Bunty was granted another reprieve (a whole week this time) to go home for a visit. Details notwithstanding, she found herself glad to be back behind the desk of the library, enjoying a danish pastry while Ms Haxelby filled her in on the important news of her absence.

Which wasn't much, really, if you discounted Sid coming in to fix the boiler, tripping over the cat and demolishing an entire bookcase.

This recent calamity meant that when Sid, who really did belong amongst the cast of a Broadway production some days, was eventually extracted from the wreckage of a small chair and well over three hundred thrillers (fotunately majorly comprised of slim paperbacks, which caused minimal damge) he had worked himself into such a state Ms Haxelby decided that she really had better things to do than listen to him and sent him home. Subsequently, the boiler had remained unfixed, and the library was getting rather cold. The drop in temperatures had scared off all the other volunteers bar Ms H and herself, and they were rather startled at how little their workload seemed to have altered. Bunty couldn't help but wonder what on earth the other women occupied themselves with.

After a week away, Bunty found herself longing to chat the regulars again. So when Sullivan came edging through the door, she was delighted.

''Dear Inspector, how are you?'' She grinned, sidling over to him. Sullivan hastily unwrapped his scarf, which was wrapped around most of his face and gave him the ironic appearance of a highway man.

''I'm fine.'' He said, managing a smile back, ''How are you?''

''Happy to be back.'' She smiled.

He shivered again. ''Really?'' He asked frankly, ''The coldest september in Kembleford history and you're glad to be in here?''

''We're not all as thin skinned as you, Inspector.'' Ms Haxelby called from the desk, still in the same ensemble - blouse, skirt and boots - that she wore no matter what the weather. Sullivan frowned looking rather offended, but he didn't have the bravery to retort.

''Why is it so cold in here?'' He persisted, ''Is that boiler still broken?''

''Yes.'' Bunty replied. ''Sid came to fix it but - ''

''I know.''

''He knows.'' Ms Haxelby overlapped. ''He walked in just after the bookcase fell, and helped recover Mr Carter from the wreckage. Very much a knight in shining armour.''

Sullivan blushed profusely. He had a habit of doing that any time Sid was mentioned. Ms Haxelby gave a very knowing look, which Sullivan must have noticed, because he hastily changed the subject.

''Has that copy of Of Human Bondage came back in yet?''

Ms Haxelby furrowed her eyebrows. ''I think so,'' She said, ''I believe it returned just before the great chill came and carried them all off, and they wanted to get home to their fires so quickly they all neglected to write it down.''

''Maybe I'll just go have a look about.'' He suggested.

''Probably for the best.''

He wandered off. Bunty, lacking any other form of amusement, followed him. He selected books at random and scanned through, as Bunty chatted along. Somehow it was easier to talk to the man like this, to his immaculate side profile while he was immersed in a book. She had a feeling eye contact made him feel awkward, but she was happy enough to lean against the shelves and talk to him like this.

''Any scandals when I was away?'' She asked.

''Not unless you count Mrs Morrissey's dog impregenating Mr Gardner's, and over running Kembleford with the oddest pups I have ever seen.'' He said, flicking through a very battered copy of Oliver Twist.

Bunty frowned in confusion. ''Isn't Mrs Morrissey's dog a Basset Hound?'' She asked.

''Yes, I believe so.'' Sullivan agreed, frowning at some rather rude vandalism on a chapter heading.

''What breed is Mr Gardner's?''

Sullivan paused and looked up from his book, towards the ceiling. ''I don't actually know,'' He mused, ''One of those big hairy ones.''

To Bunty, this was a generalisation of all dog breeds on the planet. She opened her mouth to enquire further, decided it wasn't actually worth it and deliberated on changing the subject. Sullivan beat her to it.

''How was your week away?'' He asked, taking Bunty by surprise. ''Where did you go?''

''Oh,'' She exclaimed weakly, ''Just home, see the parents.''

''That's nice,'' Sullivan said absently, flicking through Cold Comfort Farm, ''Did you have a nice time?''

Bunty surprised herself at her confusion at this simple question. In truth, time spent at home with the family had started feeling like a persistent meeting with disgruntled headteachers. They weren't particularly interested in how she'd been enjoying life in Kembleford, and they certainly didn't show any enthusiasm at the amusing tales she'd been amassing in the library.

She must have deliberated a moment too long; Sullivan was looking at her inquisitively, with a fraction of worry.

''Is everything alright at home?'' He asked quietly.

''Oh, of course it is.'' She smiled, ''Just...I suppose, now I'm grown up, they're caught between trying to marry me off and perserving me as a kid.''

Sullivan looked abashed, but gave her a weak smile. ''My dad can't accept I'm not a child anymore either. Until he starts whinging about finding me a wife.''

Bunty snorted. ''Our parents must be friends.''

''They may well be.'' Sullivan smiled.

''No, seriously.'' She laughed. ''What are your parents' names? I want to check now.''

Sullivan's smile wilted. He bit his lip rather anxiously. ''Raymond Sullivan, he's a barrister. My mum was called Emma, if they knew her. She taught sunday school.''

Bunty felt a little tug on her hearstrings. ''I'm sorry to hear that.'' She said sincerely. ''I'm sure she was lovely.''

''She was.'' Sullivan agreed. ''I used to lie in bed beside her and read to her when she was sick - she loved Little Women, so we read it over and over. Though...'' He quickly swiped at his eyes, so swiftly Bunty wouldn't have realised he was welling up otherwise. She instinctively put a hand on his arm, and he twitched at the contact.

''Sounds like you were very close.'' She remarked gently. ''This will sound terribly nosy - and you don't have to answer if you don't want to - but how long ago did she pass away?''

''Twenty-eight years ago.'' Sullivan stated, managing another very watery smile, oblivious to the way Bunty's eyes widened, ''Gosh, you must excuse me for being so emotional about it, it was so long - ''

''Don't apologise!'' Bunty cried, ''You must have been so young - that must have been awful, losing your mother so early in life.''

Sulliva nodded. ''It was horrible. But she was sick for a long time, so I hope she's at peace now. She was one of your lot, you know.''

This offhand comment rather confused Bunty. What lot was she in? Her expressions must have betrayed her, because Sullivan hastily added, ''A Catholic, a very devout Catholic.''

''Really?'' This was news to her, ''I didn't know that.''

''Oh yes, she was so religious that when she got too weak to make it to church, the priest used to come out to say mass with her.'' Sullivan frowned. Bunty stifled a giggle. Obviously Sullivan had a disdain reserved for all priests, not just Father Brown.

''He was a right pri- never mind, I never said that, please don't be offended - '''

''It's fine.'' Bunty laughed. ''It must have been rather irritating having a priest in the house so much when you just wanted to spend time with your mother.''

''Exactly,'' He mused, ''I used to come in after school every day and he'd be sitting mumbling something - he was a prick, there's no other way to put it. Bloody patronising too. Anyway, he'd always go home eventually and I could read to her.''

He smiled again.

''You know something?'' He said, ''After she died, I read it over and over, and the second one too, but I never read the third one.''

''There's a third one?''

''Mm-hmm. Jo's Boys. She swore she was going to read that to me, because I was her boy, but we never got the chance. Never wanted to read it without her.''

He paused for a moment, and looked at Bunty in alarm, before offering her his handkerchief. Ms Haxelby blew her nose very loudly in the background. Sullivan had never felt so strange in his entire life, which was probably what prompted him to pick up The Great Gatsby (which he had read in what must have been one of the most anti-climactic evenings of his life) and his distracted state was what led to the little envelope tucked inside the inside cover to tumble out onto the floor.

He stooped down, picked it up, and, being an inquisitive soul, opened it. Had he have opened a bomb he would have probably been less shocked.

''Bunty?'' He asked distractedly.

''Yes?'' She sniffed in reply, mopping at her eyes.

''Are you aware that there is cocaine being stored in this book?''