Apologies for the delay in publishing this chapter – real life has intervened in rather unfortunate ways, as it has a habit of doing.

In which Rhiannon has rather a lot to say about certain matters.

Wednesday morning, and it hasn't exactly been the best two days of Rhiannon's life.

She'd spent most of yesterday trying to soothe Martin, who was quite horrified by what he'd told her - admitted, to use his words, as if it was something quite shameful - and trying to persuade him that as today he was booked on a solo flight, it would certainly not be admitting defeat if, for just once in his life, he called in sick.

Martin being Martin, however, that was the last thing he was going to do.

And, in a way, Rhiannon agreed. If Martin wanted to carry on as usual and stick to his schedule, then perhaps a short flight to Leeds Bradford airport wouldn't be too much stress.

A pity that it's a solo flight though - if Douglas were with him, then at least Martin would have the comfort of having a friend with him if it all got too much for him.

Still, at least Arthur's on board.

Although it's always a moot point as to how much use Arthur could be in the event of a crisis.

And it's given Rhiannon some time to do some research into autism.

At times like this, Google is a girl's best friend.

And talking of friends -

Rhiannon reaches for the phone.

-o0o-

Wednesday morning, and Carolyn's world, while it doesn't exactly collapse, certainly shakes on its axis.

She thought when the phone rang that it might be Herc.

It wasn't.

Carolyn had seen Rhiannon in happy mood, and comforted her when she was upset, but Rhiannon angry and in full spate isn't something Carolyn wants to encounter again.

She has a feeling that if they'd actually been face-to-face, Rhiannon might actually have hit her.

'You knew, didn't you? You bloody knew, and could you tell me? No, you bloody well couldn't! You just asked me if I could cope, without having the common decency to tell me what you were on about! Well, I can cope, and I'm going to cope, but let me tell you something, Ms Knapp-Shappey: the next time you want someone to show off to and take to posh lunches, you can bloody well find someone else to play your nasty little games with, because if I have my way I'll never have to speak to you again. From now on in, as far as I'm concerned, you're Martin's boss, and not a particularly nice boss at that.'

Rhiannon pauses for breath and Carolyn tries to explain.

'Rhiannon, dear - '

'Don't you bloody dear me!'

'If this is about Martin's autism, I thought you knew. I honestly thought he must have told you. And when I interviewed him, we agreed that if it didn't affect his work, it was nothing that anyone else needed to know. I promised him, Rhiannon, that I wouldn't tell anyone. It would have broken a confidence if I had.'

'Don't give me that! That's why you wouldn't pay him for years, isn't it? Because you knew?'

It's nearer the truth than Carolyn cares to admit.

'Rhiannon, please -'

'Sod off, Carolyn!'

And with that, Rhiannon slams the phone down, leaving Carolyn wondering what the blue hells she does now.

-o0o-

Wednesday lunchtime and Douglas pushes open the door to the pub.

It's been a long time since he went for a solitary drink at lunchtime. It's been a long time since he needed to.

Today, however, he needs to have a talk. He has a gut feeling that he's inadvertently opened a can of worms - what an odd phrase that is, now he comes to think about it - and he needs to know that he hasn't unintentionally made things worse.

Or, if he has, he needs to make amends.

Christ, what a bloody mess.

Shoulders back, Richardson. Face the music. Time to be a man: it's the least you can do.

-o0o-

Rhiannon smiles as he walks up to the bar.

'Douglas! What a pleasant surprise: we don't usually see you in here. Your usual?'

She does that sleight-of-hand thing she does so well, and what appears to be a glass of Talisker is in fact apple juice. She must be distracting his attention away from the glass for a moment, but he's damned if he knows how she does it.

'Shall I put it on a tab? So you can pay at the end?'

And that way no-one can see that he's actually paying for apple juice. She's a thoughtful girl.

There's no-one else at the bar - there's not many other people at all, and they're all sitting down at tables. Time to bite the bullet.

'I wanted to see you, Rhiannon: I need to know - how's Martin?'

She looks at him.

'He's flying a group of businessmen to Yorkshire today. But you know that, don't you?'

Douglas had known this wasn't going to be easy.

'But how is he?'

Rhiannon pauses to serve one of the other customers.

'Wobbly. A bit unhappy. Better than he was two days ago. This is about Palermo, isn't it?'

Douglas nods.

'It is, I'm afraid. I don't know what he told you, but I'm worried that I may have made things worse.'

'I don't want to say too much, Douglas, but I think that you already know a lot. He came home in a dreadful state - I don't mean he was drunk - I thought he was going to have a breakdown. He told me about his autism and about the appallingly low self-image he has of himself. I understand that there was someone in Palermo who triggered things off. He didn't tell me that you'd been involved. What he did tell me was that you'd said you were his friend. And at the moment that means a lot to him.'

She leans towards him, smiling. This time there's no humour in the smile.

'But if that's not true, Douglas Richardson, if you ever do anything to hurt him, as God is my witness I'll make you suffer for it.'

'Hand on heart, Rhiannon, I never will. I didn't know. I am his friend. Perhaps I should have let him know that. And I've come here to ask you what I can do to help.'

She nods.

'Good. Watch out - the manager's here. Another drink, Sir?'

She pours him another pseudo-Talisker. He watches carefully this time. She's put the Talisker bottle so that it's half-hidden by the till; there's another bottle at the side of it. That must be how she swaps the drinks. But he can't for the life of him see the exact moment when she does it.

They make barmaid/customer small-talk for a few minutes until the duty manager finishes his perambulation of the bar.

'I'll tell you what you can do. You can watch out for him. You can make sure that when someone upsets him, if I'm not there to pick up the pieces, then you are. He's told me about what you said to him about needing to have the right sort of pride in himself. You can encourage that. He's been labelled, Douglas, by people who don't understand him, and a long time ago he started to believe the label, because if you're told something often enough, you believe that it's true. A real friend would help him.'

'I'll do that for him, Rhiannon.'

'It's not going to be easy. We're never going to be able to do anything about the autism, but we can try to make him start believing in himself. And it's going to be hard work and he's going to be bloody annoying, because the last thing he wants - or needs - is pity. But if you want to help, you're going to have to stick by him. If you're going to start, you can't ever let him down. Because if you do, you'll destroy him.'

'Is there anything else can I do to help?'

'Right now? Right now you can go and sit down with your drink and read the paper, before you get me the sack. And in half an hour, you can go and get your car and come and pick me up and take me for a drink somewhere quiet, where you can tell me all about Palermo and I can tell you what you need to know and then we can decide how we're going stop him thinking that he's abnormal. And we are never, ever, going to tell Martin about this conversation.'

'He's a very lucky man to have you.'

She grins suddenly.

'I'm the lucky one. To have him. Now go and read your paper. Oh - and Douglas?'

'Yes?'

'I'm looking forward to hearing exactly why your knuckles are covered in sticking plaster.'