The Lab Experiment Chapter 1: I, a downton abbey fanfic

A/N: Back at the end of July last year, lemacd gave me an egg, and I hatched it into a monster. She asked me if I would be interested in writing a fic, which I agreed to in a heartbeat because the concept captured my imagination. I am just the vessel; I have changed a few little things, but lemacd is to be credited with the whole idea. I really, really hope that I have done this justice for you, lemacd, and of course I hope everyone else enjoys it too.

This is another 'oneshot' but I have split it up in two parts. The final 'part' will arrive on Valentine's Day.

Also, huge thanks to annambates who has been unfailingly enthusiastic and a real cheerleader to get me through the whole thing! I really, really appreciate your support. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey. All credit for the idea goes to lemacd.

The Lab Experiment

John ought to have been suspicious when Robert called round at his house with an overly-complicit grin on his face and an unshakable insistence that he wanted to treat his best friend to lunch.

"You've been chained to that desk for far too long," he said. "Come on, old chap, shake off those cobwebs and let me take you somewhere fancy, as a treat."

John already wasn't in the best of moods, and the added interruption was doing little to placate him. He had the first stirrings of a headache at his temples, he was still wearing the boxers and t-shirt that he had gone to bed in the previous evening, and he was itching for a cigarette.

"Now's not a good time," he told his friend.

"Nonsense," Robert said cheerfully. "There's never a bad time for food."

"I'm trying to work."

"You can do that any old time. You string a few words together and hit 'save'."

John thought of the tiny room that he ironically called his study, with the plethora of scrunched up, discarded papers filled with useless words that he would never let the world see. He'd bloody well like to see Robert try to write something of merit. His idea of a classic was a hastily scribbled, perfunctory grovelling note when he did something that landed him in Cora's bad books. John suspected that it was his pathetic puppy dog eyes rather than the words that made Cora melt. His friend just had one of those faces.

"Come on, chop, chop," Robert said, pushing him over the threshold. "You go and get showered, spruce yourself up a bit, and then we can go. You can have whatever your heart desires."

"The last time I had what my heart desired I ended up married to Vera, and look how that turned out," John grumbled, his heart sinking as Robert bustled into his cramped front room and promptly made himself at home on the chintzy sofa.

"Yes, you do have terrible taste," Robert agreed. "But you saw the error of your ways eventually. And now you're writing a new chapter, so to speak. Though I have the feeling that I'll be seeing an incarnation of her on the bookshelves one day."

He was probably right there, gallingly. Every vile character he conjured up had Vera's face and voice. Though he ought to be careful when treading that path—the last thing he wanted was a lawsuit against him for defamation of character, however justified it might be in his eyes.

But, hell, that was a worry for another day. He was being bloody optimistic if he ever thought he was going to be The Next Big Thing. Knowing that he was defeated now that Robert had settled himself in, he shook his head.

"Give me half an hour," he muttered.

"Excellent," said Robert, and turned on some antiques show.

Resigned to his fate, John set about showering and shaving. Once he'd done that, he selected a clean shirt and a pair of trousers, experience telling him that Robert's idea of a cosy, homely dining experience was a normal person's idea of five star Michelin service.

Robert beamed when he dragged himself back into the room. "There you are. Shall we go?"

There was no more staving off the inevitable. With a curt nod, he followed Robert out of the house to where he had parked his top-of-the-range Audi.

The journey across town was made largely in silence, the radio breaking any tension that might have been growing between them. At last they reached The Silver Spoon, Robert's regular. Its eye-watering prices usually had John avoiding it like the plague, and he didn't much like it when Robert insisted they go here, either, for it meant that he'd be living beyond his reach or relying on his friend for charity, two things that he despised. But he wasn't in the mood for another argument, so he simply followed his friend inside.

The waiter showed them to Robert's usual table, brought them menus, then left them to peruse them for a few minutes after taking orders for drinks.

"Order what you want, my good man," Robert said. "It's all on me today."

That did not reassure John in the slightest. He rifled through the pages, trying desperately to find the cheapest thing on the menu. Nothing was under twenty-five pounds. He would have been a lot happier with a coffee and a piece of cake. The waiter returned with their drinks—a fancy glass of wine for Robert, and a water for John—and asked them what they were having. Feeling ill, John rattled off his order and sat back in his chair, studying his friend.

"All right, out with it," he said.

"What?" Robert said innocently.

"Don't act coy with me, Rob. You're taking me out to dinner. You never do that unless you want something from me."

"I take Cora out to dinner when I want something from her," he corrected him with a grin, and John rolled his eyes.

"But there's something you want to ask me, I can tell. So you might as well spit it out now. Dragging it out any longer won't do either of us any good. I hate being kept in suspense."

"Ironic, for a person who makes a living out of keeping people in suspense."

"It's not a living yet," John said heavily.

"But it will be one day, Bates. Anyway, I haven't brought you here to enjoy your witty repartee. If I wanted some of that, I'd visit Mama. I've brought you here to ask you a favour."

"Surprise, surprise," said John. The last time Robert had asked him for a favour, he'd ended up in the Accident and Emergency room. It wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat.

Robert ignored his sarcasm, swilling the wine absent-mindedly around in his glass. "As you know, Cora and I celebrated our wedding anniversary in February."

"So you did," said John, remembering. "How many years is it now?"

"Twenty-five," said Robert proudly. "The big silver anniversary."

Christ, twenty-five years. John couldn't fathom how anyone made marriages last that long. He had barely made it through two with Vera before things had started to sour. By five, they were only interacting when they were arguing or having sex that bordered on the painful. It had been the most draining, depressing time in John's life. When the marriage had finally broken down entirely, it had been almost a relief to escape to his mother's. The divorce had been long and bitter, dragging on for half as long again, and he had come out of it a lot poorer than he had gone in. He had hated giving her the house, but Vera was vicious and unable to compromise, and in the end, out of desperation to move on, he had agreed to it.

But he doubted that he would ever be able to truly move on. The cancerous marriage haunted him still, every day, and he was damaged goods now. And he wouldn't put it past Vera stalking him wherever he went, making any other woman's life hell. No, he had had his chance, and it had passed him by. He was resolved to spending the rest of his life as a bachelor.

And probably a monk, too.

"Well, congratulations," he said now, shaking off the deadly cobwebs of the past. "That is a wonderful milestone. And one I am most envious of."

"Thank you," said Robert. "But you see, the thing is, I'd quite like to take Cora away for a couple of weeks. We couldn't go in February because her mother was ill and she had to go back to Newport. Now seems the perfect time to go, what with the weather getting warmer. I was thinking of Italy. We honeymooned there. This could be like a second honeymoon. And if we relived everything we encountered there, I'd be a very lucky man, if you catch my drift." He winked.

"Revoltingly so," said John.

Robert wasn't fazed. "But if I do that, I'll need someone to look after Isis."

John, who had been in the middle of taking a swig of water, promptly choked. Without batting an eyelid, Robert reached across the table and thumped him on the back.

When the coughing had subsided enough, John croaked, "Please tell me that you're not implying what I think you're implying."

"I need you to look after Isis for me."

"No. Absolutely not."

"You have to. I can't leave her on her own."

"Kennels exist, you know. Put her in one of those for the week."

"Out of the question. I am not putting Isis in a place with lots of strange dogs. She'll think I've abandoned her. She has to stay with someone she knows. It'll keep her more relaxed."

"Your daughters, then. You have three."

"Mary wouldn't have Isis in the flat. She likes her, but she wouldn't give her any of the care that she needs. Edith works too many long hours down in London at that newspaper. And Sybil is off travelling at the moment."

"What about your mother? Or Rosamund?"

"Mama likes cats, not dogs. And Rosamund wouldn't know the first thing about dogs."

"I don't know the first thing about dogs."

"Yes, but you know I trust you with my life. And I trust you with my dog's. I know you'll look after her."

"Rob, I don't have time to look after a dog. I've got my work."

"Yes, but it's the perfect job! You're home ninety-nine percent of the day, so she won't be left alone for long periods of time. You just need to walk her twice a day and give her her food. She's as happy as Larry if she's kept fed and warm."

John indicated the cane that he had hooked over the back of his chair. "Dogs also need a lot of playtime and long walks. In case you haven't noticed, I don't have the same strength that I used to have."

"As if I could ever forget the reason why. But Isis is a gentle thing, she'd never give you any rough-and-tumble. She's a good girl."

John had also witnessed Isis when she was excited. She had never quite outgrown her enthusiastic puppy tendencies, and the moment that anything the remotest bit interesting occurred, she was as untameable as a wild animal.

"I'm sorry, it's just not feasible," he said firmly. "You're going to have to call on someone else this time."

"But don't you see? It's the perfect way to get to know people!"

"How do you make that out?" said John.

"Oh, come on, people love to talk to owners with cute dogs. Dogs bring people together. You can make small talk and get to know the people around these parts. That way you won't have to rely on me for your social interaction."

"I don't do small talk," said John. "And I don't need social interaction. I'm very happy making polite conversation where I need to and bidding people goodbye at the end of it."

He could tell that Robert was grasping at straws now. "Well, there's Downton Park. Downton Park is the absolute place to be."

John arched his eyebrow. "Downton Park? Mate, that's a no-go. It's on the other side of town."

"Well, you couldn't take her to that pathetic patch of grass at the edge of your road! That has no business being called a park."

"You can't be serious. If I agreed to this—which I'm not—then I wouldn't be taking her all the way to Downton Park for a bloody walk. It's a walk in itself just getting there."

"You can't take her anywhere else. I've got a list of Dos and Don'ts drawn up at home. And that is an absolute no-no. Downton Park has the room for her to run around, the grass is nicer, and she likes the duck pond. Besides, there would be something in it for you as well."

At that moment, the waiter returned with their meals, and Robert stopped talking. John waited until he'd gone before picking the thread back up. Stabbing a potato moodily, he said, "What's that, then?"

"All the runners use Downton Park because it's the biggest and most accessible," said Robert knowledgably.

"And that benefits me how? My running days are long behind me." He tapped his cane sardonically. "This makes sure of that."

Robert tutted, gathering up his own forkful of food. "Not you, you idiot. I mean for the other runners. Specifically the women who go running in that park."

"I've sworn off women. That's not going to tempt me."

Robert scoffed. "You're not a bloody monk, so don't pretend you are. You say you're staying celibate now, but just you wait until you're a year down the line."

John didn't think it was worth pointing out that he was almost two and a half years into his self-imposed celibacy.

Robert's eyes had misted slightly. "Honestly, it's the park for runners. All those women in tight lycra, leaving nothing to the imagination, breasts bouncing in their sports bras…"

John coughed, and he seemed to come back to himself, clearing his throat guiltily.

"You're a married man, mate," John said, reaching across the table for the salt.

Robert scowled at him. "I haven't forgotten that. But there's no harm in looking."

"You're looking a bit too closely, if you ask me."

"That's beside the point. The point I am trying to make is that I'm doing you a massive favour. It'd be the perfect excuse for you to go down there and scout out the local lovelies. And if one catches your eye, bingo. Isis will be the perfect chick magnet. She'll come over to admire her, and I'm sure with a brain like yours you can formulate some conversation with her to feel out if she's interested. Which she will be, because nothing attracts women like men who are loving with animals."

"There will be no danger there. No one in their right mind would be interested in me." His best years were long behind him. He had been reasonably good looking as a youth, he supposed he could admit to that. But the years since the bullet that had ripped into his kneecap hadn't been kind to him. The pounds had piled on. The drinking had made him an old man, and the smoking hadn't helped, either.

"Don't sell yourself short," said Robert. "I know plenty of divorcees who would be interested in you. Maybe not for the long term, but what does that matter? Sometimes something casual is just the ticket to ease you back into the dating world."

Sleeping with someone and then never seeing them again wasn't exactly John's cup of tea. He made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat and pushed his plate away. "Look, I know you're trying to be helpful, but it isn't working. And I'm sorry, but I just can't take Isis on. You're going to have to find someone else."

Robert fixed him with huge, puppy-dog eyes. "Please, John. Please. You are like a brother to me. I entrusted you as godfather to Sybil. My very life has been in your hands, and you've never let me down. There's simply no one else for Isis. Please, do this for me out of the goodness of your heart. You would be making me a very happy man, and I promise that if there ever comes a time when you need me to do something for you, I'll do it for you in a heartbeat, no questions asked."

"I'm really not going to see a way around this, am I?" John huffed. "Fine. I'll take your bloody mutt for the week. But you really will owe me bigtime after this. I won't let you forget it."

A huge grin stretched across Robert's face, almost from ear to ear. "Thank you, Bates. I'm very grateful. But Isis is not a mutt, thank you very much. She is one hundred percent, certified, purebred Labrador, and don't you go making that mistake again. And a dog as highly prized as her has all of the most luxurious things. I'll make sure you have plenty of everything you need, but you should feed her some of the best chicken cuts at precisely half-past seven in the morning…"

As John listened to Robert harp on with a growing sense of horror, he wondered if he was making the biggest mistake of his life by caving in to his friend's demands.

When her alarm clock sounded at six in the morning, Anna was very close to simply slamming it off and rolling over. The very last thing she wanted to do on a morning like this was head outside before she had to.

But she had promised Ethel, and she hated backing down on a promise. Mary would call her stupid for taking that attitude, especially over a matter so trivial, but she hated letting people down when she had told them that she'd do something.

Still, it wasn't without a great deal of cursing under her breath that she shuffled out of bed. The one consolation about getting up at the crack of dawn in the spring meant that it wouldn't be too long before the sun started to rise, making it the slightest bit easier to get up and start her day. Yawning widely, Anna crept around her room, slipping on her running gear and tying her hair back in a messy ponytail. Once she'd finished her run, she'd head back home, hop in the shower, scarf down some breakfast and hurry to work for another hectic shift at the local hospital. It would be a very long time before she got the chance to relax again.

She could hear heavy, even breathing coming from Mary's room as she tiptoed past the door. God, how lucky her best friend and roommate was. Her alarm wouldn't be set until seven thirty at the earliest. Being the owner of her own fashion brand gave her the freedom to come and go as she pleased whilst other people made money for her. Anna envied her luxury of getting up when she wanted. She'd give anything to be able to wake up natural every morning.

There was no point in dwelling on that now. Still wiping sleep from her eyes, Anna unlocked the door and headed out.

The weather was cool for a morning in April, and the sharp breeze helped to bring a little more life into her mind. Shivering slightly, she increased her pace, walking as quickly as she could in the direction of her friend Ethel's house. Ethel lived across town, in a row of terraced houses near the small industrial estate. As a single mother with a young child it was all she could afford, though she often bemoaned it, desiring much grander things. It hadn't been her plan to fall pregnant with an army man's baby, especially when said army man up and left her without a single penny of child support, to be killed a year after the baby's birthday, leaving little Charlie with no chance of ever getting to know his father. Anna thought Ethel had been brave naming her son after such a despicable man in the first place. As far as she was concerned, Charles Bryant hadn't been worthy of the honour.

Something had come out of the tragedy of his death, however: little Charlie now had a relationship with his grandparents. Ethel didn't get on with the grandfather, who sounded like a snob and a bully to Anna, but she said that Mrs. Bryant was always kinder to her, and they both loved Charlie, which was all that really mattered. He often stayed over one night a week to give Ethel a bit of freedom to have her own social life, which she took full advantage of.

The rest of the time, she made the best of what she had. Right now, she had a part-time job cleaning, starting at seven-thirty. She had dropped lucky on a childminder who lived on the same street who was willing to take Charlie from six-thirty. This hadn't been necessary before last month, Ethel had told her, but since she had incorporated running into her schedule, it had become a lifeline.

Ethel was waiting for her on the street corner when she finally reached her destination, bouncing impatiently on the balls of her feet.

"Come on!" she said. "You're late. We're going to have to do a few less laps today."

Hardly a tragedy, in Anna's opinion. "You could always go after work on your own, you know, before you pick up Charlie."

"I don't like going on my own. I like to have the company."

"I don't see how we're much company to each other when all we can do is pant for breath."

They set off in the direction of the park, Anna already resigned to another unpleasant half hour. She had never much enjoyed sports in school, and cursed herself again for allowing herself to be roped into this. It was the bane of her profession. As soon as anyone knew she was a nurse, all they ever wanted to talk about were health benefits and the horrible diseases they were all sure they had. Unfortunately, Ethel was no different. Her newest fixation was that she was certain that exercise increased sexual libido. Which, Ethel said, was vital for when she finally got back in the race. Never mind the fact that this 'scientific' titbit had been picked up in a stupid article in a women's gossip magazine and held no bearing on actual, proper research. Ethel was determined to believe it, and nothing Anna could say would make her think differently.

With Ethel, nearly everything came back to sex. But it was impossible to argue with her. If she even tried, Ethel would fix her with a pitying glance and say, "You're only protesting because it's been so bloody long since you last got some, Anna. Seriously, if there's anyone who needs a good, long ravishing, it's you. And you'll be thanking me for making you do this when that day arrives because you'll be able to go at it for hours, like the Duracell Bunny."

They paused at the park's entrance to stretch their muscles and warm up. Ethel was already peering through the gates, distracted, no doubt searching for any sign of fit, fresh meat. There were lots of handsome men who loped through the park like lions, all flexing muscles and flaxen hair, but sweating like a pig and decidedly out of breath, Anna had never felt less sexy than in these moments. Her friends were constantly harrying her about dipping her toes in the water again after the disastrous end to her last relationship, but Anna was quite certain of one thing: she wasn't about to find her life partner in a bloody park.

But there was nothing else for it. Sighing to herself, Anna followed her friend through the park's gates and set up a moderate pace, longing for the moment when this would all be over for another day.

John was woken quite abruptly with something cold and wet against the side of his face. For a moment it disorientated him, and he flailed in his bedsheets, trying to escape the strange sensation.

It was accompanied by heavy panting, and everything flooded back to him.

"Bloody hell, Isis, get off!" he growled when he realised that the offending cold thing was the dog's nose. How had she even got in? He was sure he'd shut the door firmly on her when he'd gone to bed.

It was even more unfortunate that this whole thing hadn't been a bad dream. It had certainly felt that way when Robert had dropped Isis off the evening before, along with what had to be a month's supply of dog food, endless toys and treats, and the longest list that John had ever seen. Just reading it had made his head hurt. There were so many rules that it was a mystery to him how Robert remembered them all. He was scatty at the best of times. Then again, when it came to his dogs, Robert was a different man.

Now, Isis lolled her tongue out of her mouth and thumped her tail on the bedroom floor. John's gaze wandered over to the clock on his bedside table, and he swore aloud.

"You've woken me up at six?" he said to the dog. He had always been an early riser, but that was taking it too far. If he was getting up, he wanted it to be on his own terms, not on a bloody dog's.

Isis paid him no mind, reaching up on her haunches to prop her front paws against his mattress, as if she was preparing herself to leap up. No, that was simply out of the question. He wouldn't have his bedsheets smelling like dog.

Still swearing, he swung himself out of bed, rubbing at his knee as he planted his feet on the floor. Sensing her victory, Isis let out a happy yelp and clattered from the room, evidently confident that he would follow behind her. He took a moment to let the pain ebb from his knee before pushing himself in to an upright position, limping out after the dog. She was a clever thing, there was no doubt about it; she had found her lead amongst the multitude of things that Robert had brought over and was sitting with it in her mouth, eyes huge and beseeching as she looked up at him.

"Okay, I'll walk you," he grumbled. "Just let me get changed first, all right? I'm not walking anyone in my bloody pyjamas." They had seen better days, threadbare as they were. He kept meaning to buy new ones, but shopping for clothes was very low on his list of things to do, and most of the time he forgot when he was trying to create something worthy of reading. Hell, he forgot to eat sometimes; he could hardly be expected to go out there shopping.

Heading back to the bedroom, he grabbed for a pair of jeans and the pullover he had worn the previous day. No sense in wearing something clean if he hadn't had a shower yet. He combed his hair back so that it didn't look quite as bad, then hurried to the bathroom to clean his teeth. Satisfied that it was going to get no better than this, he grabbed his coat from the peg by the door and paused. Hadn't there been some walking rules in that godawful list that Robert had left for him? He was half-tempted to just ignore them, but if Robert ever found out then he was sure to be dead meat. No one could match the love between man and dog, and Robert worshipped Isis. More than he worshipped Cora, John often suspected. Reluctantly, he limped to the kitchen and found the rules where he had left them, used as a coaster for his glass of Coke the previous evening. He picked them up and scoured them.

Ah, yes. There it was. In his meticulous handwriting, Robert had written, Isis must be taken on an hour long's walk every morning. Downton Park is the only place she can go. You can let her off her lead but only if there aren't many other dogs around as she can get excitable. If it's safe to let her off the lead, play ball with her. It will help to run off some excess energy. Under no circumstances should you let her off her lead near the duck pond. She likes to chase the poor devils.

Well, that wasn't so bad. It could have been worse. Still, an hour's walk? It was a good thing Isis had woken him up early. It would have been a bloody nightmare trying to take her later when he needed to sit down and work. That was if she would let him. He had yet to see how much attention she wanted throughout the day. If it was a lot, he'd bloody well charge Robert for every working hour he lost.

Satisfied that there was nothing else he needed, John headed back to the hallway, grabbing Isis' lead from her mouth and clipping it on to her collar.

"All right," he muttered. "Let's get this over and done with."

If Isis noted his less-than-friendly tone, she did not react to it, immediately straining at her leash as he opened the door and the cool morning breeze hit them. It was a struggle to get her to sit still long enough for him to lock the door behind him, and once that was accomplished they set off together. John clutched the lead as tightly as he could in his left fist as she trotted along. She wanted to go faster than his knee would allow, and the last thing he needed was letting her slip through his fingers. Robert would murder him if anything happened to her.

As well as being full of energy, she was a nightmare in other ways. She zigzagged around him like a puppy, keen to explore every new sight and sound and smell from this unfamiliar part of town, and John found himself swearing far too often as she stopped by every lamppost going to debate whether she needed to put her scent down. He tugged uselessly on the lead and tried in vain to call her to heel, but she was either badly trained, wilful, or only responded to her master. John suspected that all three elements worked badly together, and so it took him almost half an hour to reach the park.

Once there, Isis led him through the gate and veered off to her left. John let her get on with it. She obviously knew the park well, and would doubtless lead him to her favourite spots. That was fine by him. He was in no mood for any more adventures today. He followed her, keeping his hold on her lead sure as he scanned the vicinity for other dogs. There were several, of all shapes and sizes, being hurried along by harassed looking owners who were no doubt keeping one eye on the time.

Robert hadn't been lying when he said that this was a park for runners. Plenty of dedicated fitness buffs had woken up bright and early to fit a jog in before work, and John noted them idly as he limped across the dewy grass with Isis bounding to and fro. Seeing the men, dressed in running gear so tight that they were practically bursting out of it, made him lament his situation even more. He had never had that kind of fitness level before the injury that had changed his life for good, but he hadn't been too bad back then. The army routines had kept him in shape, his bulk more to do with muscle than fat. Unfortunately, the reverse was true now.

Not that he had ever preened in the way that these pricks were now.

"Look at that berk," he muttered to Isis, who took not one bit of notice as she rolled around in the grass. He bent down to her level with a groan, pretending to focus on fussing her while he glanced at the bloke out of the corner of his eye. He was perhaps mid-thirties, TV-star attractive, no jacket in sight, t-shirt so thin it was practically see-through and clinging to an eight pack, never mind a six-pack, shorts so small they looked more like y-fronts. He had caught the interest of several women who eyed him up with interest as they passed, and he made a show of stretching out to show off his assets. One woman even stopped running to chat to him. John could hear her throaty laughter from here while the bloke flexed his muscles, not quite managing to be blasé. Not that the woman seemed to notice: she toyed with a stray strand of her fiery ginger hair and straightened her own back to thrust her chest forward. John hastily averted his eyes, shaking his head.

"How does that even work?" he said to Isis. Even when he'd been young and eager he hadn't been so stupid. Although he supposed that was debatable. After all, he'd had his head turned by Vera, and more fool him for that. He took some consolation in the fact that the ginger woman's friend, a petite blonde, seemed to be uncomfortable with the whole situation. She was apparently the only woman in the vicinity not falling under Pretty Boy's charms. John watched out of the corner of his eye as she tugged on her friend's arm and said something to her. The redhead didn't seem pleased by what she had to say, but after a few more minutes she allowed the blonde to drag her away, casting a longing look over her shoulder as she went. Pretty Boy flexed his muscles a final time for her benefit. Quite what Robert enjoyed here was a little bit beyond him. Yes, all right, he could accept that the women were beautiful. What man wouldn't enjoy the view? But the whole thing still made him highly uneasy, and contrary to what his friend seemed to believe, he had absolutely no chance of attracting any woman's attention. No one would look twice in his direction when faced with the dazzling good looks and washboard abs of the male runners.

Which was exactly what he wanted. He had no time for love and romance, not with his past. And it would be most satisfying to let Robert know that he was completely wrong. As was usually the case where Robert was concerned.

Bit by bit, the early morning runners drifted away, no doubt heading home to start their days. John meandered a while longer with Isis, enjoying the increasing solitude of the park. Now this was the ideal time to come. In peaceful moments like these, he could even find the inspiration to write. There was a certain kind of beauty about the park.

Although, he acknowledged ten minutes later, that did not extend to picking up Isis' ruddy excrement.

Anna groaned to herself as she and Ethel entered the park together, but Ethel gave a jubilant little squeal under her breath. For the last two days, the man she had been flirting with had been waiting for them to arrive, and here he was again. He gave a slimy smile that seemed to get Ethel's heart racing and came over to them.

"What a coincidence!" he said, as if he hadn't been standing by the gates waiting for them. "It's so nice to see you again!"

Ethel fluttered her eyelashes at him. "You too, Rory."

God, it was getting bad if they were on first name terms. They hadn't exchanged names in their last meeting—the idiot kept calling her 'Blondie', as if he thought he was cute—so that had to mean that they'd either exchanged names when she had had to run off early to answer a crisis from Mary, or, worse, that they'd exchanged phone numbers and had had further conversations from there. God, Anna hoped it was the former. At least there was a chance of damage limitation there.

They set off running together, Anna purposefully lagging behind the other two. She had no wish to play the third wheel. Ethel and Rory didn't notice a thing, more interested in checking each other out. This was very dangerous indeed. Rory was exactly the type of man that Ethel usually went for. He was young and hot. It was not easy to miss the rippling muscles beneath the tight white shirt, nor the ropey leg muscles. Anna was not immune to good looking men. She could appreciate them when she saw them, much as a photographer might admire a breath-taking landscape. Unfortunately, nine times out of ten they were all style and no substance. She could see that Rory was just the same. He didn't seem to want to talk about anything other than himself, and derived great joy from touting his own accomplishments. Unfortunately, Ethel seemed to be well and truly under his spell. It could only end in disaster.

Which was something that Ethel would have to figure out for herself. If Anna tried to warn her, she'd only tell her that she was jealous.

Everything always had to come back to her own woeful love life.

So Anna kept her mouth shut, following silently behind the other two, trying to block out their flirting. At this time in the morning, the park was almost empty. Distantly, she could hear the ducks quacking. There were a few dog walkers around. One little terrier wouldn't stop yapping. A yellow Lab was straining at the lead not too far away. It looked like its owner was having a little trouble restraining it. No wonder, really—the Lab looked like a strong, exuberant thing, and its owner less so, a cane in his right hand. She could hear his muffled voice, no doubt trying to call the dog to heel, but it wasn't listening. She hoped that the dog wouldn't accidentally pull him over or anything. She'd hate to see the man get hurt, but she didn't really have the time this morning to be performing first aid, not when she had to get to work herself.

"You've got really shapely legs, you know," she heard Rory saying. "The running's doing wonders for you, babe."

On second thoughts, she'd rather take the first aid. At this rate she'd need someone to perform first aid on her, for an adverse reaction to all these third-rate compliments. Running had been bad enough before. Now, it was worse than ever.

Bit by bit, John and Isis fell into a routine. She woke him every morning at six on the dot. He took her for a walk in Downton Park, then returned to his flat to give her her breakfast. After that, she slunk off to her bed for a snooze and he would set to work. Later in the day she'd come for some attention, and he'd sit with her head on his lap as he finished up his writing, before he headed out for the second walk of the day. Tea time followed, and after that, despite his best efforts, she'd hop up on the sofa beside him and thump her tail against the seat. It was annoying—he didn't really want a great, slobbering dog getting hair everywhere—but he didn't have the heart to stop her, either.

Every morning, he found his eyes wandering around the park as he walked with Isis, cataloguing the regulars. He took note of the same runners, who whizzed past him as if their very lives depended on it. He tried to avoid the same yapping terrier every day because Isis growled and tried to pull at the leash to get to it.

For some reason, the people who drew his eyes more than anything were the two young female runners he had noticed on his very first trip to the park. Why, he couldn't say. Something about them intrigued him. These days they were always accompanied by Pretty Boy, making up a little trio. But he could tell that the blonde woman wasn't thrilled by these developments. From a young age he had always been able to read people well, and this had only been enhanced by his love of the fictional world. Inspiration could come from anywhere—a line of snatched conversation heard as he walked by, a beautiful view, an exotic taste—and there was something about them that kept drawing his eye and making him wonder.

Sometimes, he could acknowledge that it was dangerous to wonder. He'd been intrigued by Vera when he'd first met her. That had only led him to disaster. But it was a writer's bane as well as a writer's strength, he thought as his gaze strayed over to them, lingering on the blonde woman's unhappy figure.

And, he consoled himself, that was all it was. Just wondering. No harm could ever come of looking from afar. He was safe.

The alarm sounded at six. Anna still had another two gruelling shifts to go before she would be afforded a glorious day off, and this morning she longed to hit the snooze button on her alarm, bury her head under the pillow, and sleep until the very last moment. Unfortunately, she had yet another morning run with Ethel to squeeze in before she had to get ready for work. Ever since striking up conversation with Rory, Ethel had become even more overzealous in her desire to fit in a morning run. To bail on her would be to incite World War Three.

"It's the only time of the day that I can just talk to him!" she'd said only yesterday. "Sometimes a woman needs to feel like she's more than just a single mum. Rory is helping with that."

He was certainly eager to stroke her ego, but Anna suspected that that had less to do with him genuinely thinking that Ethel was a wonderful person who deserved to be treated like a queen and more to do with the fact that he thought she would be an easy target.

But it wasn't her place to get involved. She just wished she could get out of taking the trip to the park with them. She had tried to point out that she was hardly necessary, and it was clear that Rory did not like her being around, but Ethel was adamant that she still come.

"I don't want to look like a total loser on my own," she'd complained. "Besides, we women always travel in packs. It's how we dazzle blokes. And Rory might have an available friend for you. We could double date or something."

Anna could think of no polite way of telling her that she'd rather poke her own eyes out.

Leaving Mary blissfully abed once more, Anna tiptoed out of the flat and headed for the lobby. It was another chilly morning, and she set off at a brisk pace in the direction of Ethel's house, thinking longingly of the bed sheets that she could still have been toasty warm in.

She made it to the end of Ethel's street and hopped on the spot, shivering. Unusually, Ethel was nowhere in sight. It was a rarity that she was there first; Ethel was always standing there with her hands on her hips, an admonishment ready on her tongue for Anna's tardiness. Well, she couldn't complain about her today.

Five minutes later, Anna was beginning to understand how Ethel might feel when she strolled up late. A task that was already tedious to her was fast becoming even more egregious as the minutes passed. Just where was Ethel? Had Charlie taken ill in the night? Was the childminder unable to take him? And if so, why hadn't she texted her to let her know that she wouldn't be able to make it? If it turned out that she could have had another hour in bed, she would be severely pissed off…

When another five minutes had passed with no movement from anywhere on the street, Anna decided that enough was enough. She would go round to Ethel's house, hammer on the door, and find out just what was going on. Grumpily, she stomped down the street, vaulted over the sagging fence, and hurried up to the peeling front door. She brought the grimy knocker down four times and stood back impatiently. When nothing happened for another minute, she knocked again.

There was movement behind the door, and in the next moment it was wrenched open—but just a crack. One of Ethel's dark eyes peered at her through the tiny gap.

"Anna, what are you doing here!?" she hissed.

Anna frowned. "What do you mean? I'm doing what I've done every day this week. Dragging myself to your door to accompany you on your run. Are you not even ready yet?"

"No," said Ethel, somewhat sheepishly. "And I don't think I quite feel up to it this morning. Sorry, Anna."

"Well, I wish you'd told me sooner. Are you ill?"

"What's with the twenty questions? Yes, I'm ill, if you must know. Terrible cold. Started in the night. Didn't want you to catch anything off me, so I thought it best to avoid you today."

"What about Charlie? Is he going to be okay?"

"His grandparents took him last night. They're keeping him for the rest of the day."

"Oh, well, that's good." Anna eyed her suspiciously. "I hope you feel better soon."

Ethel's attempt at a cough was poor. "Thank you, Anna. Goodbye."

Anna was just turning away when she heard it. The unmistakable low baritone of a man's voice.

Ethel froze.

Anna turned back.

"I knew it," she said crossly. "I knew you had someone in there with you."

"I don't!" Ethel said, looking frantically over her shoulder. Anna craned her neck. She caught a flash of something pale halfway down the stairs. The man's voice was louder this time.

"Ethel, babe, are you coming back to bed? Who is it?"

"I'll just be a minute," Ethel said loudly, ignoring the question. Her face was as red as her hair.

"Is that Rory?" Anna hissed. "Ethel Parks!"

Ethel glanced over her shoulder again, then opened the door a tiny bit wider, just enough for her to slip through. She stood on the stoop with a thin gown around her body, which did little to hide the fact that she was naked underneath.

"Oh, all right, yes, it is!" she hissed back, still red. "You can't blame me, can you? We've been flirting all week, and I have needs! It's been ages since I last shagged someone. Having Charlie around makes it difficult to be anything other than a single mother. Rory wasn't interested in that."

Rory was clearly only interested in one thing, Anna wanted to argue, but she bit her tongue. "I think the point is that you have only known him a week!"

"Don't be such a prude. This isn't the eighteenth century anymore. Women don't have to dance around men and wait for their wedding nights like dutiful wives. If we want to sleep with several men, we can. Or at least we ought to be able to without being judged."

"I'm not judging," Anna said heatedly. "I'm looking out for you as a friend." Because, at the end of it all, she'd be the one left to pick up the pieces when Ethel was left heartbroken. Her friend tried to put on a devil-may-care front, but she was as fragile as anyone else. Her tough circumstances had forced her to survive, and they often meant that she was far too quick to let her heart go too quickly when someone showed her just the tiniest grain of affection.

"Well you don't need to," said Ethel. "I'm fine."

"Fine," said Anna. She'd let her get on with it. She had to make her own mistakes. "See you around."

"Don't be like that with me, Anna."

"I'm not being like anything. But I'm obviously intruding on something and I do hate playing the third wheel. And I have to go if I don't want to be late for work. Have a nice time."

"Anna!" Ethel called after her, but she ignored it, turning on her heel and jogging down the garden path. She hurried to the end of the road without looking back and only paused when she was out of sight. She wilted against a lamppost and let the events of the last few minutes sink in properly.

It really wasn't that she was angry with her friend. She just wished that she'd be more responsible. Would it have killed her to pick up the phone and text her to say that she wouldn't be going on a run in the morning? She could have made up any lie to get out of it. Hell, she would have been glad for the excuse to ditch running and stay in bed. But now she had been privy to an unwanted image and she had been forced to get out of bed a whole ninety minutes before she would have needed to otherwise. And now there was no chance of getting back home and getting back into bed. Her morning had been ruined.

Well, now she was here, she was going to jolly well use it. She hated running, but this morning, on sheer principle, she was going to go. And then, when Ethel wanted to go next time, she'd turn around and tell her that she wasn't coming. Nothing made her petty quite like being forced out of bed prematurely.

She used that same tired petty, stubbornness to drive her forward towards the park.

John woke, yet again, to a cold, wet nose. It really was the most unpleasant of things, and he pushed it away, swearing. Isis took no offence, panting happily as she waited for him to fight his way out of the sheets. She was very well trained in their little routine now.

After splashing cold water on his face to wake himself up a little, he pulled on a jumper and snagged the lead. Isis bounced around him excitedly, and he managed to hold her still just long enough to snap the thing on. Then, making sure the door was locked behind them, they headed off in the direction of Downton Park.

John had to admit, he quite liked the solitude of these early mornings. The cold did nothing for his knee, which he found was even stiffer than usual, but the peace more than made up for it. It wasn't often that he got to appreciate nature at its most beautiful, with the gentle cheeps of birds in the trees and the sweet scent of dew in the grass. In quiet serenity like this, it was almost possible to believe in anything. That there could almost be a kind of magic in the air, ready to change a person's life if they were only brave enough to acknowledge it.

He shook his head. What a silly thought.

"Come on, Isis," he said, chuckling to himself. "Let's get this over and done with. I need to channel all of these whimsical notions into something resembling prose when I get back. I've got some important things to do."

Isis barked once, as if in agreement, and strained at the leash. Patting her on the back, John allowed her to pull him inside Downton Park's gates, wondering idly what adventures she would find for them today.

Anna made it to Downton Park's gates in record time. Pausing for just a moment to secretly resent what she was about to do, she made her way inside. The place was already filling up with the usual early morning joggers, and she joined their ranks, keeping her head down as she began the daily grind. The last thing she wanted to do was attract another lone male.

As much as she hated to admit it, however, the running was helping to channel the aggression she felt into something more productive. The adrenaline pounded through her veins, and although her lungs burned, she felt rather alive with it all. Running had never felt this good. Reluctantly exhilarated, she pushed herself faster, enjoying the strain in her muscles as her feet pounded along the gravel—

It all happened in split-second slow motion. In one moment, she was jogging along quite happily, truly feeling the ache in her muscles. And then there was a flurry of barking, a yell—

And then in the moment after that she was skidding across the ground, yelping at the sudden searing pain in her knees and elbows. Disorientated, she glanced around, trying to make sense of the pain, of what had just happened, before she was overpowered by something heavy and yellow. There was more yelling.

"Hey! I said no! Bad dog! Bad dog!"

The weight lifted; panting, Anna twisted herself in time to see a man wrestling an enthusiastic yellow Lab back on to its lead. He was red in the face and looked cross. The dog, by contrast, seemed to think the whole thing was a great big game. Its tail was just a blur. At last, the man dragged the dog back under his control.

"I am so sorry," he panted. "Christ, are you hurt—you're bleeding!"

Anna glanced down at herself, finding the statement to be true. Bright red blood was splashed across both knees, the skin around it an angry pink, and she could feel the blood dripping down her arm too.

"Christ, you're really bleeding," the man said, a tinge of panic in his voice.

"I'm fine," she said reassuringly, wincing at the sting.

"You don't look it. Those look like they need stiches!"

"They don't. I know more than most."

The man didn't look convinced by her response, but he didn't push her further. "Let me help you up. Please."

It was then, as he struggled to juggle the exuberant dog and his cane, that Anna recognised her would-be assailant; it was the man she had idly noticed over the past few days. Up close, he did not look at all the sort of person who might need help walking. He was tall and broad, with strong, dark features. Anna blinked as he offered his right hand to her.

"Please, take it," he said. "I feel terrible."

"Don't," she said, accepting his assistance without a moment's hesitation. He had a strong, firm grip that completely belied his cane, and his calloused fingertips whispered against her skin as he helped to right her with a wince. "It's one of the hazards of running. I'm surprised I haven't tripped over my laces before now."

"You don't look the clumsy sort to me," said the man, then cleared his throat. "Even so, I am sorry about that. Bloody dog."

"It's fine, really," she said. "I admire a dog's enthusiasm. It's sweet."

"Sweet isn't the word I'd use for it. I'm John Bates, by the way. I feel like you have the right to know the name of the man who almost killed you."

"Anna Smith," she replied, holding out her right hand towards him. If they were going for introductions, they might as well go all in.

"Nice to meet you," said John, giving her hand a brisk shake. She was struck again by how firm his grip was.

"Likewise," she said.

"Though I'm sure you would have preferred it under different circumstances."

She risked another glance down at her bloody knees. "I won't argue with you there. I'm sure there must have been less painful ways. Still, we take what we're given."

John rustled about in his pocket for a moment before bringing out a handkerchief and holding it out towards her. "Here."

"Oh, no, I couldn't," she protested.

"I insist."

"But I'll ruin it."

"I have plenty more at home. Please, it's the least I can do. If you won't see a doctor at least give me this peace of mind. I don't have any plasters to offer you."

How could she refuse such an offer?" Fine," she sighed. "But you're making a fuss out of nothing." She took the pristine handkerchief from him and wiped it gingerly over her bleeding knees. It hurt like the devil, and the white handkerchief was stained crimson in a matter of moments, but pressing something against them seemed to stem the flow. It would be adequate until she could get home and take care of them properly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said John. He glanced at the Lab. "The dog's a bloody nightmare, I tell you."

"It's cute," she commented, unable to hide her smile at the way the dog's tongue lolled out innocently, as if it had no cares in the world. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Girl," John supplied.

Anna bent down to the dog's level, holding her hand out in front of her nose for her to sniff. As a general rule she wasn't really a dog person—she liked them but the thought of all the work she'd have to put in to having one made her shudder—but this dog was a real sweetie. She yapped and licked her fingers. It was a strange sensation, but Anna felt a warm glow in her chest nevertheless. People always said that there was something about animals that made a person want to be accepted. She supposed that that was what it felt like. "She's cute."

"You can stroke her, if you'd like," said John. "She's friendly. Too friendly for her own good, most of the time. Unless it's that terrier that comes to the park. I'm not sure if you've seen it around, but she hates that thing."

"I can't say I have noticed it," Anna said, moving to pet the dog behind the ears. She seemed to like that, making a whining sound and pushing further in to her touch. "I don't usually take much notice of anyone in the park, if I'm honest." She refused to breathe word that she'd only noticed him before because she'd worried that he'd been struggling to control the dog with his impediment. Who was she to judge? She knew nothing about him, and it was often said that dog was man's best friend. "How long have you had her?"

John paused for a moment. "Oh, you know, just for a short while," he said, somewhat evasively. "We're still getting used to one another."

"I'm sure you'll find your way soon enough," she said, glancing down at her watch. It was almost time for her to leave. If she dawdled any longer she would be late getting to work, and there was already going to be extra strain from the pain in her knees which would slow her down even more. She would have to politely excuse herself now. She was not accustomed to making any kind of conversation with strangers in the park, even ones who had kind twinkling eyes and an adorable sidekick. Not wanting to appear abrupt or rude, she said, "So, what's her name?" That would be a nice way out. She could tell the dog to be a good girl and then excuse herself—

But that notion was blown clean out of her mind with John Bates' next words.

"Her name is Isis," he supplied.

Isis.

Anna stared at the dog, taken aback. Surely not. It couldn't be.

Isis titled her head to one side and yapped again. Everything made perfect sense now. Isis hadn't just knocked her over in a random state of exuberance. She had clearly recognised her scent, and had bounded over to say hello…

This was not just any dog. This was Robert Crawley's dog. It was impossible that there would be many yellow Labs in the world with a name like Isis, and certainly no other in sleepy Downton. Anna knew that Robert was out of town with Cora—Mary had mentioned it a few times—but why Isis had ended up with this John Bates fellow, and why he was pretending that she belonged to him, was another thing entirely. Anna wondered if she had misjudged him after all, and he was secretly a raving lunatic.

"That's a nice name," she managed, fondling Isis' neck for the want of something to do.

John Bates chuckled. "I'm surprised you didn't make the usual joke about her name."

"I find that that one's made in poor taste and is highly offensive. I know she's named after the Egyptian goddess."

"You know your history."

No, she thought, she just knew the dog, but she didn't say anything. What she really wanted to do now was get home and interrogate Mary. She surely had to know who was looking after Isis while her parents were away. Hopefully she would be able to shed a little more light on John Bates. "It's a pretty name. What made you choose it?"

John shrugged. If she didn't now know the true identity of the dog, she might have missed the discomfort in his tone. "I just like my Egyptian lore."

"It's a fascinating period," Anna agreed. "Does she embody some of her namesake?"

"Too much so," John joked, reaching down to pat Isis on the head too. "She's a handful."

Anna knew that already. She wasn't sure if Robert was simply too indulgent with her, or if she was just badly trained, but Isis had a strong will all of her own, and she was difficult to control. She understood why John had been having such problems with her now.

"She's still young," she ventured. "Maybe she'll learn."

John snorted. "Bloody hard to see where. Still, she's a lovely temperament and I suppose that's the most important thing."

"Yeah," Anna said. She offered her bloody handkerchief back, but he waved it away.

"Take it with you," he said. "You have more need of it than me. And like I said, I have several."

"Well, thank you," she said, dabbing gingerly at her elbow.

"Will you be okay getting home?"

"I'll be fine, thank you."

John cringed. "Christ, that came out sounding really creepy, didn't it? I wasn't offering to escort you. I just don't want you collapsing halfway there. I thought your friend might be with you to help you."

"Friend?"

He ran his palm over his chin. "Your running buddy, the ginger girl. And the bloke I've seen with you too." He grimaced again. "God, I'm not doing a very good job of reassuring you that I'm not some creepy psycho, am I?"

Anna giggled, a tad nervously, she had to admit. "Not at all."

"I should explain myself. I actually do a spot of writing. Taking note of the world around me is sort of engrained in my DNA. Anything could provide inspiration so I keep a weather eye out at all times in case it floats past me on the wind. I keep myself to myself as a general rule but I recognise the regulars out of sheer force of habit."

"I'm not sure I can call myself a regular," said Anna. "I don't like it enough to want to spend all my time here."

"Even more impressive, then. Shows you're dedicated to something. I always admire that. And at least you have a friend to help you. Writing's a bit of a lonely business, and it can be hard to find the right kind of editor to keep you motivated."

"You have an editor?" said Anna, genuinely interested. She'd met many blokes who fancied themselves as writers, but all that entailed was a lot of terrible poetry that she wouldn't even show anonymously, never mind the world. For some reason, men seemed to think that if a woman believed him to be a romantic poet trapped inside a rugged body, they were more likely to fall in to bed with them. Anna had left several of them disappointed in that regard.

John shrugged modestly. "It's a new thing. I suppose we'll have to wait and see if their risk pays off."

"I'm sure it will," said Anna, and meant it. If there was a person who embodied the image of a poetic soul, it was this man before her. There was simply something about him that gave off the aura of him being from another time, who might write about things other than terrible metaphors for a woman's naked body.

"If you don't mind me asking, where is your friend today?" John asked.

"Oh." Anna cleared her throat. "She's with Rory."

"Rory?"

"The bloke you've seen with us."

"Ah. Not a fan?"

"That obvious?"

A rueful smile touched the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps a little. He seems rather pretentious."

"That's one word for it. And the less said about their absence, the better."

"I have to confess, I've been calling him Pretty Boy in my head."

Anna burst out laughing. "You haven't!"

John shrugged. "I couldn't help but notice him. I've seen the likes of him many times. He likes to think he's being charming but it usually just means that he talks at someone until they think they're impressed. Not that I'm insinuating your friend is easily impressed, of course!" he added hastily.

"I'm not offended. I rather agree with you. But people have to make their own mistakes." Anna tilted her head just slightly, studying the man before her. There was something about him that put her at ease. That intrigued her, almost. Tantalised her curiosity. "Do you give names to all of the people you notice?"

John blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You said you call Rory Pretty Boy in your head. Do you have names for other people? Do you have names for me and my friend?"

"Not at all," he said hurriedly, in a way that made her think that he was definitely lying to her. She wished she could know more, but alas. This was but a brief moment in time, and she couldn't prolong it. Still, it would probably keep her occupied through the morning, a pleasant diversion of wonderment when faced with crying toddlers and condescending adults.

She made a show of glancing at her watch again. "Anyway, I have to go."

John's face melted in to a mask of concern at once. "Oh, of course! You don't want to be stuck here listening to me witter on. I'm sorry for wasting your time."

"You didn't waste my time," she protested. "I just have to go before I'm late for work."

"I completely understand." He clucked his tongue. "Come on, Isis, let's go. We've held this lovely lady up enough as it is."

"You haven't held me up, honesty," she said. "It's been an interesting change from the usual. And it was nice to meet you, John."

"Likewise. Enjoy the rest of the day."

"You too. Bye, Isis." She patted her on the head one more time. Then, with a quick wave, she set off at a brisk walk, feeling his eyes burning in to her as she lengthened the distance between them.

John watched Anna Smith leave, a funny feeling in the centre of his chest, staunchly refusing to allow his eyes to wander any lower than her shoulders. He would most certainly not take any kind of notice of the way that her backside looked in those tiny running shorts, however difficult the task might be. As he watched her walk away, he felt the tell-tale prickle of embarrassment, too.

What on earth had come over him? He never made small talk with anyone he had just met, especially not pretty women he had inadvertently injured. At social gatherings, he was far more likely to stand on the fringes of the party than join in. He was not unsociable, as many people seemed to think when they met him. He simply enjoyed being out of the limelight and avoiding the awkwardness of having to talk to people he would never see again.

And yet he had just stood there for five minutes spouting rubbish at Anna Smith.

And he'd waffled on about being a writer like a prat. And lied to her about being Isis' owner. In his panic the words had tumbled out of his mouth before his brain had even had time to register them; now he was stuck with them.

Christ.

If the floor had opened up beneath his feet at that moment, he would have been quite happy to let it swallow him. The one consolation was that he'd probably never speak to her again now that this moment had passed, and in a few days he wouldn't be coming to the park again. Still, until that moment came, it would be highly mortifying to see her and feel the ignominy wash over him all over again. And if she looked his way, met his eyes…well, he wasn't sure what he'd do. Curl up in a ball and die, probably.

Beside him, Isis whined.

"I don't know why you're doing that," he told her grumpily. "You're the one who got me in to this mess in the first place. What were you thinking, running off like that and knocking her over? This isn't some ridiculous version of 101 Dalmatians, you know. She's lacking the other dog, for one thing."

She didn't take a blind bit of notice of him, watching Anna go with her head tilted slightly to the side, her tail thumping. He wondered what had provoked such a strange reaction in her in the first place, then shook his head. He'd given up trying to work Isis out already. She was a wilful law unto herself, and half-mad with it.

"Come on," he said, tugging lightly on her lead. "It's time we got back. Your misadventures have held us up quite enough for one day. Come on, Isis."

Isis did not seem to want to obey, remaining where she was and making a high-pitched whining sound whenever he tried to force her to heel. She was still fixated on the small speck that was Anna as she moved further and further towards the park's entrance, identifiable only through her neon yellow shorts. John paused for a moment, watching her departure as far as his eyes could see, before reaching down to pat Isis on the head.

"I know," he said softly, and wouldn't allow himself to think any more on what he was consoling Isis on.

Surprisingly, when Anna arrived home, Mary was already out of bed. That was unheard of at this time in the day.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she kicked her trainers off. Mary did not look up from her mug of coffee.

"Next door are at it again," she said grumpily.

"Ah." No more was needed on that particular subject; next door's fighting or fucking interchanged at alarming rates. "Which is it today?"

"The worst," said Mary. "I can't sleep when it sounds like a porno is being filmed. I'd sooner be up."

"It must be bad, then." Anna glanced at her watch. "All right if I hop in the shower?"

"Be my guest."

"Thank you," said Anna, but before she could walk past her friend, Mary glanced up.

Her eyes widened. "Good God, you're bleeding!"

"Yeah, I had noticed that."

"Less of the sarcasm. It doesn't become you."

"Because you're sarcastic enough for the both of us?"

"I learned from the best."

Anna snorted. There could be no denying that. Old Violet Crawley was the most formidable woman she had ever met, and she ran rings around the entirety of her family on a daily basis.

"So, what happened?"

"I fell over."

"Well, I'd figured that much out for myself. Must have been quite the fall."

"It was." Anna hesitated for a moment, then decided on a half-truth. "I was knocked over by a dog."

"Heavens. Sounds quite the brute."

Anna smirked at her own private joke. "I'd say enthusiastic more than a brute. But it caught me off-guard."

"No wonder. You look like you've been in a war."

"I feel it, too. It hurts like hell. But they'll be as right as rain once I get some antiseptic wipes around them." Absently, Anna clenched her fist, where she still held the soiled handkerchief that the mysterious John Bates had kindly donated to her.

Mary noticed the movement at once. "What's that you've got there? Did Ethel give it to you? She doesn't seem the sort to carry handkerchiefs around with her."

Anna sighed internally. She'd forgotten all about Mary's magpie-like tendencies, honing in on something the least bit out of the ordinary like a bloodhound scenting its prey. Usually, those skills were directed towards fashion. Unfortunately for her, Mary also seemed to have the unfortunate ability to sense when something the least bit exciting happened in her life. "It isn't Ethel's, no."

"Then whose? Please tell me that slimy bloke she's been trying to shag for the last week hasn't turned his attentions on you."

Anna wrinkled her nose. "Ew, no, thank you very much. He's all Ethel's. It was the dog's owner. He was very nice."

Mary arched an eyebrow. "'Very nice', eh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't you start. I don't mean it like that."

"What? Come on, you never give me any titbits to live off. It's been a criminally long time since you last went out with anyone, never mind any other kind of fun that might come with it. I have to take my kicks where I can when it comes to you. Did you get his name?"

"No," Anna said staunchly. For now, at least, this would remain private. She wanted to find out more about this John Bates before she told Mary that she'd met him.

"How mysterious. Was he at least fit?"

"He was handsome enough," Anna said carefully. There was no way in seven hells that Mary would ever consider John Bates 'fit'.

"Well, handsome is a good starting point. I can work with handsome. Did you fancy him?"

"Of course not," Anna said crossly. "I spoke a few sentences to him. We're not in a fairy tale. That's not enough to make me fall madly in love."

Mary held up her hands. "All right, all right, no need to get ratty with me. This is how much I'm clutching at straws when it comes to your pathetic love life: I'm hoping you find a stranger hot enough to bang."

"I'd want something more than just a quick shag from someone."

"Which makes you horribly romantic. That doesn't happen so often anymore. You ought to have been born a hundred years ago. You'd fit right in."

She hated it when Mary patronised her. "Very funny. It's called staying true to myself and not caving to societal pressures."

"Ooh, touché," said Mary, unaffected. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm only teasing you. Tell me more about this mysterious rescuer. What did he look like?"

"Is it clichéd to say tall, dark, and handsome?" said Anna, relenting only a little.

"Maybe, but I've always liked the sound of it. How old do you think he was?"

John Bates was older than she was, that much was certain. Early forties, if she had to hazard a guess. But if she told Mary that, her friend was likely to have a heart attack. Matthew, her on-again-off-again boyfriend, was several years older, and she often moaned that that felt too much at times, which was absolutely ridiculous. She'd be mortified to think that she'd been speaking to a man of that age, even if there had been nothing sexual about it. Instead, she decided on a truth of a different kind. "I'm not sure, really. You know I'm rubbish at guessing ages."

"It's almost as if you're deliberately not giving me anything to go on," Mary tutted. "Fine, have it your way. I'll leave the subject alone. Though you might as well tell me. You know I'm just going to ask Ethel for the details the next time I see her."

"Try," Anna shrugged. "She won't be able to tell you anything. She wasn't there."

"She wasn't?"

"No. She ditched me for a morning in bed with Rory. I knocked on the door for her and caught them in the nude together. It's a disturbing image, let me tell you."

Mary shuddered. "I can quite imagine. So you actually went running on your own?"

"Well, what else could I really do? My morning had already been ruined. It's not like I could come back and go back to bed. So I figured that I might as well go ahead with it."

"And it brought you together with Lover Boy."

"Mary…"

"Okay, fine, you're not in the mood for a bit of fun, I see that. Go and get your shower and try to be in a better mood when you come out."

"I'm going. But I am curious about something."

"What's that, then?"

"Seeing the dog got me wondering," Anna said as casually as she could, "aren't your mum and dad still away at the moment?"

"Yes, so?"

"Who's looking after Isis while they're not here? I was rather expecting her to live here for a few days."

Mary winced. "God, no. There would be dog hair everywhere. I'm not having her in the flat."

"I thought you might have wanted her, given you grew up surrounded by dogs."

"Oh they're nice enough for a short while. But they're so much work. And I will certainly not be picking up its excrement."

Just the image of Mary Crawley with a poop bag was enough to make Anna snort with laughter. She was far, far too refined for any of that. She wouldn't even have a designer Chihuahua for the aesthetic. "I wouldn't have minded having her here."

"Which is precisely why I wouldn't let Papa ask you. You'd've caved in a heartbeat. You're too nice."

"I've never known that to be a bad thing before."

"Well, it is. Look how long you put up with that dreadful ex of yours. If he'd been mine, I would have dumped his sorry arse the first time he stood me up."

"I didn't suffer fools gladly, though. The moment he messed about with someone else I kicked him to the curb."

"True," Mary conceded. "And I hope he spends every day realising what an absolute idiot he was to lose someone like you."

"You always say the nicest things, even with your heart of stone."

"Thank you. Don't let anyone else know I complimented you, though. They might not fear me as much, and that's no good to me. Anyway, why the sudden interest in Isis?"

"It's not sudden. I was just wondering, that's all. I wouldn't want her starving to death somewhere."

"She's not. Papa roped his best friend in to looking after her."

Anna feigned a frown. "His best friend? I've never heard him mention a best friend before." That much, at least, was true; she had never heard John Bates' name mentioned once in all the years she had known the Crawley family.

Mary waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, his name is John Bates. He and Papa go way back. They met each other about twenty years ago, when they were in the army together. Papa was John's commanding officer, but John saved Papa's life when they were in the Falklands War."

Anna couldn't stop her gasp. Now that did genuinely surprise her. She'd been standing in the presence of a hero and had never known it. "What happened?"

"They were on a patrol or something, and they got ambushed. The Argentine soldiers were aiming their guns at Papa and John dived in front of him and pushed him out of the way. Papa managed to get his shots off and kill them, but John was shot too. It was the end of his career in the army, actually. He was sent home and was never deemed fit enough to serve again."

"How awful," Anna said softly. That explained the cane that he used. He must have been shot in the leg. How terrible it must have been, to have lost his sense of purpose in the flash of a single moment. She'd thought that there had been a touch of the tortured poet about his person, and now it made perfect sense why. Her heart ached for him.

"It was rather. But Papa never really talks about those days, and John certainly doesn't. In fact, it's been years since we last saw him. He just moved up here recently."

Anna's ears pricked up at that. "Did he?"

"Yes," Mary continued obliviously. "Just got out of a ghastly divorce to the devil in disguise. He was looking for a fresh start somewhere and Papa managed to convince him to move up to Yorkshire. Quite why he'd want to leave behind the bustle of the city is anyone's guess, but he seems to have settled in quite nicely here, and I suppose it must be a relief to get away from that harpy."

"Mmm," Anna agreed. It was quite a lot of information to take in in one go. So he was a divorcee as well as a writer, and new to the area to boot. It made much more sense why she had never come across him before now. "Well, I'd better get on, otherwise I'll be late."

"Of course. Cup of tea?"

"That would be lovely." Anna smiled gratefully.

"And a biscuit?"

"You know me too well."

"I'll pop you some toast in."

"You are an angel, Mary Crawley."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Well, you are when you want to be, and I love you for it."

"Hush before I start blushing. Go and get ready."

Anna mock-saluted. "Yes, ma'am." With that, she headed off to shower off the morning sweat.

John spent the rest of the day in a daze. For some reason, he was finding it difficult to concentrate. Every time he tried to put pen to paper, he was overwhelmed by a sense of horror. Even though it was unlikely he would ever speak to Anna Smith again, it was difficult to think of anything else but of how he had made a complete fool of himself in front of her.

"Christ," he groaned, putting his head in his hands. He heard the soft pad of Isis' paws across the floor, and in the next moment she had pushed her head in to his lap. John scratched her ears absently, staring at his paper. None of the words made sense, and with the way he was currently feeling, he wouldn't be making any sense of them at all today. Sighing, he tipped his head back, turning his attention to the crack in the ceiling. Well, he supposed it wouldn't be too bad to have one day off. He could do with the break. His mind was constantly saturated with ideas and carefully constructed prose. He'd find something else to take his mind off his thoughts. A book, perhaps. He was so busy writing that he barely had time to do any reading anymore. Or perhaps he could pick up a boxset. He had several clogging up his recorder.

"What do you think, girl?" he asked Isis, as if she could read his thoughts. Isis barked, pushing her head further on to his lap. He stroked down her back, eyeing her thoughtfully.

"Good choice," he said. "I'll set the TV up."

With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet and limped out of his study towards his cramped front room. He switched the television on and settled himself down on the sofa, stretching his right leg out on the stool in front of him. Isis padded in after him and jumped gracefully up beside him. She snuggled up against him. As much as he'd decided that he didn't like it, he had to admit that there was something soothing about having a companion with him. Perhaps, once Isis was gone, he'd have a look at an animal of his own. Not a dog, because it would be more work than he really wanted, and the temptation to return to Downton Park might be too great; he wasn't sure how he would explain the presence of a different dog if he saw Anna again. Perhaps a cat would be better. They were more independent, and he was sure he could find one friendly enough to want to snuggle against him on the sofa on a cold night.

It was a thought for another day. For now, he had Isis for a few more days, and he had to stop being so stupid. One conversation with a pretty woman ought not to make him feel such a way. He was quite happy with the way that his life was now. Women had caused him enough trouble for one lifetime, and beyond that, how could he ask any woman to share his baggage? He had far, far too much of it for three people, never mind two.

"I'm being stupid," he said aloud. Saying those words to a quiet room made them realer. Settled him slightly. Isis blinked as if she quite agreed with him. Shaking his head, John patted her side, settled in to the comforting weight of her against him, and focused his attention on the television, waiting for teatime and his meal for one.

The day was a busy one. With every moment that passed, Anna found that she was completely swept off her feet. These days passed the fastest, but they were also the most gruelling. She barely had the time to scarf down a sandwich in the staff canteen before she was back working again. By the time that her shift came to an end, Anna was exhausted. She felt it in every aching bone as she buckled herself in to her car seat. Thankfully, it was only a short drive across town to her flat, and soon she was back at home. Predictably, Mary was already there, sitting with her feet up. Anna sometimes envied Mary's casual hours. She seemed to come and go as she pleased. The perks of being a mogul, she supposed. Dumping her things down, she collapsed on the sofa beside her friend.

"I'm done in," she complained. "And starving."

"I've popped us something in the oven. I figured you deserved it after the morning you've had."

"See, you're an angel." Anna stretched. "I think you just saved my life. I couldn't face cooking. I'd've probably ended up with takeaway."

"Which would have undone all your good work this morning. Not that you need it, not when you're like a stick."

"Well, I'll probably end up going for a run tomorrow, anyway," she mumbled absently, focusing her attention on the TV screen.

"Is Ethel forgiven, then?"

"What?"

Mary shrugged. "Well, I know you wouldn't be mad enough to go alone if given the chance because you're always complaining about it. Which means you must have forgiven her her indiscretions. More fool you, really. I would have let her stew for a couple of days so you could have had a break."

"I'm too nice," Anna reminded her.

"One day you'll learn," Mary said sagely. "Anyway, go and get comfortable and let me take care of everything. And how about we watch a film so we can sigh over how perfect Chris Pine is?"

"Sure," Anna said vaguely. "I won't be long."

She slipped out of the room before her friend could question her further, and headed for her bedroom. Closing the door firmly behind her, she pulled out her phone and sent off a text: Sorry, Ethel, but I won't be coming for a run in the morning.

A few minutes later, her phone dinged. What!? Why!? You're not still mad about this morning, are you?

No, Anna wrote back, but I fancy a day off tomorrow.

But that means I won't be able to go now! I can't go on my own!

What about Rory? Anna typed, feeling a little petty stab at that. Can't he go with you?

He says he can't tomorrow. He's got a big conference to attend and he can't afford to miss it.

Yeah, right, Anna thought. More likely that he was the snake that she had predicted he would be, already slithering off now that he'd got what he'd wanted. Ethel would be lucky if she ever heard from him again. But now was not the time to state that, especially when she was trying to orchestrate her plan. She didn't want to cause another argument, or to cause a rift between them. She loved Ethel dearly, and had come to appreciate her even more in the wake of her friend Gwen's departure for pastures new. She had known Gwen for many years and it had been so hard to lose contact with her on an almost daily basis, but Ethel had picked her back up, dusted her off, and got her enjoying herself again. Almost too much, if truth was to be told. She'd woken up with far too many hangovers since Ethel had declared herself chief fun maker.

We'll have to pick it up some other time. I really want a few days off. I think I pulled a muscle and I don't want to make it worse.

Fine, was Ethel's blunt reply. She probably saw right through the lie, but she would have no idea what Anna was truly planning. She didn't like leaving the conversation on such a tone, but it was probably for the best for the time being. If she tried to pacify her friend too much then they would only end up back where they had been in the first place. So she threw her phone to one side and rummaged for her comfiest pyjamas. Laying them out on the bed, she headed for her second shower of the day, glad to get the smell of the hospital off of her skin. She stood under the stream of hot water, simply enjoying the way it felt on her, and planned the following morning in her head. Ethel thought that she was staying at home to rest her aching muscles. Mary thought she was going out for a run with Ethel. The two of them rarely crossed paths, and neither would think to check with the other—they always simply assumed that she was telling the truth. That was another perk of being too nice. It made people trust her completely, and allowed her a little wriggle room to get away with small white lies here and there when the need arose.

Tomorrow, she had her own agenda. She would slip away from the house early enough to get to Downton Park, where she hoped that she would run in to John Bates again. It was a mad idea, really, she was well aware of that, but she had always been too curious for her own good. She wanted to probe a little deeper into the man. He had received what amounted to almost high praise from Mary, which offset whatever slight twinge of doubt she might have felt at his strange decision to lie about Isis. And if he was a friend of the Crawleys, well, he could be a friend of hers too. If he'd just moved to Downton, he wasn't likely to know many people. It would be nice if she could make him feel more at home up in the Yorkshire Dales. They would probably run in to each other at some point at a Crawley gathering. She might as well start trying to build a rapport with him now. There was nothing wrong in that.

Shaking her head, she finished her shower and headed back to her bedroom, the smell of cooking enticing her back out. All of those thoughts could wait until tomorrow morning. Right now, she had a date with Chris Pine to catch.

The usual morning routine began bright and early for John. When Isis' cold nose hit the side of his face, he groaned, pushing himself upright.

"I'm coming," he said, running his hand through his hair. Isis seemed to trust his routine, and had already padded out of the room to wait for him by the door. John heaved himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He splashed cold water on to his face to wake himself up a little, then found the clothes from yesterday and pulled them on. In no time at all he was ready to head outside, Isis already straining at the leash.

It was a cold, clear morning, and he enjoyed the fresh breeze on his face as he lumbered along. His breath misted in the air, unusual for this time of the year, but it was refreshing nevertheless.

As he approached Downton Park, however, he felt his heart beginning to beat just that little bit faster in his chest—and it had nothing to do with being overexerted.

He was being foolish, he knew that. It was ridiculous that he should be feeling so nervous, excited, about the potential of seeing Anna Smith again. It wasn't like she would stop to talk to him. She had just been polite yesterday. He had been starved of actual graciousness from the opposite sex for so long that the moment anyone offered him a kindness, he instantly fell in to the trap of gratefulness. He would have to be very careful and keep himself on a tight leash, never mind Isis. It would not do him any good to get carried away, and he had made a solemn promise to himself. No more wanting the impossible.

Determinedly, he limped in to the park and set off for Isis' favourite spot, which was far away from any runners. He kept himself blinkered, refused to glance around even once for the flash of fluorescent yellow running shorts.

Bit by bit, as his park routine moved on through the motions, he found himself relaxing more and more. There, that was better. He played a seemingly endless round of 'fetch' with Isis, taking a moment's respite whenever she went haring off after the ball he had thrown for her. It was rather amusing to watch her go, her legs moving as fast as they would take her, tongue lolling out happily.

When she eventually came to a stop, panting, he bent down to stroke her head.

"Good girl," he said. "How about we get you home now so you can have a nice, long drink, hmm? And some breakfast. That would be nice, wouldn't it?" His own stomach was grumbling at the mere thought of it. Perhaps he'd treat himself to a nice fry up this morning. His weight wouldn't thank him for it, but it would do his mood the world of good. He needed to have a good day of writing today, otherwise he was doomed. The last thing that he could afford to do was fall behind schedule. He'd never claw it back, and that would spell the end of his fledgling career. Robert had taken a huge gamble in introducing him to people in the literary world, and had forced them to take a chance on him as a complete novice, and it would be poor form to repay him with such mismanagement. Robert had already done so much for him. He could not let him down.

Now that she was thoroughly worn out, Isis walked beside him quietly, though she still spared a fearsome growl for the terrier that she had taken such a disliking to. She matched his pace perfectly, plodding along beside him as he made his way towards the exit.

"Hey, Mr. Bates! Mr. Bates!"

The foreign voice calling his name made him whip around at once, instinctively. For all he knew, there was another Mr. Bates in the park, but he still couldn't help but feel curiosity as he scanned for the person who had yelled out his name.

His eyes fell on her. And his heart kick started like a train thundering along at a hundred miles an hour.

It was Anna. Anna who had called his name.

He did his level best not to stare at her as she jogged towards him, ponytail bouncing behind her, tight-fitting running clothes just a little too perfect. What on earth could she want? He had imagined the possibility several times over in the hours leading up to this moment, had hoped guiltily that it might, but he had never considered that it could ever be a real likelihood. Now it had happened, he didn't know what to do. He simply stood there dumbly. Isis, however, let out a joyful bark, all of her energy suddenly returning to her. She surged forward, almost pulling him over, and his grip on the lead—which had become lax in his shock at seeing Anna—slipped. A chilling sense of déjà vu swept over him.

"Isis!" he yelled, though he knew it was futile, for she hadn't taken the slightest bit of notice of him last time.

Thankfully, Anna was more prepared this time. When Isis leapt up on her hind legs and planted her front paws against her shoulders, she only wobbled slightly, and laughed.

"Hello, girl," she said, fondling her ears enthusiastically. "And how are you today? Full of beans, I see. Well, that's very good. A happy dog should be the only kind of dog, isn't that right?"

Isis' tail wagged nineteen to the dozen. John seized the end of her lead and tugged.

"Down," he commanded. "Bad dog. You need to ask permission before you go blundering in like that. Not everyone will want it."

"She's fine," said Anna. "I don't mind."

"Even so, I would have hated it if she'd knocked you over and hurt you again. I can only apologise. And I promise I'm not always this irresponsible with her. You took me by surprise, that's all."

Anna shot him a mischievous grin. "I very much hope that you don't set Isis on every woman you meet."

Heat rose up in his cheeks. "N-No, of course not! I'm—"

"I'm teasing you," she overrode him. "Although if you did, I'm sure you'd have all the women falling at your feet. This face is just too cute to resist." She pressed a kiss to Isis' head and took a step backwards. He tensed his arm on the lead to stop Isis from bounding after her. Clearing his throat, he tried for a nonchalant, unaffected reply.

"I'm not sure I'd have much luck there," he said. "I've never seen Isis react this way towards a stranger before. She's usually very cautious."

"Maybe I just have the touch," said Anna.

"Do you have animals of your own?"

"No, I don't. But that's only because my flatmate hates them. When I get my own place, whenever that might be, I plan to have one then. I don't think a house is a home without a pet, do you?"

"I quite agree," said John, thinking of the lonely flat he returned to day after day, no animal in sight. He shifted his weight, eager to get the conversation away from the huge lie that he had told. Already he could feel the sweat accumulating at his temples. If she ever found out the truth, she would think him a real creep. And then she would hate him. He just prayed that when Robert returned, Isis did not continue trying to greet her whenever she saw her. That would spell the end, and even if he never did see her again after this, he would hate to think that she had a poor opinion of him, especially when lying was so completely against who he was as a person. "Anyway, what can I do for you?"

"Oh!" said Anna, starting. "I've got something for you. Here."

With that, she thrust her hand towards him. Confused, John opened his palm to take what she was offering. She placed a square of clean white cotton there, and he realised what it was at once: the handkerchief he had given her yesterday.

"It was a bugger to get all of the blood out," Anna continued. "You have no idea how much wash powder and detergent I threw in there. But it worked because I can't see a spot of blood on it now!"

"You didn't have to go to so much trouble to return it to me," said John, touched. "You could have thrown it away. Really, I have others."

She shrugged. "I always think it's nice to return something that's been given as a kindness."

"Well, it sounds like you went above and beyond the effort that you ought to have put it." John stowed the little square in his pocket. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

For a moment, they simply stood in silence. John felt a little uncomfortable prickle at the way she was looking at him. It was disconcerting, as if she was sharing some kind of private secret with herself that he was not privy to. But her face was completely smooth, devoid of scheming, and he wondered if he was just being paranoid because he'd lied to her. He searched around for a topic of conversation.

"So, your friend still isn't here?" He winced at how leery that sounded. He really wasn't doing himself any favours.

"No, I'm on my own again today. But I don't mind. Sometimes it's nice to have a little bit of time to myself to think. I suppose you're the kind of person who understands that mentality, if you're a writer."

"I suppose so," John conceded. But it could also be dangerous, too. If he spent too much time alone, he was in danger of slipping in to a treacherously brooding mind set, and that did not help him. Which was why, as much as he did like the solitude sometimes, he preferred to spend his time with people he genuinely liked and admired, like Robert. It would at least take his mind away from his darker thoughts for a time.

Christ, it really did feel like he'd been giving himself the shrink treatment over the last couple of days. There was something about Anna that made him analyse himself. It wasn't an entirely comfortable feeling.

"Anyway," he said. "We'd better get going. Mustn't slow you down. I've done too much of that already."

"You've done no such thing," Anna protested. "I stopped you, not the other way around. I wanted to speak to you and thank you for what you did for me yesterday."

"Anyone would have done it."

"Not necessarily. Not everyone shows other people a kindness."

Then they were fools, John thought, if they didn't want to help someone like Anna out. He did not voice that, however. "Some people would say it was naïve."

"Then those people are stupid," said Anna. "When is it ever naïve to help out someone who needs it?"

John shrugged. "I know plenty of cynics, and they've all had reason to be so. It's our experiences that shape who we are, and I suppose there's always beauty in disagreeing with someone and offering an alternative viewpoint." Not that it really made any difference, in his experience; most people were usually so stubborn in their belief that they were the ones who were right that it clouded their ability to see others' points. It had certainly been that way for him where Vera had been concerned. Everyone had told him that what he was doing was a bad idea, but he had been too in love with the exciting idea of her that he had refused to listen to anyone else. Hindsight was a wonderful thing.

"I can see your point," Anna conceded. "But I prefer to look on the positive side."

"I admire people who can do that, I assure you. Sometimes I wish I could do it more often."

"Then why don't you? All it takes is a little belief in magic."

He snorted. "Oh, I lost all belief in magic a very long time ago." That had died the moment that his leg had almost been blasted off, and he had been left with a permanent disability, returning to England a shell of the man he had been before.

"I don't believe that's necessarily true. You might think it is, but I don't think any writer in the world can do their job without breathing magic in to what they do."

"I'm afraid you're mistaking me for J. K. Rowling," he tried to joke.

"I'm being serious. I don't pretend to know anything you write, but even if it's the grittiest, darkest, real-life drama, then there has to be some element of magic about it in order to get the readers to invest in the characters. Otherwise you have nothing."

"That's a clever point. I've never thought of it like that before."

"It's my job to offer the positive alternatives," she said airily. "Anyway, I won't keep you if you're busy. Nice to see you again."

She was on the cusp of turning away from him when he blurted, "I'm, um, I'm not busy." As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. They were stupid. Desperate. No doubt she already had him pegged as an awkward soul, and this would do nothing to dispel that image. But he couldn't take them back now. The words were out there. He would simply have to live with the embarrassment.

But Anna turned towards him, her smile widening. "That's great. Would you mind if I walked with you?"

His tongue felt too thick in his mouth. Would he mind if a beautiful, charming young woman accompanied him on a stroll around the park? He would need his head seeing to if he did. "Not at all. It would be an honour."

"Thank you. I won't be able to stay for a long time because I'll have to head off home so I can get ready for work, but I always think a stroll in the park is more enjoyable if there are two companions."

"Technically, I have one right here," John joked, shaking Isis' lead. "I might not understand her very well when she tries to communicate with me, and she as sure as hell ignores me when I try to communicate with her, but we haven't done too badly so far."

"Well, I promise to at least try to produce a conversation you can understand." Anna tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as they began a slow, synchronised amble, seemingly of their own accord. "Do you mind if I have a go walking her?"

John chewed at his lip, debating. The sensible thing to say was to politely defer. If anything ever happened to Isis then he would never forgive himself, and Robert would probably kill him. On the other hand, he found himself consumed with the need for this woman to like him. So pathetic, truly, but the truth all the same. And he had already lost control of Isis twice in the last two days. Anna surely couldn't be any worse than he was.

"Okay," he said, holding out the lead to her. She took it at once, looping it securely around her wrist and pulling it taut. Certainly not enough to hurt Isis, but enough to let her know who was in command.

"Are you sure you've never really handled dogs before?" he asked as they continued forward, allowing Isis to lead them where she wanted.

"No," Anna said.

"Isis has certainly taken a shine to you, though. She's never as well-behaved with me as she is with you. You must tell me your secret."

She smirked at him. "No secret, not really. I must just have the touch."

"Whatever it is, I wish I had it. Usually she just looks like she's badly trained when I take her somewhere in public."

"I think 'excitable' is a fairer description," said Anna. "And I don't think there's anything purer than a dog's excitement. It's so sweet to see."

"Yes," John murmured, but he found himself thinking that the purest thing he had seen in a long time was Anna Smith's smile.

The next few days seemed to fly by, and although he knew he shouldn't even acknowledge the thoughts that scratched at his subconscious for fear of giving them power, John found that he had never had a more enjoyable time.

Every day, Anna Smith had met him in the park, and it had been wonderful. Refreshing. More perfect than he could possibly say.

He had been worried that it might be awkward, but it never was. It was strange. They had only just met and yet they could talk to each other as if they had known each other for years. Anna had such a kind, easy nature that he couldn't help but find that he tripped over his tongue to speak to her, and he found her to be engaging and interesting in turn. There were never any awkward pauses or standoffs. He had never fallen in with someone as quickly as he had with her, not even Robert, who had been of a similar age and shared similar passions.

The walks passed so quickly that he wished he could actually extend them, and continue ambling around the park all morning. She started bringing cardboard cups of steaming tea with her from the local coffee shop on her way, abandoning all notions of running. He idly wondered what she had told her red-headed friend in order to turn up alone each day, and didn't quite dare linger on thoughts of what it might mean if she wanted to spend the time alone with him. That was far too dangerous for anyone's good. For now, he was more than content to enjoy this unexpected, unconventional friendship.

But every day that he parted from her, it was with a pang that this illusion couldn't last forever. This was but a fleeting moment in time, one that could not be replicated ever again. Very soon indeed, real life would snake its way back in and strangle all of the joy out of him. Robert would return and he would hand Isis back over, and that would be that. There would be no more excuses to come to the park and seek out conversation with Anna. He would go back to his lonely, depressing life, eating meals for one alone in front of the television, with an overwhelming sense of dissatisfaction that he hadn't even noticed before now.

If only he hadn't been stupid enough to lie to her in the first place. At least that way he would have had an excuse to ask if she would consider seeing him again outside the perimeter of taking Isis for a walk. Purely as friends, he would have been quick to reassure her, but if she enjoyed their meetings as much as he did—which he hoped she did, considering that she hadn't yet made an excuse not to come and walk with him and Isis—then she might have agreed anyway. As it was, he had nothing left to gamble with. He would simply disappear from her life and would be too ashamed to ever come back in to it. She might wonder where he had gone, but eventually she would forget about him as she was consumed with busy real life once more.

He, on the other hand, would never forget her.

"What's wrong?" Anna asked him on that final day as they walked slowly around the perimeter of the park. "You've been very quiet."

He mustered a smile, hoping that it came out realer than it felt on his face. "There's nothing wrong. I'm fine."

"You would tell me if you weren't, wouldn't you?" she asked, sounding concerned. That was another thing he liked about her so much. She was always on hand to offer support, no matter what. That came from her work as a nurse, he supposed. He had enjoyed getting to glimpse a more intimate side of her. If he had been given a choice, he would have probably guessed her profession correctly—a nurse or a teacher fitted her perfectly. She was the kind of person who seemed to thrive on helping out those in need. Her calm nature and her easy smile lent well to that profession. He could well imagine the easy chemistry she must have with those around her, and how she would help to make her patients' experience as enjoyable as it could be.

"I would," he said, though it wasn't quite the truth. He was sure that she had plenty of things on her plate without him adding his pointless worries to her shoulders. Besides, he had no choice in the matter. He had made his bed and now he had to lie in it. How could he tell her that the reason he was feeling such a despondency in his chest was because, after today, he would never see her again? It was more than he could bear to think about. He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to beg her to forgive him for lying to her. He wanted to tell her that he liked her, that even though they had only known each other a week, he already considered her a friend. He wanted to tell her that he'd like to carry on being her friend, if she felt the same way, and ask her if she would consider spending time with him in other places beside the park.

He couldn't. He couldn't bear to face his shame.

And so he held his tongue and tried to force himself to concentrate on anything but what this final parting would mean. At least he could enjoy the time he still had left with her, and treasure the way she had made him feel. It had been a very long time since he had last felt like he had something to truly look forward to. Meeting Anna in the park really was the highlight of every day for him, and she had restored his faith in humankind somewhat.

"Can we stop for a minute?" Anna asked at length. He glanced down at her, wearing those small shorts and shivering slightly.

"Never mind me, are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she responded. "I just want to pause for a moment."

"You'd be warmer if we kept going," he pointed out. "You're hardly dressed for the weather."

She giggled at that. "I got used to being dressed inappropriately for the weather a long time ago. I'm just usually a lot hotter and sweatier by now than I currently am."

John blinked, refusing to even let his mind go there. As determined as he was to always treat other people with respect, it had not escaped his notice that Anna was a very beautiful woman and, if he allowed himself to, it would be very easy to imagine her in less than innocent positions, especially when her slightly flirty tone led him in that direction too.

"Even so, it's hardly warm out," he said. "I'm freezing and I've got a jumper on."

Anna shrugged. "I'll survive. Besides, I'm sure Isis will be happy to keep me warm. She seems a very loyal sort to me."

"She probably will keep close to you," John conceded. "She seems to think highly of you."

"Then let's stop for a minute," she pleaded. "I won't be able to stop for too much longer because I've got to get to work, but I don't think there will be any harm in five more minutes. And we're in a nice spot here. It's sheltered from the wind."

What could he say to that? Nodding reluctantly—he wouldn't forgive himself if she ended up catching a cold—he stopped.

"Sit," he said to Isis. Surprisingly, all she did was thump her tail on the ground before obeying. That was a first. So far she had made it her mission to disobey him in as many different ways as she could.

Anna slid herself gracefully to the floor, winding hr arms around Isis' neck and pressing her cheek to her head. Isis wagged her tail harder. She seemed to like having Anna so close to her.

"Do you remind if I stay standing?" John asked. "I'm afraid if I get down there I won't get back up."

Anna's eyes widened. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I never thought of that. It's fine, I can get back up—"

"You'll do no such thing," said John. "I'm rather flattered that you didn't think about my leg. It's not a sensation I'm familiar with." He was used to sneers, to jeers, to being told to stop faking his injury so that he could get his hands on benefits. All of it sickened him to his stomach. It was refreshing to be in the company of someone who didn't seem to give it a second thought. She had never once stared at him, nor had she ever asked how he obtained such a life changing affliction. He was grateful to her for both.

"I'd still feel more comfortable if we were both doing the same thing," she said. "I hate craning my head back to look at people from this angle. It just reiterates that I never really grew."

"There's nothing wrong with being small."

"I don't think you'll convince me of that."

She started to get up, but John stopped her with a brief touch to the shoulder.

"Stay there," he said. "You spend enough of your day on your feet as it is. Rest them while you can."

"No, honestly, it's fine—"

"Are you always as stubborn as this?" he asked exasperatedly, trying to hide his affectionate smile. He could well imagine her using this determination as a force for good, compelling those around her to better themselves whether they wanted to or not.

"Yes," she said cheerfully. "It's something you'll have to get used to, I'm afraid."

Her words instantly dampened his mood. For a moment, he had almost been able to forget what the next few minutes would bring. Alas, reality could never be staved off for long.

"I'll come down to you," he said quickly.

"But you've just said you find it difficult to get down!"

"I think I can manage," he said stubbornly. Gritting his teeth, he used his cane as purchase as he slowly struggled to the floor. It was a painful experience. He never had to drop lower than the sofa usually, and this was so much lower.

Anna made an impulsive move to help.

"I said I'm fine," he said, his tone coming out much snappier than he'd intended. Pain always made his temper fray.

Anna shrank back at once, and he felt shame instantly. It wasn't her fault. None of it was. She had simply been offering a kind gesture, as she would with anyone she knew, and he had thrown it back in her face because of his hurt pride. He sighed ruefully.

"I'm sorry," he offered.

"That's all right."

"No, it's not. It was bull-headed. I'm not usually like that, I promise. But I'm touchy about my leg. I don't like any attention being drawn to it if I can help it."

"That's understandable," Anna said softly. "I don't blame you for that. If I were you, I wouldn't want people to question my capabilities either. I know that your injury doesn't define you. I'm sorry if I made you feel that way."

"You didn't," he said quickly. "Truly. I'm too touchy for my own good sometimes."

They fell silent for a moment. Isis yawned widely and pushed herself between their bodies, putting in the wedge. She was a warm heat, and John fussed her ears idly, staring out at the beauty of the park, wondering just what he ought to say next. Anna's soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Of course," he said, shaking his head to clear away the cobwebs. "What is it?"

She bit her lip. "Can I…can I ask how you got it? Your injury, I mean?"

The words brought an explosion of sourness in to his mouth. All at once, the memories came back. The cloying earth, so saturated with blood; the metallic stench of it in the air, so overpowering that he was sure that it would suffocate him; the sound of the bullet as it whistled from the barrel of the gun; the strange hissing noise it had made as it had pierced his skin; the overwhelming pain, so great that he had screamed out begging to die, so great that he had lost consciousness.

"John?"

He shook himself, forced himself back to the present, back to Anna, back to the reassuring weight of Isis beside him. His mouth was dry. "I was in the army before this. I fought in the Falklands. That was how I got it."

He heard Anna suck in a breath. "That must have been awful."

"It was."

"And it must have been very hard to deal with. I've seen trauma in people before. Some of them never adapt to a different kind of life."

"It took me a long time to do so," John agreed, thinking of all the nights he had been so drunk he wouldn't even have been able to remember his name, of all the times that he had wished never to wake up again as he drank himself into black oblivion. He was glad he had managed to pull himself out of that hole. It was somewhere he never wanted to return to ever again. Getting Vera out of his life for good had been a positive reinforcement for that. Once she was gone, he had found it easier to breathe. Easier to build himself back up and try to be the man he had always wanted to be, the man who could make his mother proud. It had not been easy, of course. But, finally, he felt like he was on an even keel once more.

None of this was stuff that he could divulge to Anna. As much as he trusted her, he didn't want her to know the true extent of his shame, of the depths he had fallen to after the injury. He had a feeling that she wouldn't judge him—she had probably seen plenty of cases in her time as a nurse—but somehow he felt that it would damage the image she had of him, and that was one thing he couldn't bear. He wanted her to like him, not to be disappointed in him. And, if they were to part after today, he wanted her to at least have some fond thoughts of him. It was selfish, but he could not control the way he felt.

"I'm lucky to still be walking," he said lowly, wanting to give her something more than just the basics. He would not tell her the exact circumstances surrounding the injury—he did not deserve the praise, nor did he enjoy the worshipping looks people shot him when they thought they were conversing with a hero—but he wanted to give her something. To prove to himself that he trusted her. "At the time, the doctors were uncertain. It tore right through the ligaments and shattered the kneecap. They thought I might have to have it replaced, but they managed to patch it up a bit. But they couldn't remove all of the bullet without damaging the nerves in there, so they had to leave it. They're hoping to give it another go one day if the shrapnel moves to a less dangerous position, but I can't say I really see the point of it now. I've accepted it."

"And that's so commendable," said Anna. "You ought to be proud of yourself for that. So many people seem to think that a disability means the end of a good life, but that doesn't have to be the case at all."

"You've seen your fair share of trauma." It wasn't a question; he could tell by the look in her eyes.

"I have," she said simply. "And not all traumas are visible."

There was something about her tone of voice that made him want to push her further, but at the same time there was something in there that made him sense that it would be dangerous to push. Nevertheless, it gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hoped that whatever traumas she had seen hadn't been too damaging. It was always so hard to tell with people. Some showed no outward signs of trauma. He had known men in the army who had been the life and soul of their unit, who had gone home and killed themselves when it was all over. And women knew so many different horrors to men. Far more frightening ones for the way that some men could turn in to animals. His own mother had suffered at the hands of his father. He prayed that Anna didn't have a similar experience. But he could not ask. It was far too personal. Far too intimate. He contented himself with the thought that whatever she might or might not have suffered at some point in her past, she must have overcome it to be the person that she was today.

"Very wise," he said softly.

"But it's not a very cheery subject," she said. "Let's talk about something else. I'd be very interested to hear some of your reading recommendations."

He smiled gratefully at her. She always knew exactly what to say to make everything better. Already the atmosphere had lightened in the wake of her smile. "A fellow reader?"

"I love reading," she said enthusiastically. "Unfortunately, I don't have as much time as I would like to pick something up, what with how unpredictable my shifts can be. But I would love to have some suggestions for when I do have the time. And writers always seem to have good taste."

"How do you know if I have good taste when you've never read anything I've written?" he joked. "For all you know, I could be worse than E.L. James. My list of recommendations might be no better than Twilight."

Anna giggled. "I don't think there are many writers in the world who are worse than E.L. James, John. And I'm sure you could do much better with that kinky stuff than she did."

He arched an eyebrow at her even as he felt his cheeks flooding with heat once more. "So you're confessing to having read Fifty Shades of Grey?"

"I think half the female population has. It didn't do anything for me, though."

He refused to follow that thread of conversation any deeper. "I can certainly give you a list of recommendations if that's what you really want. I've read some things that have changed my whole perception on things. Here." He shuffled around in his back pocket, searching for the ratty notepad and the pen that he always kept there, in case ideas or fragments of sentences caught him unaware. He found a clean page and penned down some titles in his firm, looping hand, hoping that she'd be able to read what he'd written. He tore it out and handed it over to her. Anna's eyes lit up as she drank in the words greedily.

"Thank you," she said. "This is perfect. I'll look them up tonight."

"You don't have to do that," he said; the last thing he wanted was for her to push herself in to something that she wasn't truly interested in just to feel like she was doing the right thing, especially when this was their last meeting.

"No, I want to," she said enthusiastically. "This is brilliant. Just what I was looking for. It'll keep me going for ages! Usually the only things around the flat these days are fashion magazines that my flatmate brings."

She had mentioned her flatmate several times. That didn't mean anything, of course. There could be a Mr. Right on the scene, just that they weren't serious enough just yet to be living together. Either way, it was an impertinence to ask. It wasn't any of his business. And he certainly shouldn't even be thinking about it. He shook it away.

"Well, I hope you find something in there that you like," he said.

"I'm sure I will," she said. She tucked it down the front of her tight t-shirt—and he was definitely not going to go there—and glanced at her watch. Her face fell.

"I really should get going," she said. "I can't be late for work."

"Of course," said John automatically, but inside he was screaming, begging her to stay for just a moment longer, until he could gather up his courage to tell her the truth. The words rose in his throat and got stuck there, strangling him. All he could do was watch as Anna pushed herself gracefully to her feet.

"Bye," she said to Isis, bending down to fuss her. The dog leapt up at once, yapping, running in circles around her. Anna giggled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Silly dog," she said affectionately. She turned her gaze on him then. "Bye, John."

"Bye," he echoed, the word so very final. She set off at a brisk jog, throwing a lingering look and one last wave over her shoulder before she was gone. He remained sitting there for a time longer, staring at the spot she had vacated, wishing that he had been brave enough to make different decisions. But he had not been. So there was little point in dwelling on it.

"Come on," he sighed to Isis. "We need to get you back now."

She whined, as if in agreement with his silent wish that they could stay longer, perhaps wait here all night until Anna returned in the morning. With great difficulty he struggled back to his feet, rubbing at his knee as it twinged painfully. It really was not made for hunkering down on the floor like that. Once the pain had settled, he tugged on Isis' lead, forcing her to walk with him. She whined again, looking up at him with huge, brown eyes, as if begging him to reconsider.

"Too late for that, girl," he muttered. "And don't look at me like that. It's not my fault, all right? Besides, it's not going to matter to you anymore. You're going back home soon and everything will be as right as rain in your world again."

Isis only huffed, as if she thought him very stupid indeed for being so passive in this situation.

"Bloody dog," he mumbled, and refused to look at those accusing brown eyes the rest of the way home.

At five o'clock that evening, the doorbell rang. John had just been sitting down with a microwaved lasagne, and he sighed, putting the tray on the floor.

"Don't you dare go near that," he warned Isis, whose nose had started twitching with interest at his movements. He heaved himself up off the sofa and limped towards the front door. He was greeted by the round, cheerful face of his best friend. Robert Crawley was tanned and probably a stone heavier, and seemed to have a new lease of life.

"Hello, Bates, old boy!" he said cheerfully. "How wonderful to see you again!"

"Hello, Rob," said John, trying to inject as much enthusiasm as he could in to his tone. "How was the trip?"

"Oh, spectacular!" said Robert. "It was wonderful for me and Cora to get away together on our own. We've always got one of the girls around and it was nice to actually spend time together without being interrupted all of the time."

"Please don't tell me any details of your sex life," said John, stepping back so that Robert could squeeze over the threshold. "I'd really rather not know."

"Only because you're jealous that you don't have one of your own," Robert said. "Here, I've brought you something back." He thrust a paper bag at John's chest. Blinking, John fished the contents out. It was a fridge magnet that proclaimed, Number One Dogsitter.

"Gee, thanks," he said sarcastically, stuffing it back and vowing that it would go in the next charity bag that fell through the letterbox. It went completely over Robert's head. He was busy looking around the small hall.

"Well?" he demanded. "Where's my girl? I would have thought she'd have been dying to see me!"

"Clearly I've looked after her too well," said John, leading the way down the hall. "She's decided that she likes living with me more than she likes living with you."

"Very funny. I'll have you know that Isis is very loyal to me. She wouldn't dream of leaving me. I'm more sure that I'll have her until the day that I die than I am Cora!"

"Well, I don't think anyone could blame Cora if she'd had enough of picking your smelly socks up from the floor," said John, remembering their days in the army. It was an urban myth that the army made a person tidy; as many times as he had been punished, no one had been able to make Robert tidy up his act. Rooming with him had been the most infuriating part of his entire career.

"You're being a bit of an arse this evening," Robert said good-naturedly. "Are you that disappointed to be losing Isis? I told you that she'd grow on you."

It wasn't the thought of losing Isis that was making him feel so down in the mouth. But the last thing he would ever admit to Robert was that he had met a woman in the park. He would have a field day with that one. Ignoring the jibe, he limped in to the living room.

"Oi!" he yelled.

Isis' disinterest in her master's return became completely apparent. She had her nose buried in the dinner that he had placed on the floor. At the sound of his voice, she looked up, bolognaise sauce all around her muzzle. She didn't look the least bit concerned that she had been caught disobeying a direct order.

"Bloody mutt—!" John stomped towards and snatched the tray away from her. In the background, Robert chuckled.

"That's my girl!" he said, and Isis finally seemed to register his presence, yapping joyfully and almost knocking John over as she rushed over to leap up at her owner. Robert fussed her like a man who hadn't seen the love of his life in over a decade, and John moodily shoved his tea in the windowsill until he could get past the heartfelt reunion that was taking place. That was his tea ruined. There was no way he was touching another mouthful of that. He'd have to chuck the cutlery and plate out too. No amount of washing would erase the traces of doggy drool in his mind.

At last, Robert finally seemed to register that they weren't alone. He glanced up at John. "Thanks for taking care of her, mate."

John only grunted; he was still smarting about the fate of his food.

"She's looking well. Have you been following my instructions?"

"To the tee. She never once set foot in the park at the end of the street."

"Good man." Robert patted her approvingly. "Well, I'll get her out of your hair. I'll expect you'll be wanting some peace and quiet now. Have you got her stuff for me?"

"It's all bagged up and ready to go. I'll get it for you."

Robert went back out in to the hall whilst John limped towards his bedroom, scooping up the carrier bags and taking them back to his friend. Robert looped them over his wrist and clipped Isis' lead on to her collar.

"Come on, then, girl," he said. "Let's get you home." He tugged on her and she bounded after him, nary giving John a second glance. Charming. Robert paused in the doorway. "Thanks again for all of this, mate. I know where to turn to next time I have to go away."

"Now wait a minute there!" John said, alarmed. "I agreed to do it this one time as a favour. It can't become a regular thing…!" Because even if it did, it wouldn't help his cause. Anna would surely wonder why she didn't see him for months on end, only for him to turn up with Isis for a few days before disappearing again.

But Robert merely waved at him as he moved off down the path, and John slammed the door behind him, quietly simmering. His irritation was justified and understandable. It had absolutely nothing to do with his regret that his final excuse to keep seeing Anna had trotted out of the door. No, absolutely not.

He stomped back in to the sitting room, snatched up his ruined tea, and threw the whole lot in the bin. He couldn't be bothered to scrounge up a replacement. Not that it mattered.

He'd lost his appetite anyway.

It was with some trepidation that Anna dressed for her daily run on this gloomy morning. Mary had confirmed to her the previous evening that Robert and Cora were home, which meant that John had probably given Isis back. There was a small chance that he would walk her one more time this morning, but she doubted it. Robert wouldn't want to be away from his beloved canine companion for a second longer than he needed to be. He'd probably fetched her home the very second that he'd returned.

Even so, there was still hope. And even if he didn't have Isis with him, perhaps he would turn up anyway, contrite and sheepish, to admit that he had lied to her, that he didn't have a dog but he had enjoyed her company very much over the last few days and that, if she could forgive him, he would love to spend time with her away from the park. She'd accept instantly. There was no sense in making him squirm. And she'd have a confession of her own to make in turn.

That tiny ball of hope glowed in her chest all the way to the park, warring with the more realistic part of her. The usual people were already there, but there was no striking profile that signalled John was waiting for her. Her heart sank. But perhaps he had been held up. She should at least wait for a little while.

She waited for almost half an hour before admitting defeat and dragging herself home. It had always been a long shot, she had known that, but somehow it stung to a painful degree. She'd almost been certain, despite not acknowledging it, that he'd be there. And now she felt stupid. Let down. Perhaps the bond they had been building up over the last week hadn't meant anything to him. Perhaps she was guilty of doing what she always did, expecting too much of people. Wanting them to give the same commitment that she did. Too nice, she heard Mary's voice say in her head, and it soured her mood further.

It also seemed to be the catalyst for worse things to come. Everything that could go wrong did. Irate patients yelled at her about waiting times. She forgot her money for dinner and had to go all day without anything to eat. A child kicked out at her when she tried to examine his leg and caught her painfully in the side. Her shift ran two hours over because the nurse covering the next shift did not turn up and she had to wait for someone else to pick up the gauntlet. By the time she arrived home, she was tired and more than a little cranky. She only managed to grunt in Mary's direction before heading to her room and throwing her things to the floor. She collapsed on her bed and scowled at the ceiling.

There was a knock on the door.

"Go away," she snapped.

"I will not," said Mary. "Has something happened?"

"No, everything's fine. I'm just tired. It's been a long day."

"You're a horrible liar, you know. Now, you might as well let me in because I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong."

"I really hate it when you're persistent," she said grumpily. "Why can't you be like a normal person and leave me alone if I tell you I'm fine?"

"That's boring," Mary said breezily. "Now, open up."

Scowl deepening, Anna hopped off the bed and undid the door for her friend. Why she didn't let herself in was a mystery to her. It wasn't a strange code of honour, that was for sure. She never usually had qualms about interrupting her privacy. Stomping back over to her bed, she collapsed there as Mary bustled her way inside.

"Right," she said, no-nonsense as usual, "explain."

"I've told you: it's nothing. I've had a bad day at work, that's all. You know what it can be like, working with the public."

"Actually, I don't, but I'll take your word for it. I'd never work directly with the public. Ungrateful shits."

"Let's not forget who gives you the millions every year," said Anna.

"Thousands, darling, not millions. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Anna rolled her eyes. Pedantic irritant. "Is that all? Because I haven't got anything else to say."

Mary huffed. "Fine, be like that. I was only trying to be a good friend."

Anna sat up on her elbows. "You are a good friend. The best. But you're far too enthusiastic sometimes. Sometimes a girl just needs space."

"Fine," said Mary, holding up her hands. "I can take a hint. But I hope you know you can talk to me about anything. Because I have seen you plenty of times when you've come home in a mood after a bad day at work. I recognise the signs. This seems to be more than that."

"I'm really not in the mood for the shrink treatment."

Mary narrowed her eyes. "But you will talk to me eventually."

"Only because you're so nosy. Will you at least leave me to brood in peace for the time being?"

"Fine, have it your way. But a problem shared is a problem halved."

Or a problem doubled if Mary was involved. Just the idea of telling her that she had been having daily meetings in the park with her father's best friend made her shudder. Mary would never, ever let her hear the end of that one, and no doubt she would try to read more in it than was really there. No, the quicker she could come up with a valid excuse for her disappointment, the better.

But not tonight. Tonight she would simply allow herself to feel the disappointment without analysing it.

"Tell you what," she said. "You go and put us something in the oven. I'm just going to nip in the shower again and I'll be right with you. I promise I'll stop being a grumpy arse. I'll even let you tell me about the hunk you had a meeting with the other day."

Mary's eyes lit up. "Deal."

"It's not to say I'm going to go out with him, though," she warned. Mary was notorious for picking out the worst people possible for a date. She had dated several frogs in the past—the worst by far had been Tony Gillingham, who had been unable to accept that what they'd had had just been a meaningless fling and had subsequently stalked her for a while, begging her to reconsider. The fact that Mary hadn't deemed it worrisome enough to report to the police spoke volumes about her narcissistic steak—she seemed to take it as a personal insult if a man wasn't completely destroyed by the end of their relationship. The last thing that Anna wanted to happen was to get saddled with some creep she couldn't get rid of, who was more than likely only going to be interested in sex. She was in no rush. The single life wasn't treating her too badly, and she was old enough to believe that if it was going to happen, it would. There was little point in worrying about these things. Her life was rich the way it was; she only wanted to let a man join if he was going to enhance it. But getting Mary to talk about it would at least distract her for the time being.

"Don't be long," Mary chirped now, ignoring what she had just said. "I've got so much to tell you! I really do think you'd get on like a house on fire…" She bustled out of the room with an added spring in her step. Anna rolled her eyes at her back, smiling slightly. Thank goodness it was so easy to derail her. She'd never get a moment's peace otherwise. Though, in fairness, she had probably created an even greater problem now. If she thought that she'd given an inch, Mary would push even harder for Mystery Hunk.

The prospect was still preferable to her finding out that she had been spending time with John Bates and was now gutted that it had come to an end. She couldn't have it both ways. This was the choice she had made. She was just sorry that it was over before it had even started. There had been the promise of a great friendship there, and it was a shame that it hadn't had the chance to bloom into something strong and good quality.

Alas, things didn't always work out the way that one might hope. All she could do now was be grateful for the time she had shared with him. Unless she could be brave herself.

The thought lingered, not allowed to fully form just yet.

For the next few days, John was beyond miserable. The house felt too big and too empty. It wasn't Isis' presence that he was missing, however. It was someone else entirely.

Anna, of course. Anna, who had touched his life so unexpectedly in such a small space of time.

He found that he missed her more than he could ever hope to—or want to—articulate. The mornings yawned on forever in front of him. Even walking, which he had taken to doing daily, didn't help, because it only highlighted how it could have been brightened by a lively conversation with Anna.

Worst of all, he had lost his ability to write. No words would flow from his fingers. The blinking cursor on the blank Word document tormented him. Tortured him. Showed him again what a failure he was. He hated it with every fibre of his being.

It went on for almost a week. He found that he had little appetite. The writing did not improve. He was having trouble sleeping.

The solution was obvious, of course. What he really needed to do was go back to the park. He knew Anna's routine. As long as she wasn't on an afternoon shift, or a night one, she would be running in the park at the exact same time every day. He would be able to catch her if he wanted. All he had to do was explain himself. Apologise for lying to her. Beg her for forgiveness. Ask her if she would consider being his friend in more than just a polite acquaintance way. He was sure that it could thrive in other environments besides brief chats in the park. He found her interesting, lively, fun. He hoped that she at least found him engaging in return. And if she told him that she didn't want to see him anymore, then that would be that. He would respect her wishes totally, and curse himself for being stupid enough to break her trust in the first place. If only he had been honest with her from the beginning. Why had he been stupid enough to lie to her on that fateful April morning? Honesty was always the best policy; his mother was fond of telling him that. He should listen to her advice more often. She was rarely wrong. He wondered what she would say now if she knew that he'd messed up again. Probably roll her eyes, tell him that he'd never learn. Well, she was wrong this time. He had learned his lesson in a most painful way.

But…but perhaps there was something he could do to redeem the situation.

The thought matured over several days and he let it, turning it over as he might an idea for a novel. He scratched at it, changed things around until it was ready to present. It was the maddest idea he'd ever had and yet, somehow, he could make it work. At least for a short time. At least until he could explain himself properly. Gain the courage he needed to face his transgressions head on. There were a hundred things that could go wrong, but there was also one way it could go right. He was not a gambling man, and those odds were terrible, but it was a risk he had to take for the promise of the reward. All the maddest ideas in history seemed to have worked. Why wouldn't this one?

It would, he promised himself. Or so he hoped.

The very next day, he found himself pulling on his coat and heading outside before his self-doubts could talk him out of it. The morning was chilly, and it was an incentive to quicken his pace. The wild lawns eventually gave way to pristine gardens, the sort that were all replicas of each other, like something out of The Stepford Wives. It was most disconcerting. John had never liked this side of town, which seemed intent on suppressing individuality. At last, he was upon the centrepiece of the town. Downton Abbey was a magnificent sight to behold, and even though he had seen it a hundred times now, it still took his breath away. It looked like the sort of home that ought to have housed earls and countesses a century ago. In fact, Robert had confirmed as much. It suited his lavish personality. Money was never an issue to Robert Crawley.

He trudged up the long drive to the front door and banged the heavy knocker, ringing the bell for good measure in case there was no one near the front door. He was waiting for almost five minutes before the door opened, and Robert faced him, red in the face.

"Bates!" he said in surprise. "I wasn't expecting you! Is there something wrong?"

"No, there's nothing wrong," said John, hoping that his voice sounded steady. "Can I come in? I've been mulling something over and I've got a proposition for you."

"Of course you can come in," said Robert, standing aside at once. "It all sounds very intriguing. Would you like something to drink?"

"A tea would be great, thank you." It wasn't said without some trepidation; if he was bad in the kitchen, it was nothing compared to Robert. Mary had often said that if her father ever ended up living alone, they would find him collapsed on the floor because he had no idea how to use the oven. His attempts at making tea weren't any better. He always made them too milky for John's liking. Still, he would take it: there was always too much alcohol on offer at Robert's house, and the last thing he needed was to weaken after five years of sobriety.

"Cora's out," said Robert as they made the long trek through the house to the kitchen. John said nothing. He had a lot of respect for Cora, who had steadfastly steered Robert through some tumultuous times, but he preferred to avoid her if he could, too. Even though she was always polite to his face, he had suspicions that she had never really liked him that much. He could understand, really. He had been a hellion by his own admission in his youth, what with the bursts of temper, the fighting, the drinking. She'd probably thought that he was a bad influence on Robert, who was naïve and easily led. And he quietly believed that she was a little bit jealous of the bond he had with her husband, too. He and Robert had been bound closely by war and death and the uncertainty of any moment being their last. They had shared things with one another that they would never share with anyone else. Some people could accept that. Others had a harder time. Cora clearly fell in to the latter category.

"Take a seat," said Robert, gesturing to the breakfast bar as he bustled over to the kettle. John winced as he hoisted himself up on a stool, resting his cane up against the counter. He leaned on his elbows as he watched his friend's progress around the room. What should have been a five minute job turned in to fifteen. At last, Robert slid a weak cup of tea towards him, the lukewarm liquid sloshing over the sides and splashing over the saucer beneath it. He cursed as he reached out to mop up the excess which had landed on the worktop. John accepted the cup with half-hearted thanks, bringing it to his lips and trying not to wince as he took his first sip. Robert took a seat opposite him, not even bothering to touch the cup that he had made for himself.

"You said you had a proposition for me," he prompted. "I'm all ears. What is it? Have you come up with a marketing strategy or something?"

John snorted. "I have to finish the book and know where the bloody hell it's going before anyone can start to think of a marketing strategy. And that really isn't my forte. I'll leave that to the experts."

"So-called experts, anyway," Robert muttered. "That Thomas Barrow has a lot to answer for sometimes."

John knew vaguely who his friend was talking about. He had met Thomas Barrow on a few occasions, and he had always come across as a very unpleasant young man. He didn't want to know what he'd gone and done this time. Let Robert sort that one out for himself. It was none of his business.

"So what is this proposition if it's not work related?" asked Robert.

This was it. Everything rode on this. Suddenly finding the floral pattern on his mug very interesting, John said, "I was thinking that there might be a way for us to help each other out."

"You're still not making things plain, mate. Come on, spit it out. In what way?"

Nothing else for it. John took a deep breath and plunged right in. There could be no sugar-coating it. He had to say what he had to say. "With Isis."

Stupefied silence met his statement. He risked a glance up to find Robert staring at him.

"I'm lost," he said at last. "Why on earth would I need help with Isis? She's perfectly happy."

"I don't mean to suggest that she's not," said John hastily. "God knows I've never seen anyone dote on a dog the way you do on her."

"So what exactly are you suggesting?"

"Well, as much as I hate to admit it, having Isis around did me some good."

"In what way?"

John tried to shrug casually. "It made me do something for once. Usually I spend all of my time holed up in my spare bedroom trying to write. Having Isis forced me to go outside and do some exercise in walking her."

"Okay," said Robert, still frowning.

"And you've said yourself that walking her in a morning is a nightmare because you never have the time, what with having to get to work. So…so I was thinking that perhaps I could do it."

If it was a possibility, John was quite sure that Robert's jaw would have hit the floor. "Excuse me? You're offering to walk Isis?"

"Yes," he said, hoping that he didn't look as guilty as he currently felt.

"Why on earth would you want to do that?"

"I've just told you why."

"And that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life. If you want to walk a dog so badly, get your own."

"I don't want my own," said John. "The walking is quite nice, but I don't want the baggage of the rest of it. Having Isis for those two weeks was more than enough."

"I'm sorry, but I just don't buy it. I just don't see you as the sort of person who suddenly becomes all health-conscious. You smoke, for Christ's sake, and you eat more takeaway than McDonalds makes."

"Perhaps that's exactly why I want to start walking Isis. I want to change my ways."

"Rubbish. There's more to it than that." Robert narrowed his eyes in an uncharacteristically shrewd way. "I know you better than anyone, Bates, and I know what a stubborn arse you are. You haven't changed your ways in twenty years. In fact, the only time I ever remember you not being a self-centred sod is when…" His eyes widened, and John felt a cold tickle at the bottom of his spine. Shit. Surely he hadn't been rumbled.

His worst fears were confirmed.

"The last time you changed your behaviour just slightly was when that harpy caught your eye. And you used to fall over yourself when a pretty girl looked your way. That's the only explanation there is. So, come on then, out with it," said Robert, snickering. "Your attention has been caught by some gorgeous, big-breasted brunette, hasn't it?"

"No," said John, scowling. "Don't be so stupid. I told you, I have no interest in seeing a woman again." Which wasn't a complete lie. In some respects, it was perfectly honest. Anna wasn't a beautiful, big-breasted brunette. She was a gorgeous, blonde, wonderfully average-sized—Christ, not that he'd been looking in that area. It was just a statement of fact. He wasn't the kind of man who leered at young, pretty women. But he was also an artist, and he was trained to take note of absolutely everything. And even if she had caught his attention—which she absolutely hadn't—he wasn't stupid. He had absolutely no chance of ever seeing a woman like her. She was far too good for him. He just couldn't quite seem to distance himself from her.

But that was only because he liked her and was interested in befriending her properly. It wasn't like he had many friends left these days, burning all of those bridges in his youth thanks to Vera and their destructive relationship. It would be nice to at least have someone other than Robert to sometimes see, if she was interested, and he didn't think that there was anything wrong in being drawn to someone who shared similar interests and made him feel at ease in a way that many people hadn't for a very long time.

"Whatever you say," Robert said, grinning like a loon. "I know your type. I bet she's a real hell raiser. Just promise me that you won't be introducing us to another Vera. My heart won't be able to take it, and you know the doctor has concerns about my health."

"Bugger off," John said heatedly. "I'm telling you the truth. I haven't fallen head over heels for a brunette I met in the park. That's just insulting. You might not want to believe what I said because it's boring to you, but it's the truth all the same: taking Isis for a walk encourages me to blow off a few cobwebs and it gives me some sorely needed exercise. I thought I might be doing you a favour by offering to take some of the pressure off you but if you don't want the help then fine. It's no real loss to me. I just thought I'd do a good deed."

"Well, there's no need to be hasty," said Robert. "But I do disagree when you say it isn't any real loss to you. If it wasn't, you wouldn't have offered in the first place. You'd've gone for a walk on your own. Though I suppose some of your reservations might be justified. If I ever saw you wandering around a park on your own I might think you'd escaped from the madhouse too."

"Charming as ever." John brought his cup to his mouth and forced himself to take a mouthful just to give him something else to focus on. "Fine, if you want to think that way, think that way. I know the truth and I'm not going to be embarrassed." He put his cup back down and made a show of checking his watch. "Anyway, I'd better be getting back. I have some writing to do and I've wasted enough time as it is. Thanks for the tea."

He slid off his stool and grabbed his cane, limping towards the door. In his head, he began to count. One, two, three, four…

"Bates, wait a minute."

Five. Bingo.

Trying his best to appear casual, John turned back around. "Yes? What is it?"

Robert stood before him, looking decidedly torn and frustrated. John waited a few more beats. Victory was all but his. He just had to be patient.

"Fine," Robert ground out at last. "I suppose what you're saying makes sense. I don't have that much time to walk Isis in a morning, and Cora hates having the job if I overrun. I don't suppose there can be any harm if you take over the task. But you can't shirk your duties. If you're serious about doing it, you have to be here every day for six fifteen. Isis hates having to wait for her walks and it's not fair to make her."

"I'll be there," said John. "I found that taking her at that time suited me too." In which ways, he would never breathe a word of.

"Fine, then. When do you want to start?"

"Tomorrow is as good a time as any," said John, his heart thumping loudly in his chest at the mere thought of potentially seeing Anna again in less than twenty-four hours. He was sure that some of his eagerness must be showing on his face. It would be impossible to mask the odd combination of thrill and terror that was currently swirling around in his stomach.

But if Robert picked up on it, he never mentioned it. Thank God. Instead, he only nodded and turned back in the direction of the mess he had made.

"I'd better get this sorted out," he said mournfully. "I suppose I'll see you in the morning when you come to collect Isis."

"If you're not running behind somewhere," John quipped. "I can let myself in with the key you gave me, don't worry. Just leave her leash somewhere accessible and I'll slip in and out like a mouse. You won't even notice I've been."

"Well, I will notice because Isis won't be here. But I trust that you'll bring her back safe and sound."

"On my honour," said John, bending down to stroke her ears. She had been lying in the corner quietly this whole time—a transformation to her usual energetic self. "So I'll see you tomorrow, Isis. You remember our walks in the park, don't you? I'm sure we'll be just fine together."

Isis thumped her tail against the floor, tongue lolling out; those brown eyes seemed to know exactly what he wasn't saying, but the secret was safe with her.

The morning couldn't come quickly enough.

The days had plodded by at an unacceptable pace for Anna. It was absurd to think so, but there was a fact that she couldn't deny anyway:

Her days had gone quicker thanks to John Bates.

And how absurd it really was. How could a man that she had met just a few times over a brief period have brought so much sunshine to her life? Sunshine that she had never considered to be lacking, either. It was ridiculous, really, and totally uncharacteristic. She enjoyed socialising and meeting new people, but she had never met someone who intrigued her the way that John Bates did. Not even Mary, who she loved dearly, could compare. Which she hoped that Mary never found out about, for her best friend was sure to be offended. As narcissistic as they came, she would probably see it as an insult that she thought someone else could compete with her.

But, yes, absurd. That was what she was sticking with. And so she threw herself back into her daily routines. With a heavy heart, she texted Ethel and let her know that she was ready to start running again. She threw herself into the endless work that came her way. And, when she visited the park on those early morning runs, she tried not to glance hopefully about, expecting to catch a glimpse of John Bates.

Ethel's man drama made it a little bit easier to manage. As Anna had predicted, Rory had only been interested in one thing, and once he had got it, the bloom had quite gone off the rose. In the few days that they had spent shagging, Ethel had told her, he had not once enquired about her son, or shown any interest in Ethel beyond what she could do in the bedroom. Anna wasn't ungracious enough to say "I told you so", but it was on the tip of her tongue anyway. Since splitting with her ex, she had become an astute judge of character where men were concerned. She could spot a rat a mile off now. The git also had the audacity to show his face at the park, jogging round idly as if nothing had ever happened and turning his attention to the next gullible girl to stray across his path.

"I ought to warn her," said Ethel, no less feisty for her fall from grace. "She ought to know what a prat she's getting herself involved with."

"She might just think you were a jealous ex," sighed Anna. "The noble intentions don't always work out. I don't know what to advise you for the best. Hopefully one day he'll get his comeuppance."

"Hopefully," Ethel said fervently. "God, I can't believe I was so stupid. What on earth did I see in him in the first place?"

Anna deigned not to answer.

Unfortunately, her days did not brighten from there. Work was harried and stressful, and although she relished the frenetic pacing because it made the time pass faster, it also had a detrimental effect on her mood; there was nothing worse than dealing with rude, self-entitled patients. When she finally dragged herself home at night, it was to more of Mary's prying and poking, which did nothing to appease her irritation.

"You're just so quiet!" Mary was fond of saying. "Honestly, I barely recognise you. I know something has happened. I just wish you'd tell me."

"What's happened is that I'm tired of you questioning me all the time," Anna said grumpily. "There's nothing wrong. I'm just under a lot of pressure at work at the moment. That's all."

"Then if that's the case, you really ought to do something to decompress. Like go on a date."

"I am not going on a date with anyone you've picked out."

"But you said you'd consider it! And that's a very harsh thing to say. I have good taste in men, thank you very much."

"So Tony Gillingham was good taste, was he?"

Mary flushed and glared at her. "That's below the belt. I was lonely, you know that. And I can hardly help it if men find me irresistible. I didn't ask him to follow me around like a lovesick puppy."

She'd never deterred him, either, which had no doubt encouraged his stalkerish behaviour. Creepy didn't even begin to cover it. Even so, none of this was Mary's fault and it wasn't right to take it out on her. Really, she ought to come clean about the whole mad episode. Mary was likely to have a field day, but Anna had never enjoyed lies and deceit, especially when she knew what it was like to be on the receiving end. This situation was vastly different, but even so. She did not want to be associated with liars and cheats, however slight her crime was.

Then again, it could mean admitting to everyone that she'd known who John Bates was right from the beginning, if they ever turned up to the same Crawley function, and that was a situation that she also wished to avoid. She had no wish to cause him any undue discomfort in his own lie.

She'd rather not think about her forgiving attitude when it came to John Bates' deceptions.

So she kept her mouth shut, and life continued as normal, each day blurring in to the next. It would get better over time, she knew that. Disappointment was but a brief thing, and she had learned the hard way a long time ago not to wish for things to be different, because that never got a person anywhere. Accepting the reality of a situation was the best thing she could do, and she was practical if nothing else. She would be more than fine in a few weeks.

Or she hoped, anyway.

When John's alarm went off the next morning, he uttered not one word of complaint as he rolled out of bed and stumbled into his clothes. He splashed cold water on to his face and gave his teeth a vigorous scrub before grabbing his jacket and heading outside into the brisk air. The walk across town was completed in record time, and soon he was fishing the key that Robert had had cut for him out of his pocket and letting himself inside the house. It was so vast that oftentimes it was impossible to hear activity in other corners of the house, and he thought better about yelling to let Robert know he was here in case Cora wasn't up and about yet—highly unlikely at this time in the morning. Instead, he limped down the hall and whistled, grabbing the lead that Robert had left out as promised on the side bureau.

"Isis!" he called. "Here, girl!"

She must have heard the clinking of the lead, for in the next moment she had appeared in the kitchen doorway, tongue lolling out. Yapping, she hurtled towards him, her claws clattering against the tiles. John tried to brace himself as she hurled herself at him, wincing as his knee wrenched just slightly, his cane losing a little purchase.

"I guess you're excited about your walk," he said, patting her head and trying in vain to push her back down. "Come on, girl, how about we get this lead clipped on, hmm? The sooner we do that, the sooner we get out of the house and into the fresh air." And the sooner they made it to the park, where they would hopefully run into Anna Smith again. His heart thumped at the mere thought of it, and he forced it down. Now was not the time to get distracted by emotions. He had to keep a level head, reminded himself that it was ridiculous that he was allowing himself to feel this way. No wonder Robert thought he was socially awkward if he allowed himself to get worked up about just seeing someone he considered a friend.

Shaking his head, he at last managed to hold Isis still long enough to secure the lead. Wrapping it firmly around his wrist, he struggled to lock the door behind him as she zigzagged around him, her tail just a blur as she took in the familiar scents and sounds of the neighbourhood. At last, they set off together. The closer they got to the park, the more that John's senses of anticipation and anxiety grew, knotting and wriggling in his stomach like live snakes. His step faltered only when they reached the familiar entry gates. Because what if he was doing the wrong thing by pursuing this? He already knew that it was a mad idea. What if he was just opening a can of worms?

What if, what if, what if.

Isis gave him no room for more debate. With an excited woof, she yanked forward on the lead, almost making him lose balance. He managed to catch himself before he wrenched himself any further, and reluctantly allowed her to guide him closer. It was too late to get cold feet now. Isis would not forgive him for dragging her away from the park when she had come so close to it, and he had heard several reports from work colleagues about how their pets' sulks were legendary. He did not own her, but he would rather avoid having a grudge held against him by a dog.

Sighing, he steeled his nerves and took his first step inside.

It all came flooding back to him in a moment as he trudged the familiar path. The air still smelled ripe with an unsavoury combination of duck excrement and daffodils. It was not a pleasant smell. The air still rang with a chorus of barking dogs, quacking ducks, and the pounding of feet on gravel as the early morning runners stormed by. John tried not to let his gaze flicker eagerly between them all, desperate to latch on to the flash of blonde hair that had become so familiar to him during such a short space of time. He caught sight of several people he recognised, and his heart lurched when he recognised Pretty Boy, jogging with a different woman now. So Anna had been right after all: he had dumped her friend for the next best thing as soon as the fresh prey had unsuspectingly run by with a nice, round arse. That had to have hurt. Did it mean that Anna and her friend had given up running? She had mentioned that she had only done it in the first place because her friend had railroaded her into doing it, and if they had decided to stop then there was probably no chance of him ever seeing her again…

God, he was a fool for thinking that there could be any sort of future in this, platonic as he saw it.

Aimlessly, he wandered around the park, letting Isis take him where she wanted to go. She, at least, was enjoying herself, and he was happy to drift along beside her, lost in his own ruminations. He went through the motions of tossing a stick for her, and remembered at the last second to clip her lead back on before doing the circuit around the duck pond. It was also where they ran into the little terror terrier, and he had to hold her back as the two dogs started up their usual growling at each other. The terrier's owner huffed, and rolled her eyes at him, as if they shared some secret bond. He raised a weak smile in return and tugged Isis away when it looked like the woman wanted to find a way of opening a line of conversation. He was not in the mood for that today.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the flash of blonde he had been longing for.

His heart stopped.

Surely it couldn't be…?

But it was.

Anna.

She was jogging along the winding gravel path, ponytail bouncing, pink-cheeked and as lovely as she'd always looked. But she was not alone. Her friend, Ethel, was with her once more. He was frozen with indecisiveness. What should he do? He wanted to go over there and say hello, but a bigger part was shying away from that. The last thing he wanted to do was attract a lot of suspicious looks from Ethel. He wasn't sure how much Anna had told her friend about him, and he didn't want to make things awkward for anyone. Disappointment sat heavily and uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach, like a stone. He had told himself not to get too ahead of himself, but it seemed he had failed dramatically; seeing her there, so close, made him feel as if he was in the desert and was being denied a taste of the oasis. He watched her go past like an anonymous vagabond might, in a crowd, watch a princess. She had not noticed him.

Isis, however, had noticed her. She barked and yanked on her lead, as if commanding him to follow her, and he had to tighten his grip on it until it cut into his palm to stop her from breaking free and giving chase.

"No, Isis," he scolded. "Not today. We can't see Anna today."

Not today. But what if it extended beyond that? To tomorrow? To a week from now? All of it would defeat the purpose of walking Isis if he couldn't even grab a thirty second conversation with Anna. He would be like being King Midas, unable to do more than look at whatever he loved the most for fear of turning it to cold, unusable gold.

Which, realistically, meant that he had a decision to make. What was the point in all of this if he was going to loiter in the shadows? He had to grab the bull by the horns and say something, even if it was just a quick hello. At least that way he would be able to gauge whether this was a good idea or not. He was good at reading people. It wold be easy to back off and disappear forever if she didn't seem pleased to see him. He wouldn't bother her again after that. But he had to know, once and for all. And if he embarrassed himself in front of her friend, so be it. It wasn't like he'd be seeing Ethel again, either.

Screwing up what little courage he had, he slackened his grip on Isis' lead.

"Fine," he sighed. "You win. Lead the way."

With a joyful bark, Isis bounded forward, and John gritted his teeth against the jolt in his knee as he tried to keep pace with the energetic dog. He tugged her, guiding her to the left. It would probably look less weird and stalkerish if he came up from the side of them rather than behind. At least that way it wouldn't look like he'd been desperate to catch them up. No, he was simply walking his dog and just happened to be crossing their path.

Christ.

He kept his gaze fixed determinedly on the ground just in front of Isis as the two of them cut across the grass. Casual. He had to play this casual.

Isis let out an excited boof and strained forward on her lead even more, and he knew that they must almost be at the point of conversion. His hand shook as he tried to guide her.

"Steady," he muttered, not entirely sure of who he was speaking to.

Three, two, one…

Isis' paws hit the gravel path, and he did a moment later. He glanced up, and his heart contracted in his chest.

There she was, jogging towards him, mere feet away. As their eyes met, she stopped dead in her tracks.

"John?" she gasped.

"Hello," he said, hoping that he sounded as pleasantly surprised as she did.

"What—how—I haven't seen you in ages!" she stammered.

"Isis hasn't been very well," he said, thinking on his feet and suppressing a guilty wince—if Robert ever found out that he'd tempted fate like that, he would probably kill him. Quite literally. "So I thought it best that we just stick to little walks nearby so that she wasn't being over-exerted."

"Oh, I hope it wasn't anything too serious," said Anna.

"No, nothing as serious as all that. Look, she's as fit as a fiddle now." He glared down at her, wishing she'd follow his lead and act a little bit more like a dog in recovery as she alternated between zigzagging backwards and forwards and straining up on her back legs to indicate that she wanted to greet Anna properly.

"Hang on—" said Ethel, frowning, and John felt his heart rising into his throat as he glanced across at her.

"Ethel," said Anna, in a tone that he'd never heard her use before, authorative and dangerous—no doubt the kind of tone she used when she was confronted with difficult and rude patients at the hospital—and Ethel closed her mouth at once. He tried to stop his own face from falling into a frown. What had Ethel wanted to say?

Whatever it was, he wouldn't find out from her. With a look between the two of them, she muttered, "I'll meet you at the bottom in a minute, Anna," and headed off. John watched her go for a moment before he was brought back to the present by Anna. She stepped towards him, wavered for a moment, then stuck out her hand. It was an awkward and rather endearing gesture.

"It's so nice to see you again," she said as he took her hand to shake. "I started to worry when I didn't see you for a few days. I thought that perhaps I'd offended you."

"And how could you have done that?"

She shrugged. "I thought I'd made a mistake when I asked you to tell me about your time in the army."

Now he felt guilty that he'd made her feel that way. If he'd told her the truth from the beginning, he could have avoided that.

"I promise, it didn't offend me," he rushed to say. "I just…Yeah, Isis was ill."

She laughed, bending down to fondle her. "You've already said that. So does this mean that you're here to stay?"

Her turn of phrase made it difficult to swallow past the lump in his throat. She looked at him hopefully, and he found himself caught by her blue eyes.

"Yes," he managed.

"That's great!" she beamed, then blushed slightly; she had sounded very enthusiastic about that fact, and it stroked his ego—but only because he was relieved that she truly was pleased to see him.

"So, how have you been?" he rushed to ask to fill the gap.

Anna tucked a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. "Oh, great, thanks. Really great."

"Glad to hear it."

"And what about you? You must have been very worried when Isis fell ill."

He shifted, feeling guilty all over again. "I was, yes. But that's passed now."

There was a slightly awkward pause. Anna's gaze slid past him, and he half-turned too, zoning in on where Ethel was standing by herself, looking sulky.

"I should get going," Anna said apologetically.

John felt his insides sinking, but he tried for a smile. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry for slowing you down."

"I've told you before, you could never do that!" she protested. "But I'd better not keep Ethel waiting any longer, and I don't want to be late for work." She took a deep breath. "Will you be back tomorrow?"

He nodded, heart thumping. A broad smile broke out across her face.

"Good," she breathed. "Then I'll try and find a way to come alone so we can have a proper catch up. I don't think Ethel would appreciate being the odd one out. Meet me at the usual time?"

"O-Okay," he said, feeling the tightness in his chest dissipate somewhat.

"Great. See you tomorrow, John. I'm so glad to see you again." She reached out and squeezed his arm, so briefly that he almost thought that he'd imagined it.

"You too," he said as she drifted past him. "See you tomorrow."

He watched her go, waiting until she had pulled her friend into a crowd before turning to look down at Isis.

"Well, girl, that went better than I'd thought it might," he told her. "And she said that she'd meet us tomorrow. Aren't we the lucky ones, eh?"

Isis barked her agreement, nuzzling against his hand. He patted her muzzle absently for a moment. Yes, it had gone much, much better than he'd thought. There was a warm, happy glow in his chest that grew and spread, taking over every inch of him. It was a very pleasant feeling, and he basked in this foreign sensation of contentment before he shook himself out of it. He was lucky that Anna had been happy to see him, but he had to put that to the back of his mind now. He had some work to do when he got home, and he couldn't afford to be distracted all day just because he had got the outcome that he'd so desperately desired. That was stupid, reckless behaviour, behaviour he might have condoned in the past. But no more. He was a grown man who was just happy to have his life on an even keel once more. He intended for it to stay that way. No complications. Just a nice, easy time.

"Come on, Isis," he said, tugging gently on her lead as she continued to stare longingly after Anna. "It's time we got you home."

And with that, he turned in the opposite direction and began to trudge away.

Without preamble, as soon as they were out of John's eyesight, Ethel grabbed hold of her and gave her arm a sharp squeeze.

"Hey!" said Anna in indignation, pulling free. "What on earth is that for?"

"You tell me! What the hell was all that about back there?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you play dumb with me! He called the dog Isis!"

"So?"

"So there's only one person who would be weird enough to call their dog Isis, and that's your friend Mary's dad. I might never have met him but I have heard Mary talking about him and the dog before. What was that bloke doing with Isis, and why the hell was he trying to make out that Isis belonged to him? And why did you seem so very cosy with him?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Anna said crossly. "I wasn't being cosy with him."

"You could have fooled me. Spill. It's quite clear that you've met this bloke before. Is he the reason you were being so shirty with me about the jogging? So you could meet him alone and go for some secret trysts? You're as bad as I am! Worse, because you were so high-and-mighty about Rory!"

"It's nothing like that!" snapped Anna. "I've seen him around a few times and spoken to him. That's all. That's it. The most I've ever done is shaken his hand, thank you very much. I have absolutely no intentions of it being any more than that. He's a nice person and I'm being polite."

Ethel snorted. "Polite. Sure."

Anna felt her temperature simmering. "I don't know why you're making such a big deal of it."

"Because it has to mean more than you're letting on, and I'm bloody incensed that you lectured me about Rory when you're going about doing exactly the same, and being so shady about it!"

"I've already told you: we have never slept together!"

"But he wants to!"

"Don't be so stupid!" Anna's voice rose several octaves, and she winced at how shrill she sounded. But she couldn't help it: she was truly getting cross now. And she was a little cross at herself for reacting that way, as if she was guilty of some heinous crime.

Regretted, just a little, that she had been caught out in a lie and now needed to do some desperate backpedalling to at least try to make it seem less scandalous.

She tried to soften her tone now, tried to keep her temper at bay. "I swear on everything, it's nothing like that. I just…I met him—John—on the day that you were busy shacking up with Rory when I came for my morning run. Isis knocked me over, actually, which is how we got talking in the first place. And yes, I admit it, I did see him a few times afterwards, but we truly did nothing more than exchange a few words. And I didn't tell you about it for precisely this reason."

Bristly and curt, Ethel said, "And what reason might that be?"

Anna rolled her eyes. "Immediately jumping to the conclusion that we'd been at it somewhere when in reality he's nothing more than a nice man who I see almost as a friend."

"I'm not sure I agree with the assessment that he's a nice bloke."

"And why not?" Anna felt her hackles rising; never before, in all of her life, had she ever felt the need to defend a man like she did John Bates. It was odd, really. For a very long time she had believed that all men were pigs, and that had only been increased tenfold when she had split up with her ex. And yet there was something about John's wide, kindly face that she couldn't help but trust. She had no reason to doubt him, and couldn't understand why anyone else would think differently to her. Nor did she want to hear what others might be saying about him.

Ethel shrugged. "I'm just saying that I don't think there's anything to find nice about a bloke who lies about a dog. I tell you, he's doing it to get into your knickers. It's weird."

"Stuff and nonsense," she said hotly. "He's very shy. I think he just panicked. Mary told me that he was looking after Isis for Robert when he and Cora went away."

"So Mary knows about this?"

"No, not about this, but she knows John personally. He's Robert's best friend. They served in the army together. I know he's trustworthy."

"I fail to see that, but I suppose it's your mistake to make. Just don't come crying to me if it all goes tits up."

Anna gritted her teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. Ethel was only being sore because she was seeing a hypocrisy that did not exist. She did not want to fall out with her friend. "Can we start walking now? I don't want to be late."

"Whatever." Ethel set off at once. Anna almost had to jog to keep pace with her. But the conversation wasn't over. There was still the small matter of tomorrow to discuss. She might as well go all in.

"I've said I'll meet him tomorrow," she said tentatively.

"Of course you have," Ethel said in a monotone. "So I take it you don't want to come jogging with me?"

"We could go earlier?" Anna offered. The last thing she wanted was for her friend to feel neglected. "And then I could hang around to meet him afterwards."

Ethel shook her head. "No chance. I've got Charlie, remember? I can't leave him with the babysitter any earlier than I already do."

"Oh, yeah," said Anna. "Well, maybe we can start doing in the evenings if I'm not on an afternoon or night shift?"

"We'll see."

"And you won't tell Mary about this, will you?" she said.

"I barely ever speak two words to Mary. You needn't worry. I'm not going to tell her. Though I'm sure she'd be very interested to know that you've got the hots for her dad's best mate."

"I haven't got the hots for him."

"Sure, whatever," said Ethel. "But that sounds to me suspiciously like you're planning on continuing this for a very long time, and the only true explanation for that is that you fancy him and just won't admit it."

Anna said nothing. It really wasn't worth arguing about.

And, on some level, she suspected that Ethel wasn't entirely wrong. Not about the motives behind it, of course. But there was something very intriguing about John Bates, and she wanted to at least try to unlock some of the mystery that surrounded him.

She hadn't expected to see him there when she had gone on her jog today. When her eyes had met his, she had felt the most intense, pleasant jolts she had ever known. Exhilaration, excitement, a few nerves…it had been a delicious sensation. If that could happen after only a few meetings, how could their friendship change if it was given more time to deepen and mature?

She couldn't wait to find out.

"You're in a better mood tonight," Mary commented when she at last got in from another long and gruelling shift.

"Am I?" Anna said casually. She shrugged off her coat and hung it on the hook by the door, resolutely sidestepping her friend as she leaned in the threshold to the sitting room, eyebrows raised.

Mary narrowed her eyes at her. "Very much so. What's happened to put you in such a good mood?"

"Nothing," she said. "I just need to get my scrubs off. Won't be long."

Before Mary could say another word, she slid past her and entered her bedroom, sharing a guilty, sheepish smile with her reflection.

Something had happened. She could feel it in the seismic shift beneath herself, breathing life into her once more. It was a sensation that she rather liked.

And it was a rather lovely secret to have.

For the second day running, John barely had the energy to concentrate on anything. It was ridiculous, really. He was a fully grown man and he was struggling to contain his excitement. It should not be that way. Seeing Anna again was supposed to have settled him, not made him even less able to focus.

He supposed that perhaps that would change once he'd been given more than a brief, teasing taste of her, as he had been today.

He had little sleep once more, and was round at Robert's a touch early. He loitered outside until the appointed time, his impatience growing, then hurried in. Once more, the house was silent, Robert getting ready in another part of it, but he had left a note out on the worktop. John bent over to read it as Isis jumped up around his legs.

Thanks, mate. Really appreciate this.

If only Robert knew. Guiltily, John clipped the lead around Isis' neck, scribbled, No problem, mate, beneath Robert's own untidy scrawl, and headed outside. The wind was brisk and refreshing, and Isis barked joyfully at being free once more, sniffing at the flowerbeds and marking her favourite lampposts as she passed. On pins and needles, John waited for her to finish, urging her along as quickly as he could.

At last, Downton Park came into view. John's heart was speeding like a freight train in his chest, and he felt uncomfortably sweaty under the armpits. Christ, he hoped it wouldn't be noticeable.

"John!"

Damn. There was no time to surreptitiously check. It was Anna's voice that had called to him, as sweet and welcoming as melodious birdsong, and he found himself drawn to it at once. She was standing at the park's gates, arms folded over her chest, dressed in her usual running clothes. Isis woofed happily and this time he let the lead go; she bounded over to Anna at once, tail just a blur. Anna bent down to greet her, laughing when she was almost knocked off balance as Isis tried to clamber into her lap.

"I'm not sure you're small enough for that anymore," she said, kissing her silky ears. "You're not the pup you once were, are you?"

Isis whined as if in disagreement, snuggling her head further into Anna's lap. John limped up in a much more dignified manner, finding that he couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"Hello," he said softly, a little disappointed that he couldn't find anything wittier to open conversation with. It didn't seem to matter; Anna's face lit up as she turned her gaze to him.

"Hello!" she replied enthusiastically, untangling herself from Isis with great difficulty. "How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks." He was much better for seeing her. "You managed to arrange things with Ethel, then?"

"Oh, yes," she said. He wondered just what she'd said to make that happen, and decided that it was probably better not knowing. Suddenly, he felt a little shy in her presence. It was ridiculous, really. They had been getting on so well before he'd had to return Isis to Robert. He'd never felt that way before. It was strange.

Anna must have noticed his discomfort, for she smiled at him gently. "Shall we get on?"

"Yes," he said, relieved. He was sure that he'd feel better once they fell back into some kind of routine.

"Can I walk Isis?" Her eyes were dancing with child-like glee, and his lips turned upwards of their own accord.

"Of course you can," he said. "It'll give me a nice break. I can barely keep track of her as it is."

"She's just excited," said Anna. "I can't blame her for that."

He felt some of that himself. Thankfully, he could at least act in a more decorous manner. Straightening up, he looped the lead around Anna's wrist and leaned heavily against his cane.

"Lead on," he said, and they fell into step together.

He couldn't believe just how easy it could be to regain the nice rhythm that they had had before. They did not miss one step, his clipped gait matching up perfectly with Anna's smaller strides. They moved along together with nary a space between their bodies, but it did not feel uncomfortable or invasive.

"How's the job?" he asked as they walked.

"Oh, the usual," said Anna lightly. "Hectic and exhausting, but very rewarding."

He frowned. "I hope you've been getting enough rest."

She shrugged. "I don't think there's a nurse in the country who ever really gets enough rest, but it's a sacrifice we make. Though I won't pretend that there aren't times that I don't long for some annual leave."

"And there the government goes, making cuts to the NHS again," said John.

"Unfortunately, there's not a lot we can do about it. We just have to do our jobs as best we can."

"I hope you're at least taking care of yourself. You can't let yourself suffer for your job."

"My flatmate has been surprisingly kind recently. You've nothing to worry about on that score. She's looked after me very well indeed."

"What does your flatmate do?" John had to admit that he was a little curious; Anna had mentioned her flatmate several times, but she was still a figure of mystery. She played her cards close to her chest on that one, and a small part of him wondered why. Then again, they had only known each other for a short time. It was only natural that she was only allowing him to see a small glimpse of her life. Perhaps, in time, that would change. He himself hadn't shared too many details with her, for fear of unravelling his lies before he had had the chance to be honest on his own terms.

"Oh, she runs her own business," Anna said airily. "So she gets to set her own hours. Needless to say, she's not there very often at all. I don't think I've ever seen a time when she isn't home before I am. But that's had its perks recently. I've not had to do much cooking, at least."

"That is a bonus," said John, thinking of the too-frequent takeaway boxes that piled up in his bin. His mother despaired of him, saw it as her greatest failure that he had not turned out to be a gourmet chef. Between her and the army, he had learned enough to get by, but it wasn't an experience he enjoyed. And, most of the time he was so caught up in his own world that he completely forgot about eating; when he realised that he hadn't eaten in hours, it was far too late for him to really want to begin cooking something from scratch. It was far easier to reach for the nearest menu and order in.

"And what about your work?" Anna asked.

John snorted. "It can hardly be called 'work', not in comparison to what you do."

"I disagree. It might be in a different way, but you bring joy and hope and entertainment to people's lives too. I think yours is much nobler. If the world is magical enough, you help people to escape their reality, even if it's only for a short while."

"You're far too kind. And unfortunately, it's not been going so well lately."

"Oh?" There was a touch of concern in Anna's voice. "Whys that?"

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Oh, you know how inspiration is. It comes and goes so fast that I can hardly keep up with it."

She frowned. "That doesn't sound good."

"I'm still on target for getting the first draft done. It's not something to worry about. There are plenty of worse things happening in the world."

"Even so."

"I've just got to keep plugging away at it. Everything will fall into place eventually." He hoped so, anyway. Now that he had reunited with her, he hoped that his muse would settle down and start playing bloody ball.

They continued their slow amble around the park, filling each other in on the small details in their lives that they had missed in the past few weeks. As they came to a rest on the large, open grassy space so that they could play fetch with Isis for a few minutes, John screwed up the courage to ask the question that had been burning on the tip of his tongue from the moment that Anna had agreed to meet with him.

Hoping that his tone was casual enough, he said, "So, um, how did you manage to meet me here without Ethel? You could have brought her along if you'd wanted, I wouldn't have minded." It was a lie.

Anna shook her head, looking a little sheepish. "I just told her that I fancied a break from the running again."

"And she was okay with that?"

"Yeah," she said, but there was something just the tiniest bit off about her tone, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Did she ask many questions about me?"

"No." Anna's short answer indicated that there was perhaps more that she wasn't willing to say. He burned with curiosity, but it was not his place to push if she did not wish to tell him. He turned his attention to Isis instead, taking the stick from her mouth and launching it for her to chase once again. He watched as she hared off after it, limbs long and powerful, almost tumbling over in her haste to bend down and snatch the stick up into her mouth. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, fighting a smile. The dog was most certainly taking after her master.

"I'm glad I caught you again," he said at last, as the silence stretched between them. He kept his gaze on Isis, but caught a flash of Anna's gold hair out of the corner of his eye as she whipped her head round to look at him, felt her gaze heavy on him.

"I'm glad too," she said at last, and he felt the warm ball in his chest expand. She was glad that they had come back together. There was still plenty to make him feel guilty, make him question whether what he was doing was the right thing or not. He was horribly aware of the lie that had brought them together, knew that nothing good could come from building a friendship based on lies.

And yet.

And yet for now, he could be content with the way things were.