Behind him, although he didn't know it, Kate Rashid mounted the circular stairs. Dillon took a deep breath and moved out into the rain, Walther extended. Nothing. He took another breath, and from above, the top of the cover over the door, Paul Rashid dropped on him, sending him to his knees. He chopped Dillon across the right wrist, so that he dropped the Walther. Dillon raised his elbow back into Rashid's face and managed to stand. He turned, and Rashid faced him, that magnificent uniform soaked in rain.

'Now then, my friend, at last.'

He launched himself at Dillon and they met breast-to-breast. Behind, the door opened and Kate appeared. She cried out as Rashid's greater weight forced Dillon back against the rail. There was a moment of struggle, then they went over together on to the leads, sliding apart.

The pouring rain had made the wet leads almost as slippery as ice. Rashid slid one way, lurched and went over the edge of the granite. Dillon slid a few yards away, but was more fortunate, his feet slamming against the granite.

He started to work his way along and held out a hand. 'Come on.'

'Go to hell.'

Down below, Joe Baxter and Billy looked up.

Dillon said. 'For God's sake, just take my hand and argue later.'

'No, damn you.'

There was a cry, and above them, Kate Rashid appeared. 'Paul, no.' She ducked under the rail and slid down the wet slope of the leads, finishing with her feet against the granite edge. Rashid was slipping further. She braced herself, reached and grabbed his left hand.

'Come on, Paul, just hang on to me.' He did for a moment, and his weight pulled her forward so that she almost went headfirst over the edge.

He smiled up at her, nothing but love and understanding and a strange kind of grace, a most heartbreaking thing that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

'Hey, little sister, enough is enough. Not you, too.'

He pulled his hand free, almost floating away from her, turning over once in mid-air before hitting the terrace below beside Billy and Baxter.

There was no scream from her, nothing like that. It was as if every possibility of such a reaction had died for all time, such was the shock. Dillon caught her right hand and reached up for the first edge on the leads.

'Come on.' For a moment, she hesitated, and he tried again. 'Come on, unless you want to go, too.'

Something went out of her in a shuddering sigh, and he reached again, pulling them up to the railing.

She broke away from him and then ran down the stairs and through the Great Hall. Dillon picked up his coat and went after her. He paused on the steps and put the coat on her as she knelt over her brother. Billy, slightly dazed, and Baxter stood beside her. She looked up, her face incredibly calm.

'He's gone. You've done for all of them, Dillon, all my brothers.'

'I'm sorry.' It was the instinctive reply, empty and stupid. 'Go away.' 'For God's sake, girl.'

'This is my business, Dillon. Just go, you and your people. I'll deal with you later at a more suitable time.'

Dillon hesitated, then nodded to Baxter and Billy. 'Let's get out of it.'

They got in the Jaguar, Baxter started the engine and drove away. Dillon turned and looked. She was still kneeling.

'Are you all right?' he asked Billy. 'Sore as hell. What happened up there?' 'At the end, it was hand-to-hand. We fell across the rail, down the roof, and he went over. I offered my hand when he was hanging there, but he didn't want it. She slid down to join us, but he pulled away because he thought she'd go over, too.' When Dillon lit a cigarette, his hand shook. 'He said, "Hey, little sister, enough is enough. Not you, too."'

'Jesus Christ,' Billy said. 'What did she mean, I'll deal with you later at a more suitable time?'

'Simple, Billy, it means it's not over. Now I'd better phone Ferguson,' and he took out his mobile.

Epilogue

To the world in general and the media in particular, it was a sensational story. That on a day of family tragedy, the funeral of two brothers, Paul Rashid, Earl of Loch Dhu and one of the richest men in the world, had fallen from the Angel Terrace of the Bell Tower at the ancient family home.

The sister's story had been simple. Leaving the reception after the funerals, he'd been distressed. He'd wanted to be alone and had gone up to the top of the Bell Tower, a favourite place. The stories were muted, the Rashids being who they were and having large holdings in both television and the newspaper world. Most newspapers spoke of a tragic accident, there was the odd hint of suicide, but that was all.

One story that was generally reported was the account of Paul Rashid's funeral. All the newspapers carried it. It was a simple service, not even the Dauncey villagers invited, an Imam from London joining the Rector, the only mourner Lady Kate Rashid. As usual, the media got it wrong, for someone else attended.

Sean Dillon didn't go into the church for the service. He sat with Billy in the Jaguar and waited.

'It's raining again,' Billy said.

'Nearly always does,' Dillon told him.

The cortege emerged from the church, Kate Rashid, now Countess of Loch Dhu, following behind the coffin. Dillon got out of the Jaguar.

Billy said, 'Do you want the umbrella?'

'What's a little rain, Billy?'

He let them reach the Dauncey family mausoleum, moved forward and stood at the edge of the churchyard while the Rector and the Imam did their thing. Strange, but Kate Rashid didn't have an umbrella and there was no one holding one over her. She stood in the rain, in her usual black, her only cover a black raincoat, while they took the coffin in. The Rector and the Imam shook hands, the undertakers dispersed.

She turned and started to walk away and came through the churchyard toward the gate where Dillon stood. It was almost as if she moved in slow motion. She was totally alone, her dark hat shading her face, no emotion, not even when she got close to Dillon. It was as if he wasn't there -no, more, as if he didn't exist. She was so close that her coat almost touched him. She moved out of the gate and turned up the street toward Dauncey Place. Dillon watched her go, then returned to the Jaguar.

'Back to London.'

Billy started the car and drove away. 'Is that it, then?'

'I don't think so.'

On Friday night of that week, they met in the Dorchester Piano Bar, Harry and Billy, Ferguson and Dillon. Harry still wore a sling, Ferguson appeared normal, no sign of his broken arm. Dillon stepped behind the piano, lit a cigarette and started to play, working his way through a few standards. He was aware of her appearance but made no sign, continuing to play.

She leaned on the piano. 'I like that, Dillon. "A Foggy Day in London Town."'

'From Damsel in Distress – Fred Astaire.'

'I've seen the movie. Joan Fontaine was terrible, but you're good – good at everything.'

Seated at the end table, Ferguson and the Salters could hear the entire exchange. Dillon shook out another Marlboro and lit it with his old Zippo.

'What do you want, Kate?'

'Not just you, Dillon, you and your friends.'

She turned to the others and stood there in her usual black jumpsuit, only this one looked as if it had cost three thousand pounds at the Armani shop. Her black hair was superbly cut, hanging to her shoulders, and for once, she was ablaze with jewellery. She looked incredible, not just amazingly beautiful, but strong, powerful.

'The Queen of Sheba,' Dillon said quietly.

'Really?' she smiled.

'Oh, yes, and it's not just the Arab influence. There are Dauncey wives with marble faces from long ago in that church who have the same look.'