“Are you going to get my mummy?” asked Cara.

“In a little while.”

“Okay, then. But you won’t be long, will you, Lindsay?”

“No, promise.”

They walked downstairs to the corridor outside the courtroom, and Judith went in search of help. She returned quickly with a young policewoman who introduced herself to Cara.

“My name’s Barbara,” she said. “I’m going to sit with you till Mummy gets back. Is that all right?”

“I suppose so,” said Cara grudgingly. “Do you know any good stories?”

As Lindsay and Judith entered the courtroom, they heard Cara ask one of her best questions. “My mummy says the police are there to help us. So why did the police take my mummy away?”

The courtroom itself was scarcely altered from the house’s heyday. The parquet floor was highly polished, the paintwork gleaming white. Behind a table on a raised dais at one end of the room sat the three magistrates. The chairwoman, aged about forty-five, had hair so heavily lacquered that it might have been moulded in fibreglass, and her mouth, too, was set in a hard line. She was flanked by two men. One was in his late fifties, with the healthy, weatherbeaten look of a keen sailor. The other, in his middle thirties, with dark brown hair neatly cut and styled, could have been a young business executive in his spotless shirt and dark suit. His face was slightly puffy round the eyes and jowls, and he wore an air of dissatisfaction with the world.

The court wound up its summary hearing of a drunk and disorderly with a swift £40 fine and moved on to Deborah’s case.

Lindsay sat down on a hard wooden chair at the back of the room as Deborah was led in looking tired and dishevelled. Her jeans and shirt looked slept in, and her hair needed washing. Lindsay reflected, not for the first time, how the law’s delays inevitably made the person in police custody look like a tramp.

Deborah’s eyes flicked round the courtroom as a uniformed inspector read out the charges. When she saw Lindsay she flashed a smile of relief before turning back to the magistrates and answering the court clerk’s enquiry about her plea to the breach of the peace charge. “Guilty,” she said in a clear, sarcastic voice. To the next charge, she replied equally clearly, “Not guilty.”

It was all over in ten minutes. Deborah was fined £50 plus £15 costs on the breach charge and remanded on bail to the Crown Court for jury trial on the assault charge. The bail had been set at £2500, with the conditions that Deborah reported daily to the police station at Fordham, did not go within 200 yards of the Crabtree home, and made no approach to Mr. Crabtree. Then, the formalities took over. Lindsay wrote a cheque she fervently hoped would never have to be cashed which Judith took to the payments office. Lindsay returned to Cara, who greeted her predictably with, “Where’s my mummy? You said you’d get her for me.”

Lindsay picked up the child and hugged her. “She’s just coming, I promise.” Before she could put Cara down, the child called, “Mummy!” and struggled out of Lindsay’s arms. Cara hurtled down the corridor and into the arms of Deborah who was walking towards them with Judith. Eventually, Deborah disentangled herself from Cara and came over to Lindsay. Wordlessly, they hugged each other.

Lindsay felt the old electricity surge through her and pulled back from the embrace. She held Deborah at arms’ length. “Hi,” she said.

Deborah smiled. “I didn’t plan a reunion like this,” she said ruefully.

“We’ll do the champagne and roses some other time,” Lindsay replied.

“ Champagne and roses? My God, you’ve come up in the world. It used to be a half of bitter and a packet of hedgehog-flavoured crisps!”

They laughed as Judith, who had been keeping a discreet distance, approached and said, “Thanks for all your help, Lindsay. Now you’ll just have to pray Deborah doesn’t jump bail!”

“No chance,” said Deborah. “I wouldn’t dare. Lindsay’s motto used to be ‘don’t mess with the messer,’ and I don’t expect that’s changed.”

Lindsay smiled. “I’ve got even tougher,” she said. “Come on, I’ll drop you off at the camp on my way back to London.”

They said goodbye to Judith and headed for the car park. Deborah said nonchalantly to Lindsay. “You can’t stay, then?”

Lindsay shook her head. “Sorry. There’s nothing I’d rather do, but I’ve got to get back to London. I’m on the night shift tonight.”

“You’ll come back soon, though, won’t you, Lin?”

Lindsay nodded. “Of course. Anyway, I’m not going just yet. I expect I can fit in a quick cup of coffee back at the van.”

They pushed through the doors of the courthouse and nearly crashed into two men standing immediately outside. The taller of the two had curly greying hair but his obvious good looks were ruined by a swollen and bruised nose and dark smudges beneath his eyes. He looked astonished to see Deborah, then said viciously, “So you’re breaking your bail conditions already, Miss Patterson. I could have you arrested for this, you know. And you wouldn’t get bail a second time.”

Furious, Lindsay pushed forward as Deborah picked up her daughter protectively. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded angrily.

“Ask your friend,” he sneered. “I’m not a vindictive man,” he added. “I won’t report you to the police this time. When the Crown Court sentences you to prison, that will be enough to satisfy me.”

He shouldered his way between them, followed by the other man, who had the grace to look embarrassed.

Deborah stared after him. “In case you hadn’t guessed,” she said, “that was Rupert Crabtree.”

Lindsay nodded. “I figured as much.”

“One of these days,” Deborah growled, “someone is going to put a stop to that bastard.”

The alarm clock went off at a quarter to six. Lindsay rolled on her side, grunting “Drop dead, you bastard,” at the voice-activated alarm Cordelia had bought her to replace the Mickey Mouse job she’d had since university. She curled into a ball and considered going back to sleep. The early Saturday morning start to her weekend at the peace camp that had seemed such a good idea the night before now felt very unappealing.

As she hovered on the verge of dozing off, she was twitched into sudden wakefulness as Cordelia’s finger ends lightly traced a wavy line up her side. Cordelia snuggled into her and kissed the nape of her neck gently. Lindsay murmured her pleasure, and the kisses quickly turned into nibbles. Lindsay felt her flesh go to goose pimples; thoroughly aroused, she twisted round and kissed her lover fiercely. Cordelia pulled away and said innocently, “I thought you had trouble waking up in the morning?”

“If they could find an alarm clock that did what you do to me, there would be no problem,” Lindsay growled softly as she started to stroke Cordelia’s nipples. Her right hand moved tentatively between Cordelia’s legs.

Cordelia clamped her thighs together, pinning Lindsay’s hand in place. “I’ve started so I’ll finish,” she murmured, moving her own fingers unerringly to the warm, wet centre of Lindsay’s pleasure.

The feeling of relaxation that flooded through Lindsay afterwards was shattered by the alarm clock again. “Oh God,” she groaned. “Is that the time?”

“What’s your hurry?” Cordelia asked softly.

“I promised I’d be at Brownlow really early. There’s a big action planned for today,” Lindsay replied sleepily.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, is that all you think about these days?” Cordelia complained, pulling away from Lindsay. “I’m going for a bloody shower.” She bounced out of bed before Lindsay could stop her.