'All in good time.' He took up the plastic bowl from the hearth. 'Before I do anything else, I'm going to fetch some clean water, and wash that paw.''But you'll get chilled . . .'No use, he had already disappeared to the kitchen. Amy lifted her foot to rest on the cushioned raffia stool, sighed, and closed her eyes. When she opened them she found Jim standing before her, his round brown eyes gazing expectantly up into hers.What a huge, strongly-built creature he was, to be sure. Her little room had shrunk about him; he stood almost as high as her dining table and made it seem spindly in comparison. Now that she could see him in the light, she realized that she had been deceived by that first sight of his silhouetted head with the stand-ing-up, pointed ears; in truth he hardly looked alsatian at all. For one thing his head was too broad and rounded between the ears; for another his hair was far too long and too fine. It was beautiful, that hair, hanging like dark-gold silk from his

'Thanks, but I prefer toast and marmalade. Or just bread,' Paul added, 'if toast is any trouble.''It's what I always have,' she said, and departed to fetch it.The kitchen felt cold after the heated living room. So much the better; it always woke her up coming in here in the morning. In the neon-lit brightness she took the favourite leaf-patterned tray Gareth had given her last Christmas and set about loading it. Two knives, two teaspoons, two green Denby plates; she ticked them off in her mind as she put them on the tray, then turned to the row of mugs which hung under the wall-cupboard.I'll have the Japanese flowerbell this morning, she decided, enjoying the choice, and he can have - he can have this one. She unhooked her favourite, eggshell-fine mug with the bands of mauve, dove-grey and mandarin-orange. She liked it so much she hardly dared use it, but today was special.Idiot, she said to herself as she lowered the mug gently to the tray, what on earth's got into you? He's anot

But she didn't know if she could hope for that. She didn't know anything very much about Robert. One of the things that had depressed her in the last few days was discovering how little she had ever understood of his character. She had seen him - coupled with him -every other weekend for nearly three months, and never once had she remotely imagined that he could behave as he had last Friday.Nor could she ever have predicted yesterday's practical jokes with their mixture of menace and schoolboy silliness. And now, she couldn't begin to guess how long he would keep them up.Paul broke into her despondency by turning away from her with an air of resolve. Jim's shiny nose appeared again from under the table and this time the rest of him followed; Paul must have disturbed the dog's favourite leaning position by swinging sideways to stand up. He bent and stroked between the high, sensitive ears, then straightened once more.'I suppose I'd better get used to the hygiene rules of having a do

'I can't remember,' Paul admitted. 'But there are lots of trimmings.''Cauliflower maybe, and broccoli, steamed, not boiled . . .' She broke off, the vision fading. 'Roast beefs a meal for Sunday dinner,' she told him sadly. 'They won't be serving Sunday dinner on a Tuesday evening.''Let's see, shall we?'From the outside the Half Moon was a traditional, cosy Kent pub, white-walled and gabled, standing by itself at the end of the village. Its sign intrigued Amy. Its painted, star-flanked half-moon had flying across it the last creature she would ever have expected to see over the peaceful, Kent-style hills painted below it.'A dragon?' she murmured, staring up at it.'Brings good luck,' Paul told her. 'This way.'After the cool night of the car park, the inn's bar greeted them with a luxurious warmth. As she and Paul picked their way through various groups who sat on squashy black leather benches round low white tables, Amy slowly took in pale walls with gilt-framed seascapes, a grey

'Does he really live alone in this great place?' Paul asked.'I agree it's miles too big for one person,' Amy said. 'He doesn't use half the rooms . . .' She broke off, hating to show that she knew the house from the inside, hating herself for knowing it. As she limped along at Paul's side, treasuring the warmth of his hand round hers, she wondered why her knee should suddenly feel so much worse. Could fear really have such a specific effect? But she wouldn't be afraid, she wouldn't.'He inherited it from grandparents, I think,' she added, trying to keep her mind on everyday things. 'He says it has happy memories of his childhood.'There, that helped, picturing Robert as a little boy with adoring grandparents. But the relief lasted only until she lifted her gaze to the broad window above and to the right of the entrance, the window of the bedroom where . . .No, she wouldn't think about that. Trying to keep her mind away from it, she stared instead at the little niche, sharp-edged in