"I thought I heard a car," Jane called out. "Fern, whatever are you doing here? Have you got Alex with you?"

As Jane took her hand in a welcoming clasp, Fern blurted, "I have brought Alex. But something terrible's happened."

Jane gazed at her in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know if you knew- Alex was seeing someone else. She was married, and now she's dead. I mean someone murdered her, last night."

"But that's dreadful!" Jane looked from Fern to the car. "I'm not sure I understand, though, why you've brought Alex here."

"I-" In the face of Jane's competent manner, Fern suddenly felt her fears might sound silly. "I was worried about him. I didn't know what else to do."

"In a bad way, is he? I'm sure you did the right thing." Jane gave Fern's arm a reassuring squeeze and started towards the car.

Alex got out and came slowly to meet her. Fern saw Jane speak to him and start to put an arm round his shoulders, but he flinched away from the contact. This Fern found gratifying- at least she wasn't the only one he couldn't bear.

Jane led the way into the house. The two hop-drying kilns had been combined into a pleasant, open-plan living area, with small, high windows that failed to make the most of the existing daylight.

After standing for a moment as if unsure what to do with himself, Alex slumped down on the sofa nearest the fireplace.

When Jane had the fire going and had brought them all coffee in earthenware mugs, she sat down beside Alex. "Do you want to talk about it, love? Fern says a friend of yours was killed last night."

His face contorted. "I told Otto it was a lie. She couldn't be dead. So I went there, to the house. There were police all round, and one of the neighbors said Karl came home and found her in the drive. Her… her throat had been cut."

Fern gave a small cry of surprise, but Jane remained calmly watching Alex. "Do you know anything about this?" she asked. "Who might have done this? Or why?"

"How could anyone hurt her?" Alex protested. "I can't go on, you know, not without her. I can't bear it."

Unable to listen any longer, Fern went out. She walked round in the drive, taking in Jane's greenhouses and the spade left standing against the house when Jane had been interrupted at some gardening task. Gazing out across the marsh, she breathed the damp earthy-smelling air and tried to blot out Alex's grief. When Dawn had been alive, Fern had been able to fantasize that Alex's affair with Dawn was merely a passing infatuation, that he would come to his senses and return to her. Now there was no questioning the depth of his feelings for Dawn Arrowood. Her death had not given Alex back to Fern, but had taken him from her in a way she could never have imagined. And if Alex was unable to go on, how then could she?

At the sharp click of the front door closing, she turned back to the house. Jane came across the drive towards her.

"I've persuaded him to stay," Jane told her. "Not that it matters much to him where he is, at this point."

"I don't think he should come back to London. If Dawn Arrowood was killed by her husband because he found out about Alex, Alex could be next."

"Surely you can't be serious."

"That's what our friend Otto says, and he's known Karl Arrowood for a long time. Is it worth taking a risk?"

Jane seemed about to argue with her, then she sighed. "I suppose you're right. What about you? Will you stay with him?"

With sudden resolution Fern said, "I'll take the train back to London, if you'll run me to the station. If anyone asks, I'll say I haven't seen him. And the sooner I go, the better."

"I think you're overreacting, but I don't see what harm it can do. I'll just get my keys while you say good-bye to Alex."

"Why don't you tell him for me?" Fern asked, suddenly feeling that she would rather face a murderer herself than the look in Alex's eyes.

CHAPTER FIVE

The insistent burring of the phone finally penetrated Gemma's consciousness. "Mummy," she heard Toby say, very near, very seriously. "The phone's ringing." Forcing her eyes open, she found her son staring at her intently from a few inches away.

"Uh-huh. Get it for me, would you, sweetie?" She propped herself up on the pillows as Toby obediently trotted over to the table and lifted the cordless phone from its cradle. A glance at the clock told her it was not yet eight. Taking the phone from Toby, she had just time to think oh God, not work, please, when she heard Kincaid's voice.

"Not still asleep, are you?" he asked with annoying cheerfulness.

She didn't dignify that with an answer. "What happened to you last night? I waited up for ages."

"Sorry about that. The prospective tenant I had lined up for the flat came round for a viewing. Apparently, he was so enthralled with the place that he couldn't bring himself to go home. By the time he left, I was afraid I'd wake you if I rang."

"Very considerate of you," Gemma said grumpily, unmollified.

"I'll make it up to you. How about if I bring over Sunday breakfast? I can stop at the bakery down the road. Bagels and cream cheese?"

"The sort with everything on them?"

"If you'll provide the coffee."

"You'll have to live with decaf."

"If I must," he said with an exaggerated sigh.

"Deal." Gemma rang off, her temper considerably improved, and pulled Toby to her for a hug.

By the time Kincaid arrived, Gemma had showered, dressed, set the small table, and made fresh coffee in the cafetière. Once they'd settled at the table with their bagels, she said, "I take it the prospective tenant accepted, then?"

"Formally. Signed a contract. And he wants in the flat right away."

Gemma eyed him warily. "What do you mean by 'right away'?"

"Next Sunday we'll be having breakfast in our new home. I've arranged the house-moving for Saturday, not that either of us has much to move."

"Saturday?" She heard the squeak of panic in her own voice.

"It'll be all right, love, I promise. The sooner the better."

Looking up from the jam-and-cream-cheese puddle he'd made on his plate, Toby asked, "What new house?"

Kincaid glanced at Gemma, eyebrows raised, and she gave him a nod of assent. "We're all going to move into a new house together, sport," he explained to the boy. "You, your mum, Kit and me. What do you think about that?"

Toby considered this for a moment. "Will Kit get to bring his dog?"

"Of course Tess can come. The house has a big garden, with a swing."

"And Sid?" Sid was the black cat Kincaid had inherited from a friend who had died. "Can he go out in the garden?"

"Sid will love the garden. He might even be able to catch a mouse."

Toby's small brow creased in a frown. "What about Holly? Can she come live with us, too?"

"No," Gemma answered quickly. "Holly has to stay with her mummy and daddy. But she'll come to visit often."

"Can I take my trucks?"

"We'll make a special place for them. Do you want to pack them now?"

"Okay," her son said with great equanimity. Leaving his bagel half finished, he scrambled down from his chair and disappeared into the tiny box room that served as his bedroom. When Gemma peeked in on him a few minutes later, she found him methodically stowing his collection of miniature lorries into his Star Wars backpack.