Over the course of Friday afternoon, after her confounding lunch with Christopher, Edith had become more and more exasperated. The more she thought about the situation, the more it became intolerable. All she could conclude was that she seemed to be at a serious disadvantage. For someone who needed to be in control of every aspect of her life, it was a disturbing and aggravating sensation. She needed to speak to Ellingham desperately, and ascertain just what the hell was going on.

She'd tried phoning him at the hospital several times only to be be told repeatedly, and with increasing annoyance, that he wasn't answering when he'd been paged. She'd tried his home number as well but, after sitting through an interminable number of rings, her calls all, eventually, went to his brief and rather terse answer phone message.

After an unsettled couple of hours brooding in her flat, she'd made her way to the vascular department at St Mary's but, frustratingly, he was nowhere to be found. Careful not to sound needy or desperate, her casual enquiries with clerical and medical staff were met with blank looks. She should have known, she thought, as she flounced angrily through the corridors. Of course unfeeling and obtuse Ellingham wouldn't have mentioned to anyone that he was going anywhere, not least her, his supposed fiancé. With her heels clattering angrily on the polished linoleum, and her dander firmly up, she marched her way to the staff canteen to regroup.

After ordering a pot of hot water from the disinterested cashier, Edith positioned herself at the table closest the door where she could best observe the comings and goings of the department. Truthfully, she wasn't sure who, other than Ellingham himself, she was hoping to catch sight of. Chris Parsons possibly, though she couldn't abide the man, and the thought of having to ask anything of him, especially something as humiliating as Ellingham's whereabouts, sickened her to her core. After fifteen minutes of staring down the hallway, and watching the lift doors open and release an endless stream of unattractive non entities into the foyer, she had had enough. There was only one thing for it, she thought, as she took a single sip of her uninspiring beverage of choice. She would have to go to Ellingham's flat.

The walk, however, was longer than she remembered and, after wobbling along for fifteen minutes in three inch heels, any semblance of good humour Edith still retained had left her. When she arrived at the imposing chrome and glass door, she experienced her first moment of good fortune in an otherwise frustrating afternoon; she recognised the doorman and knew that he would at least be familiar with her.

She waited as he assisted a very well dressed elderly woman into a minicab, and greeted him with a wide smirk as he turned to face her.

"Hullo," she said as sweetly as she could. "Dr. Edith Montgomery. I'm a friend of Dr. Ellingham."

He nodded. "Yes, Dr. Montgomery. How can I help you then?"

"Well, it's a matter of some delicacy." She said in a low voice and gave him a knowing look. "May we step inside, aaah Mister...?"

"Smith. Frank Smith. Please allow me." He replied, holding the door open and encouraging her through it with a sweep of his arm.

The spacious foyer was silent, with a calm, almost temple-like atmosphere that Frank Smith maintained with religious devotion. With its chrome railings, terrazzo floors and voluptuous curves, it was a welcome and peaceful respite to the throbbing din of London outside, and a celebration of everything that was laudable about 1930s Art Moderne architecture. All wasted on Edith of course; if she had any interest at all it would only be the value of Ellingham's investment in the building, and the affect the postcode would have in her social cachet.

She fixed her heavily made up, blue eyes on poor, unfortunate Frank and sighed heavily.

"Mr. Smith." She said breathily, placing her pale, delicate hand on his arm. "May I call you Frank? Frank, I know I can trust your discretion."

He stared back at her and, feeling just the slightest bit intimidated, nodded.

"It is a matter of some urgency that we locate Dr. Ellingham. A, ummm, relative is very unwell. I have been asked, as his closest friend, to bring him to the hospital. I've been trying to reach him on the telephone, but he isn't answering..."

She swallowed hard, and stared at him imploringly; taking half a step closer and increasing her pressure on his arm.

"Can you help me, Frank? Do you know where he might be? I've looked everywhere. I'm just a tiny bit desperate."

Frank cleared his throat uncomfortably. He was as discrete as the next man, and he knew the unwritten rules of his position, especially when it came to the comings and goings of the bachelor gentlemen that had lived under this roof over the years. But Dr. Ellingham was a serious and sober young man and, in fact, the young woman in front of him was just about his only visitor in the few years that he'd been a resident. And she was a doctor too, so would she make something like this up? To trick him into indiscretion? If you couldn't trust doctors, who could you trust?

He paused, agonising over whether to tell her the little he knew. She saw him blinking in discomfort, and unable to quite meet her gaze. Time for her trump card, she thought.

"Frank, I'm sure you understand how upset Dr. Ellingham would be, if you knew where he was, but didn't tell me. Imagine if, by the time I do find him, it's too late? I hate to think how angry he'd be."

Edith saw him gulp, and gave him a sympathetic look.

"With you." She added remorselessly.

Frank's hands begin to tremble and he felt his bowels loosen slightly. His mind went back to the time to that dreadful week he'd both mixed up Dr. Ellingham's dry cleaning, and then subsequently forgotten to order him a taxi to the airport. He'd experienced the young man's wrath on a monumental scale and he felt strongly disinclined to ever be on the receiving end of that level of vitriol and humiliation ever again.

"Ummm, well, see I dunno exactly where he is." Frank cleared his throat and looked at his shoes. "But, his motor got serviced earlier in the week, and when the garage dropped the keys off, I did hear him say something to the bloke about giving it a decent run this weekend."

Edith squeezed his arm again in encouragement.

"He's never one for chit chat, as you'd know Doctor, but he was quite chipper when he left earlier. Said he had some errands to take care of, and that he needed to let me know he'd be away for the weekend...Umm, I think I said something, you know, about how the rubbish weather forecast might muck up the last few days of the test match..."

"And...?" Edith urged, trying not to sound too impatient and without relinquishing her icy grip on his arm.

"And he said he couldn't care less...that he, aaah, detested cricket and...ummmm...that he'd be in Cornwall anyway."

As the realisation hit her with a flash, she gave him another of her broad smirks.

"There," she said briskly. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?" And turning on her heel she tottered back out into the street.

By the time she'd walked home, and despite the pain of her feet, her mood had improved. She was almost completely certain that Ellingham had bolted down to Cornwall to visit his aunt. Port Wenn was the place Christopher had mentioned, and Joan was her name. Not much to go on but it was a start. Perhaps he had wanted to tell her about his imminent engagement. That might make sense.

On the way up to her flat, she retrieved her copy of Road Maps of Britain from her car. After spending a few minutes perusing it, her mind was made up. She couldn't wait any longer to have it out with Ellingham. She'd take a train down to Cornwall tomorrow; and she knew that she was resourceful enough to somehow find this mystery Aunt. In the morning she'd sort it all out but right now, she felt unpleasantly wound up and in need of some sort of diversion. Her mind drifted to the two Brazilian naval officers she'd met earlier in the week. Rummaging in her oversized handbag for her phone book, she gave a tiny shiver and smiled.

oooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooo

While her evening had been rather amusing, by the time her train pulled into Bodmin Park Expressway mid afternoon, Edith's foul mood had returned. She'd only been able to secure a second class ticket, and the train was packed with raucous and excitable bank holiday weekend tourists. The carriage was noisy and stuffy, and she was dehydrated, in need of the ladies lavatory, and rapidly losing enthusiasm for her quest.

Staggering out onto the platform, in yet another pair of dangerously high heels, Edith struggled to gain her bearings as she was jostled from all sides by disembarking passengers. Her annoyance grew with each shove, and she began to fight back, using her elbows, until she made it to the relative safety of the public toilets. They were predictably awful and she grimaced as she picked her way through the revolting carnage and attempted to find an at least half decent stall in which to perform her ablutions.

She was relieved to see that there was soap in the dispenser but it proved to be of the impossibly cheap and nasty kind; and the pungent stench of it clung to to her pale translucent skin alarmingly. Of course the towel roll had been pulled out and lay in a sodden mass on the floor besides the basins. Groaning inwardly, she avoided the worst of the grim pools of evil-smelling water and made her way back outside into the sunshine, intent on locating a taxi as quickly as possible.

Edith was relieved to see that the crowds had more or less dispersed, and there were just a few stragglers drifting away toward the half empty car park. She looked around her. There was no signage, indicating the direction of the taxi rank. Indeed, they appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. She turned back toward the main building, hoping to ask at the ticket office but the doors were locked and it appeared unmanned. Muttering angrily under her breath, she scanned the environs for a public telephone and was relieved to see the familiar red box on the other side of the platform.

Stepping into the phone box, Edith was overwhelmed by the smell of urine, and almost gagged. Cursing Ellingham, she used her overnight case to hold the door open while she searched her handbag for coins. Her eyes began to water and she noticed that her temples had started to throb. Her frustration abated slightly when she saw the prominent advertisement above the phone for the local taxi company. She fed the coins into the phone and dialled the number.

It took her several attempts to connect but she persisted, progressively growing angrier each time she had to retrieve her coins and re-feed them into the slot but, eventually, she got through. The handset felt sticky and had a very strange smell so she was unwilling to hold it too close to her face but she managed to request a ride from Bodmin Parkway to Port Wenn and make herself understood. She was dismayed to then be told, in a broad Cornish accent, that the wait would be half an hour. Edith almost screamed with frustration. As she attempted to replace the receiver, she realised that some of her hair had adhered to its sticky surface. With some discomfort, she tugged her head free and began, longingly, to dream of a long luxurious bath.

Edith sat on an empty bench, in the deserted railway station, and tried to compose herself. She detested needless displays of emotion and prided herself on her ability to stay phlegmatic and dispassionate under all circumstances, but today was sorely testing her. She also had an unpleasant underlying sensation that somehow she was being made a fool of. Ellingham had better have a good explanation for his behaviour because she had just about reached her limits. She took a deep breath and sat up straight. Calm Under Fire, she repeated to herself, just as her father had instructed her, Calm Under Fire.

Eventually, a small, grubby taxi pulled up in front of her and a sweaty, overweight, young man clambered out with some difficult. He stared at her, his jaw slack and his eyes unblinking. Finally he spoke.

"Taxi ferr Porwen?"

Edith stared back at him. Without a word, she stood up, ripped open the door, threw her case into the back seat and climbed in next to it. The stench of Body Odour in the vehicle was almost unbearable. She desperately searched for a window winder but she saw with horror that they'd been removed.

She watched as he lumbered around to the drivers side and flopped into the seat.

"Why can't I open the windows?" She asked angrily

He half turned in his seat, as much as his size and the impediment of the steering wheel allowed.

"Huh?" He replied

"Why have you removed the winders?" She shrieked at him

"Oh." He replied slowly. "Dad said people keep gettin' out and leavin' 'em open. He's sick of havin' to close 'em."

Edith felt a scream beginning to well up inside her. She pinched the bridge of her nose and bent her head forward for a moment, until she felt her equilibrium return.

"Ok, right, fine." She said with forced calmness. "I'm looking for a farming property near Port Wenn. The lady who owns the farm is, aah, a middle aged woman called Joan. Do you, by any chance, know who I'm talking about?"

The driver was silent.

"Did you hear me?" Edith snapped.

"I've come from Liskeard." He replied simply.

She threw her head back against the seat and rolled her eyes to the heavens.

"Right," she said through gritted teeth. "Just take me to Port Wenn. The pub, or the Police Station, wherever."

Once again there was a moment of silence.

"The pub, or the Police Station?" He asked in a dull monotone.

"The bloody Police Station!" Edith growled.

He grunted an unintelligible reply, leaned over with some difficulty and activated the meter. Edith was left, drained, in the back seat with just her headache for company. She pulled the collar of her blouse upwards and slouched down into it, in a desperate attempt to bury her nose and mouth behind the fabric and mask his appalling stench. She closed her eyes and tried desperately to relax, slipping her hand up to rub her throbbing temples. Not being able to breathe deeply was limiting her ability to calm herself. She began to rage internally against Ellingham and was rapidly losing interest in what she'd initially hoped would be a spicy reunion. Lordy, he was a dull unimaginative sort but at least he did what he was told and seemed to understand that her needs took precedence. She'd wondered if his aunt's home had four poster beds, which she thought might open up all sorts of opportunity but, inevitably, her very busy night and an early start soon began to overwhelm her. With the repetitive hum of the engine and the gentle side-to-side rocking of the car, she felt herself begin to drift off.

For a moment, Edith slipped into that delicious state of pre-sleep. Like all cold-blooded creatures, the warmth of the sun through the window had a soporific effect. Her head nodded forward, and a thin trail of drool emerged from the corner of her drooping mouth.

The driver observed her, indifferently, in the rear view mirror. His dad had told him in no uncertain terms that he mustn' play his music in the taxi but he'd been driving since half seven that morning and he was sick of it. Besides, the passenger was such a bleddy rude cow that he didn't care what she thought. And now she was asleep so he reached down, defiantly, and punched 'play' on the radio/cassette with his stubby index finger. He couldn't wait any longer, he was desperate to listen to the new bootleg albums that his mate had brought him back from Germany. There was a moment of silence and then the screaming, apoplectic, incandescent rage that was 'Semen of Satan's' particular brand of Death Metal, filled the taxi.

Edith was jolted roughly into consciousness. Her hands went automatically to her ears and, as her makeshift face-mask shifted downwards, her lungs filled involuntarily with foetid air, causing her to retch violently. Bile burned the back of her throat and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she struggled to orient herself. Her head was pounding, and she let out a guttural scream, threatening the driver with all kinds of bodily harm should he not immediately turn it off.

With a look of mild surprise, once again he looked at her in the mirror and, seeing the expression of cold fury in her eyes, he immediately complied. Edith could feel her pulse pounding in her neck, her hands, and even her teeth. Fighting the instinct to roll into the foetal position on the back seat, she propped herself up on her thin pale arms and glared at him with pure hatred in her eyes. Having nothing else to entertain himself for the rest of the drive, he began to hum tunelessly and, every so often, to pop his chewing gum. Edith began to lose the will to live.

After what seemed like an eternity, she saw the coast, and the magnificent sapphire-blue sea, ahead of them. They turned off the main road and made their way down a narrow winding lane and, with relief, she spotted a peeling sign indicating that she had finally made it to Port Wenn. She sighed deeply as rivulets of sweat ran down her back and own her chest, pooling in the cups of her bra. Anticipating a merciful end to her journey, she rustled around in her bag and attempted to locate her purse. For a horrible minute, she could not find it and she panicked slightly, only to discover that it had nestled inside the folds of her compact umbrella. Breathing a sigh of relief, she, once again, felt her stomach again curdling at the driver's repulsive odour and she gagged violently.

By the time she looked up again, they seemed to be in the middle of the village. There was a flattish area where people appeared to milling around; the tide was in and fishing boats bobbed merrily in the small, sparkling harbour. Involuntarily, she begged suddenly for him to stop and let her out. He pulled to an immediate halt, pressed the meter and announced the fare in a disinterested monotone. Edith threw a handful of notes at him and, desperate to exit the vehicle, did not wait for the change.

She stood on the Platt, breathing deeply, the sea air filling her lungs. Immediately, despite the breeze, she noticed a strong, slightly overpowering smell of fish and she concluded that Ellingham's piscatorial obsession must been triggered by his childhood experiences here. She looked around her. There was the pub and she wondered whether that would be a good place to start her search. On closer inspection, it was very busy, and patrons overflowed from the doors. She walked closer, peering at the various buildings, and dodging bollards, small children and slightly inebriated tourists. There was a bench facing the harbour and upon it, a pleasant faced young man with twinkling eyes, sat and observed her, a half drunk pint of beer resting on his belly. She noticed he was wearing a knitted woollen hat and, as she passed, he whipped it from his head in an act of mock gallantry.

Edith eyed him sourly. There was an insolence about him that she resented. She looked away quickly and, to her dismay, felt her shoe catch on the uneven pavement, followed by a distinctive cracking sound as she felt the heel snap from the sole. She toppled inelegantly to one side, staggered a few steps and collapsed onto a low wall, dropping her case and spread eagling herself across the warm stones.

Instantly, she heard the man start to laugh.

"Oh dear, oh dear! What have we got here eh? A classic case of wardrobe malfunction, I'd say."

The man stood up and, with a peculiar rolling gate, came toward her. He looked down at her dismembered shoe and shook his head, chuckling.

"You'll be lucky to find anyone to fix that for you, if you don't mind me saying so. Ask around, my lover, but I suspect everyone will just say 'cobblers to you!' see." And, with that, he began to laugh uproariously at his own joke.

Edith managed to fight her desperate desire to bellow at him to leave her alone. She bent down, removed her shoes and limped away before the dreadful man could make any more jokes at her expense. She went past the pub to where there seemed to be several narrow streets branching off in maze-like fashion. To her dismay, there was no sign of a police station but she did see a sign for a pharmacy so she hobbled off in that direction. A pharmacist was bound to know everyone in a village of this size. Suddenly she began to feel a bit more hopeful. However, as she passed a large, plate glass window, she was dismayed to see that yesterday's impressively high hair was gone, and had been replaced with a red, flaccid, straw-like wad which enveloped her head like an attacking squirrel. She gritted her teeth and swore vengeance against that undeserving bastard, Ellingham.

Of course, when she got to the pharmacy the sign on the door indicated it was closed. Her chest tightened and her fists clenched. She looked down at her feet, her pantyhose now in ruins, and felt the tears begin to prick behind her eyes. Valiantly she fought them back. St. Ethelburga Old Girls did not sob in the street. She leaned against the door and began to pound on it wth every ounce of strength she still possessed.

She heard an angry shout from within but, by now, Edith had nothing to lose, and she continued to beat at the door with flailing fists until she saw rapid movement on the other side of the door.

"We're closed!" Came an indignant shout.

Edith threw her head back and let out a primeval scream. "Open up! It's an emergenceeeeeeeee"

There was a pause and then the door flew open. A youngish woman, with watery blue eyes and lank blond hair stood in front of her; thin lipped and disapproving.

"Please," Edith said roughly, breathing heavily and reaching out desperately towards the woman who stood, staring back at her suspiciously. "I just...need...your...help..."

"I see." She replied cautiously. "And how may I be of assistance?"

Edith stared back at her with relief and desperately tried to bring herself under control.

"I''m Dr. Edith Mont...Mont...Montgomery...I've...come...down..from London..."

"That's a coincidence." thought the young pharmacist. "The second doc-tor from London that's been in to see us today."

Edith struggled to find the words to explain. Her throat was parched, her mouth craggy, and her head was pounding.

"Do...Is..Do...you know...J-J-Joan? Her nephew...Ellingham...a friend...of mine." She added weakly.

A strange, dreamy, distracted look came over the other woman and she stared back at Edith, her eyelids blinking rapidly.

"Oh yes!" She said breathily. "That would be Doc-Tor Mar-tin Ell-ing-ham. He's my, oh, what can I tell you? As well as being a trusted fellow medical professional...Dare I say it? We immediately had such a...CONNECTION. More than colleagues, if you don't mind me saying so. A true meeting of minds!"

Edith put her arm out to lean on the window. The world had suddenly become surreal. "Do you know where he is?" She said weakly.

"Of course I do! He'll be at his Aunt's. Of course he wanted me to join him but I promised mother I'd help her with the stocktake."

"I'm sorry," Edith asked desperately, slowly regathering her wits. "Just tell me, please, what is his Aunt's name. And could you, please, just point me up in the direction of her house?"

"Well it's Joan Norton of course." The young woman answered sharply. "And you can't walk to her house from here, she lives outside the village, up at Haven House Farm. But since you are a friend of Mar-tins, and we share such a special bond, I know he'd want me to help. Shall I call you a taxi?"

With a whimper of exhaustion, Edith slid down the window and sat, defeated, on the cold, damp cobbles.

"If you don't mind" she replied, feebly, and put her head in her hands.

It took nearly half an hour for a taxi to arrive and, to Edith's massive relief, the driver was a well groomed and silent elderly man; a local who needed no directions when given his destination. He did not appear perturbed by her dishevelled appearance, and placed her bag in the boot for her, only glancing briefly at her bare feet. Less than fifteen minutes later, he pulled into a rutted driveway and announced their arrival.

Edith looked around her in shock. The house was a ugly, uninspiring, utilitarian farmhouse, in desperate need of maintenance, and its surroundings were neither stately nor park like. The area around the house seemed to be either devoted to the husbandry of chickens, or otherwise left to attain jungle-like qualities. She was silent for a moment and then the most uncontrollable fury began to mount inside her. She felt the veins in her neck bulging and pure venom bubbled up through her throat.

Once again, she threw a handful of notes at the driver and waited impatiently for him to open the boot, snatching her bag from his grasp and storming towards the house without a word. She had never felt such rage. It burned in her bone marrow and she could smell the hatred emanating from her pores. She wished that she had a blade so that she could eviscerate Ellingham on his Aunt's doorstep. The inhuman suffering she'd experienced today was appalling enough but now she was discovering that he had a whole other life in Cornwall including, she'd just discovered, a dalliance with a plain, frumpy and clearly deranged pharmacist.

A savage and brutal ferocity overcame her and she began to pound on the door. She could taste blood and bile and rage in her mouth and, when no one answered her frenzied knocking, she began to swing her case madly against the adjacent drainpipe. Just as her arms began to cramp, and Edith felt the rage begin to ebb from her body, the door was flung open. She gasped in horror and disgust, for there in front of her stood Ellingham, cold and unimpressed, and clearly not very happy to see her.

Which might, she conceded, have a little to do with her hysterical state and dreadfully bedraggled appearance, but probably everything to do with the very pretty young thing he was holding protectively in his arms. Taking half a step forward, Edith gave a pitiful moan and collapsed to her knees.