'I need to know.'

He pulled at the wheel to avoid a branch extending dangerously from a hedge. 'I was sleeping on my own that night in the spare room.' Easier, so much easier, to lie. But he couldn't, not to Amy. 'Fran was upset, she came to me.'

'And you slept with her?'

'It just happened, Amy. I didn't mean it to, I didn't want it to. Believe me, it just happened.'

'Because she was upset?'

'Fran needed comforting. She'd been through an awful lot that day.'

He stole a glance at Amy. She was weeping. Childes reached for her hand. 'There was no meaning to any of it, Amy, just a comforting, nothing more.'

'So you imagine that makes things okay?'

'No, I was wrong and I'm sorry. I don't want you to think I was involved-'

'I don't know what to think any more. In a way I suppose I understand a you were married to her for a long time. But that doesn't lessen the hurt.' She moved her hand from his. 'I thought you loved me, Jon.'

'You know I do.' There was a gradually expanding pressure inside his head that had nothing to do with the conversation with Amy. 'I . . . I just couldn't turn her away that night.'

'Like doing an old friend a favour?'

'That isn't far from the truth.'

'I hope Fran didn't realize.'

The road dipped, became more gloomy.

'Don't let what happened ruin what there is between us.'

'Can we be the same?'

A crawling sensation at the back of his neck, similar to the feeling earlier in the afternoon when he had looked up to see the face at the window.

'It . . . it wasn't im-important . . .' he stammered, his fingers beginning to tingle on the steering wheel. He felt his shoulder-blades contracting inwards.

'I don't know, Jon. Perhaps if you'd told me before . . .'

'How . . . how could I? How could I have explained?' A heavy, cold hand had reached from the gloom of the back seats and was resting on his shoulder. But when he looked, there was nothing there.

'Amy . . .'

He saw the eyes peering at him from the rear-view mirror. Wicked, malevolent eyes. Darkly gloating.

Amy looked at him, feeling his tension, seeing the horror on his face. 'Jon, what's-?'

She turned to the empty back seats.

Childes saw the eyes glow larger in the mirror, as the thing a the grinning thing a in the back was leaning forward, was reaching out for him, strong, numbing fingers touching his neck, nails pressing into his skin . . .

The car veered to one side, scraping the hedge.

'Jon!' Amy screamed.

The gloating eyes. Steely fingers clamped around his throat. Fetid breath on his cheek. He pulled at the hand and touched only his neck.

The car swerved to the right, hit a low stone wall on that side. Sparks flew off metal as the Mini sheered along the wall's rough face. Bushes and branches lashed at the windows.

Amy grabbed the steering wheel, tried to wrench it to the left, but Childes' grip was solid, frozen. The rending of metal screeched in her ears.

He could hardly breathe, so constricted was his throat. His right foot was hard against the accelerator as he tried to flee from the snickering thing behind. But how could he escape when it was in the car with him?

The road curved. He pulled at the wheel, turned it slightly, just enough to swerve the car, not enough to carry it through the bend. He jammed his foot on the brake pedal, but too late. The car skidded, the wall seemed to rise up and throw itself at them.

They crashed at an angle, the vehicle brought to a shattering halt, Childes thrust against the steering wheel, his arms reflexively bearing his weight, softening the blow.

But Amy had nothing to cling to.

She hurtled forward, the windscreen exploding around her, screaming as she pitched over the car's short bonnet to land writhing and bloody beyond the wall.

Childes leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, the dull throbbing inside making him nauseous. There was an aching in his chest, too, and he knew it had been bruised by the steering wheel. But he had been lucky. Amy hadn't.

A double-door swung open at the end of the long corridor and a figure in a white coat came through. The doctor spotted Childes waiting on the cushioned bench and strode briskly towards him, stopping to speak to a passing nurse on the way. The nurse hurried on, disappearing through the same doors from which the doctor had emerged. Childes began to rise.

'Stay there, Mr Childes,' Dr Poulain called out and, on reaching him, said, 'I could do with a sit-down myself a it's been that kind of day.' He sat, giving a grateful sigh. 'And, it would seem, an eventful day for you.' He scrutinized Childes with a professional eye. 'Time to have a look at you,' he said.

'Tell me how she is, Doctor.'

Poulain ran his fingers through tousled prematurely grey hair and blinked at the other man through gold-rimmed spectacles. 'Miss Sebire has extensive lacerations to her face, neck and arms, one or two of which I'm afraid will leave small but permanent scars. I had to remove some glass fragments from one of her eyes a now don't be alarmed: they had hardly penetrated the sclerotic coating and were nowhere near the iris or pupil, so her vision shouldn't be affected; the damage there was purely superficial.'

'Thank God.'

'Yes, He is to be thanked. I wish the States government would follow the mainland's example and declare it unlawful not to wear seat-belts in cars, but I'm sure they'll continue to dither for years to come.' He clucked his tongue once and gave a shake of his head. 'Miss Sebire also sustained a fractured wrist as well as severe bruising and lesions to her ribs and her legs. Nevertheless I'd say she's a very lucky girl, Mr Childes.'

Childes released a long-held breath and rested his head in his hands once more. 'Can I see her?' he asked, looking back at the doctor.

'I'm afraid not. I want her to rest so I've given her a sedative; she'll be sleeping by now, I should think. She did ask for you, by the way, and I told her all was well. Miss Sebire seemed very happy about that.'

At once Childes felt totally and utterly exhausted. He watched his hands shaking uncontrollably before him.

'I'd like to take you down to an examination cubicle,' Dr Poulain urged. 'You may have been injured more than you know. There's a rather nasty bruise developing on your cheekbone and one side of your lower lip is swelling considerably.'

Childes touched his face and winced when his fingers found the bruising there. 'I must have turned my head when I hit the steering wheel,' he said, gingerly probing the puffed lip.

'Take a deep breath and tell me if it hurts,' Poulain told him.

Childes complied. 'Feels stiff, nothing more,' he said after releasing the air.

'H'mn. No sharp pain?'

'No.'

'Still needs checking.'

'I'm all right. A little shaky, maybe.'

The doctor gave a short laugh. 'More than just a little; your nerves have been shot to pieces. This afternoon, when you came in with the schoolgirl a what was her name? Jeanette, yes, Jeanette a I recommended a mild sedative for you, but you refused. Well, now I want to suggest something stronger, something you can take when you get home and which will make you sleep soundly.'

'I think I'll sleep okay without any help.'

'Don't be too sure.'

'How long will Amy have to stay here?'

'Much depends on how her eye looks tomorrow. She'll need a couple of days under observation even if all's well in that department.'

'You said-'

'And I meant it. I'm almost positive her eye hasn't been seriously damaged, but naturally we have to take precautions. Incidentally you haven't explained how this accident occurred.' He frowned at the fear that abruptly changed the other man's countenance.

'I can't tell you,' Childes said slowly, avoiding the doctor's gaze. 'Everything happened so fast. I must have been distracted for a moment just as we hit the curve.' What could he say that Poulain would believe? That he had seen eyes reflected in the rear-view mirror, staring eyes that were somehow obscenely evil and which were watching him? That he'd seen someone in the back of the car who wasn't there at all?

'By what?'

Childes looked at the doctor questioningly.

'You were distracted by what?' Dr Poulain persisted.

'I . . . I don't remember. Maybe you were right a my nerves were shot to pieces.'

'That's now. Earlier today you were most definitely shaken up, but not quite that badly. Forgive my curiosity, Mr Childes, but I've known the Sebire family for a number of years and Amy since she was a child, so it goes beyond mere professional interest for me. Had you been quarrelling with her?'

Childes could not answer immediately.

Dr Poulain went on. 'You see, I think you might have to explain to the police the other marks that are beginning to show around your throat. A discoloration that looks to have been caused by a hand a the pressure points are quite clear.'

A wild, momentary panic seized Childes. Could there be such power? Was it possible? He had felt the hand, the tightening fingers; yet no one other than Amy had been with him in the car. He forced the panic away: no one a nothing a could physically mark another by thought alone. Unless the victim was a helpless accomplice and the injury self-induced.

There was no time for further speculation on his part, or more questions from the doctor, for the lift doors along the corridor opened and Paul Sebire and his wife stepped out. Childes had rung the Sebire home soon after arrival at the hospital and had spoken to Vivienne Sebire, telling her of the accident. Paul Sebire's concern instantly turned to anger when he saw Childes who, with the doctor, had risen from the bench.

'Where is my daughter?' the financier asked Poulain, ignoring Childes.

'Resting,' the doctor replied, then quickly informed them of Amy's condition.

Sebire's expression was grim when Poulain had finished. 'We want to see her.'

'I don't think that's wise at the moment, Paul,' the doctor said. 'She'll be asleep and you might be more upset than necessary. In this kind of accident injuries often look much worse than they are. I've just advised Mr Childes here that she shouldn't be disturbed.'

Pure hatred shone from Sebire as he turned to the younger man. Vivienne quickly reached for Childes' arm. 'Are you all right, Jonathan? You didn't say too much on the telephone.'

'I'm fine. It's Amy I'm worried about.'

'This would never have happened if she hadn't been such a fool over you,' snapped Sebire. 'I warned her you were nothing but trouble.'

His wife interposed once more. 'Not now, Paul, I think Jonathan has been through enough for one day. Now Dr Poulain has assured us that Amy will recover without permanent injury-'

'She may have been scarred for life, Vivienne! Isn't that permanent enough?'

Poulain spoke. 'The scarring will be minimal, nothing that minor plastic surgery won't easily repair.'

Childes rubbed at the back of his neck, the movement awkward because of the painful stiffness in his chest. 'Mr Sebire, I want to say how sorry I am.'

'You're sorry? You really think that's good enough?'

'It was an accident that could have . . .' Happened to anyone? It was a sentence Childes could not complete.

'Just stay away from my daughter! Leave her now before you cause her more harm.'

'Paul,' Vivienne warned, catching her husband's sleeve as he moved towards Childes.

'Please, Paul,' said Dr Poulain, 'there are patients on this floor to consider.'

'This man isn't what he seems.' Sebire stabbed a finger at Childes. 'I sensed it from the very start. You only have to look at what happened this afternoon at the school to realize that.'

'How can you say that?' his wife protested. 'He saved the little girl's life.'

'Did he? Did anyone else see exactly what happened? Perhaps it was the other way round and he was attempting to murder her.'

The last remark was finally too much for Childes. 'Sebire, you're being your usual kind of fool,' he said in a low voice.

'Am I? You're under suspicion, Childes, not just from me but from the police as well. I don't think you'll be returning to La Roche or any other school on the island where you can hurt helpless children!'

Childes wanted to lash out at the financier, to vent his frustration on someone, anyone a Sebire would be ideal a to strike back in any way he could. But he didn't have the energy. Instead he turned to walk away.

Sebire clutched his arm, swung him round. 'Did you hear me, Childes? You're finished here on this island, so my advice to you is to get out, leave while you're still able to.'

Childes wearily pulled his arm away. 'You can go to hell,' he said.

Sebire's fist struck his already bruised cheek and he staggered back, caught by surprise, going down on one knee. He heard a jumble of sounds before his head fully cleared a footsteps, raised voices a and regaining his feet seemed an unusually slow and difficult procedure. Someone else's hand under his shoulder helped. Once up, he felt unsteady, but the person by his side supported his weight. He realized it was Overoy who held him and that Inspector Robillard was restraining Sebire from attacking him further.

'I'd have hated to have read your horoscope this morning,' Overoy said close to his ear.

Childes managed to stand alone, although he had to resist the urge to slump onto the nearby bench. His limbs felt sluggish, as if their blood flow had thickened, become viscid. Vivienne Sebire was pale beside her husband, her eyes full of apology. Sebire himself still struggled against restraint, but his efforts were slack, without vigour, the thrust of his anger dissipated in that one blow. Perhaps there was even an element of shame behind the rage.

'Come on, Jon,' Overoy said, using Childes' Christian name for the first time. 'Let's get you out of here. You look as if you could use a good stiff drink and I'm buying.'

'Mr Childes hasn't been examined yet,' the doctor quickly said.