The girl was struggling and pulling against him, tears streaming down her cheeks, her voice hoarse already with the screaming. Bannerman’s confusion gave way to a stinging embarrassment. He stared numbly, sensing a great inner pain behind the child’s dark eyes. And for the first time he had a glimmer of sympathy for Slater. Father and daughter were grotesquely entangled, the child’s arms still trying to beat on her father who had lifted her and was clutching her to him. And still the screaming went on, filling the room, the dreadful cries of a troubled mind.

Suddenly Bannerman was aware of another presence in the room. He turned to see a dark-haired young woman, perhaps in her middle twenties, standing in the open doorway to the kitchen. She was watching in silence and Bannerman thought she looked tense. She glanced in his direction and smiled, but it was an uneasy smile. ‘You never quite get used to it,’ she whispered.

Slater pushed the child into the bedroom then closed the door on her screaming. He was grotesquely pale, his lightly freckled face almost grey against the red of his hair and beard. He looked viciously at Bannerman. But the young woman stepped into the room before he could speak. ‘Your dinner’s in the oven, Mr Slater. It’ll be about fifteen minutes. I have to go.’

Slater plunged a hand into his pocket and threw a bunch of keys to Bannerman. ‘Take my car and run her home, will you?’ he said curtly. ‘And do me a favour. Eat out. I want the child asleep before you get back.’

Bannerman shrugged and nodded. The young woman untied her apron and lifted her coat from over the back of the settee. ‘You still want me tomorrow night, Mr Slater?’

Slater nodded distractedly. ‘Yes, yes.’

‘Only I won’t be able to make it on Sunday.’

Slater’s head snapped up. ‘Why the hell not?’ His anger was sudden and unexpected and even she seemed surprised.

‘Personal business.’ She was suddenly defensive.

‘Shit!’ he muttered. He opened the door of the child’s room and went in, slamming it behind him, leaving Bannerman and the girl in an embarrassed silence.

She tried a smile which didn’t quite work. ‘Well, it looks like we’re dismissed. I’m Sally Robertson.’

Bannerman picked up his coat. ‘Hello, Sally,’ he said. ‘I’m Neil Bannerman. It seems I’m taking you home.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Or since I’m going to have to eat out, maybe I can take you to dinner.’

Sally smiled again, and this time it was her real smile, lips spread wide across a disarmingly open and pretty face. And her green, impish eyes smiled even more than her mouth. ‘Well, there’s an offer I can’t refuse.’

II