Necessary as Blood

might get to Chelsea Town Hall before closing.”

Gemma looked at him blankly. “Chelsea Town Hall?”

“We have a marriage license to apply for, in case you’d forgotten.”

“Oh, so we do.” It seemed a world away from what she had witnessed in the garden-a world she suddenly wanted very much. She turned the ring on her finger. “I think that’s a bloody brilliant idea.”

Melody watched them go from the front step. She’d promised to drive Gemma’s car back to Notting Hill, and had taken the keys.

Feeling a momentary pang of envy, she wondered when Gemma would see the light about Charlotte. Some people had everything, and were blind. But still, it wasn’t her place to say-and it wasn’t like her to be standing round feeling sorry for herself either.

The door opened and Doug Cullen came out.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “I understand you’ve been vehicularly abandoned. The super took the pool car. Do you want a lift?”

“Yeah. In a bit, if you don’t mind.” He stood beside her, gazing up the street, and didn’t meet her eyes. “So is this going to show up in tomorrow’s Chronicle?” he asked.

Melody looked at him, startled. “What?”

“You heard me. I did some research, you know. After the leak about Ritchie’s club. It was blindingly obvious, really. It’s just that no one ever thought to look.

“It’s a common enough name,” he continued, “common enough to pass unnoticed for a while, but how could you have thought that your identity wouldn’t eventually come out? And to put Gemma at risk-”

“You’re defending Gemma?” Melody’s anger overcame her shock. “That’s rich, since you’re the one always trying to sabotage her. Admit it, you’re jealous, and you have it in for me because I’m connected with her. So what are you going to do?”

Doug looked at her, his expression mulish. Melody glared back at him. Then, it came to her that the whole business was really stupid, and that she was tired of it.

“You’re right,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “It’s not fair to Gemma, even though I’ve told her the truth. I should resign. I love this job, but I don’t want to go on doing it like this.”

“I’m right?” Cullen sounded surprised. “You’d really quit? What else would you do?”

“I don’t know. I’m good at finding out things. I suppose I’d go to work for the paper. It’s what my father’s always wanted.”

“But you didn’t do what he wanted.”

“No.”

Cullen shifted awkwardly. “Look, I didn’t mean-”

“Are you saying I should stay on, and have you hold the truth over my head?”

“No. Not me. But you should tell the guv’nor.”

“You think I would ever be assigned to a major case again?”

“Well, if they discriminated against you because of who your father is, you could always threaten to take the story to the paper.” He grinned suddenly, but Melody wasn’t sure she found the irony funny.

“Seriously,” Cullen continued, “you are good at what you do. And I suppose you were right. I have been jealous of Gemma, and of you.”

“Doug, why?” she asked, and the use of his first name felt comfortable again. “You’re a good officer, and Kincaid depends on you.”

“Because I don’t seem to have the talent for reading signals.” He shrugged. “I’m good with facts, but I always seem to get things wrong with people. Foot in mouth.” He looked away. “Like that night in front of the Yard. I was an idiot.”

Even now, remembering his rejection made her flush with embarrassment. But she’d only suggested a drink, after all, and maybe he had just felt shy. Had she overreacted? And was it too late to make amends?

“You were,” she agreed, but without rancor. “But that was ages ago. Do you think, if I talked to the super, that I could get on in this job?”

“There are times it might be helpful to have a friendly connection with the press. As long as the press knew where your interests lay.”

“Loyalties, you mean,” she said.

“Yeah. That, too. Do you know?” he asked, with a frankness she’d never heard from him.

“Definitely.”

“Then maybe…” He rocked a little on his feet, and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “…if you gave me a lift, we could stop for a drink. Have a chat or something.”

Melody laughed aloud. She felt a bit giddy with liberation. “What would we talk about?”

“I’m thinking of looking for a new flat.”

“Well, that’ll do for a start.”

“You have sixteen days of official freedom,” Duncan said when they left the town hall, having filled out the paperwork required by the Borough of Kensington and Chelsea for a marriage license. “In case you change your mind.”

“I’d better not,” she said, teasing. “Your mum and dad have promised to come to Glastonbury for Winnie’s blessing. And Juliet’s promised to come with the kids. Kit should be pleased.” She took his arm. “It’s cooling off. Let’s walk down to the river, to celebrate.

“Winnie’s doing well, by the way,” she added as they strolled down Oakley Street. “I talked to her this morning.” She didn’t want to think about her mum, and whether she would be well enough in a few months to attend. Not today.

“You realize that if we go to Glastonbury for Winnie’s blessing in the church, we’ll be married three times,” Kincaid said.

“Is that for luck, then?” she asked.

“I don’t know about luck, but it should make it stick.”

She punched his arm and he laughed, but when they reached the river, he stopped, his back to the railing, and looked at her soberly.

“Will you mind? About Winnie and Jack’s baby?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” she answered, but she knew what he meant. “I’m so pleased for them. Really, I’ll be fine.” And she realized, as she said it, that she was fine-that she was, in some indefinable way, healed, and that it was not a baby she wanted.

“But there is-” She struggled with the words. “I don’t want you to think that it’s not important to me to have a child of our own. But Kit and Toby, they’re just as much ours as if we’d had them together. I can’t imagine loving them any more, or any differently.

“And today”-she swallowed and went on-“when I knew what had happened to that little girl…to all those girls, I thought-If we could make a difference to one-”

“I know,” he said, and smiled. “And besides, the boys need someone to keep them in line.”

About the Author

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DEBORAH CROMBIE is a native Texan who has lived in both England and Scotland. She currently lives north of Dallas in McKinney, Texas, sharing a 102-year-old house with her husband, three cats, and