"I'm going to give you some ointment and some tablets you can begin as soon as you get him home. Bring him back on Wednesday if the eye hasn't improved."

As Gemma collected her medications, she said, "How's Marc, by the way?"

"Fine, I suppose…" Bryony felt an unexpected urge to share what had been eating at her the past few days. "I haven't heard a word from him since Christmas."

"Well, sometimes the holidays take people that way. I wouldn't worry too much. Bryony… I know it's none of my business, but didn't you say that Gavin is always complaining about the surgery's profitability? I think you might want to visit him at home sometime."

Bryony groaned. "Are you saying that Gavin is cheating me?"

"I'm just saying he's living quite comfortably. And, um… you might want to check over the books. It seems he's had a bit of trouble in the past with the Inland Revenue."

At first Angel was determined that she would go to Nina's trial, to defy Karl even if Nina didn't want her support. But as the time drew near, she found she hadn't the strength to face Nina's hatred again.

And Karl had been more difficult lately, always watching her, checking up on her. He'd removed the ready supply of heroin from the flat, insisting that it was a precautionary measure against being searched by the police, and instead brought her just enough for each day. What he gave her was stronger than what she'd been using, and she suspected it grew a little more so as the weeks went by. If she kept this up, would she some day lose consciousness; perhaps die from an overdose? How very convenient for him- an easy solution to the problem of the girl who knew too much.

Once, as the summer faded into autumn, she tried to visit Evan. She found him playing alone in his grandmother's front garden, but when she knelt to hug him, the boy stiffened and pulled away from her. "You took my mother away!" he shouted at her. "It's all your fault! My granny says so."

She gasped. "Evan, no! I would never hurt you like that. I love you. Look"- she opened her locket- "I still have your picture."

For a moment, she thought she had reached him. Then he spat in her face.

The trials took place in October of 1969. The court showed no leniency; Nina went to one prison, Neil to another.

At first, Angel sent Nina a card every few weeks, but each card came back, unopened. In January, she heard from a mutual friend that Nina had been ill with a bad cold and cough. Then, a few weeks later, the friend rang to tell her that Nina had died. She'd had pneumonia, but the prison doctors hadn't diagnosed it until too late.

Angel was still grappling with Nina's death when, a week later, she heard that Neil Byatt had found a way to hang himself in his cell. Poor, melancholy Neil, who had doted on his wife to the exclusion of all else, even his son, had not been able to go on without her.

It was then Angel realized she had two choices. She could follow Neil's example- or she could leave Karl, regardless of the consequences.

The first was beyond her courage. If she chose the second, she would have to do it now, or she would lose her resolution. She stuffed a few things in a bag, including the few bits of her father's jewelry she'd saved over the years, then walked round the flat, thinking how little imprint she'd made upon it. It was Karl's- the decor, the furniture, the art- in the end none of her contributions had mattered. She was insignificant.

Then Karl walked in, home hours earlier than expected.

Her heart plummeted. "What are you doing here?"

"I felt like closing the shop. And I might ask you what you're doing?" His tone held the faint amusement that had come to characterize his conversations with her, as if it were unthinkable to take her seriously.

She was suddenly furious. "I'm leaving, that's what I'm doing. Did you know that Nina and Neil are both dead?"

"Of course. Are these two things somehow connected?"

"You bloody well know they are. You sacrificed them deliberately, to save yourself, and I can't live with that- or with you- any longer."

"You won't leave," he said, still with a trace of a smile.

"I will. Are you going to try to stop me?"

"No. But if you go, I promise you you'll regret it. You have nothing, and no one, and you can't go a day without a fix. And I have friends, connections, everywhere. I'll know where you are."

It was as open a threat as he ever made, and Angel felt the fear sucking at her like quicksand. "What happened to you, Karl? There was good in you, once. And you loved me- I know you did."

His gaze softened, as if memory touched him. Then he pinched his lips together and shook his head. "You can't allow sentiment if you're going to get on, Angel. You know that. There's no room for weakness."

"Isn't there?" A small spasm of pity stirred within her, but it was too late for that. If she didn't act now, she would be lost. She picked up her bag and walked out the door.

Having stopped at the house to leave Geordie in Kit's care, Gemma pulled the car up at the station, but hesitated before getting out. She had turned Ronald Thomas's name over to Sergeant Franks with a request to search the Notting Hill database- There was nothing more she could do on that front.

But while Melody's team had gone through the Arrowoods' house looking for Karl's will with no success, and Karl's solicitor reported having only the version Karl had given him on his marriage to Dawn, dividing his estate between his wife and his children, Gemma couldn't quite silence a nagging worry over the matter. Had it been merely some remark of Karl's that had made Dawn ring up Sean Arrowood, or had she actually seen evidence that Karl meant to cut his sons from his will?

Coming to a sudden decision, she dashed into the station and picked up the Arrowoods' keys. She would not be content until she had searched the house herself.

She began in the obvious places, those she knew Melody's team had already searched: the desk and bookshelves in Karl's study, the shelves and cubbies in his wardrobe. An hour later, tired and disheveled, she sat back on her heels in front of the wardrobe. She should give it up, finish her paperwork at the station, go home early to begin preparing the quiet New Year's Eve supper she and Duncan had planned with the boys.

The house echoed around her in the unique way of empty dwellings, every creak and shift magnified. For a moment, it almost seemed as if the house were speaking to her, then she shook her head at such an absurd fancy. Unbridled imagination, that was all it was. Still… Getting up, she moved to Dawn's closet and pulled open the doors. The clothes rustled with the draft, as if drawing breath, and the scent of Dawn's perfume drifted out, elusive and evocative.

On hands and knees, Gemma squeezed into the narrow space and pulled the storage box from beneath the bottom shelf. This time she took it out into the bedroom and removed each item, one by one. She found the paper, folded neatly into a small square, in the very bottom book, an illustrated copy of Arthur Ransome's Swallows and Amazons. It was a will, all right, signed by Karl Arrowood and duly witnessed. In it, he left his personal property to his wife, Dawn Smith Arrowood, with small provisions for his sons, Sean and Richard Arrowood. Arrowood Antiques and all its assets he gave to his son, Alexander Julian Dunn.