They did not kiss after all, only embraced each other. Beyond the chauffeur and the men coming with the bags and a couple of cabin crew, there was no one to see. And these took them for sisters.

CHAPTER 48

LATE IN THE SUMMER, MALCOLM AND Cherrylyn Lennox went cycling in hilly Covener Woods. It was very hot, but they had missed their cycling due to Malcolm's father's illness, from which, thankfully, he was now recovered. As Cherrylyn had remarked anyway, with the damage to the ozone layer, summers were always going to be this hot, and winters full of gales. They would have to get used to it.

They strained up the slopes, bony with roots, and free-wheeled down the other sides, sometimes laughing. Yellowed green, the crisp leaves shut off the worst of the sun. Birds were everywhere; they spotted jays, and even, they thought, an escaped canary.

"Let's stop in Witch Hollow, I'm starving," said Cherrylyn, as they came over the ridge, and saw, far off below, the railway line which ran over the countryside from London, city of muggers and pollution, like a spreading stain.

Cherrylyn, despite her bicycling, was a big hefty girl, but all her feeding had not covered over Malcolm's thinness. They were an ill-matched couple, who loved each other, and were very happy.

They rolled down into Witch Hollow, that they had named from the Coven of the Woods. Among the thick weave of the trees, they parked the cycles, got off, and

Malcolm began to unload the food. Large wholemeal sandwiches of vegetarian cheese and homemade pickle, walnut cake, bananas, and a bottle of apple juice guaranteed free of Alar.

"Just got to wee," said Cherrylyn, and giggled. She found most natural functions, except eating and sex, rather amusing.

She went off decorously into the waist-high bracken.

"That stuffs bad for you," said Malcolm. They had just heard that bracken was perhaps carcinogenic.

"I'll only be—" said Cherrylyn. And then she stopped.

Malcolm waited, then he shrugged, and went on putting out the sandwiches, cake and fruit, on the oilcloth.

Soon the bracken rustled, he looked around, and so was in time to see his wife emerge, her round face greenish white.

Though he was thin he was also strong, and he managed to catch her as she fainted.

When she came to, which was quite quickly, Cherrylyn was her usual sensible self, although her face was now the color of milk and she shook so hard she joggled him up and down.

"There's a dead body in the bracken, Malcolm. It's decomposed. Don't go and look."

"But I must," said Malcolm.

"Why? I've seen it. Honestly, love, you don't want to."

"Yes," Malcolm said. "No, all right, then."

"I'll be fine in a minute, and then we must cycle down to the village and get the police."

"Oh, hell," said Malcolm.

"I know," said Cherrylyn sympathetically, "but there's nothing else we can do."

"No."