Crouched by the open doorway in the loft above the old barn in the exact position the Gunner had occupied earlier, the Rainlover waited patiently, wondering whether the man would return.

The door opened for the second time in ten minutes and the girl appeared, framed against the light, so close that he could see the worry on her face. He started to get up and beyond through the darkness, there was the creaking of the judas gate as it opened. A moment later, the Gunner appeared.

He paused at the bottom of the steps and tossed the key up to Jenny. ‘This is yours.’

She glanced at it briefly. ‘What happened?’

‘Oh, you might say we came to an understanding. He’s agreed not to come back. In return he gets his cards and a week’s pay, first post Monday morning.’

She tilted his head to one side and examined the bruise that was spreading fast under his right eye. ‘Some understanding. You’d better come in and let me do something about that.’

She turned and the Gunner followed her. After he had closed the door, the yard was dark again, but something moved there in the shadows making no more noise than the whisper of dead leaves brushing across the ground in the autumn. The judas gate creaked slightly and closed with a soft click. In the alley, footfalls faded into the rain.

The Gunner emptied the glass of whisky she had given him with a sigh of satisfaction and turned his head to the light as she gently applied a warm cloth to the bruise under his eye.

‘What happened to the old lass, then?’

‘I told her to go to bed. It’s late.’

He glanced at the clock. ‘You’re right. I’ll have to be off soon.’

‘No hurry. You’ll stand a better chance later on.’

‘Maybe you’re right.’

He was suddenly tired and with the whisky warm in his stomach, contented in a way that he hadn’t been for years. It was pleasant there by the cheerful fire with just the one lamp in the corner and the solid, comfortable furniture. She gave him a cigarette and lit a paper spill at the fire for a light.

He took one of the easy chairs and she sat on the rug, her legs tucked underneath her. The Gunner smoked his cigarette slowly from long habit, making it last, and watched her. Strange, but he hadn’t felt like this about a woman before. She had everything a man could ever want – a body to thank God for, a pleasant face, strength, character. He pulled himself up short. This was beginning to get out of hand. Trouble was it had been so damned long since he’d been within smelling distance of a bird that probably one of those forty-five-year old Toms from the back of the market would have looked remarkably like the Queen of the May.