John folded his arms over his chest as he watched her set out her things, arranging them just so on the table, and only lifted his head when she called to him. "Sorry? I wasn't listening."

"I asked if you were ready to begin." She pointed at a chair, "Mind if I sit?"

"You've taken over my dining table so I don't see why you shouldn't sit at it." John took the seat opposite her, scratching at his growing beard. "Although you've not moved in yet so I guess that's a good sign."

"Trust me, no one wants this more painful than you already believe it'll be."

"Why? Not a fan of Scotland?"

"I think Scotland's lovely, Mr. Bates, just as I thought Crags was a lovely estate. But I'm here to be efficient, not a tourist." She took a seat, "And since your demeanor isn't very welcoming I'll guess you don't want me here any longer than absolutely necessary… Correct?"

"Nail's head hit." John dropped his hands to rub them over his trouser legs. "As I told Robert, there doesn't need to be an investigation at all."

"But there does, Mr. Bates, otherwise I wouldn't be here." She pointed at his door. "Or have driven the winding, dangerous roads to get here and then trudged up your garden path to beat a tattoo at your door."

"You could've emailed or something."

"And risked you ignoring it and everything else?" Ms. Smith shook her head, "I don't believe in leaving things up to chance."

"Rob was here just two days ago and he saw the damage himself."

"But he's not the solicitor on the case and, to be honest, he couldn't be on the case anyway because he'd represent a conflict of interest." Ms. Smith resettled a few things. "I'm here as an impartial voice."

"I don't need you so, if you'd like to take a nice holiday on the company dime I can pretend we met, had a lovely time, and you leave without filing anything."

Ms. Smith stared at him for a second before a smile that did not reach her eyes edged over her face. "Thanks for the tip, Mr. Bates, but I'm a professional."

"So you'll professionally harass me?"

"I'll do my job. Nothing more and nothing less." Ms. Smith bent over her things, a hint of a more real smile taking over her face. "Besides, this is a real treat for me. Being here, speaking to you."

"How's that?"

"I was a fan of yours when I was younger."

"Liked boxing, did you?"

"Oh no, I wasn't a fan of that. Although my father was and he even took me to see you once." She met his eyes, hers taking on a slightly wistful expression. "It was artistry in motion."

"With compliments like that I should add you to the fan mailing list. My publicist tells me there's a coupon code for joining."

"I'm good, thanks. However," Ms. Smith held up a finger, "If you've got one for the work you did in chambers then I'll join that one."

"Would you?"

"Absolutely." Ms. Smith interlaced her fingers and settled her hands before her on the table. "Your arguments were… If I thought you could practiced physical artistry in the ring, then hearing you was like music. It changed the way I saw the practice of law."

"Hence why you're a solicitor now?"

"No, that was always going to happen." She gathered herself, "But I'm not here about your prolific boxing career or even your astounding case load in chambers. I'm here about you burning down your family estate."

"There, you said it." John pointed at her, "My. End of story."

"But it's not, Mr. Bates, because we don't live in a time when-"

"A time when I can do whatever the hell I want with my things?"

"If you want to consider it like that." Ms. Smith handed over a pile of papers. "The problem is that you were trying to sell your property. And even if you weren't trying to sell your house there's still the fact you burned something to the ground."

"I live in the bush, why would anyone care?"

"Fires tend to make people nervous. No matter if you live in the bush or not." Ms. Smith tapped the top sheet. "My job is to report to the Fire Brigade that you're not delusional or mad or an arsonist."

"Because they care about that?"

"Yes, they do."

John snorted, "I don't plan on burning anything else and if you need me to sign something to that effect I will."

"Anything to get me out of your house faster?"

"Don't take it personally."

"I won't." Ms. Smith gave a sigh of her own, the barest hints of exasperation at the edge of her voice. "But what I'm really interested in is why you burned down your home when you were planning on selling it."

"Didn't have much success with that, did I?"

Ms. Smith's shoulders did a little wiggle as if deciding to shrug but never quite completing the motion in either direction. "I've read a bit about the legal battle you had with your father about ownership with the property but I also know that there were a considerable number of offers that would've been very lucrative. Perhaps enough to convince your father to drop the suit until…"

When she paused John pursed his lips. "Go on."

"Until his passing. My condol-"

"Don't say anything about him. He doesn't deserve your pity."

"Is he why you burned your house down?"

"Why does it matter?"

Ms. Smith finally managed a shrug, "It speaks to intent."

"You're not a shrink."

"But I am the person who can say whether or not you're, legally, in your right mind." Ms. Smith sat back in her chair. "So are you?"

"Am I what?"

"In your right mind?"

John barked a laugh and shook his head. "I don't think it'd matter one way or the other if I was in my right mind."

"No?"

"No." John folded his arms over his chest. "I hated that house and so I burned it to the ground."

"It feels a bit extreme when you could've sold it."

"You wouldn't understand the reasoning."

"Obviously." Ms. Smith interlaced her fingers and rested her hands on the table. "Why did you burn down your house, Mr. Bates?"

John studied her for a long minute before finally speaking. "My father was an abusive man and an alcoholic. He kept his collection in the cellar and he was very proud of it. More proud of it than he ever was of me."

"So you set it on fire?"

"It caught on fire, would be the better term. Given the age and concentration of the vintages he amassed."

Ms. Smith raised an eyebrow, "You burned down your house to get rid of the expensive alcohol in the cellar?"

"Technically I was trying to burn the contents of the cellar and I didn't think about how quickly it would all burn but, once it did, I didn't mind that my father's collection was what took down the edifice to his pride."

Ms. Smith nodded and pulled a sheaf of papers toward her, pen clicking as she jotted down some notes. "Are you trying to collect the insurance on the house or the collection, Mr. Bates?"

"I don't need it."

"That's a relief."

John tapped his finger against his arm for a moment as she continued writing. "You do know why you're really here, don't you?"

"I'm familiar enough with leading questions to know you're about to enlighten me." Ms. Smith continued writing, not looking up. "So tell me, Mr. Bates, why am I here?"

"You're here because our boss wants to make sure I'm not suicidal."

"Considering you didn't make a mad dash into the burning house, I'd say that worry is low on his list. But, for the sake of argument," She set her pen to the side and looked at him. "Are you?"

"Not since I've been trying to get sober." John flexed his fingers against his folded arms. "It's a hard road but it's worth it."

"So I've heard." Ms. Smith tapped her pen against the papers a moment. "Not many people can white-knuckle their way through detox and recovery."

"Are you a doubter?"

"Not about someone with your work ethic, no." Ms. Smith turned back to her papers, "But, to clarify, you burned down your house to get rid of the alcohol in the cellar and then allowed it to burn itself out?"

"That about sums it up." John nodded toward the papers, "Don't forget to add the part about how much I hated the house."

"Which brings me back to the original question." Ms. Smith made the obligatory note before looking at him again. "With your father's death, and therefore the drop of his suit against the sale, why not just collect the money and move away from the place to be down with it?"

"Because…" John opened his jaw, flexed it a moment, and then answered. "Because I didn't want to risk anyone else ever having unhappy memories there."

Ms. Smith held his gaze, her voice even in her response. "People have unhappy memories everywhere and you can't burn those places down."

"But I could burn down that one and I could ensure it wouldn't be a place people would hate like I hated it."

"I guess I could understand that. Despite the difficultly I'm having with what I believe is slightly flawed logic."

"Flawed logic?"

"Yes." Ms. Smith gave a small shrug, "In my experience you get out of bad situations and never look back. You don't set them on fire."

"Then forgive me being blunt, but I'll bet you weren't ever abused as a child."

"I'll not forgive your bluntness because that's a grossly personal question."

"And you questioning if I'm mad or suicidal isn't personal?"

Ms. Smith's jaw tightened slightly. "We're not here to discuss me, Mr. Bates, but you and the possible cost of-"

"I don't need a lecture because you obviously don't understand the kinds of emotions I've got about this and if you didn't go through what I did then you'd never understand the logic I used when-"

"My stepfather tried to rape me when I was twelve." John's jaw stayed open as her cold, steady voice broke through his rant. "Is that the kind of abuse you meant or did you want to hear about the bruises he left on my mother, my sister, and me? Or perhaps about the time he knocked my mother unconscious?"

"But probably not," Ms. Smith stiffened, "I'm sure you were about to think your experience is individual and singular and no one could possibly understand you or what it feels like to be beaten black and blue with a belt or whatever's at hand. Or that there are multiple forms of abuse and we've all suffered them in different forms by a myriad of hands."

"I…" John tried to gather himself, "I hadn't thought about it in that way."

"Then I'd suggest you keep your mind a little more open and your anger directed away from me." Ms. Smith turned back to her work, "Because while I've never burned down the places I've hated, I do know what it's like to hate something with every quivering fiber of your being."

"I just wanted my house and everything about it no more than ash and memories." John shuffled in his seat, "I never wanted anyone to set foot there again."

"Then I'll say you're not mad. Just traumatized."

"I'd rather you didn't."

Ms. Smith met his gaze again, "Now you'll have to forgive me when I say that your desire for privacy went up in smoke with your house. To avoid an arson charge I'll need a reason to present."

"Arson? For burning down my own house?"

"Yes." Ms. Smith turned back to her work, "And if you're worried about walking on eggshells around me, don't. Unlike yourself, I've dealt with my trauma."

"Did he…"

"No." She made another note, "It's difficult to rape someone with a knife sticking out of your thigh."

"You got him rather badly then?"

"He still limps and his leg seizes in cold weather." John almost noticed the little smile of satisfaction on her face. "Weather of which Yorkshire has plenty."

"So he'll never be moving to Scotland?"

"I doubt he'd survive up here." Ms. Smith finished notating something before pulling all her of papers together again. "Thank you for your patience Mr. Bates but I think we're done here."

"That's it?"

"Yes. I've everything I need, except your signature on those papers in front of you, and you'll get a copy of the formal report within the week."

"That's fast."

"I told you. I'm efficient." She continued to gather her things as John read over the papers and signed where she needed them. "I was here for a single purpose and I accomplished that purpose so I'll be on my way."

"Other than determining whether or not I'm a danger to myself and those around me," John let his arms fall to his side so he could rub his palms over his jeans. "Why exactly did they send you here?"

"Because I'm an arson investigator." Ms. Smith secured her bag before straightening her blouse. "And I'm one of the best investigators at the firm."

"So not because you were a fan?"

"My intrigue about you has nothing to do with it. There's nothing personal about this and my job says nothing about how I view you or what my personal motives might've been once I got the assignment."

"You have personal motives?"

"Had, past tense." Ms. Smith studied John with slightly narrowed eyes. "But when I'm here as a representative of our firm, I've got none."

"Everybody has motives."

"Not me and not about this." Ms. Smith's eyes focused across the room and narrowed even more. "Do you mind?"

"Mind?"

She pointed, "Your collection. Do you mind if I look at it before I go?"

"I don't suppose another five minutes in my house would hurt." John pushed up from the table. "And it might make up for me making an ass of myself earlier."

"It might but I wouldn't bet the farm on it." She ducked down, studying the shelves before making an approving sound. "You must like reading."

"Because I've got books?"

"Because all the spines on the books are slightly cracked or dimpled." Ms. Smith pointed to one as a hint of a smile quirked the corner of her mouth. "Anyone can buy books and leave them on a shelf for the public eye. This… This means you've read most of these. Or at least started them."

"If I haven't read them then my mother did." John's finger traced the spine of one. "It might not play too kindly but it does go toward premeditation."

"How so?"

"These were some of the only things I saved from the house before I lit it up like a bonfire on Guy Fawkes's day."

"It does go to show you're not mad, which'll help."

"But?" Ms. Smith blinked at him and John pointed. "Something in your tone, and your face, says you've got something else to say."

"I was just curious," Ms. Smith tapped one of the books. "If you saved these, was there anything else you wished you'd saved too?"

"If I had anything it's too late now because I'm not getting it back." John shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "But no, there wasn't."

"Well," Ms. Smith crossed the sitting room away from the shelves, the drum of rain increasing on the large windows that gazed out on nothing but greenery lit only dimly in the shade of the overcast afternoon. "I've taken up enough of your time and far more than you wanted to expend in the first place."

"And you've more than done your job." John waved a hand before putting it to the back of his head to scratch there. "I apologize, again, for being such an ass."

"And part of me forgives you, knowing a bit more about the circumstances and your most recent loss." Ms. Smith checked over her things before looking at him again. "And while you don't want it, I do extend my condolences. Perhaps not so much for the passing of your father but for whatever still rages inside you about him. I do hope you find a way to make it right with yourself."

"Me too." John led her to the door and opened it. "Thank you. For your kindness in that wish. We both know I don't deserve it."

"Maybe it's not about 'deserve', Mr. Bates." She nodded at him as she took up her umbrella and opened it. "Good day."

John watched her walk down the garden path before he closed the door. For a few moments the only sound was the pulsing of the rain against his massive windows and John paced his sitting room before turning to the fireplace. It barely began its crackle and pop before another series of knocks sounded at the door.

Frowning, John crossed to the door and opened it to see Ms. Smith standing there. "Did you forget something?"

"Your road's flooded."

"What?" John grabbed an umbrella of his own and trekked over the path, Ms. Smith on his heels. They made it down the drive to where Ms. Smith left her car and John noted the water over the road. Water sloshing higher and higher as they watched it swell with each passing second.

"One moment." John trudged away from the car, moving over the little divots and rolls of the hilly woodside until he came to the head of the impromptu stream. One now flowing easily as it bore bits and pieces of the little dam constructed there to control the oxbow of the larger river. A river now swollen enough on its own to overflow the oxbow and send excess speedily down the unfortunate incline toward the dip in John's drive.

He sighed, shaking his head as he turned around and tramped in his wellies back to where Anna waited with her car. The shake of the head he gave her only gave her face the echo of resignation painted on his own. A moment they shared until the water licked at their shoes.

"Bring your car back up the drive. I've got a garage where you can keep it so you don't flood the engine."

"And then what?" Anna pointed at the road. "Do we have a solution for that?"

"The rain's supposed to ease by week's end."

"And until then I'm stranded on the Scottish moors?"

"Technically you'll be stranded in my house unless you want to walk the five miles, in the rain and over the boggy ground, to the nearest town and catch a train south." John pointed up the surprise river. "The dam's broken up there and I don't have the tools or the know-how to fix it. What's more, wherever this water's going is probably also flooding because it's been raining for two days already."

"But it's supposed to finish by the weekend?"

"That's what the weatherman says but I can't say I trust him." John sighed, adjusting his hold on the umbrella. "Look. You're more than welcome to try and run your car through that but even if you make it, which I doubt given you bought this car for fuel economy and not for its engine power, you'll have a time of it on the muddy roads. You'll get stuck and stranded either way. Better here, where you can be warm and have wifi than somewhere down the road where it'll only get dark and flood everything around you."

"I do hope you don't take this as ingratitude but you weren't happy with a surprise visit that lasted an hour. How happy can you say you are about offering me space in your home for a week?"

"Not very but…" John shrugged, "My mother'd beat me with a stick if she thought I wasn't offering to be a good host."

"And mine'd be furious if she knew I was turning down a chivalrous act." Anna shook herself. "Alright. Let me get my car backed up into your garage and we'll see how this'll all play out."

"I guess we will." John turned back toward his house as Ms. Smith got into her car, the engine revving as she backed the car perfectly up the drive.

They reached the porch, Ms. Smith carrying her things back into the house but setting them beside the door. John left the umbrellas, his boots, and her shoes out on the covered porch before inviting her to sit on the sofa. She took a tentative seat and John took the other end of it.

Silence passed for a moment before Ms. Smith spoke. "I guess I should ask what plans you have now, Mr. Bates."

"First I was going to suggest we use our first names since this isn't exactly an inquest anymore and we might be together for a few days." John extended a hand, "I'm John Bates. Recluse, former drunk, former boxer, debating whether to continue as a Silk, and an all-around pain in the ass."

Ms. Smith eyed his hand a moment before taking it in a firm grip. "I'm Anna Smith. Solicitor, investigator, efficient lawyer, and all-around professional bitch. I like to have my way, I'm pushy enough to get things done, and I really don't like people who spend too much time throwing themselves pity parties or staying camped out in their bitter barns."

"This has never been a barn." John released her hand and they both smiled at one another. "Although it does use reclaimed wood."

"I can't amend my statement because there's no way I can make an alliteration out of that right now." Anna settled back into the sofa. "But this is not where I saw this deposition going."

"Me either." John interlaced his fingers and let them rest between his slightly spread legs. "But life rarely does what we want."

"I'd drink to that." Anna looked at him, "Unless that offends you."

"I've got water."

"Water's good enough for me." Anna gave him another small smile. "Maybe this won't be so horrible."

"Maybe not." John pushed up from the sofa, "But the day's still young and we've only got so many times to start off on the right foot again."

"You've already used both of your feet but I've got two so we're not quite out of chances to give it another go yet."

"I'd drink to that."