CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Dark Glasses

The story continues … seventeen days later … Wednesday 22nd March …

9:00 am

Roger kissed Mimi's lifeless hand and rose from a chair alongside her hospital bed. He was getting into a routine now. He would rise up early from his room at Carrowbank Farm, get showered and dressed, have a quick bite to eat, then head straight for the hospital. Here he would spend an hour with Mimi before heading off to work at the amusement park. When his day was done, at sometime around five o'clock in the afternoon, he would return to sit and hold Mimi's hand for another couple of hours or so. After that he would head off back to the farm for the night.
This particular day, some eighteen days after Mimi's tragic accident, was however going to be somewhat different. Roger was going away, and it would probably be another three days or so before he would see his Mimi again. He shed a little tear at the thought of leaving her, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
"Goodbye then Mimi, I'll see you when I get back from London," he whispered in her ear, then tenderly kissed the lifeless hand once more.
Mimi made no movement nor response. Roger however had no doubts that his beloved Mimi had heard his ever word and knew exactly why he had to go away. From the day they first met there had never been any secrets between them, and in the passing days and hours since the tragic accident Roger had talked endlessly to her about all his hopes, aspirations, and plans for the future. He was convinced that Mimi, although constantly lying still and unmoving, knew exactly what was happening and why he needed to spend a few days in London.
He kissed the lifeless hand one more time, replaced the chair against the wall, blew another kiss, then after one final glance and small wave, he walked out of the room.
The doctors at the hospital were pleased with Mimi's progress. She was no-longer on a respirator and had been moved from 'Intensive Care' to a private side ward. However, Mimi still remained in a coma, and there was very little the doctors could do for her at this point in her recovery except wait and hope. People had been known to come out of comas after just a few days; others months; sometimes years; and there were those that never regained consciousness at all. At this stage no one was willing to speculate as to which category Mimi belonged. It was like they said: It was early days yet, and far too early to predict the final outcome.
But all the same they were pleased with Mimi's progress. Her internal organs were supporting themselves now, and she was being continuously fed via a number of tubes to the body. In medical terms: Mimi was resting comfortably; she was responding well to treatment, and no longer remained on the critical list.
Roger returned to his Mercedes and pulled away from the hospital car park. Normally, at this stage in his daily routine, as he reached the road outside the main hospital gates, he would invariably turn left and head for the town centre, and then drive on along the promenade on his way to work. This particular morning however he turned right and made for the outskirts of the town. Today he had no plans to visit the amusement park, he was heading for the railway station instead. He had the rest of the week off from work. Mr. McTavish had said that he deserved it, and not to worry about how much time he spent away.
But this was to be no holiday for Roger. Far from it. In fact, today was going to be a very sad occasion all round. For Wednesday the Twenty-second of March was to be the day of Godfrey Brookes' funeral.
It had taken over a fortnight for the Coroner's Court to come up with a verdict of 'Accidental death due to misadventure'. For everyone concerned it seemed like a good compromise. At least there was no suggestion of suicide, and this delicate subject had been avoided. As luck had it, there had been two members of the police force on hand to witness the tragic accident, otherwise the final verdict could have dragged on and on. Officially, and for the record, Godfrey had been trying to save Mimi at the time of the roof collapse, and the officers' evidence had proved crucial when it came to reaching the verdict.
The funeral was to be held at Carrowton, in the small parish church of St. Michael's and all Angels. The same church where just a couple of months back, Godfrey's youngest daughter Marion was wed on that most happy and joyous occasion.
The reason why Roger, on this particular morning found himself heading for the railway station and not the amusement park, was to collect Chloe. She had insisted on coming down from London for the funeral, and Roger had arranged his day accordingly. Lenny and Judi had wanted to come too, if only to keep Chloe company and visit Mimi in hospital. However, negotiations for an important new contract clashed with the date, and seeing that on their one and only visit to Carrowbank Farm Godfrey was absent that day, it was decided to just send a wreath and let Chloe represent them at the funeral.
The plan therefore, after many long and detailed telephone calls, was for Chloe to arrive early from London by train; Roger would meet her at the station; they would attend the funeral service together at two o'clock in the afternoon; and afterwards, when it was all over, he would drive her back to her student accommodation at the university.
This arrangement all fitted in nicely with the second part of Roger's plan. He was reckoning on spending a couple of nights in London, maybe a few more if the need arose. He owned a flat there that he had not had chance to visit since his move to Littlesea. His plan therefore, over the next two days, was to put his flat up for sale. It was of no use to him anymore. There was also an old battered car of his parked somewhere in the road outside. That too was going up for sale; providing its wheels had not been stolen and there was enough power in the battery to start the engine.
As far as Roger could foretell, London was now a thing of the past. For one thing there were many plans afoot as regards his position in the company. The title of 'New Caretaker', although still written down in his job description and contract, seemed no longer applicable nor appropriate. Over the past several days, he and Mr. McTavish had discussed his future many times across the kitchen table. The Scotsman was nearing retirement and he wanted to leave the running of the amusement park in good hands. He had already made his decision, even before Mimi's tragic accident; Roger was his chosen man; and at the next board meeting the subject of his successor would be on the agenda.
So, whether Roger liked it or not, all his plans and aspirations for the future were locked around Littlesea. Both his job and Mimi were there, and the bright lights and big city no longer played any part in his life. His clubbing and carefree bachelor days were over. Suddenly he felt twenty years older, with weight and responsibility bearing down heavily on his shoulders; yet he was still only twenty-five.
Deep in thought as to what the future may hold for him, Roger pulled the big Mercedes up outside Littlesea railway station and walked the short distance to the entrance.
A large display screen hanging down from the roof of the booking hall told Roger that the next train due to arrive on 'Platform 3b' was from 'London-Victoria'. It was due in at '09:35', or was meant to, but like all trains on this southern region line, it was running approximately fifteen minutes late. He looked to his watch. The time was near enough twenty minutes past nine. The train was not due in at the station for another thirty minutes at least, so rather than hang around in an area obviously designed to discourage people from waiting, since there were no seats in the area, Roger returned to the road outside.
With hands deep in pockets Roger moved to one side of the entrance and leaned against a wall. He looked to the skies. Today was going to be a very nice day indeed. The sun was shining and the seagulls were circling overhead beneath a bright blue sky. Spring had truly arrived in Littlesea. He felt that he ought to be on the beach sunbathing, and not in a back street with the railway lines behind him and a row of old houses and shops staring at him across a narrow Georgian street.
Roger kicked an empty can of coke into the gutter and looked about him. He was not a patient waiter. About two hundred yards down the road, and over on the other side, there was an Estate Agents. With plenty of time on his hands, he sauntered off in that direction. If he was going to sell his flat, then maybe he should consider buying property in Littlesea at the same time. It was a possibility, but at present there was no rush. Marion wanted him to stay on at Carrowbank Farm for the time being. The farm was empty now that Godfrey was dead, and it needed someone there just to keep the place looking lived in. The property would probably get sold off sometime in the future, but not for many months as yet. At least not until al Godfrey's estate and assets had been properly sorted out first.
Roger arrived to peer in through the Estate Agent's window at the pictures of property up for sale in the area. He had not even concerned himself about house prices before, but his immediate observation was the cheapness of property around Littlesea compared with those in London. For the price of his one bedroom bachelor flat he could buy a three bedroom semi down here. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Perhaps he should consider making a purchase after all?
Killing time, Roger's eyes moved slowly along the rows of pictures in the window. Suddenly he stopped and took notice. A certain property that he recognised caught his eye. The address beneath the photograph read: 'No. 1, Cliff Top Cottages, Castle Point'. Roger knew the property well. It was the old cottage that you first came to after scaling the hill from the sand dunes. He recalled seeing the 'For Sale' sign there once, and was thinking what lovely views the site commanded. But that was quite some time ago, and he wondered why it had not been snapped up before now. Perhaps it was the asking price? It seemed quite expensive compared with other properties in the area.
Ignoring the high value, Roger entered the Estate Agents. The door opened with a 'ding-dong', then closed with a 'dong-ding'. A young teenage girl was seated at a desk and painting her fingernails a horrible shade of purple. She looked up at Roger and smiled.
"Can I help you sir?" she asked.
Roger's eyes remained transfixed on the nail varnish. He wondered who on Earth would even make a colour like that, let alone use it? He averted his eyes from the glare and looked her in the face.
"I'm interested in Number One, Cliff Top Cottages, out at Castle Point. Have you got any information on it?" he asked.
"Yes sir, it's just come back on the market," she informed him. "I'll just sort you something out."
Roger smiled and waited for the girl to find the appropriate literature. In the end he was handed a two page spread complete with glossy colour photograph of the property pasted on the front. On the back page was a photocopy of a local map showing Littlesea, the bay, and Castle Point, and with an arrow pointing to the location of the property. There was also a blob of purple nail varnish in one corner where the girl had handled it.
"Thank you my dear," he told her, then added: "Do you know why the previous sale fell through?"
He did not know why he asked this question. It was just that he felt the conversation between them had been lacking up till now.
The girl simply shrugged her shoulders.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Grimley deals with all that, and he's out at the moment," she explained.
"Doesn't matter,… I'll just take this," said Roger with a smile.
The girl returned to her seat behind the reception desk and picked up the nail varnish brush.
"Bye…" she said.
Realising that their conversation had come to an end, Roger added a muted "bye…" of his own, then turned and walked out into the street; the door repeating its 'ding-dong' then 'dong-ding' as he did so.
Standing outside the Estate Agents window, Roger took a quick glance at the literature. Apparently the property dated back to the fifteenth century, or even earlier: Records showed that some sort of dwelling had been on that site since the thirteenth century. However, very little of the original structure remained after being extensively rebuilt within the nineteenth century and completely modernised over the last twenty years or so. The cottage now supported four sizeable bedrooms, (two en-suite), a bathroom with a separate shower, a spacious hallway, a large lounge area with attractive original fireplace, and a modern fitted kitchen. It also boasted full central heating and an oil-fired Aga Cooker. On top of all that, there were three acres of ground to go with it.
Roger, after feeling suitably impressed with the write-up, folded up the advertising literature and placed it in his inside pocket. He looked to his watch. Chloe's train was due to arrive in about another ten minutes time. Slowly he began to amble his way back to the station.
The train from London did arrive eventually, some twenty-five minutes late. Waiting patiently on the pavement outside, Roger looked into the booking hall. As the passengers streamed out he craned his neck to look over the heads of the crowd. He smiled as he recognised Chloe amongst them. She saw Roger waiting at the entrance and gave a little wave above all the bobbing heads. He waved back in recognition.
"Morning Roger, thanks for meeting me," said Chloe as the couple finally got together amidst the milling crowd.
Chloe looked very smart. She was wearing a dark navy blue suit jacket, matching skirt and high heeled shoes. She was also wearing sunglasses. Even though the sun was shining brightly the dark glasses were not intended for now, but for later, to hide away the tears. The only bag she was carrying was a large black handbag that hung from one shoulder. This outfit was all that was required since she was only down here for one day, and Roger was taking her back to London as soon as the funeral ceremony was over.
Roger placed his hands on Chloe's shoulders, and at arms length he looked her up and down. This was a very different looking Chloe to the images of jeans and trainers he remembered; or even the naked Chloe strapped to the beams in the barn; or riding the wooden pony in the tunnel. This was no longer the drably dressed teenage university student out to earn a few extra pounds to pay her way, but a very smart and sophisticated looking young woman. He pecked her on the cheek and gave a little hug.
"I'm glad that you could come Chloe," he told her.
Chloe looked sad and pulled a distorted face.
"I couldn't stay at home Roger; I liked Godfrey too much; and we got on well together," she told him, and then added: "And how's Mimi?… Is she any better?"
It was Roger's turn to pull a little sad face. He nodded his head slowly in response.
"Mimi's just fine Chloe… she's doing very well… she's pulling out of the coma slowly… and the doctors say that they are very pleased with her progress," he explained.
Chloe gave a little smile. These were awkward moments and she knew just how Roger was feeling.
"Lenny and Judi send all their love too,… tell Mimi that," she told him.
Roger bit at his bottom lip. Everybody was being so kind.
"Thank them for thinking about us when you get back," he said.
"I will do Roger," said Chloe.
Roger looked around. They were stood in the middle of the entrance and he had just been banged on the back by a fellow carrying two large suitcases and trying to get by.
"Come on Chloe, let's get out of here," said Roger, and bringing the conversation to an abrupt end.
Holding on tightly to Chloe's arm, Roger led her away through the bustling crowd of people all trying to get to the taxi rank first.
"My car's parked over there somewhere," he told her.
Once seated in the car, with doors shut and relative solitude from the hustle and bustle of the station, Roger turned to Chloe. The time on the dashboard clock was showing ten o'clock.
"Four hours until the funeral… what do you want to do till then Chloe?" asked Roger; he then added: "Have you eaten yet?"
Chloe nodded her head.
"There was a buffet car on the train… so I'm okay Roger," she told him.
Chloe was always conscious of her figure, and a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee would do her for most of the day.
Roger had considered heading for Alf's Café, but he had eaten something himself before leaving for the hospital and was not particularly hungry either. Since Mimi's accident he had lost his appetite for practically everything.
"Tell you what then Chloe," he said. "If you're not particularly bothered about eating, there's a property I would like to see. I suggest we go there first. If we're hungry after that, we can have a quick bite to eat before going to the church. How's that sound?"
Chloe nodded her head.
"Sounds fine by me Roger," she said.
Roger turned the ignition key.
"Let's go then Chloe," he said.

10:15 am

Fifteen minutes later the car was climbing the steep hill to Castle Point. As the road began to level out Roger pulled over to the right and stopped the car. Alongside the big parked-up Mercedes ran a long, tall hawthorn hedge that had not been cut for ages. There was an overgrown gap in the centre with a small gate buried in the growth. On the gate was a large white plastic number '1', and alongside stood a property 'For Sale' sign.
"Is this it Roger?" asked Chloe looking out through the side window of the car.
All she could see was a hedgerow and a bit of a garden gate.
"This is it Chloe," Roger told her, "a highly desirable property, with commanding views overlooking the bay."
Chloe turned her head to look out of the back window of the car. She could see the long sweeping arc of the bay, and with the houses and shops of Littlesea way over on the other side. Two small yachts with their white sails were bobbing about on the water. She had not been to Castle Point before. On her two previous visits to the Littlesea area she had been taken directly to Carrowbank Farm, and her only venture away from there had been to the bluebells woods a few miles up the Carrow Valley.
"Yes, it certainly has got some nice views Roger," she admitted, and with a possible little sigh added somewhere in there too.
"Right, let's go and take a look then," said Roger opening up his car door.
Chloe got out the other side and joined Roger at the gate.
One look up the garden path told Roger that the place had not been lived in for quite some time. Not only was the boundary hedge impinging on the gate, but the whole of the garden was overgrown and in a state of utter neglect.
"You'd better be careful where you tread Chloe, and stick to the centre of the path," Roger told her as he opened up the gate. "I don't want to see you laddering your best stockings."
They set off, keeping to the very centre of the gravel path, with Roger leading the way and Chloe trailing on close behind.
The Cottage had two floors and was built of large stone blocks that could have come straight from the castle walls. It had a slated roof and two very ornate chimney stacks to either side. That part of the dwelling looked old; the rest of the building however looked very new. All the windows were double-glazed and the frames constructed of white plastic. In an attempt to make them look old, thin strips of lead had been stuck to the glass in a diagonal criss-cross pattern. The front door was also very modern, but at least this was made of wood and not plastic. It was one of those doors you could purchase from any DIY store, with small squared frosted glass panels running down the full length, and topped with a semi-circle of glass designed to look like the rays of the sun.
Roger had not got the keys to the property. He was content just to look it over from the outside on this visit. If he was interested, and he liked the place, then he would return to the Estate Agent's for a proper guided tour at some later date. But if first impressions were to count, then he was not much inspired by anything he had seen thus far. Everywhere looked too much like hard work, and according to the Estate Agent's write-up there were three acres of ground to try and keep tidy.
There was a gravel pathway all the way around the property. Roger moved to the first window on the left. It was dark inside. Holding his hand to his forehead to shield the glare of the bright sunlight, then resting right up against the glass, he peered into the gloom. Chloe alongside him did the same. This was obviously the lounge. It was completely void of furniture, with bare unpolished floorboards stretching across the room from wall to wall. There was an inglenook fireplace with the same stone blocks of the outer walls supporting a massive oak beam across the top. At least this part of the house looked old and original, which was more than could be said for the rest of the room. It had smoothly plastered walls and modern light fittings stuck to them.
Roger, with Chloe staying close behind, moved on around the side of the cottage. Looking down the side wall he could see where the newly extended part had been added. The original haphazardly laid stone blocked walls went about halfway down, after that the brickwork became neat and squared and laid out in straight lines. The new stones themselves were not even real, they were simply concrete blocks with the outer face made to resemble a stone finish.
Roger was not impressed. He shook his head and tutted his disgust.
"Are you really thinking of buying this place?" asked Chloe as they stopped to peer in through another window.
She was as unimpressed as Roger.
Roger shook his head.
"I don't think I'll bother Chloe," he told her. "It looks like a lot of money and lots of hard work are needed,… and I've got neither."
They moved on a little further to the back of the house. Here was an overgrown lawn, a couple of blighted apple trees, and a greenhouse with a few broken panes. This area was all fenced off, and beyond this it was difficult to see where the three acres extended.
The couple finished the circuit and gingerly stepped their way back down the garden path to the car.
With Chloe heading for the passenger door of the car, Roger closed the gate and took one last look down the garden path. He wondered where the three acres had got to. From what he could see, the cottage and gardens extended to something like half an acre at the most. He took out the Estate Agent's particulars of the property and looked to the map on the back page. It showed where the cottage was situated, but gave no reference to the grounds that went with it.
Roger shook his head. Three acres - half an acre - what did it matter? Number One, Cliff Top Cottages was not for him anyway. He would stick to buying a modern house in a quiet little cul-de-sac, and have four kids running around outside.
Immediately his thoughts returned to Mimi. They were never very far away from his mind at anytime.
"We will have all that one day Mimi,… I promise you we will," he whispered softly to himself as he fastened the latch on the gate.
Feeling a little depressed by the disappointment of the cottage, and combined with replenished thoughts of Mimi, Roger turned to set off back to the car. Chloe had seated herself in the passenger seat by now and was waiting for him. As he took the first step a van came up and over the brow of the hill. It pulled in right behind the Mercedes. Roger stopped and looked around. Then suddenly his somewhat morose thoughts lifted as he came to recognise both the van and the driver inside.
"Clive!… Clive Carter!…" he called.
Clive got out of the van. His face was beaming.
The two men met somewhere between the two vehicles and shook hands.
"Roger, what brings you here?" asked Clive.
"Just looking at some property," replied Roger. "I'm selling my old flat in London and I could be on the lookout for something down here."
Clive looked to the gate Roger had just closed.
"You're not thinking of buying this place are you Roger?" he asked and pointing to the gate.
Roger shook his head.
"I was until I saw it," he said, "but it needs a lot of work doing, and I just haven't got the time… I think a new modern semi with everything already in place is more in my line."
Clive breathed an apparent sigh of relief.
"Phew!… That's good, I was thinking of buying it myself," he said. "It's nice and handy for my work. At the moment I'm either living out of hotels here in Littlesea, or commuting back and forth from my digs in London. It's getting a bit much."
Roger raised an eyebrow. If Clive wanted the property then he had better move pretty smartish. As run down as the cottage was, he still reckoned it would get snapped up pretty quickly. For people with time on their hands it was a highly desirable property.
"Well it's just come back on the market Clive, so I guess you'd better be quick if you want the place," he informed him.
Clive nodded his head, then added a little knowing smile.
"I know that it's just come back on the market Roger… because I think I was the one that made it happen… it was me… I'm the culprit…," admitted Clive and looking like a naughty schoolboy. "I was mooching around here a few weeks back trying to figure out just where our mysterious tunnel comes out, and I happened to bump into the surveyor… I told him that there were a network of tunnels underneath, and that the place was likely to collapse at any moment… you should have seen his face… I reckon that went straight into his report and the sale fell through."
Roger pictured the scene and could not help but smile. However, talk of collapse gave him cause for concern.
"Is this place really going to collapse?" he asked.
He was thinking more for his own benefit, if he ever had a change of heart and did somehow manage to buy it.
"No!… Never!… Not a cat I Hells chance," said Clive, "There's been something on this site for over five hundred years and nothing's collapsed yet… The outer walls of the castle used to go around here at this point, and this was first building on the outside. There was a castle gate here once,… about where the road is now,… and it's recorded that people who failed to get back in time at night before the gates closed would spend the night in the gate house alongside… in fact… until about fifty years ago this place was called 'The Old Gate House'."
Roger seemed impressed and tried to imagine the old castle walls and the gate house alongside. His thoughts then returned to the sale of the property and its possible new owner.
"So you put the Surveyor off just so you could buy the place for yourself?" said Roger accompanied by a big broad smile.
Clive shared the amusement.
"Well I guess it certainly looks that way doesn't it Roger… but I assure you it wasn't like that at the time," Clive tried to explain and sounding a little embarrassed. "I'm still only thinking about buying it, that's true, but I haven't even had chance to call on the Estate Agent to get any information as yet… perhaps I'll do that this afternoon before I set off back to London."
"Well I can save you the trouble there Clive," said Roger. "Here… you can have my copy… I don't need it anymore."
Roger handed Clive the Estate Agent's property particulars on the cottage.
Clive looked at the photograph on the front. It had obviously been taken at better times. The front lawns to either side of the garden path were neatly trimmed and the flowers around the borders were plentiful and in full bloom. There was potential there, and the place could be made to look very nice by someone willing to put in a lot of hard work.
"Thanks Roger," he said, "I'll have a good look through this tonight when I get back at my flat."
At this point Chloe stepped out of the car and moved to join the two men. She had been waiting patiently for Roger and wondering what was going on behind her.
Roger introduced Chloe and Clive.
"Clive this is Chloe," he said, then turning to Chloe added: "And Chloe this is Clive."
Clive and Chloe shook hands.
"Roger always manages to pick the best looking girls," said Clive.
Chloe smiled.
"Why thank you Clive," she said.
She was going to add more: To explain to Clive that she was not Roger's girl: But Clive leant forward and kissed her on the lips.
In the meantime Roger was wondering whether Clive had heard about the accident. He also wanted to put the record straight as regards Chloe. Clive had met Mimi on one previous occasion when he so kindly took them on a guided tour of the catacombs, but he had never met Chloe.
"Chloe's a friend of my fiancée Mimi… Chloe's down here for a funeral," he explained to Clive.
Clive pulled a distressed face.
"I know… I've heard all about the accident Roger… very sad… It's that farmer's funeral today isn't it?… And how's Mimi anyway?.. I hear she's in hospital… is she any better?" asked Clive.
Roger was a little surprised to hear that Clive knew something about what had happened. But Littlesea was a small town and news travelled fast.
"Mimi's doing just fine… she's off the critical list now… and it's just a case of waiting and hoping," he told him.
These were sad moments and Roger did not like talking to other people about them much.
"Let's keep our fingers crossed then shall we," said Clive.
Roger nodded his head.
"That's all we can do Clive," he answered thoughtfully.
Clive looked at his watch.
"Look Roger, sorry, but I've got to go, I've got a few lads waiting for me at the site, and they can't go down below until I get there," he said holding out his hand.
Roger held out his own hand and they shook.
"Bye then Clive… keep in touch," he said.
Clive gave Chloe another little kiss on the lips, then headed for the van.
"Bye Roger,… bye Chloe,… perhaps another Sunday lunch time drink sometime," he said as he climbed into the driver's seat and started up the engine.
"That sounds like a great idea," called Roger.
But whether Clive heard him or not, he was unsure. The driver's door was closed and he was moving away.
Roger and Chloe waved and waited for the van to pass the parked up Mercedes before making a move.
"Right Chloe, let's get going then shall we?" said Roger.
Chloe nodded.
"Yes Roger, why not?" she replied.

2:00 pm

At two o'clock a solitary bell tolled from the tower of Carrowton parish church. Roger and Chloe stood outside with the crowd waiting for the hearse to appear. Roger recognised the figure of Dr. Lang stood amongst the gathering, along with a few other faces. Some folks he had seen and met at Marion's wedding, but there were lots of other people present that he had never seen before. It looked like most of the village of Carrowton had come to pay their final respects.
The hearse arrived followed by two cars. Marion and her husband, along with sister Joyce, were in the first car. Roger had seen most of the occupants of the second car at Marion's wedding, but could not put names to them. Six sombre looking pallbearers in long black coats and top hats carried the coffin into the tiny church. Godfrey's closest relatives followed the body in. The rest of the crowd then began to shuffle their way into the church. By the time it was Roger's and Chloe's turn to enter, they were very close to the back. Inside the church Roger found himself sitting in the same pew as he did for Marion's wedding. On that occasion it was Mimi sat by his side, this time it was Chloe.
The service was a sad occasion and there were many tears. Chloe for one nearly soaked up a complete handkerchief as she continually dabbed away beneath her dark glasses. The vicar talked of the great loss, and what a fine and upstanding member of the community Godfrey had been. How he had helped at all the harvest festivals, and how he and his wife, when she was alive, had practically run the annual village fetes all by themselves.
After a few more hymns and prayers the ceremony moved outside; for the congregation to gather around a freshly dug hole in the ground. The banked up soil around the grave had been covered with artificial turf. This was a family site and there were many Brookes' gravestones stretched out in row to either side. Godfrey was finally being laid to rest in the same grave as his wife. A fitting end for what once was a happy and loving couple. Once more Roger and Chloe positioned themselves to the back of the crowd and listened rather than saw what was going on.
As the ceremony drew to a close, with the coffin placed in the ground, a slow procession of mourners trooped past the site. As Chloe and Roger walked slowly past, Chloe tossed a few token grains of earth onto the coffin, as did most of the mourners. It was a sad sight to see and there were many tears.
When it was all over, rather than meet or speak to anyone, Roger and Chloe headed straight for the car. Chloe was too choked to speak anyway. They had paid their last respects to Godfrey. That was all that mattered.
"Right, London next Chloe?" Roger said as soon as they were seated in the car.
Roger already had his overnight bag packed and there was no reason to call in at the farm.
Chloe removed her dark glasses to reveal two very watery and bloodshot eyes. She gave them another little dab with her handkerchief and returned the glasses to her nose before speaking.
"Yes, London next Roger," she said with a little sniffle to the nose.

4:30 pm

Halfway to London, Roger pulled in at a little roadside café. The time then was about four-thirty in the afternoon. Neither he nor Chloe had eaten anything since breakfast time, and by now both were feeling more than a little peckish.
The break took a little longer then expected, but no-one was in a rush. About an hour later they were finished eating and ready to continue their journey on to London.
Over one final cup of coffee before moving on, Roger and Chloe made plans for the rest of the day.
"What time do you think we'll get back Roger?" asked Chloe as she sipped carefully from the hot cup.
Roger looked to his watch. The time was half past five now. He reckoned that with all the evening rush hour traffic it would probably take another two, maybe two and a half hours before he got her back to the university. It was to the north of the city and not the easiest of places to get to.
"Sometime between seven-thirty and eight o'clock," he told her.
Chloe pulled a distorted face. Somehow the timing did not appear to be to her liking.
"Why?" asked Roger on seeing her reaction. "Are you planning to go out again somewhere?"
"I was hoping to… it's club night tonight… but I don't have to go,… and I did give my apologies last week," she told him.
"Club?.. What club's that?" he asked.
"Oh, our local BDSM club… it's held every Wednesday,… eight-thirty till eleven,.. except for Easter, Christmas and the New Year," she explained.
It was Roger's turn to pull a face and raise an eyebrow.
"You're a member of a BDSM club?" he remarked.
Chloe gave a little laugh.
"I thought you knew Roger… That's how Lenny first got in touch with me… he turned up at the club one evening and asked if anyone was interested in any photographic and modelling work," she explained.
Roger nodded his head. He did vaguely recall hearing something about it now, but with all his recent troubles, he had not been thinking too clearly of late.
"So that's how Lenny got in touch with you was it?" he said.
"Yes, he left his business card, and the two of us went to his studio the following day," she explained.
"Two of you?" remarked Roger.
He was still not thinking clearly, otherwise he would have recalled his conversation with Lenny out in the farmyard.
"Yes, it was me and girl called Gayle Jackson that turned up, and Lenny found us both some work, and the rest you know… I came with him to the farm and I met you there," she explained further.
Roger felt the hairs on the back of his head rise at the mention of Gayle Jackson, but he tried not to show it. All of a sudden what had started out to be idle chit-chat had now become a serious discussion.
"Gayle Jackson?… Isn't that the girl who goes to the same university as you?.. And was meant to come down to Lenny's first photo-shoot, but couldn't because she had something better to do?" he asked.
Chloe nodded her head.
"That's the same Gayle Jackson," she answered. "I think she was into protesting about something that day… She does that a lot… If she's not into BDSM and studies, then she's into protesting."
Roger nodded his head. He did not want to harp on too long about the protesting side of Gayle Jackson's life. The least said the better, so he changed the subject back to the BDSM club they both attended.
"So, do you both go to this BDSM club together?" he asked.
Chloe looked a bit uncertain.
"We used to go together regularly," she answered, "but these last few weeks she's been going with her new boyfriend… To tell you the truth, I'm surprised it's lasted this long… he's into too much dominance for my liking,..  he can overdo it a bit sometimes."
Roger supped his coffee and pieced together all the things he knew and had learned about Gayle Jackson thus far: She was going to the same university as Chloe; she was into protesting about genetically modified crops; she attended a BDSM club every Wednesday with her boyfriend; and he preferred to be the dominant partner. He also knew roughly what she looked like from photographs. So what other information would be useful?
"Where exactly is this club of yours then Chloe?" he asked after a short while and several more sips of coffee.
Chloe put her own cup down.
"It's about a couple of miles away from the university I guess," she told him. "Walking quickly, with a short cut through the park, takes about three parts of an hour."
"No buses… or taxis?" asked Roger.
"Certainly no buses on that route at that time of night Roger,… and taxis, if you're lucky enough to find one, can come a bit expensive… especially the return trip at night… we're all poor university students remember?… so we prefer to walk whenever we can."
"Can I drop you straight off at the club instead of at the university?" asked Roger.
Chloe shook her head, then indicated that she was wearing her best clothes.
"Not dressed like this you can't… I can hardly walk in these high heeled shoes for starters,… I need to get back to my room first and get changed into something a bit more casual,… something easy on my feet that I can walk home in tonight," she explained.
Roger could see her logic. He gave the matter a little thought. There had to be a solution there somewhere.
"How's about if I take you to the university first?.. then wait for you to get changed, and then run you to the club afterwards?" he suggested. "I can then head to my old flat after that… how's that sound?"
Chloe smiled and nodded her head.
"If you don't mind doing all the running about Roger, that would be lovely," she said.
Roger smiled. His real intentions were to find out exactly where this BDSM club was situated.

7:45 pm

Gayle Jackson put a final comb through her hair and looked at herself in the mirror. She liked to dress up smartly to go out. The casual look of slacks and trainers was all right for hanging about the quadrangles, but when she was away from university life she liked to put on a more sophisticated and grown up appearance.
For today's venture into the outside world she was wearing a two-piece suit in navy blue, with a short skirt and waist length jacket. She wore a sky blue blouse beneath. On her feet she wore a pair of matching high heeled shoes, and over her shoulder hung a dark coloured handbag.
She looked to her watch. She had exactly three quarters an hour to get to the club. Her current boyfriend, Tim Walker would be there waiting for her. If she walked briskly she would just about get there for opening time. He would normally have picked her up, but had phoned her after lectures to say that he had pranged his car.
Gayle stepped from her small one room bed-sit at the university's hall of residence and into the corridor outside. As she locked the door and deposited the key in her handbag, she saw a fellow student that she recognised walking along the corridor towards her.
As the student got within speaking distance she called: "Chloe, are you going to the club tonight?"
Chloe stopped to speak. She nodded affirmative.
"Yes Gayle, as soon as I get changed into something more casual, I'm on my way," she replied.
"It's late… it's getting on… it's quarter to eight already,… so you'd better get a move on," said Gayle reminding her of the time.
Chloe nodded her head. She was aware of the time, but Roger was outside waiting.
"I know Gayle, but I've got a lift waiting… I'm okay," she said, then added: "I guess Tim's waiting for you?"
Gayle shook her head.
"Tim's meeting me at the club tonight… he couldn't make it in time,.. he might even be a little late himself… he's pranged his car," explained Gayle.
Chloe thought for moment. Surely Roger would not mind taking another passenger?
"Look Gayle, hang around a bit whilst I get changed, and you can have a lift with me to the club... I'm sure the driver won't mind," she told her.
Gayle breathed a little sigh of relief.
"Oh, would he please?… Why thanks Chloe… a lift would be wonderful," she said thankfully.

8:15 pm

Roger was sat in his car waiting outside the main gates and across the road to the university when he saw Chloe arriving. From a distance it looked like she had someone else with her. He was also a little confused. The two girls were walking side by side. Both were about the same height, with the same sort of blond shoulder-length hair style. Yet one was dressed rather smartly, the other in casual clothes. Having been with Chloe all day, and seeing her dressed in a dark suit and walking in high-heeled shoes, his first impressions were that she had not changed, and that she was bringing a friend along who was dressed in jeans and trainers.
But the confusion did not last for long. It was the sunglasses that gave it all away. Those dark shades were still there to hide away those bloodshot eyes. As the two girls got closer it became obvious that the casually dressed girl was Chloe, and her companion was the one wearing the dark suit. As they passed through the gates and crossed the road to the car, Roger recognised the girl with Chloe. He had seen her on a few of Lenny's photographs in his office, plus once in a pornographic magazine. But what was more significant, was the fact that he had also see her image on the front page of a certain hated news-sheet.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as the girls darted between traffic to reach his car across the busy road. He decided to play this cool and appear to show little interest in Chloe's friend. He would keep his face away from her, and speak as little as possible.
Roger smiled through the driver's window, but did not get out of the car to greet them. Chloe got into the passenger seat alongside Roger, and Gayle climbed into the back.
"Hello Roger, thanks for waiting," said Chloe and giving him a light peck on the cheek. "I hope you don't mind, but I've brought Gayle along with me… she's off to the club too and was a little late."
Roger did not mind at all. In fact he was delighted, and tried hard not to show it. He had managed to get a good look at Gayle Jackson as she stepped into the car, and now knew what he was up against. But he was not going to rush into things. Maybe tonight, after he had sorted out his flat, he would return and follow them back to the university. The things he had in mind needed much careful planning, and were not to be rushed into. He would strike only when he was good and ready.
"No, I don't mind at all," he said as he started the car and began to pull away from the curb.
He would get another good look at Gayle as she got out of the car. He would also know by then the exact location of the club.

8:45 pm

The 'Dom Domingo' club was not a real BDSM club in the true sense of the word. It had no formal membership nor did it have any recognise organisation structure. These were just a group of friends and acquaintances who just happened to meet up once a week to share one common purpose: The pursuit and enjoyment of the art of bondage and domination. And therefore, anyone who shared in these beliefs was most welcome to attend.
The origin of the name 'Dom Domingo' was a bit obscure. It went back to a time when a couple of the founding members where on holiday together in Spain and toying with the idea of starting a club. They needed a name, and after a night on the sangria they came up with what sounded like a good idea. With 'Domingo', (along with the abbreviation 'Dom'), being the Spanish for Sunday, and 'Dom' also being short for domination, it sounded right, and since in those early days they intended to hold their little gatherings every Sunday it was thought to be a brilliant title. That was until they switched everything to a Wednesday. They toyed with changing the name to 'Dom Miercoles' but it did not have the same ring to it, and therefore the current name was maintained.
There were a few other things too that were a little surreal about the club. For starters the clubhouse itself was not even a single building. It was the double garage, parts of the house, a couple of cellars; and in warmer weather, the secluded gardens of a big Victorian residence belonging to one of the founder members of the club.
After such a beautiful day, and with the sun just setting below the London rooftops, the dozen or so members who were there on time made their way down the terracing to the lawns and trees below. A lot of rope had been taken with them, and in the warmth of evening this was the first opportunity of the year to move outdoors. They all seemed to relish the thought of doing something different for a change.
However, this sudden outburst of fresh activity had left Gayle a little bit in the lurch. At half past eight, when everybody was raring to go, her boyfriend Tim had not yet arrived.
"You lot go on without me, I'll wait here for Tim and join you later," she told everyone, and electing to sit on a plastic garden chair on the terrace and wait.
No one argued. Someone left her a couple of coils of rope, then they all moved off to a floodlit and screened off area of the garden where it was private and not overlooked by neighbouring windows. From where Gayle was seated she could hear laughter and the chuckling of voices, but could see no activity.
Tim Walker was about fifteen minutes late when he finally arrived at the club.
He was a young lad of nineteen, just one year older than Gayle, yet he looked a lot more mature than his tender years suggested. He was tall and well built physically, with deep blue eyes and close cropped fair hair. He was not a university student; he really had no need to be. He came from a wealthy family and on leaving school had slotted straight into a cosy little job within his father's manufacturing business. He drove a sporty looking car, (when it did not have a crumpled wing and smashed headlight that was!), and in general had plenty of money to throw around.
Tim was also heavily into BDSM, and it was at this club where he first met Gayle. The couple had known each other for about six months, but had only been going out together for the past three weeks. But already the relationship was strained, and other club members were taking bets on how long it would last. Four weeks was the favourite. And for the record, after bondage, betting was the second most favourite pastime amongst members at the club.
Tim was a man of many moods. At times he could be very nice and gentle, but if the mood took him, he could turn aggressive and argumentative. Gayle, if anybody, seemed to be the one person at the club that could calm him down and keep him under control.
Tim found Gayle seated on the terrace. They kissed without Gayle rising from her seat. He sat himself down on a similar white plastic chair next to her and put his feet up on the surface of a white circular plastic table with a folded umbrella threaded through a central hole. There were several tables here, and many chairs. When the weather was fine, this was where all the members usually congregated before a session. Having just moved to the bottom of the garden, most of the tables were now littered with empty coffee mugs.
Tim looked a little glum and pensive, and the conversation was lacking.
"How's the car Tim?" asked Gayle in an effort to break the silence.
Tim shook his head slowly from side to side.
"They reckon it's going to be a fortnight before it's back on the road," he told her.
Gayle decided it best not to harp too long on the matter. She could see that Tim was not at all happy. But wanting to keep the conversation going, she quickly changed the subject.
"What are we going to do tonight then Tim?" she asked.
Tim looked down the garden and saw the lights glowing behind a circle of dense, tall coniferous trees. "I see everyone's down the bottom of the garden," he stated. "Have they got the pony rides going again?"
Within the circle of tall fir trees lay a pony track. But during the winter months it invariably remained disused. Tim enjoyed the pony races. He enjoyed the spectacle, and also the thrill of the betting. It was like a day at the races, but even more exciting watching the naked girls pulling the carts and their jockeys around the track.
Gayle shook her head. "Everyone decided the weather was warm enough to stay outdoors… so they're all down there now,… but nobody was prepared for the racing… apparently the buggies need bringing out of storage and greasing, and the tack needs to be sorted out first," she explained, "so they're just playing around, and using the posts in the centre for tying up."
Tim pulled a face but said nothing. To be truthful he was feeling a little disappointed at the news.
"Shall we go and join them Tim?" suggested Gayle.
Tim thought for a moment. He had a better idea. There were a couple of coils of rope on the table by his feet.
"No," he said after a little pondering, "let's do our own thing here."
Gayle looked at Tim. It was not the answer she had expected. She did so much want to join the others at the bottom of the garden.
"What do want to do then Tim?" she asked.
Tim leant forward and collected the rope from by his feet.
"Let's make the most of being on our own for a while… let's do something here instead," he told her.
Gayle nodded her head.
"Okay Tim, let's do something here then," she agreed in an effort to keep him happy.
Tim stood up and moved his chair away from the table and nearer to the edge of the terrace.
"Come on then… let's tie you to this for starters," he told her.
Gayle thought the idea a bit odd, but did not complain. She stood up and began to remove her suit jacket.
"Okay, let me get my things off first then," she said.
She had no wish to crease her best clothes, and besides, when indoors things quickly disappeared anyway.
Tim waited and watched as Gayle removed her jacket then skirt and folded them both neatly over the back of her chair. She then removed her blouse to reveal a matching set of dark blue underwear. Finally she kicked off her shoes and placed them under her chair.
Tim licked his lips and waited patiently for Gayle to finish stripping. Gayle unfastened her nylons from her suspender belt and sat down again to roll the stockings from off her legs. Finally she stood up, unhooked the suspender belt, tossed it to one side, then presented herself to Tim wearing just her bra and panties.
"Right, I'm ready now," she told him.
Tim shook his head,
"No you're not… I want everything off," he told her sternly.
Gayle shook her head. One rule of the club was to keep a sense of respectability when outdoors and in view of the neighbours. The terrace was an exposed area and therefore fell into this category. The rule had been made to keep peace with the neighbours.
Gayle reminded Tim of the rule. "There's no nudity allowed on the terrace Tim… remember?… it's against the club rules," she told him. "I'm not even sure that this is respectable… but at least it's getting dark now and I doubt if anyone can see us."
Tim looked a little annoyed, but he knew and accepted the rules. If the club was relaxed in its running, then it was strict in its rules. A lifetime ban could be enforced for serious misconduct. Leaping about naked on the terrace would probably warrant a three month's ban.
"All right Gayle, let's be having you like that then," he said with a sigh.
Gayle moved over to sit down on the plastic garden seat. It was not the sturdiest of chairs. The terrace had also been laid with crazy-paving and was a little uneven. She adjusted the positioning so that all four legs rested firmly on the slabs then placed her forearms on the arms of the chair.
"Right Tim, get the ropes going," she told him as soon as she felt safe from collapse.
Tim, eager to respond, started by lashing one wrist to the arm of the chair. He had two long lengths of rope and he reckoned that this one would go around the body at least twice before ending up tying the other wrist to the arm of the chair. Slowly and methodically he moved the rope up the arm and through the back of the chair. He then wrapped the rope back through the chair and around Gayle's body, passing it beneath the breasts on his first loop. He repeated his actions again, this time passing the rope beneath the armpits and across the body above the breasts. Finally he pulled on the rope so as to tension everything, then secured Gayle's other wrist to the arm of the chair.
Gayle shuffled uneasily on the wobbly chair and tried to get herself comfortable. Tim had probably gone a little overboard with the tensioning and the two ropes around her body were cutting deep into the skin. Under normal circumstances she would probably have said something to him. But with Tim obviously in a bad mood, and a little upset over the bump to his car, it was more prudent not to say a thing.
Tim took the second length of rope and began by lashing Gayle's left ankle to the leg of the chair. Afterwards he moved upwards to secure the bend of the knee to the base of the chair arm. Here he checked the remaining length of rope before deciding what to do next. There was just enough to wind everything once more around the body before returning to secure the other leg. As before he passed the rope around the back of the chair and then forward around Gayle's stomach before moving on down the other leg and pulling everything tight.
Gayle gave a little hiss of displeasure as the rope tightened around her waist, but once again she did not complain. In a strange sort of way she was enjoying what was happening to her. A little roughness, providing it was not too excessive, was very much to her liking.
Tim finished off the rope by securing first the knee and then the ankle to the chair. He then stepped back and gave a little smile.
Gayle saw the grin and was pleased to see that Tim was at last cheering up. She gave a little shuffle in order to get herself comfortable. The ropes were really tight and cutting into her skin all over the place. As she shuffled, a chair leg slipped into a gap in the crazy-paving and the chair lurched sideways. Tim leapt forward and caught the fall, and moved the chair back into a stable position.
"Gayle, you'd better keep yourself very still otherwise you'll topple over," he told her, and at the same time giving her a little kiss on the lips.
It was clear that Tim's mood was changing for the better. He sounded a lot happier now.
"Thanks Tim," she said, and from now on trying to keep perfectly still. "Now kiss me again," she added.
Tim leaned forward and their lips met. This time the kiss was hard and long.
Gayle smiled as their lips parted. This was the Tim she loved; the Tim she had fallen for.
Tim knelt down between Gayle's open legs, and leaning forward began to kiss and run his tongue across her naked stomach. Gayle threw her head back and let it happen. The tongue moved upwards to lap about between the deep cleavage of her breasts. Then two fingers hooked beneath one cup of the bra. As the tongue continued to lick away, the fingers pulled sideways and downwards at the cup. With a bounce and a wobble, the breast popped out and the tongue moved quickly in to lick and caress the newly exposed nipple.
Gayle moaned and leaned backwards as the lick turned into a hard suck.
Tim could be a wonderful lover.
She twisted her rigidly held body in the hope of thrusting her aching and erect nipple further into his mouth. She groaned as teeth began to nibble gently at the flesh. A finger appeared down below, to rub gently against the thin material of her panties. Slowly the finger began to gyrate in small circles about her clitoris.
"Tim, you're bloody wonderful," she whispered softly.
Gayle flung her head back even further, to lean right over the back of the chair and look up to the emerging stars in the clear night sky. Two fingers pulled on the second cup of her bra, and she felt her other breast spring free of all restraint.
"Ohhhh!… Tim!…, that's wonderful," she heaved as the mouth moved across to suck and manipulate the freshly exposed nipple.
Beneath her the plastic chair moaned and groaned as she continually writhed backwards and forwards in an effort to gain maximum pleasure from Tim's actions.
Then suddenly a leg slipped into a crack between the slabs and the chair tilted to one side. Immediately there came a sharp crack, and the wobbling chair lurched over backwards. A leg had simply snapped away under the severe twisting and immense strain.
Tim instinctively grabbed out and caught hold of an arm, but from his kneeling position it was awkward to gain a complete purchase. All he managed to achieve was to swivel the chair around through ninety degrees. As a result, Gayle, instead of landing on the back of her head, caught the ground with a shoulder and the side of her face.
Gayle immediately screamed. She had seen stars as the corner of one eye hit the ground. Her shoulder had also taken a fair blow.
Quickly Tim set about untying the ropes that bound her to the chair.
"Gayle, stay calm and don't panic," he told her. "I'm getting you out of this as quickly as I can."
As Tim tugged the final rope away from a wrist a man arrived from below. He had heard the scream and come running. He was also the only person left with any clothes on at the time, so had been the obvious choice. However, he seemed to know what he was doing, and took Gayle up in his arms and carried her into the house. Inside he laid her down on a couch and had a look at the damage.
The man told Tim: "Better get a bowl of water and a rag." He then surveyed the damage. Fortunately he happened to be a doctor in his day job and knew what he was doing. He looked deep into her eyes and checked for dilated pupils. There appeared to be no signs of any concussion.
Tim arrived with a bowl of water and a cloth from the kitchen. The doctor wiped away the grime from the rapidly closing eye, he then did the same to the grazed shoulder. When he was done, he pulled her bra back into place and adjusted the straps about her shoulders.
"You'll have a black eye in the morning," he told her, "but you'll live to tell the tale to your grandchildren."
Gayle took the soaked wet rag and held it to her eye. It felt cold and soothing. She lay back on the couch and closed her other good eye.
"That's it, just lie back and take a little rest," the doctor told her. "You'll feel a lot better after a short rest."
Tim took off his coat and laid it over her body.
"I'm sorry Gayle," he told her, and kneeling down by her side.
Lying still, with both eyes closed, she answered: "There's no need to be sorry Tim,.. it was my own fault anyway… I should have kept perfectly still like you told me."

11:00 pm

After a couple of hours rest Gayle felt a whole lot better. She got herself dressed and joined Chloe in the kitchen of the house for one final cup of coffee before leaving. Tim, who had remained by her side all evening came with her.
Chloe looked at the closed up eye and fumbled in her handbag. She extracted a pair of sunglasses. She no longer needed them. The red eyes and the tears from the funeral were long gone.
"Here, put these on Gayle," she told her.
Gayle accepted the dark glasses and placed them gently over her sore face.
"Thanks Chloe," she said, "I think I'd better get myself a pair tomorrow."
Chloe smiled. "You can keep those Gayle," she told her, "I'm not planning on going to anymore funerals for a while."
As eleven o'clock came and it was time to leave, Gayle and Tim kissed goodbye on the street outside the big house. Chloe was stood next to them. Tim had to go off in one direction, whilst Gayle and Chloe had to head away in the other.
Without a car Tim felt helpless.
"Are you sure you don't want me to walk with you?" he asked.
Gayle shook her head.
"No, we'll be all right, won't we Chloe?" she said.
Chloe nodded her head in response.
"We'll be all right Tim," she repeated.
Gayle and Tim kissed one final time and the girls set off.
Tim remained standing on the pavement at the bottom of the club's driveway. As the two girls disappeared from sight he gave one final wave. He hoped that they would be all right. He was still in two minds whether to follow them or not, just to make sure that they got back to their digs safely. If he hurried down a back street he could reach the park ahead of them. If there was to be any danger, then that was where it would most likely occur.
He wondered what best to do?
Fifteen minutes later, as two girls walked briskly through the park; one neatly dressed in a dark suit and wearing sunglasses; the other more casually dressed in jeans and trainers; neither noticed a lone figure stood amongst a clump of bushes. Both were too deep in thought, and both had something very different on their minds.
Gayle was thinking about her injury, how best to hide her black eye, and also wondering whether it was time to break off her relationship with Tim before things got too serious.
Chloe on the other hand was wondering where she had seen that doctor who had treated Gayle before. She reckoned that it was someplace quite recent. But where, for the life of her, she could not remember.
As Chloe and Gayle passed through the gates over on the other side of the park, and out into the road beyond, the dark figure stepped out of the bushes and waited for the girls to disappear from view.
The mysterious figure rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then turned and walked away in the opposite direction. He too was deep in thought, but those thoughts were focused on returning to the very same spot, at the same time, just one week from now.
And on that occasion he would be ready.

End of Chapter Thirteen