I think I maybe ruffled a few feathers with Chapter 33. Yes, it was a very dark and upsetting end to the chapter but our lovely Dempsey is not a rapist. In his confused state between the nightmare and consciousness, he felt he'd lost control. At no time did Harry voice any objection to what was taking place and she was obviously unaware of his thoughts and fears– it was completely consensual. Dempsey would never have intentionally done anything to hurt his beloved Harry, despite his present problems in the handling their relationship... so there!

The next two chapters are in the 'now' just to lighten the mood a bit ;-)

With thanks to Haveunotthought for the guesswork which lead to 'camera seven'.

Chapter 34

Harry was a good twenty minutes getting ready - not that it mattered.

Whilst he waited, he made them tall glasses of lime cordial and filled them with ice before setting up his laptop on the coffee table in the lounge. And after that, he spent a few minutes studying the pictures on the walls, handling the few, select ornaments around the room and trying to decide whether they had been Harry's choice or Philip Cavanagh's.

Dempsey had felt completely in the dark as far as that relationship went. It had seemed relatively straightforward when Harry had explained the situation to him and yet seeing them together this afternoon had made him think there was something amiss. Cavanagh still had a 'thing' for her – that much was obvious and Harry hadn't tried to deny it but there was something else, some tie he had to her. Probably Cavanagh had been her emotional crutch like Julius had been his. When you laid bare your soul to somebody, they owned a piece of it forever and a divorce couldn't alter that, no matter how much you wanted that piece back. Maybe Harry had just felt embarrassed by the two of them being in the same room together; brought it all back – how much she had relied on Cavanagh because of him.

She swept into the room, looking cool and relaxed now in a coral vest top and grey sweatpants. Her feet were bare and she was eating an apple.

"Want one?" she asked, holding it aloft.

He shook his head, smiling. It was nice she could be like this around him; he didn't want her standing on ceremony. Of course, might be she just didn't think he was worth making the effort for...

He let out an unconscious chuckle.

"Something amusing you?" Harry asked.

"Not really."

He hefted a heavy, bulbous bird sculpture he held in the palm of his hand. It was clean and white; very abstract and simplistic but there was something quite charming about it.

"It's a dove," said Harry as he replaced it, "in case you were wondering."

"Bird of peace – I like it."

"Jay made it at school when she was about fifteen."

"Yeah? Kid's got talent."

Harry reached down to the side of the sofa for her handbag. "Let's get down to business then shall we?" she said, extracting a pair of reading glasses.

Dempsey sat beside her at the coffee table, the laptop before them.

"Okay, let's see what we got here." He'd already found the file he wanted so it was just a matter of hitting a key. "You ain't gonna give me a hard time if this turns out bad?"

"I thought, according to you, it already was bad – practically a foregone conclusion. Having second thoughts?"

The screen went straight into an image of Sam Tate opening his front door.

"When was this?" Harry asked.

"Nearly a month ago."

"What time was it taking place?"

Dempsey slid a finger to the bottom left of the screen. "Here. Date, time, duration, time elapsed."

There were three men in shot, all dressed in suits.

"So which one am I looking at?" asked Harry.

"Just watch. I wanna get an unbiased opinion off of you."

"Unbiased? You're trying to discredit my paramour here, Dempsey," she drawled with honeyed sarcasm.

His shoulders rolled in silent laughter. "Don't ask me why but 'paramour' just seems to fit the bill."

Harry glanced at him sharply before giving her full attention to the screen again. "Right. I see three men, respectably dressed. The one in the middle maybe mid to late forties, the other two both under thirty."

Sam shook hands with the older man who crossed over the threshold, followed by the other two men. The image cut to another camera down the hallway and Harry reached for her lime juice, drinking most of it down without taking her eyes from the screen. The men walked in pairs: Sam and the older man appeared to be chatting amicably, the two younger men solemn and silent behind.

"Wonder what's in the briefcase," Harry mused, leaning forward when she caught a glimpse of what one of the men was carrying.

Dempsey didn't reply.

"There's another camera at the far end of the hall," said Harry. "Is there..." The picture cut again, this time to a view of them walking towards a camera and Harry was able to see all their faces quite clearly as they passed into the lounge.

Harry shook her head uncertainly. "Well, obviously we're looking at the older guy. The two heavies would've been in nappies if we'd had any dealings with them." She tapped a finger to her lips. "Can you bring up a still image – close in on his face? I really don't think I recognise him." She looked at Dempsey with a half smile. "Sorry," she said with syrupy sweetness.

Wordlessly, Dempsey leaned in, backed up the footage and zoomed in.

"Nope," Harry shrugged. "Never seen him before."

Give yourself a minute."

With a stoical sigh, Harry shuffled herself forward to the edge of the sofa and rested her forearms on her knees. Involuntarily, her head cocked to the right. Was there something around the eyes that brought a flicker of remembrance?

"Harry?" Dempsey asked, noticing the heightened awareness in her body language.

"No." She shook her head. "You've planted the seed in my mind and now I'm looking for something that isn't there."

"You sure?" He kicked the image into slow motion and Harry watched the man's features mobilize.

"I don't know. Maybe." For the briefest of moments her mind pared away the wrinkles and greying hair, stripped him of his excess poundage and dressed him in shellsuit and trainers.

She continued to stare fixedly at the screen. "I don't know," she repeated.

"But there's something, right?"

"Run it again," she commanded, her chin now resting in her hand.

Dempsey obliged. It happened again at the exact same place in the footage; that tiny spark of recognition.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" Dempsey pushed. "Yes, you know him?"

"He would've been a kid though, wouldn't he? Early twenties at the most." Harry sat back, indicating she was bored with the proceedings although she couldn't quite drag her eyes away from the screen. "And anyway, what exactly does it prove?"

"That shot of them on camera two, Sam and this guy and the other two behind... remember what you said – what your initial reaction was? - 'cause it was exactly the same as mine."

He played it over again. "You said 'the two heavies'."

Harry darted a quick glance at him. "I did, didn't I."

"And these two weren't even worthy of a handshake – you notice that?"

She had. "They're minders, aren't they." It wasn't a question - it was a statement of fact.

"Either that or he's got some real dull friends."

Dempsey sat back against the sofa too. "So, you pick up anythin' from Sam the Man?"

"How do you mean?"

"You know him a helluva lot better than I do; did you see anythin' in the body language – the facial expressions? Was he lookin' happy to you? Angry, surprised – what?"

Harry thought for a moment. "He looked... vaguely solicitous, I suppose."

"And for the English speakers among us?"

She gave him a condescending look. "I do hope you're not including yourself in that category."

"So you're sayin' he looked a little nervous."

"Yes, maybe a little."

"As nervous as you looked on camera seven?"

Harry felt compelled to ask. "Camera seven?"

He grinned. "You know," his eyes darted mischievously, "camera seven... the boudoir-cam." His hands made jerky, jiving movements.

"Ah." Repositioning herself into a more relaxed posture, Harry put her elbow on the back of the sofa and rested her head in her hand to gaze at him serenely. "What did you think to that, James? Did it get my good side, do you think?"

"Let's just say, I was riveted."

Harry smiled pleasantly. "So glad my efforts weren't in vain."

His eyes penetrated deeply as he tried to uncover a double bluff. Okay, so she knew he was fooling but he suspected that had she really done 'the bad thing' with him, even the merest allusion to a hidden camera in the bedroom would be enough to highlight an uneasiness impossible for her to hide completely.

Harry, of course, realised she'd played her hand too early. If she'd had the presence of mind to at least appear momentarily flustered, she might have had him wriggling on a hook for a while. She suddenly felt quite irritated with herself; she wasn't supposed to be playing these silly games, leading James on when all she could offer him was a dead end. But he made her feel so... vital, that was the word that best summed up this slightly intoxicated, breathless high she found herself experiencing in his company. Whenever she looked at him, a quick, asinine burst of happiness pricked at her heart. That was obviously completely ludicrous but now, as when they had been together so long ago, she couldn't resist this brash, annoying, irritating, charming and handsome American.

"Harry." He spoke her name dryly, giving no clue as to where he was going with it.

She replied with equal ambivalence. "James."

Dempsey looked away then, the amused smile about his lips already witnessed by Harry but now directed at the view of the garden through the window.

"Is this somethin' you wanna pursue?"

Harry regarded the frozen image of Sam Tate's visitor on the laptop. "Naturally, we are still talking about this?" She pointed her finger at the screen.

"What else?"

She felt the weight of his gaze upon her lips and they parted without her even realising. "Do you think it's worth pursuing?" she bounced back at him.

"It ain't my call, princess but if it were me gettin' snuggly with Sammy-boy here," Dempsey took a moment to finish off his drink, "I'd be interested in finding out about his friends in low places."

Harry nodded. Ironically, the thought of 'gettin' snuggly' with Sam now held less appeal than the finding out about his 'friends in low places'.

"I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to make a phone call or two," she said mildly. "I was thinking Chas Jarvis might be willing to hand a photograph around the ranks."

"An' if we're right, Chas might even come up with a name himself."

"That, he might." Harry found herself smiling broadly.

Dempsey made an ushering sign with his hand. "So go ahead, Sergeant, make the call."

Sergeant? Was her enthusiasm so blatant?

"Now?"

"Why not?"

Delving into her bag again, Harry produced her mobile and rang Chas on his private number, explaining briefly what it was she wanted and asking if she could email a photograph to him straight away.

"So this bloke," Chas asked, "where do you know him from?"

"He's just an acquaintance of a friend of mine."

"You're being very secretive, Harry – if you don't mind me saying," he laughed.

"No, I'm not!" She decided then that she'd better come clean. "Actually, it's rather a long story, one that involves a friend of both of ours."

"Oh yes?"

"Dempsey."

"Dempsey?" The surprise was evident. "The Dempsey? Jim Dempsey? Over paid, over sexed and over here, Dempsey?"

"The very same. And funnily enough, he is over here – sitting right beside me."

"You've got to be joking!"

"No. He just turned up on my doorstep one morning, which is exactly what you'd expect from him really."

"And how is he?"

"He's Dempsey, Chas – you can't expect me to sum him up in a nutshell!" Harry turned to look at Dempsey as she spoke. "Particularly these days," she added.

Dempsey shouted up, "Tell him his best man wants to buy him a beer,"

"He says he'll buy you a pint, Chas."

"Look, Harry, I've got a window in an hours time. Why don't you both come up to Hammersmith, bring me what you have and I'll see what I can do for you."

"Oh, to be one of the movers and shakers!" she quipped before taking the phone away from her ear and saying to Dempsey, "He can see us in an hour?"

"Sure," Dempsey agreed.

"Chas, that would be wonderful, thanks."

"Oh and Harry," Chas's voice lowered. "I assume you haven't,,, talked."

"You're quite right," she breezed. "See you at five thirty then."

Harry slid her phone shut and felt a sudden wave of reticence. "What the hell are we doing, Dempsey?"

What the hell am I doing?

He grinned. "We're headin' out to our old stompin' ground, partner."