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had ever heard before. He grasped her by the upper arm and said her name, over and over again, trying to release her from the turgent grip of whatever nightmarish horror possessed her.
    She became aware of his presence and stopped screaming to look at him. Her mouth was still in the shape of a scream and the pupils of her eyes were wild and dilated.
    â€˜You promised you wouldn’t leave me alone . . . but you did, you did. You knew I’d be frightened . . . it hurts . . . please take it away . . . the pain . . . I can’t stand the pain.’
    He’d thought, for a moment, that she was awake. Now he realized she was still in the dream, the nightmare.
    â€˜Where is the pain?’ he asked.
    She whimpered: ‘You know where it is.’
    â€˜No, I don’t. You must tell me.’
    â€˜It’s . . . it’s . . . the pain is here.’
    She drew a line from the base of her throat to the hollow between her breasts. And the line stayed as a livid pinkness, a burn scar that hadn’t yet faded. But she hadn’t been burned in the car accident. Bruised, shocked, covered in mud. But not burned.
    â€˜I’ve taken the pain away,’ he said. ‘It’s gone.’
    â€˜Gone,’ she repeated dully. ‘Gone.’
    Her body relaxed, grew languorous. He began to enjoy the fragrant nearness of her, the soft feel of the satin skin beneath his fingers, and he knew it was time to go.

CHAPTER SIX
    On waking, the first thing she noticed was the butcher blue and white striped pyjama jacket folded across the foot of the bed. It had not been there last night. She buttoned it on, and listened to the creak on the stair.
    â€˜Anyone for breakfast? Do you like boiled eggs?’ His head poked round the door. ‘I’ve done you two.’
    â€˜I love boiled eggs. I didn’t expect waiter service.’
    â€˜Nor will you get it,’ he said. ‘After today. I don’t cosset my housekeepers. I expect them to cosset me. Did you sleep well?’
    â€˜M-m. Lovely, thank you.’ She was cracking the top of her egg and smiling up at him. She knew nothing about the nightmare. He wondered if he should mention it, but the last few weeks had bowled her nothing but shocks and he felt that now wasn’t the time to ferret and probe, not while she was vulnerable from sleep. Perhaps later, perhaps never, if it proved to be an isolated incident. What had terrified her? Marked her flesh? And had she come to accept her disfigurement, or was it a still painful subject?
    â€˜You’d better do some personal shopping today,’ he said. ‘Here’s some money.’
    â€˜It’s too much,’ she said, reluctant to touch the proffered notes.
    â€˜No, it’s not. You’ll need a coat.’
    â€˜It’s still summer. What do I need a coat for?’
    â€˜You’ll find out. This is England, remember. Buy a couple of dresses, and a cardigan. Oh, and,’—his eyes charged past hers and chased up the wall—‘a nightgown and a pair of bedroom slippers. But you’ll know what you need.’ His glance seemed to be fixed on the ceiling, his mouth wore a peculiar kind of smile. ‘If there’s anything left over, call at the butcher’s and get three decent sized fillet steaks for supper.’
    She left off examining his expression to examine the money, maintaining a mute and stony silence. Still enjoying his own private joke, he tucked it under the brown earthenware marmalade jar. ‘Buy the meat locally. I like to support local tradespeople whenever I can. You’ll need to go farther afield for any decent clothes. I’d recommend Todbridge, that’s where we had lunch yesterday. Number twenty-nine bus, on the hour. The bus stop is outside the post office. Any comments?’
    â€˜Yes. What the heck are you smirking at?’
    â€˜Smirking? Smirking? Who’s smirking?’ His lips smacked into a