The doorbell rang again. This time it was Hazel, with Holly in tow and arms laden with carrier bags. Gemma did what any good hostess would do in such circumstances: She made tea.

Bryony packed her few remaining supplies into her case. The last of her clients had gone, and Marc had not yet returned from delivering the cocker spaniel to Gemma James.

Her task finished, she sat back in contentment, recalling each of the dozen or so dogs and the two cats she'd treated, and their owners. Sore paws, skin conditions, minor infections, fleas; there'd been nothing she wouldn't see in a normal day's work. But the owners' gratitude had been completely out of proportion to the seriousness of the animals' condition, and the work had given Bryony the greatest satisfaction she could remember experiencing.

Of course, there had been frustrations as well, things she'd been unable to treat, and she'd used most of the medicines and bandages she'd brought from the surgery. If she were going to continue this, she'd have to find some other means of financing- her bank balance wouldn't hold up long at this rate. And Gavin had been a right prat yesterday, standing over her, making sure she noted every item against her account. Did he think her dishonest?

It seemed to her that Gavin had been more difficult than usual this past week, making her wonder if Dawn Arrowood's death had had more than a casual impact on him. Could there have been more to their relationship than Gavin's flirting? She couldn't imagine a woman like Dawn taking Gavin seriously.

But then, who was she to say? She'd been attracted to Tom, after all, and had not seen him for the complete rotter he was until he'd waved it in front of her like a red flag.

A niggle in the back of her mind asked her if she could be wrong about Marc, too, but she refused even to entertain such an idea. The real question, the one she'd been avoiding for a good bit now, was where their relationship was going.

She'd invited him over for dinner the previous evening, as she often did, and although she couldn't compete with his cooking, she'd done her best with wine, candles, and atmosphere. For a moment, as he was saying good night, she'd thought something might happen. But then he'd given her his usual quick peck on the cheek and left.

Had it been her imagination, that instant of chemistry? Or did he truly believe that men and women could simply be friends, in which case her feelings for him could only lead to her complete humiliation. What if she were to slip up, say something blindingly obvious, and be kindly, politely rejected?

Just the thought made her face burn with anguish and embarrassment, and at that moment Marc walked in.

"Bryony? Are you all right?" He came closer and peered at her. "You're as red as beetroot."

"I'm fine," she lied. "I'm absolutely fine."

Toby had commandeered Hazel and Holly for an immediate tour of the house and garden, while Marc helped Kincaid and Kit level the tree in its stand.

Gemma glanced at Wesley as they waited for the water to boil in the kitchen. "You're good with the kids. Didn't you say you help Otto out a bit? I remember you were picking his girls up from school the other day."

"Poor mites. At least their dad's around all day, but Otto doesn't have a clue about little girl things, you know what I mean? Plaiting hair and choosing dresses, stuff like that. Now me, I grew up with five sisters, so I know about girls."

"Five? One was bad enough in my case," Gemma said with feeling. Having nothing that matched, she put an odd assortment of mugs on a tray. "You've worked for Otto for a while- are you planning to stay in the restaurant business?"

"No way. It just pays my school fees. I can only afford to go part-time."

"University?" When he nodded, she asked, "What sort of degree?"

"Business." Wesley said this with no great enthusiasm.

"That sounds very practical. So what is it that you really want to do?"

He grinned. "You don't miss much, do you? I'd like to go into photography, like my uncle, but there's no money in it. So in the meantime I just shoot for fun, you know? Your little one, he'd be a treat to photograph some time, if you wouldn't mind. His face is transparent; it shows everything he's thinking."

"Devil or angel," Gemma agreed, chuckling. "But you might have to sit on him to hold him still long enough," she warned.

When the lights had been threaded on the tree and the handmade angels hung, Wesley and Marc said good-bye, to much protest from the children. Kincaid took the children and the dogs out into the communal garden for a game of football before the light faded altogether, leaving Gemma and Hazel curled up before the fire. Gemma had substituted Italian carols for old Christmas standards, and the ethereal voices filled the room.

The coffee table was littered with empty teacups and crumby biscuit plates that Gemma pushed aside to make room for her feet.

"I've brought a little housewarming gift," said Hazel, removing a book from her capacious handbag and giving it to Gemma.

"The Secrets of Aga Cookery?" Gemma asked, studying the cover.

"If you don't learn how to manage the thing, you'll be living on take-away pizza."

"You're not expecting me to turn into some sort of gourmet cook, are you? This"- Gemma's gesture took in the house- "is quite overwhelming enough. I'm still pinching myself. This can't be me, this can't be my life."

"And why not? There's no reason to limit yourself. And I don't know anyone more deserving. You've done a good job, bringing Toby up on your own." Hazel wagged an admonitory finger at her. "Not that I think this blended family of yours will be easy, mind you, but the point is, you don't have to do everything by yourself."

Gemma felt the too-easy tears stinging her eyes, and swiped angrily at them. "Damn it, I feel like a bloody fountain these days. It's maddening."

"It's your hormones, remember. You might as well resign yourself to it for the next few months."

"It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for this damned case. Every avenue turns out to be a complete dead end."

"But surely it's only been- what? A little more than a week? You don't normally expect a resolution in that short a time, do you?" Hazel frowned. "Tell me you won't have to miss Christmas dinner. No case is worth giving up Christmas turkey-"

"And Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without any turkey," Gemma chimed in, laughing.

"I've made the pudding, if you'll bring the brandy. You know," Hazel added more soberly, her dark eyes intent, "I didn't realize how accustomed I'd become to having you in the garage flat. Even when you weren't home, it still felt occupied. Now I find myself trying not to look across the garden."

"Will you let the flat again?"

"I don't think so," Hazel answered slowly. "I'm considering going back to work, actually, and using the space as an office. Now, with Toby gone, there's no reason Holly can't start infant school."

"I thought you'd be glad to be rid of me, get your life back. Now I feel I've left you in the lurch."

"Oh, forgive me for whining." Hazel reached out to pat Gemma's arm. "I'm just being selfish, and I'll get over it. You did absolutely the right thing- and I'd have been furious with you if you hadn't. Although I have to admit the house isn't the same without you banging on the old piano."

"I never banged!" Gemma protested, laughing, then sighed. "The only good thing I can say about this case is that I've been too busy to miss playing."