Camillo said to Rachaela, "They're his. He always had dogs like this, I remember. These two are the descendants of dogs that ran across Ireland when men wore the Eye painted on their foreheads."

"But you hide from Malach," she said.

"Wouldn't you?" Camillo grinned. More than ever he looked like a boy. The warm light of evening ironed out the lines, the runneled skin. Changing… a butterfly. "Horsy," said Camillo, "keep your tail up. Keep the sun out of my eyes."

CHAPTER 18

THUNDER LIKE AN EGYPTIAN CROCODILE circled the sky. But the storm had not, did not break. Perhaps it never would.

Ruth had gone to a Bernie Inn, where happy families had congregated. Amid the chatter and the laughs, alone, she ate her meal. Steak and a jacket potato with sour cream, a salad, carrots, peas and onion rings. Afterwards she had an ice cream. There was a sparkler in it showering golden stars. This for a moment drew attention to her. In that moment, Ruth was afraid.

But fear was a passing thing to Ruth, like a shortlived digestive pain, foreboding nothing.

She had drunk orange juice with her meal. She did not consume alcohol unless it was offered her, freely available. This was partly the instinct of survival, for she still looked young, might be only sixteen.

When she came out of the restaurant, the day was bleeding away, mocked by the formless thunder.

Red sky at night, shepherds' delight.

Ruth walked along the street. Red as the dying sky, the streetlamps were blinking on.

Traffic passed monotonously, at intervals.

A silver car detached itself from the stream and drove slowly in toward the curb. It crawled there, as if searching for a particular address among the line of shops and stacked flats.

At the traffic lights, Ruth turned into the side road. She was moving back in the direction of the Reeves' house on the estate.

The silver Mercedes waited until the lights gave it way, then turned into the road after her.

The Merc pulled up just in front of Ruth.

She took no notice.

A man got out of the car. He was thin and wiry in a box-shaped pastel suit and silk tie. His hair was slicked back with gel. He had a face of bones and very flat bright eyes.

As Ruth approached him, he skipped forward and took hold of her without a word.

No one else was on the street. On either side the houses lay well back behind high screens of privet and old trees. From the few lit windows nobody looked.

The back door of the car stood open.

Ruth fought. The thin man spoke then. "Don't, babe. Or I'll break your arm."