Breaker

bullet to protect him.'

'Mmm. Personally, I've always fancied myself as Bruce Willis in Die Hard. The heroic, bloodstained cop with his trusty arsenal who saves the world and the woman he loves by blasting hell out of Alan Rickman and his gang of psychopaths.'

She giggled. 'Is this another attempt at seduction?'

'No. I'm still courting you.'

'I was afraid you might be.' She shook her head. 'You're too nice, that's your trouble. You're certainly too nice to blast hell out of anyone.'

'I know,' he said despondently. 'I don't have the stomach for it.' He climbed down the stepladder and squatted on the floor in front of her, rubbing his tired eyes with the back of his hand. 'I was beginning to like Harding. I still do in a funny kind of way. I keep thinking what a waste it all is and what a difference it would have made if someone, somewhere, had warned him that everything has a price.' He reached up to put the paintbrush in the tray on the table. 'To be fair to Carpenter, he did congratulate me. He even said he'd support me if I decided to apply for the CID. According to him, I have potential'-he mimicked the superintendent's growl-'and he should know because he hasn't been a super for five years for nothing.' He smiled his crooked smile. 'But I'm not convinced that's where my talents lie.'

'Oh, for God's sake!' she declared, revealing more of her genes than she knew. 'You'd make a brilliant detective. I can't think what you're worried about. Don't be so bloody cautious, Nick. You should seize your chances.'

'I do ... when they make sense to me.'

'And this one doesn't?'

He smiled and stood up, removing the tray to the sink and running water into it. 'I'm not sure I want to move away.' He glanced about the transformed room. 'I rather like living in a backwater where the odd suggestion makes a difference.'

Her eyes fell. 'Oh, I see.'

He rinsed the emulsion out of the brush in silence, wondering if she did, and if 'I see' was going to be her only response. He propped the brush to dry on the draining board and seriously considered whether fighting his way through half a mile of razor wire wouldn't be the more sensible option after all. 'Shall I come back tomorrow? It's Sunday. We could make a start on the hall.'

'I'll be here,' she said.

'Okay.' He walked across to the scullery door.

'Nick?'

'Yes?' He turned.

'How long do these courtships of yours usually take?'

An amiable smile creased his eyes. 'Before what?'

'Before...' She looked suddenly uncomfortable. 'Never mind. It was a silly question. I'll see you tomorrow.'

'I'll try not to be late.'

'It doesn't matter if you are,' she said through gritted teeth. 'You're doing this out of kindness, not because you have to. I haven't asked you to paint the whole house, you know.'

'True,' he agreed, 'but it's a courtship thing. I thought I'd explained all that.'

She clambered to her feet with flashing eyes. 'Go away,' she said, pushing him through the door and bolting it behind him. 'And for God's sake bring some brandy with you tomorrow,' she yelled. 'Courtship stinks. I've decided I'd rather be seduced.'

The television was on and Celia, remote control in hand was chuckling to herself when Maggie tiptoed into the drawing room to see if she was all right. Bertie had abandoned the stifling heat of the bed and was stretched out on his back on the sofa, legs akimbo. 'It's late, Ma. You ought to be asleep.'

'I know, but this is so funny, darling.'

'You said it was wall-to-wall horror movies.'

'It is. That's why I'm laughing.'

Maggie fixed her mother with a perplexed frown, then seized the remote control and killed the picture. 'You were listening,' she accused her.

'Well...'

'How could you?'

'I needed a pee,' said Celia apologetically, 'and you weren't exactly whispering.'

'The doctor said you weren't to walk around on your own.'

'I had no option. I called out a couple of times, but you didn't hear me. In any case'-her eyes brimmed with humor-'you were getting on so well that I decided it would be tactless to interrupt you.' She appraised her daughter in silence for a moment, then abruptly patted the bed. 'Are you too old to take some advice?'

'It depends what it is,' said Maggie, sitting down.

'Any man who invites the woman to make the running is worth having.'

'Is that what my father did?'

'No. He swept me off my feet, rushed me to the altar, and then gave me thirty-five years to repent at leisure.' Celia smiled ruefully. 'Which is why the advice is good. I fell for your father's overinflated opinion of himself, mistook