“Well, hello, Arthur,” she purred. She wore wellies, a yellow mac, and a striped umbrella, and managed to look like a runway model.

Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck. “Hi, Max. I was just…um…changing a lightbulb for Meg. Bloody things keep burning out. I’ll have to have a look at the electrical when I get a minute.”

“Good idea.” Her amusement circled him like smoke. “And next time you come to change a lightbulb, lover, make sure you fasten the buttons on your shirt in the right order.”

He didn’t say another word, simply barged past her and plunged into the rain.

When Meg heard the knocking on her door she thought Arthur must be back. Hopefully for breakfast. But then why didn’t he let himself in? Had he locked the door behind himself? But when she ran lightly down the stairs, in jeans and her favorite blue cotton sweater, it wasn’t Arthur standing there, but Maxine.

“Oh,” she said, wondering why on earth she should feel embarrassed and whether Maxine could tell she was blushing.

“Hey, neighbor. I just passed Arthur coming out of your place.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. I wonder what he was doing here so early.”

“He was looking at the faucet in the upstairs bathroom. It sticks.” Luckily, the faucet did stick, and she’d been thinking of mentioning it or she never would have invented such a smooth lie. Not that she even wanted to lie to Maxine, but the relationship was too new. Anyway, she wasn’t even sure it was a relationship, especially not the way Arthur had sprinted out the door this morning without so much as a cup of coffee or a kiss good-bye.

“Would you like some coffee?” she asked Max, who was still standing, dripping on her doorstep.

“No. I’m not staying. You left one of your earrings last night. It must have fallen off at dinner.” She dug into her pocket and emerged with a dangle of amber.

“Thanks. I didn’t even notice. The catch must be loose.” She took the earring and played with it like worry beads. “I haven’t started work yet. I’m going to make some coffee for myself. I wish you’d stay.” Maxine did not strike Meg as a woman who would slog through mud to return an earring. Something was on her mind, and even if it was no more than nosiness about Arthur and her, she wouldn’t mind the distraction of another woman’s company.

“Well, okay.” Maxine stepped inside, removing her damp outer clothes and stepping out of her boots.

She wore thick woollen socks that someone had knit by hand. Meg had a feeling the socks were a new part of her wardrobe since she’d moved here.

“What?” Maxine said, following her gaze. “Did I put two different socks on? I do sometimes.”

“No. I was thinking you probably didn’t bring those socks from L.A. ”

A snort of laughter greeted her. “You’re right. I pretty much had to abandon my L.A. wardrobe.” She sighed softly. “There are days I really miss Rodeo Drive.”

“So? What’s the deal with you and George?”

She shook her head and looked helpless. “Bliss. Pure bliss. I cannot help myself. I’m crazy about that man.”

“You know, it doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s crazy about you, too.”

“All I wanted was documentary footage of the earl. Who’d have thought I’d end up with the earl himself?”

“Will you stay?”

“I think so. I’m in negotiation for a series that would be a joint production of the company I work for and the BBC. But”-she shrugged-“if it doesn’t work out, I think I can keep myself busy on the estate.”

“Wow. Isn’t it hard to leave your home?”

“It’s hard to leave the people you love. I have a sister who needs me right now. She just got divorced and her job is probably going to end. I feel a long way away. But”-she looked out of the window in the direction of the manor house-“you make your home, too. I think mine is here.”

Meg couldn’t imagine moving across an ocean for a man, but she’d seen the way George and Maxine were together. For love like that? Maybe.

She poured coffee and served it.

“I’m glad Arthur fixed the faucet for you.”

“It was really no big deal,” she said, wishing Maxine would shut up already about the faucet.

“It’s funny. When I bumped into him, he told me he was here replacing a lightbulb.”

Their gazes met. Maxine raised one eyebrow. “And his shirt was buttoned all wrong.”

Meg put her coffee down, the ceramic mug making a sharp click against the table. She slumped back and looked at the ceiling, feeling like her mom had just caught her sneaking in past curfew and she was about to be grounded. “Okay, so I slept with him. And I’m not apologizing for lying to you about it. It’s so new. Last night was our first time and it was-oh, God, I’m babbling.”

“You’re cute when you babble. Hey, I think it’s great, and don’t think I’m trying to pry into your private life. But it’s hard. You know? I’ve been a journalist and researcher for a long time. And this is my first stint as a matchmaker. I got curious. Can’t help it.”

Meg sat forward, thinking that journalists were also pretty good at spreading news. “You tell anybody anything and I’ll make you the murder victim in my next book. Got it?”

“Absolutely. I won’t tell a soul.” Maxine’s eyes were dancing, and Meg was suddenly glad she had a female friend here. Even though they’d only recently met, she had a good feeling that she and Maxine were destined to be friends.

“And, since you’re obviously dying to know, it was fantastic.”

“Hah. I knew it. I always figured he had to be good in bed. Some guys, you can just tell. I thought last night that there was something happening between you two.”

“Hey, it’s nothing really,” Meg said, thinking of how he’d disappeared so fast this morning. “Only a casual holiday thing.”

“Arthur’s not the casual type,” Maxine informed her. “Since I’ve been here, I haven’t seen him fixing anybody else’s faucet or replacing her lightbulbs.”

“Really?” Her heart bumped and she wasn’t sure whether the knowledge that she wasn’t one in a string of women made her feel better or worse.

“I’m not saying he’s a saint, don’t get me wrong. I’m sure he has women, but he’s not a player, if you know what I mean.”

Maxine didn’t stay long. After a little more of the female bonding of a good gossip over a cup of coffee, she left.

Meg slapped peanut butter on whole wheat toast, because it was a healthy breakfast, and ate it with a banana for potassium. She did not think about what she would have eaten had Arthur stayed.

Then she cleaned up her small kitchen, poured another cup of coffee, turned the phone off and the computer on, and sat at her desk, while her coffee grew cold and the cursor blinked at her, teasing.

She thought about Arthur and what she’d learned of him last night. A man who could kill. A man who had killed. That’s why she’d seen him so clearly as her villain, that first day. It wasn’t merely his rugged, dark good looks and the hint of danger. It was something deeper that she’d glimpsed without understanding what it was. That dark place inside him.

Many men and women went to war. Many had come home, and how many carried that dark shadow within them?

A man of many parts, of darkness and of light.

When she began typing, she followed her villain as he went home, having stabbed his victim through the heart, which was his individual signature. She entered with him into his home in the suburbs, where he climbed into bed and made slow, tender love to his wife.

She shivered when she wrote the next scene, where he arrived at his appointment the next morning with her novel’s protagonist, his psychiatrist. Meg knew what the psychiatrist didn’t. She was his next intended victim.

She finished her work for the day, feeling excited. For some reason, this book that had been so stubborn to begin was now flowing. She packed up her computer and walked up to Hart House, where Maxine had told her she could use the Internet connection. After checking her e-mail and finding an amusing story from one of her writing pals, and some routine messages from various friends and relatives, she felt as though she’d never left home.