Chapter Thirty-One

Yet thou in thy manifold mercies forsookest them not in the wilderness: the pillar of the cloud departed not from them by day, to lead them in the way; neither the pillar of fire by night, to shew them light, and the way wherein they should go.

Nehemiah 9:19

Monday 29th October: It was morning now. Seb was sitting making notes on a legal pad, trying to get his head round the Trish Hartnett affair. He thought if he set it all on paper he might know better what was needed from him. His handwriting was small, cramped and clenched up, full of underlinings. It looked like he felt, he reflected. The door bell rang. He answered it.

"You look tired Seb"

"Poor Trish Hartnett phoned in the middle of the night. She insisted on coming round."

Angie lowered her head mischievously to look up at him from under her lashes. "No rest for the wicked," she said, then regretted the words as soon as she saw the hurt look on his face. She reached a hand and cupped it tenderly to his cheek, feeling him as a blind person might, just touching him with her fingertips. "Dear David. I am sorry. This must be so hard for you."

He took her small hand from his face, holding it between his like a parent with a child, and led her inside, away from the doorstep.

She reached up then, to kiss him as he closed the door. But he stepped back from her, touching her lips with his fingers. "No Angie. I can't think. I must think."

It was her turn to hesitate. She stepped back towards the door, nervous lest he see her eyes mist over.

"Of course Seb. I understand. It was wrong of me to come here," she said. "I need to be going anyway. I promised to call in on the Hanlins after breakfast. The Millers are home from their posting and they'll be there. I was at school with their daughter."

She was reaching to open the door to leave him, and she looked back at him. Their faces had that strange immobility that people's faces have when they are waiting for something to happen. And the suddenness of his reaction startled them both. With a sound that melded somewhere between a groan and a sigh, he enveloped her in a crushing embrace, more consuming her than kissing her. Pinning her back against the door, he reached at her clothes.

Later, afterwards, she lay beside him naked and unashamed, her clothes scattered where he had stripped them from her. And he was sleeping, face down, childlike and vulnerable in his exhaustion. She struggled up on one elbow and half closed her slate blue eyes against the sun streaming in from the window above the bed as she scanned his body. She decided as she watched him there that she'd have to take the lead on this. The choices were hers. She could leave him now, never see him again. And he could salvage his life, perhaps continue with the church. But it was her decision, not his. She knew that, and the knowledge gave her a strange sense of wellbeing and power. For the first time in a long while she felt in control of her destiny. And it felt good. Very good indeed.