And Justice There Is None

'Business.' Wesley said this with no great enthusiasm.

'That sounds very practical. So what is it that you really want to do?'

He grinned. 'You don't miss much, do you? I'd like to go into photography, like my uncle, but there's no money in it. So in the meantime I just shoot for fun, you know? Your little one, he'd be a treat to photograph some time, if you wouldn't mind. His face is transparent; it shows everything he's thinking.'

'Devil or angel,' Gemma agreed, chuckling. 'But you might have to sit on him to hold him still long enough,' she warned.

***

When the lights had been threaded on the tree and the handmade angels hung, Wesley and Marc said good- bye, to much protest from the children. Kincaid took the children and the dogs out into the communal garden for a game of football before the light faded altogether, leaving Gemma and Hazel curled up before the fire. Gemma had substituted Italian carols for old Christmas standards, and the ethereal voices filled the room.

The coffee table was littered with empty teacups and crumby biscuit plates that Gemma pushed aside to make room for her feet.

'I've brought a little housewarming gift,' said Hazel, removing a book from her capacious handbag and giving it to Gemma.

'The Secrets of Aga Cookery?' Gemma asked, studying the cover.

'If you don't learn how to manage the thing, you'll be living on take-away pizza.'

'You're not expecting me to turn into some sort of gourmet cook, are you? This'- Gemma's gesture took in the house- 'is quite overwhelming enough. I'm still pinching myself. This can't be me, this can't be my life.'

'And why not? There's no reason to limit yourself. And I don't know anyone more deserving. You've done a good job, bringing Toby up on your own.' Hazel wagged an admonitory finger at her. 'Not that I think this blended family of yours will be easy, mind you, but the point is, you don't have to do everything by yourself.'

Gemma felt the too-easy tears stinging her eyes, and swiped angrily at them. 'Damn it, I feel like a bloody fountain these days. It's maddening.'

'It's your hormones, remember. You might as well resign yourself to it for the next few months.'

'It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for this damned case. Every avenue turns out to be a complete dead end.'

'But surely it's only been- what? A little more than a week? You don't normally expect a resolution in that short a time, do you?' Hazel frowned. 'Tell me you won't have to miss Christmas dinner. No case is worth giving up Christmas turkey-'

'And Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without any turkey,' Gemma chimed in, laughing.

'I've made the pudding, if you'll bring the brandy. You know,' Hazel added more soberly, her dark eyes intent, 'I didn't realize how accustomed I'd become to having you in the garage flat. Even when you weren't home, it still felt occupied. Now I find myself trying not to look across the garden.'

'Will you let the flat again?'

'I don't think so,' Hazel answered slowly. 'I'm considering going back to work, actually, and using the space as an office. Now, with Toby gone, there's no reason Holly can't start infant school.'

'I thought you'd be glad to be rid of me, get your life back. Now I feel I've left you in the lurch.'

'Oh, forgive me for whining.' Hazel reached out to pat Gemma's arm. 'I'm just being selfish, and I'll get over it. You did absolutely the right thing- and I'd have been furious with you if you hadn't. Although I have to admit the house isn't the same without you banging on the old piano.'

'I never banged!' Gemma protested, laughing, then sighed. 'The only good thing I can say about this case is that I've been too busy to miss playing.'

'How's Kit, by the way?' asked Hazel, as the sound of the children's shouting and the dogs' excited barking came from the garden. 'It must be hard for him, leaving Grantchester, not to mention his dad- I mean, Ian- sodding off without a care in the world.'

'If he misses Ian, or the cottage, he hasn't let on. But he seems happy.' Gemma thought of all Kit had endured in the past year. 'This will be his first Christmas without his mum, of course. I just hope we don't let him down.'

***

By November, Mr. Pheilholz's grocery had closed its doors, unable to compete with the new Tesco on Portobello Road.

But it no longer mattered to Angel: she'd left her job the previous month. Karl had rented a flat in Chelsea, in a tiny Swiss-cottage mews just off the King's Road, and Angel had moved in with him.

At first, she'd intended to get another job, but as the weeks went by, the prospect seemed less and less inviting. Their evenings were a dizzying round of clubs and parties that lasted into the wee hours. Then there was bed to look forward to, sleeping intertwined until late in the mornings, when Karl got up to arrange the business meetings at which he liked her to play hostess. He was making a name for himself finding specialized antiques for well-off clients, and rather than expending capital on a shop, he conducted most of his transactions from the flat.

To Angel it seemed a dream, so far removed was their life from her existence in the Colville Terrace flat. And if, in quiet moments, she missed her old friends, she pushed such thoughts away. She had made an effort, in those heady first weeks, to introduce Karl to Betty and Ronnie Thomas. She'd arranged for them to have tea in a Portobello cafe, but she could tell from the moment they sat down that the meeting was doomed. The cafe was the sort of place Karl particularly disliked, with rings on the table, cheap crockery, and the pervasive smell of chips frying in rancid oil.

Betty eyed Angel's new rabbit-fur coat and miniskirt with a mixture of dismay and envy. 'My mum would die if she saw me in that,' she whispered, and Angel could think of no reply that would not hurt Betty's feelings.

The tea, when it came, was coffee-colored and tasted like motor oil, and Karl didn't hide his distaste. Angel tried to carry the conversation, but Betty was shyly awkward, Ronnie hostile and condescending, and Karl obviously bored by the whole affair. When, after half an hour, he excused himself, pleading a business meeting, Angel was left staring at her friends across the table.

'Karl's awfully good-looking,' Betty began hesitantly. 'And older. Are you sure-'

'He's bad news, is what he is,' interrupted Ronnie. 'Have you any idea the sort of people he knows? Or what they do? It's nothing you've any business getting involved with-'

'I've met his friends,' Angel retorted. 'They're perfectly nice-'

'Nice! They do drugs, and worse. If you've any sense, you'll walk away from him before you get yourself in real trouble. I told you when you took that bedsit that no good would come of it-'

'That's enough, Ronnie,' Angel spat at him. 'You don't have any right to tell me what to do, and I'm not going to listen to you anymore.' Trembling with fury, she stood with as much dignity as she could muster. Every head in the restaurant had turned towards them.

Betty's dark eyes had filled with tears. 'Angel, don't. He didn't mean-'

'I'm sorry, but I have to go.' Angel threw some money on the table and stormed out.

Huddling into her coat, she trudged up Portobello towards the tube stop. Yellow leaves rustled and whirled along the pavement, a harbinger of autumn, and she reminded herself how lucky she was not to be facing another winter with only a paraffin heater for comfort.

She hadn't told Betty and Ronnie that she'd moved in with Karl- God knew what Ronnie would have said then! But she had to look out for herself, move on with her life, even if it meant leaving Betty and Ronnie behind. Betty had her Colin, after all, and Ronnie… Why should she care what Ronnie thought?

What if she and Karl and their friends took a few pills? Everyone did; it was the latest rage. Blue,