'So what? I could always borrow one.'
'Not from me, you couldn't. I haven't got one either. I haven't even been able to show anyone last year's holiday pictures yet.'
'Surely Robin must have one if he's been taking slides?' Harriet said.
'No, I don't,' Robin mumbled apologetically. 'I'm afraid I've never done transparencies before. I do have a small viewer, of course, but that's not much use.'
'Well, I do have a projector and a screen,' Sandra told them. 'And if any of you want to borrow it, you're quite welcome. Just drop around sometime. You know where I live.'
'Is that an invitation, Sandra?' Norman leered.
'Oh, shut up,' she said, and pushed him playfully away.
'Don't you think there's something unnatural about taking pictures of nudes at the Camera Club?' Harriet asked suddenly. 'I mean, we're all talking about it as if it's the most normal thing in the world.'
'Why?' demanded Norman. 'It's the only chance some of us get.'
'What?' Sandra joked. 'A gay, young blade like yourself, Norman. Surely they're just flocking to your studio, dying to take their clothes off for you?'
'Less of the 'gay,' if you please, love. And I don't have a studio. What about you, Robin?'
'What about me?'
'Do you agree with Harriet, that it's unnatural to photograph nudes in a studio?'
'I wouldn't say it's unnatural, no. I don't think my mother would approve, though,' he added in an attempt at humor. 'I sometimes have a devil of a job keeping things to myself.'
At about ten o'clock, there was a general movement homewards, but Sandra managed to catch Harriet's eye and signal discreetly for her to stay. After the others had gone, Harriet moved her chair closer. 'Another drink?' she asked.
'Please,' Sandra said. She needed it. She also needed somebody to talk to, and the only person she could think of was Harriet. Even then, it would take another drink to make her open up.
The empty seats at the table were soon taken by a noisy but polite group of stable-lads. When she had adjusted to the new volume level, Harriet, who drove a mobile library around some of the more remote Dales villages, began to talk about work.
'Yesterday I got a puncture near the Butter Tubs Pass above Wensleydale,' she said. 'A car full of tourists came speeding around the corner, and I had to pull over quick. Some of those stones by the side of the road are very sharp, I can tell you. I was stuck there for ages till a kind young vet stopped to help me. When I got to Angram, old Mrs. Wytherbottom played heck about having to wait so long for her new Agatha Christie.' She paused. 'Sandra, what's wrong? You haven't listened to a word I've said.'
'What? Oh, sorry.' Sandra gulped down the last of her vodka and slimline and took the plunge. 'It happened to me, Harriet,' she said quietly. 'What we were talking about last week. It happened to me on Friday.'
'Good Lord,' Harriet whispered, putting her hand on Sandra's wrist. 'What… how?'
'Just like everyone else. I was getting ready for bed and he was watching through the bottom of the curtains.'
'Did you see him?'
'I saw him before I'd got too far, fortunately. But he was off like a shot. I didn't get a good look at him. The thing is, Harriet, this has got to be in strict confidence. Alan didn't report it because of the embarrassment it would cause us both. He feels bad enough about that, but if he thought anyone else knew…'
'I understand. Don't worry, Sandra, I won't tell a soul. Not even David.'
'Thank you.'
'How do you feel?'
'Now? Fine. It seems very distant already. It was a shock at first, and I certainly felt violated, but I wanted to tell you that I also felt some sort of pity for the man. It's odd, but when I could first think about it rationally, it just seemed so childish. That's the word that came to mind: childish. He needs help, not punishment. Maybe both, I don't know. It depends which gets the better of me, anger or pity. Every time I think about it they seem to be fighting in me.'
'It was silly of me to say what I did last week,' Harriet apologized. 'About feeling sorry for him. I'd no idea… I mean, I've still no idea what it actually feels like. But they're closer than you think, aren't they, anger and pity?'
'Yes. Anyway, it's not as bad as you'd imagine,' Sandra said, smiling. 'You soon get over it. I doubt that it leaves any lasting scars on anyone, unlike most sex crimes.' Even as she spoke the words, they sounded too glib to be true.
'I don't know. Has Alan got any leads yet?'
'Not much, no. A vague description. One of our neighbors saw a man hanging around the back alley a few days ago. He was dressed pretty much the same as the man I saw, but neither of us could give a clear description. Anyway, keep an eye on your neighbourhood, Harriet. It seems that he does a bit of research before he comes in to get his jollies.'
'Yes, I read about that in the paper. Superintendent Gristhorpe gave a press release.'
'Anyway,' Sandra said, 'there's a lot of women in Eastvale, so I would think the odds against you are pretty high.'
Harriet smiled. 'But why you?'
'What do you mean?'
'The odds against you must have been high, too.'
'Alan thinks it's because of who I am. He says the man's getting bolder, more cocky, throwing down the gauntlet.'
'A Peeping Tom with a sense of humor?'
'Why not? Plenty of psychos have one.'
'You don't think he's looking for someone, do you?'
'Looking for someone? Who? What do you mean?'
'Someone in particular. You know, like Jack the Ripper always said that woman's name.'
'Mary Kelly? That's just a rumor, though. Why would he be looking for someone in particular?'
'I don't know. It was just a thought. Somebody who reminds him of his first time, his first love or someone like that.'
'You're quite the amateur psychologist, aren't you?' Sandra said, looking at Harriet through narrowed eyes.
'It's just something I thought of, that's all.' Harriet shrugged.
'They've brought a professional psychologist in,' Sandra said. 'Woman called Fuller. Dr. Jenny Fuller. According to Gristhorpe she's quite a looker, and Alan's been working late several evenings.'
'Oh, Sandra,' Harriet exclaimed. 'You surely can't think Alan…?'
'Relax,' Sandra said, laughing and touching Harriet's arm. 'No, I don't think anything like that. I do think he fancies her, though.'
'How do you know?'
'A woman can tell. Surely you could tell if David had his eyes on another woman?'
'Well, I suppose so. He is rather transparent.'
'Exactly. I wouldn't use that word to describe Alan, but it's in what he doesn't say and how he reacts when the subject's brought up. He's been very cagey. He didn't even tell me it was an attractive woman he was working with.'
'Does it worry you?'
'No. I trust him. And if he does yield to temptation, he wouldn't be the first.'
'But what would you do?'
'Nothing.'
'Would he tell you?'
'Yes. Eventually. Men like Alan usually do, you know. They think it's because they're being honest with you, but it's really because the guilt is too much of a burden; they can't bear it alone. I'd probably rather not know, but he wouldn't consider that.'
