

The new Perfect Fit office opened as planned and with a business launch that money couldn't buy. Due to her new-found fame it was opened with a press coverage that exceeded anything that any major company could pull off. They had received a much higher than expected response from all the letters that they had sent to businesses and it seemed that their first problem would be getting enough staff for themselves.

Angus had agreed, insisted even, on being her business manager, and it was quite probably due to his fierce negotiations (and her good looks) that within two weeks of her being crowned the most beautiful woman in the world, she was now a multi-millionaire. That was not even taking into account the prizes. She had a pile of letters, a stack of emails to wade through and a mass of phone calls to return. All from companies that had donated a prize and wished to arrange her acceptance. From time to time she tried to look at the list of prizes but she always gave up. There was just too much to take on board.

All her new-found millions were the result of some spectacular sponsorship deals. She had managed to work in the new office for about two days all in all, though that was just if you added up the odd hours that she had managed to make an appearance. It had left her with no choice, but no worries either, than to make Tommy the assistant manager. She'd almost certainly make him the manager very soon, just as soon as she had got her head around everything.

Angus was telling her that she needed to expand her empire and her response had just been to blow a raspberry in his face. He advised her that her life now was no longer that of an owner manager of a small business - she had to accept the role of CEO. He had even been suggesting names for her new organisation such as "The White Company", "The White Corporation" or just "White".

She had expanded her business, sort of. Vanessa had located Ivan's wife Petra and their children, and they were all now safe and here with Ivan. Her aunts had told her not to ask questions as she didn't need to worry about how they'd done it, so she didn't. What she had wanted to do was find Ivan useful employment so that he could support his family. It was what she did. It was at her core. Angus had told her that she needed to delegate that to someone else but she was the boss, so she told him to shut up.

It came about after meeting Ivan's family and chatting with them and her aunts, and now added to her portfolio of businesses. She was a partner in a very smart new restaurant that even within its first few weeks was starting to make a name for itself. "The White Russian" was already receiving brilliant reviews. Not just for its fine cuisine, but for its decor and ambience. Her aunts had insisted on helping. They were given the ceiling to do.

The ceiling of "The White Russian" attracts as many people as the food. It looks as if there is no ceiling at all. During the day you can marvel at the beautiful blue sky with a sun so bright that it hurt your eyes to look at it. It doesn't matter what the weather is like outside, under the ceiling it's always a lovely day, where you can sit there and just watch for the occasional fluffy white cloud to sail slowly across. At night you can see all the stars, asteroids, gas giants - the works. Periodically bright shooting stars streak across the ceiling and burst into a shower of a million twinkling specks of light, right over your table. Well, that is, only if it's your birthday.

The End?

© Steve Forrest 2017

