She did not get very far. Because suddenly, close by, a voice called, 'Yancie, you idiot, it's me!' and she halted in flight. Halted, turned, took a pace, and cannoned straight into Thomson Wakefield-and hit him.

'You pig!' she yelled, her control shot, feeling a mixture of relief and anger that he could so frighten the daylights out of her. Anger with herself that she could be so weak, so pathetic as to be scared-and to indeed feel every bit the idiot he had called her.

'Shh-it's all right,' Thomson attempted to calm her.

She was not to be calmed. `How dare you sneak up on me?' she yelled, and punched him again, hitting his shoulder. She might have hit him a third time, but he had taken hold of her arms and anchored them to her sides-about the only way to stop her practising on him for a world-title fight.

'Shh…' he said softly again. `I didn't mean to scare you. I…'

'Well, you did!' she raged, but owned shee was feeling much, much better.

'I'm so, so sorry,' he apologised handsomely, and, now that she had stopped hitting him, had one arm around her. Instinctively Yancie leant her head against his chest, feeling better still and comforted, when, as if to hold her there, Thomson placed a hand to the back of her head. And Yancie felt all at once strangely at peace-as if this was where she should be.

But somewhere in her mind she knew that she should break away before Thomson pushed her away. Yet she didn't seem able to move, and he didn't seem in any hurry to let her go.

'You're very kind,' she said against his chest.

'You really were scared, weren't you?' he teased.

'You mean to say nobody ever accused you of being kind before,' she actually heard herself laugh-and once more began to feel back in charge, and the Yancie Dawkins she had always known herself to be. She took a step back, and he let go of her. `I threw the petrol can away,' she said, somehow knowing that she would never forget those wonderful soothing moments when Thomson Wakefield had held her against him to comfort her. 'We'll never find it; it's much too dark.'

'Suddenly you're "we",' he answered, telling her if she didn't know it that he had no intention of scrabbling around looking for it.

'So,' she said, `since you're the brains of this outfit, what do you suggest I do?'

'Go to the farm, and see if they can help out.'

'What farm?"

'Didn't you see the lights?'

'You're taller than me.'

'I'll come with you,' he said. She wasn't arguing-she'd had enough of wandering around pitch-black, deserted country roads on her own.

It was quite a way to the farm and she instinctively took hold of Thomson's arm when they left the road, crossed a field and trod ankle-deep in mud. She didn't quite fancy going splat on her face. He didn't seem to objecthe didn't shrug her hand off anyhow. In fact, he really was as kind as she'd said, talking to her quietly as they went, seeming more considerate of the fright he'd given her than bothered that his day's work was ending up with him up to his trousers in quagmire.

Yancie was growing to like him more and more as they trudged on to the ever nearing lights shining from the farmhouse. By the time they were knocking on the farmhouse door, she had decided that she was definitely never, ever, going to lie to him again.

'I'm sorry to trouble you…' Thomson began when someone came to the door, and Yancie's heart was warmed when the farmer not only supplied them with some petrol, but insisted on driving them back to their car.

Yancie gave her own thanks to the farmer and left Thomson talking to himm as they emptied the fuel into the petrol tank.

She was in the driving seat when the farmer drove off. She started the engine and it purred into life. Then, while she waited for Thomson to get into the back seat of the car, to her surprise, he came and opened the driver's door.

'I'm driving,' he said.

'No, you're not!' she argued-she was the driver. `And it's cold with the door open.'

The interior light stayed on. Thomson studied her. `I could pull rank, or I could physically move you.'

Yancie considered her options. `You're saying you're fed up and you want to go home and you don't want me to take you on any more short cuts?'

He just looked at her. In any other circumstances she had an idea he might have laughed. But suddenly she was contrite. He'd had a long day, she'd had a long day-and they were both tired. Without saying another word she got out and went round to the other side, opening the front passenger door, absently tossing her shoulder bag from the front passenger seat to the rear.

They were driving along before it suddenly occurred to her to ask, `Was I supposed to sit in the back?' Thomson didn't answer, but half turned, a trace of amusement on his mouth before he gave his attention back to the road.

Shortly afterwards they stopped to fill up with petrol and Yancie stayed with the front seat. She felt right there. And if Thomson didn't want her sitting next to him, then she full well knew he wouldn't mince words to tell her so.

'Where did you get to this afternoon?' he asked conversationally when they were on their way again.

'Where?' she questioned in return, playing for time, her decision to always tell him the truth soon under attack.

'There were an additional sixty miles on the milometer.'

'Trust you to take a note,' Yancie accused stiffly, knowing she still hadn't got the hang of this being employed lark, though having an idea she shouldn't be answering back. But really!

'I didn't intentionally,' Thomson answered, quite civilly, she felt, considering she was all snappy and snarly.

'You have a brain that automatically registers numbers?"

'Quite often without me being aware of it,' he agreed. `So, left with time on your hands, you decided to go and take tea with one of your friends from nursery school who happens to live barely thirty miles distant?'

Yancie by then was forming the opinion that he didn't really want to know, and started to like him afresh that he seemed, by chatting to her in this conversational way, to want to make amends for previously scaring the living daylights out of her.

But, although she hadn't been having tea with one of her old friends, she had been having tea with someone. And, very conscious of his clever brain, Yancie didn't want him prying further when who knew?-she might in advertently let the name `Fisher' slip-and from there she might get Wilf into trouble. So, `No,' she said briefly, `I didn't.'

'Then you must have been visiting your sister.'

She laughed. `I don't have a sis…' She stopped laughing.

'You don't?' he questioned evenly. `You mean there's no little Miranda-Cassandra?'

Oh, help! Yancie took a glance at him. She thought she might see him looking angry. But no, if anything he looked amused that she had been so neatly tripped up. And it was then that she knew that he had known all along that she didn't have a sister. All the time she'd been trotting out that tale about her niece leaving her inseparable toy behind, he had known she had neither sister nor niece. That she had been lying her head off.

'I confess,' she owned up-what choice did she have? `I'm an only child. But,' she hurried on, still desperate to keep her job, `I will never, ever, lie to you again.'

She held her breath-was it goodbye time? Thomson glanced at her. `Promises, promises,' he said. Yancie breathed again.

Some while later she recognised they were nearing the smart area where Astra's father's flat was… `I should be driving you home,' she said hurriedly.

'You've had a long and-trying-day,' he answered kindly.

And Yancie was quite taken suddenly by the fact that this man she was sitting beside had not barked at her once in the last couple of hours. She was still feeling a little bemused by his kindness when, Thomson having read her address once, apparently, and with his photographic memory filed it away, he pulled the car up outside her home.

She vaguely recalled she had a shoulder bag in the back somewhere, and stretched an arm back, connected with it, but in pulling it over she accidentally clipped Thomson on the ear with it.

Oh, my word, he was not amused. But unfortunately, at the what-the-hell-are-you going-to-do-next kind of look he threw at her, Yancie very nearly collapsed.

Oh, help, she could feel a fit of the giggles coming on. It was his pained expression that triggered it. She laughed; he didn't. She strove hard for control-it was a wasted effort. Thomson got out of the car. Think of something awful. She couldn't.

He came round to the passenger door and Yancie got out of the car, her eyes brimming with merriment. She coughed down another giggle as she struggled for control.

Oh, my giddy aunt, she would have sworn she hadn't had a fit of the giggles since she and her cousins had been at boarding-school. But, as she stood on the pavement with him, so Yancie knew she was fighting a losing battle with her giggle-muscles.

She was still swallowing down laughter, or trying to, when Thomson, standing there silently studying her, found the cure. `You're stupid!' he gritted exasperatedly. And when that only seemed to make her explode into more giggles he did no more than catch hold of her and, his head starting to come nearer, he kissed her.

There was not a glimmer of laughter about Yancie when he pulled back to look down at her. Satisfied, as she just stood there and stared at him, Thomson, without so much as a goodnight, turned and walked away.

Walked away and left her with a wild mixture of emotions raging in her. He started up the Jaguar and drove off, but Yancie didn't move. She had known Thomson had a wonderful mouth, but had never thought to experience it against her own.