Where the devil was I? I felt the barrier again, trying to picture it. It was rough, cold stone. Was there a wall around the Serpentine in Hyde Park? I felt a cold dampness rising to meet me and smelled an unpleasant rotting vegetation sort of smell. And a lapping sound. I leaned forward trying to identify the sound I could hear below me, wondering if I should climb over the wall to escape from whomever was following me. Then suddenly I nearly jumped out of my skin as a hand grabbed my shoulder from behind.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“I wouldn’t do that, miss,” a deep Cockney voice said.

“Do what?” I spun around and could just make out the shape of a policeman’s helmet.

“I know what you was going to do,” he said. “You were about to jump into the river, weren’t you? I was following you. I saw you about to climb over the balustrade. You were going to end it all.”

I was still digesting the information that I had somehow walked all the way to the Thames, in quite the wrong direction, and it took a minute for the penny to drop. “End it all? Absolutely not, Constable.”

He put his hand on my shoulder again, gently this time. “Come on, love. You can tell me the truth. Why else would you be out on a day like this and trying to climb into the river? Don’t feel so bad. I see it all the time these days, my dear. This depression has got everyone down, but I’m here to tell you that life is still worth living, no matter what. Come back to the station with me and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or be indignant. The latter won out. “Look here, Officer,” I said, “I was only trying to make my way to my friend’s house and I must have taken a wrong turn. I had no idea I was anywhere near the river.”

“If you say so, miss,” he said.

I was tempted to tell him that it was “my lady” and not “miss,” but I was feeling so uncomfortable now that I just wanted to get away. “If you could just direct me back in the direction of Knightsbridge,” I said. “Or Belgravia. I came from Belgrave Square.”

“Blimey, then you are out of your way. You’re by Chelsea Bridge.” He took my arm and escorted me back across the Embankment, then up what he identified as Sloane Street to Sloane Square. I refused his renewed offer of a cup of tea at the police station and told him I’d be all right now I knew which street I was on.

“If I was you, I’d go straight home,” he said. “This is no weather to be out in. Talk to your friend on the old blow piece.”