She had come across a fallen angel, brought down by a gale and never tidied. Tall grass had grown up about her and through her wings, which were broken.

Ruth studied the angel, the picture of the graves meandering away like dragon's teeth sown in a lawn.

Then the man and woman came and sat down on the bench just beyond the chestnuts. They had not seen her. They did not speak for ten minutes.

"I know why you do it," he said eventually. It was a tense, low, furious voice.

"You don't. You think you do."

"I do know. Don't you tell me what I know."

"You imagine things."

The man grabbed and pulled on the woman's arm and she gave a soft cry of pain.

"I said, don't tell me what I think."

He was thickset and not tall, with thinning hair and a good-looking, tanned face. She was tanned not at all. She wore lipstick and dark glasses, two pieces of a disguise. She twisted her hands, then rubbed her arm where he had hurt her.

"Can't you leave me alone, Richard, I'm not doing anything. I just like to make a bit of money for myself."

"You don't need it. I can give you money. God, you get enough out of me."

"You want to eat, don't you?" she said.

"How many women can say they don't have to work? You don't need to. I make enough. You're sitting pretty."

"Pretty," she said, with a peculiar emphasis. -

"Yes, pretty. But you want to be pretty for him, don't you?"

"Him. What him! You're crazy."

He hit her, lightly, a tap to the side of the face that swung her head around and dislodged the dark glasses.

Ruth could plainly see the woman had a black eye.

The woman put back the glasses. She said, desperately, "I just want a bit of money for myself."

"Yes," he said, "so you can run out on me."

"I wouldn't—"

"No, you won't. Because if you ever try it, I'll find you. I'll find the pair of you. It won't be just your eye then, Linda. I'll take him out. And I'll put you in a wheelchair."

Then the silence fell again. It was like the shadow of the coming storm, the pause before the thunder.

She said, quietly, "All right. I'm sorry. I'll—I'll give in my notice. I'll do it tonight."

"Yes," he said.

"I'll have to work out the week."

"No."

"Of course I will. Be reasonable, Richard…" She hesitated but now he did not strike. "Just the week. Then I'll be home. We can—we'll try and make a go of it."

"We have to," he said. Then he had seized her again, this time into his arms. A scent boiled from the bench, Lentheric for men, and an undernote, like burning insulation. "You're all I've got, Linda. My Linda. I don't mean to hurt you. You know you're everything to me."