"You're not to worry," Graham said, moving his chair next to hers and stroking her hair. "I'll take care of him."

"Will you?" She turned her face so that it was close to his. He could smell the cherries on her breath. "What will you do?"

"Never you mind about that, love. I've told you I'll deal with him. Don't I always keep my word?"

Andrea nodded.

"Then you've nothing to worry about, have you? You won't hear anything from him again. He won't even so much as glance in your direction if he sees you in the street, I promise you that."

"You won't hurt him, will you Gray? I don't want you to get into trouble. You know what that might lead to."

"At least then," Graham said wearily, "we'd be out in the open. We could go away together."

"Yes," Andrea agreed. "But it wouldn't be a good start, would it? I want things to be better than that for us."

"I suppose so," Graham said, sitting back.

"But you'll really deal with him, will you? And not make any trouble?"

Graham nodded and smiled at her. Andrea caught his look and stood up to clear the table. "Not yet, you goat," she said. "Wait till I've cleared the dishes."

"They can wait," Graham said, reaching out for her. "I can't."

She moved away playfully and his hand caught the collar of her blouse. As she stepped back, the material ripped down the front and the buttons flew off, pinging against wine glasses and plates. The blouse hung open, revealing Andrea's semi-transparent black brassiere, the one that stood out in clear relief against her pale skin and exposed a great deal of inviting cleavage.

Graham froze for a second. He didn't know what her reaction would be. Perhaps it was an expensive blouse-it felt soft, like silk-and she would be angry with him. He was all set to apologize and offer to buy her another when she laughed and reached forward to pull at his shirt.

"Come on, then," she said, smiling at him. "If you really can't wait."

And they rolled to the floor, laughing and tearing at each other's clothes.

Afterwards, sweaty and out of breath, they lay back and laughed again, then went up to the bedroom to continue making love in a more leisurely way for another two hours.

Finally, it was time to go. Trevor was due back in about half an hour, and Graham had promised to drop in on Wooller on his way home.

"Remember," Andrea said, kissing him as he left, "no trouble. Ask him nicely. Tell him there's nothing in it."

III

Graham Sharp knocked softly at the door of number six Gallows View, and a few seconds later, Wooller peered around the chain, squinting through his thick glasses.

"Mr. Sharp!" he exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise. Come in, come in!"

The messy room smelled of old socks and boiled cabbage. Wooller, obviously thinking that Sharp had come to make some arrangement about Andrea Rigby, scooped some newspapers from a straight-backed chair and bade him sit down.

"Tea? Or perhaps something a little stronger?"

"No, thanks," Graham said stiffly. "And I won't sit down either. I'll not be stopping long."

"Oh," said Wooller, standing in the kitchen doorway. "Sure I can't persuade you?"

"No," Sharp said, walking toward him. "You can't bloody persuade me. But I think I can persuade you."

Wooller looked puzzled until Graham grabbed him by the front of his pullover, bunching the wool in his fist and half-lifting the frail librarian from the floor. Sharp was much taller and in far better physical shape. He began to shake Wooller, gently at first, then more violently, against the kitchen doorjamb. Each time Wooller's back hit the wood, Graham spat out a word. "Don't… you… ever… threaten… Andrea… Rigby… again… you… smelly… little… prick… Do… you… under… stand?" It was hard to tell if Wooller was nodding or not, but he looked scared enough.

"Stop it," Wooller whined, putting his hand to the back of his head. "You've split my skull. Look, blood!"

He thrust his open palm under Graham's eyes, and there was clearly blood on it. Sharp felt a sudden lurch of fear in his stomach. He let go of Wooller and leaned against the doorway, pale and trembling. Wooller stared at him with his mouth open.

Quickly, Graham made the effort to pull himself together. He grabbed a glass from the draining-board and, without even bothering to see if it was clean or not, filled it with cold water from the tap and gulped it down.

Feeling a little better, he ran his hand through his hair and faced a confused Woolier, grasping the front of his pullover again. "I'm not going to tell you again," he said, injecting as much quiet menace into his tone as he could manage. "Do you understand me?"

Wooiler swallowed and nodded. "Let me go! Let me go!"

"If you say one more word to Mrs. Rigby," Graham went on, "even if you so much as look at her in a way she doesn't like, I'll be back to finish what I started. And don't think of talking to her husband, either. True, you might cause a bit of trouble if you do, but not half as much trouble as you'll be causing for yourself. Get it?"

Again Wooller's Adam's apple bobbed as he nodded. "Let me go! Please!"

Graham relaxed his grip a bit more, but didn't quite let go of Wooller's bunched-up pullover. "I want to hear you say you understand me, first," he said. "I want you to tell me you won't talk to anyone about this-not her husband, not the police, not anyone. Because if you do, Woolier, I swear it, I'll break every fucking bone in your stinking little body."

Woolier was shaking. "All right," he whimpered, trying to wriggle free. "All right, I'll say nothing, I'll leave her alone. I only wanted to be her friend, that's all I wanted."

Graham raised his fist, angered again by Wooller's pathetic lie, but he made the effort and restrained himself. He had almost gone too far, and he was certain now that Andrea and he would have no more trouble from Wooller.

IV

As soon as the back door cracked open, Trevor felt the thrill; it set his blood dancing and made the sweat prickle on his forehead and cheeks. The rough wool of the balaclava scratched at his face and made it itch like mad. The two of them entered the house cautiously, but all was as they had expected-dark and quiet. The narrow beams of their flashlights picked out dishes piled up for washing, a table littered with shadowy objects, a newspaper open at a half-finished crossword puzzle. Again, they were in a kitchen, but it seemed much less clean and tidy than the one they'd been in a few days ago.

The living room, too, turned out to be in a bit of a mess: Sunday's paper lay scattered on the carpet, and Trevor's beam picked out a half-full coffee mug on the mantelpiece.

They'd been tipped by Lenny that the woman who lived there kept a lot of expensive jewelry, which he could easily fence in London, so they ignored the living room and, keeping their flashlight beams pointed toward the floor, headed up the stairs. The first room they entered was empty except for a single bed-a guestroom, most likely-and two others were similarly ascetic. It felt eerie, as if the woman had once had family and now they were gone and the house was empty and bare. You could tell from the downstairs that she couldn't be bothered much anymore; yet she was supposed to be well off.

Finally, after more false starts in the bathroom and airing-cupboard, they found what seemed to be her bedroom. At first they couldn't make it out, but by running the flashlights over a wider area they discovered that a large, four-poster bed stood at the center of the room. Mick sat on the edge of the mattress and bounced up and down for a while before pronouncing it too lumpy. Then they began their search.

Again, there was an assortment of clothes, this time all female, and Trevor noticed that this woman's underwear was far more exotic than the other's. There were brassieres cut so low that they were practically nonexistent; skimpy, see-through panties; a garter belt with roses embroidered on it; stockings with dark borders around the tops; and short, lacy nightdresses. The lingerie was all clean and it smelled of something faintly exotic: jasmine, Trevor thought it was. His mother had bought some jasmine tea once, many years ago, and the smell took him back and made him think of her. He remembered that none of them had liked the tea and his mother had laughed at their lack of adventurous spirit.