The Final Rule

Scarlett Monroe had fallen in love with a house that smelled of damp plaster and old apples. Daniel Cross had fallen in love with the way she described it: not as a project, but as a place where their lives might become ordinary.

'It needs a new fence,' he said, studying the estate agent's photographs.

'It needs someone to believe in it.'

'And a new fence.'

She laughed, took his coffee and drank the last mouthful. Outside their flat the rain was making a patient effort to turn October into November. On the table lay a list of things they could afford, things they could postpone and one item Daniel had written in capital letters: DOG, EVENTUALLY.

Scarlett had not stopped being afraid. There were mornings when an unexpected message tightened her stomach, when she wondered whether a stranger had noticed the way she held Daniel's hand or the shop she visited after work. But there were more mornings now when she forgot to wonder. She had started to regard that as progress. Her telephone rang. Bennett's name appeared.

'It's Rebecca,' the detective said. 'Thomas Calder has returned.' Scarlett stood so quickly her chair struck the floor. Daniel caught it before it fell.

'Thomas is alive?'

'Yes. He's safe for the moment. I need you to come to the station. There may be a connection to Julian's archive and your family.'

'Nathan?'

against your brother. It's a precaution while we establish what the documents mean.'

Scarlett looked at Daniel. He did not ask for an explanation before reaching for his coat.

At the station, Bennett led them to a room with a narrow window. She had changed little since their first meeting: the same measured voice, the same refusal to turn a suspicion into a fact merely because it was dramatic.

She showed them the photograph from Thomas's envelope.

Scarlett examined the woman whose face had been destroyed. 'Is that my mother?'

'We don't know. We haven't established when it was taken, or whether the writing on the back is genuine.'

'Why show me?'

'Because the building behind them may be connected to a private adoption agency called the Ashcroft Family Foundation. Your mother's name appears in an index associated with that organisation.' Scarlett frowned. 'My mother was a teacher. She didn't work for a foundation.'

'Her name appears as a correspondent, not an employee.'

Daniel rested a hand on the back of her chair. 'Does this have anything to do with Aster Vale?'

'We believe the foundation predates it. Julian Mercer may have financed both.' Bennett slid a second document towards them. 'And someone appears to have anticipated that you'd begin asking these questions.'

beneath a sentence that made Scarlett's skin tighten: The person who was never supposed to know.

'Who?' she whispered.

'That,' Bennett said, 'is what we're trying to establish.'

On the way home, Scarlett said little. At the flat she stood beside the window until Daniel joined her.

'You don't have to be brave for me,' he said.

'I don't know what to be.'

'You can be uncertain.'

She leaned into him. He did not promise that the answers would be kind. She loved him for that.