Hi all! It's been wall-to-wall sport here this weekend on the TV; football, tennis, motor racing, cycling and I'm just not interested in any of it! But it's meant I was able to get this chapter typed up and edited without any detractions other than the usual washing, cooking and a bit of cleaning up LOL

Thanks for the reviews of the last chapter - incredibly appreciated as always. Jojoann - You've no idea how long I deliberated over that part where from Dempsey's POV, his bed is the one place where he can really show his love for her. I very nearly took it out but then I thought it doesn't mean he loves her any less, it's just that that's Dempsey ;-)

I've got one or two reviews to write myself but I should be able to catch up now. Oh and how I wish I'd got a review or three to write for SophiesWorld2. I'm Reeeeeeeally missing updates on Remember.

Chapter 19

Tuesday had, unsurprisingly, followed the same pattern as Monday.

Although SI-10's current workload wasn't anywhere near what could be deemed 'heavy', it had never-the-less ensnared the hours and minutes in a mesh of tedious paperwork, telephone calls and other generally mundane administrative tasks.

The 'pattern' however, was not in the job but rather in the manner in which Dempsey and Harry continued to conduct themselves.

At what point would it be appropriate to announce their relationship, if 'announce' was even the correct term? Harry had said it felt too soon and she was probably right but it was starting to feel wrong to hide what was happening between them. It made situations seem stilted and vaguely awkward rather than excitingly naughty which had been the case prior to their Christmas celebrations and Harry fretted that it was down to her.

Maybe it would be a gradual process and things would become obvious to their colleagues over time. There really was no need to make an issue out of it although Spikings had a right to be informed of course. But it felt as though every sentence uttered, every gesture was under scrutiny now and the natural flow of their working day had been hammered into an oddly misshapen stage where they were obliged to act out a pantomime.

By the end of the day, as she watched Dempsey sling his jacket over his shoulder, the irony of the situation hit Harry.

They couldn't leave together but not so much because those remaining might cock an eyebrow but because of where they were going together. At this point, Harry didn't want to bandy about the fact that she was searching for her ex-brother-in-law which would necessarily include the need to explain his unfortunate circumstances. A sense of old loyalties had thus far prevented her from involving her colleagues, that and that deep seated need to keep her private life private. They all had contacts in various quarters and casting the net wider would no doubt bring faster results but Harry being Harry was loathed to expose personal frailties unnecessarily. But she had Dempsey and was confident that between them they would find Jonathan.

The place was luxurious but tasteful with it. Harrington Manor definitely felt more like a hotel than a nursing home which Harry was relieved about, not only for Patrick Makepeace's benefit but also her own. Occasional past experiences had shown her how depressing such places could seem.

Their feet sank comfortably into the inch-deep pile of the plush, golden brown carpet in the reception area. Very recently laid down if that earthy begonia plant scent was anything to go by. How different from the stale odours permeating every nook and cranny of the Marion Stoney drop-in centre yesterday.

Crossing fifteen feet or so of expensive carpeting to the polished mahogany reception desk, they were greeted in unison by the two ladies on duty.

"Are you visiting?" chirped the older of the two in genteel tones. Although very thin, her lightly rouged cheeks were plump and soft, despite the tightness of the pure white hair bun, scraped back to reveal her pink scalp. Twinset and pearls completed the stereotypical upper class elderly lady image.

"Welcome to Harrington Manor," the much younger woman smiled in a professional manner. "How may I help you?"

Harry redirected her attention and introduced herself. "Good afternoon. My name is Harriet Makepeace. I 'phoned earlier today to arrange to see Patrick Makepeace."

The elderly lady nimbly lifted up an A4 black leather bound book, opening it up as she thrust it across the desk towards Harry.

"Are you visiting, dear? Date and name in the visitor's book if you would be so kind."

"Erm, thank you."

Harry took the book that was being shoved against her chest.

"Violet…" the dark haired receptionist who was probably half her age called sternly but with kindness, "let's just make these nice people welcome first, shall we?"

"They'll both need to sign the visitors book, you know," she twittered, getting quite anxious now.

"We'll sort that out in a moment, my love, alright?"

She looked to Harry and Dempsey with an apologetic smile. "Our Violet likes to help out. Used to be P.A to Edward Heath, didn't you, my love?"

"Edward Heath, huh?" Dempsey tried to look impressed.

Violet eyed him with suspicion. "You aren't journalists, are you? No press! There will be no interviews given today, I can assure you."

"No, we're not press, ma'am," he told her politely, "just here to visit with Patrick Makepeace."

"Visit? Oh, you'll have to sign in then." The word seemed to act as a trigger. "That's the rule if you want to visit."

Dempsey took the pen that was being waggled under his nose with a good grace and took the book from Harry. "Okay now Violet, how 'bout you show me what I need to do here."

Whilst Harry confirmed their visit with the real receptionist, Dempsey kept Violet happy by following her instructions and a few minutes later they were being shown up to the second floor in the lift by a young care assistant.

Patrick Makepeace had apparently been informed of Harry's request to visit and was 'quite comfortable with it', a phrase which she found rather odd until it was explained that her ex-father-in-law's condition meant that he was prone to mood swings and not always accepting of situations.

"You sure it's gonna be okay – me goin' in there with you?" asked Dempsey quietly as they waited for the door of room number twenty-seven to be opened.

Harry nodded and silently mouthed, "It's fine."

The care assistant knocked again, a little harder this time and called, "Mr Makepeace, you've got visitors here to see you."

There was a distinct pause before an anxious voice replied from the other side of the door, "Visitors? Who?"

"It's your daughter-in-law."

The 'ex' prefix had been lost along the way and not knowing who Dempsey was, the girl had avoided mentioning him altogether.

The handle turned and the door inched inwards slowly. It had been a few years since Harry had set eyes on Robert's father but he certainly wasn't the man she remembered.

He'd lost weight was her initial thought but then almost immediately realised that wasn't the case at all. There was a haggard look about him, his face gaunt and she saw a deep fear in his eyes. Patrick Makepeace was a frightened man, haunted by the ghosts in his mind that had captured both his present and his future.

"Hello, Patrick," she greeted him warmly. "Do you remember me? It's Harriet," she prompted.

She was relieved to see him break into a smile.

"Harriet! Of course! It hasn't been that long that I'd forget you. Come in, come in."

The door was opened wide and the old gentleman stepped back to let her in.

Yes, he was much the same in appearance as when last she had seen him; a fraction below medium height with a rather large paunch, accentuated by the fact that he wore his trousers above his waistline. His hair still quite dark but thinning was slicked back with Bryl-cream, the comb tracks clearly defined and the scalp visible. And that wonderful little moustache he had always kept so well-groomed with wax was practically his trademark.

Reaching out, he clasped her hands in his, those long, elegant fingers incongruous with his stature yet such an essential part of his life-long career in medicine.

"How are you?" he asked solicitously.

"I'm very well, thank you…" It didn't seem quite right somehow but courtesy dictated she must reciprocate. "And yourself?"

"Oh, ticking along quite nicely. I'm retired now you know."

He'd actually retired several years ago, whilst she had still been married to Robert in fact but it had been a long time since they had last met and with his condition, an easy thing to forget, she imagined.

"You've certainly worked long and hard enough to deserve it," she said and then turned to Dempsey who stood on the threshold watching the proceeding. "Patrick, I'm sorry, this is James Dempsey… James, Patrick Makepeace."

"Good to meet you, Sir." Dempsey held his hand up and they shook.

"Err, likewise, Mr Dempsey. Slight problem though." He looked back to Harry apologetically. "My son isn't here."

She was completely nonplussed as was Dempsey who asked, "You knew we were looking for him?"

"Well, why else would Harriet have asked you here?"

They were now both confused.

"Do you know where he is?" Harry asked tentatively.

She'd told no one the reason for their visit to Harrington Manor; her phone call had been simply to confirm that Patrick Makepeace was a resident there and to find out how one went about arranging a visit. After narrowing down the care homes by location, type of care offered and class of establishment, it had still taken twelve calls to find him. There was still only a slim chance that Jonathan had been in touch with his father recently enough to make any difference to her search but he might just hold other information that would give her a clue.

"Probably out on the golf course doing that… what's it called… networking thing I believe he calls it. You know – talking to the right people in order to advance ones' career."

He had lead them into the room and now indicated that they should sit.

It was a spacious, beautifully furnished 'apartment' really as at the far end was another door which presumably lead off to a bathroom.

Dempsey and Harry seated themselves on a dark brown velvet upholstered chaise long, Patrick taking the leather wing-backed chair adjacent. Remembering both of these items from Greyfields when she used to visit both before and during her marriage, she cast an eye quickly about her and spotted several other familiar bits and pieces. The sideboard along the back wall had once resided in the Greyfields drawing room as well as the matching square Queen Anne side table. The glass shaded lamp with cream alabaster base looked familiar too although she couldn't place it.

As far as Harry remembered, Jonathan had never been interested in golf and networking had only been under sufferance.

"You mean Robert's playing golf?"

She felt Dempsey's eyes on her.

"Typical of him." Patrick patted the arm of his chair and sighed resignedly. "You've arranged to meet him here with Mr Dempsey and the fool doesn't even have the common decency to show up. I do hope you're going to bill him for your wasted time," he said to Dempsey who was having a hard time trying to piece together the meaning of this puzzling conversation.

"Is there a going rate for that, I wonder?" Dempsey said speculatively.

Patrick Makepeace chuckled. "Double your usual fee is my advice. Money seems to be the only commodity my son takes notice of."

"What time is he expected back?" Harry asked.

The lady at reception had advised them to go along with any fanciful confusion he might display. To correct him, to tell him he was wrong would only upset him and unsettle him for the rest of the day.

"A law unto himself," he shrugged. "Now can I get you a cup of tea, maybe?"

There were tea making facilities on the sideboard she had noticed so agreed to the offer before asking, "And what about Jonnie? Is he around at the moment?"

"We don't see so much of him now he's married but as Barbara keeps telling me, that'll probably change once the grandchildren come along. She keeps dropping rather board hints, you know. Now…" The kettle was on and he was lining up a row of china mugs, repeatedly counting and rearranging them, "there are three of us, aren't there," he mumbled. "Do you take sugar, Mister… erm… Mister…"

"Dempsey," replied Dempsey, "but call me Jim. And no, no sugar for me, thanks."

"Alright. No sugar." He shuffled the cups some more, looking over his shoulder. "And no sugar for Winnie because she's sweet enough already. That's what we always say, don't we?"

Harry smiled and looked down at her lap, ignoring Dempsey's amused glance towards her.

"Have you seen him recently?" she asked, brightly.

"Who's that?"

"Jonnie."

"Jonnie? He visits every week."

"Have you seen him his week?"

Patrick Makepeace picked up a teaspoon but seemed unsure what to do with it. "I suppose I must have done – he visits every week. Now, no sugar for Mister… err… Mister Dempsey."

"I bumped into him in Covent Garden last week," Harry tried. "Did he mention it?"

It was obvious he wasn't coping with the questions whilst trying to make their tea at the same time.

"I don't know. I really can't think," he said in an exasperated tone.

"Never mind," Harry soothed. "It doesn't really matter."

At last, he brought them their tea, one cup at a time, his cautious gait so completely different to that brisk, self-assured stride Harry remembered.

"You did say no sugar, didn't you…?" He trailed off, struggling to recall Dempsey's name again.

"Yeah, that's fine, Sir, just great."

"So what's Jonnie been up to recently?" Harry asked when finally, Patrick was back in his chair.

"You know he's married now, don't you? Lovely girl."

"Yes, I know, I was at their wedding."

This was hard going.

"Oh, of course you were. I lose track. It doesn't seem five minutes since you and Robert were getting married and now here you are about to go through with this damned divorce. Such a God-awful shame, Winnie, you've been so good for him."

He put his cup of tea down on the table untouched beside him and sat back.

"Sometimes these things just don't work out," she answered diplomatically.

"Hmm." He smiled sadly. "I suppose Barbara and I have just been hoping you'd manage to iron out your differences. That boy has always been a handful; I won't pretend otherwise but you were a calming influence."

He turned to Dempsey. "You're not very likely to be talking her out of it, are you?"

"Me?" Dempsey assumed a neutral stance, saying, "Well, I guess the lady knows her own mind."

"And you have to earn a living, aye? No matter what your field, it strikes me that solicitors are generally only called upon during the unhappier times in our lives. No offence intended Mister Dempsey, just an observation."

Dempsey smiled broadly. The old man thought he was Harry's divorce lawyer. "Whoever said money can't buy happiness never paid for a divorce," he quoted. He'd lost count of how many times his former boss, Chief O'Grady had spouted that one during his and Mrs Chief O'Grady's messy and acrimonious divorce. He'd been way, way south of happy though, it'd all been bravado. It'd been a bad time for the poor guy.

"My, my," Patrick laughed, "you sound just like my son – a natural born cynic. I do hope it'll be a clean fight in the court room, for Harriet's sake if nothing else."

Harry could have wept for her former father-in-law. He had lost whole chunks of his life it seemed. Seeing her now appeared to have triggered something in his brain; taken him back to that period just before they had lost contact, before she and Robert had finally severed all links. It gave her an unpleasant feeling; brought back her own dark memories of that time in her life that Patrick would know nothing about, that nobody did except for Robert… and now Dempsey. The thought of her near-meltdown in that shabby little old cottage in Dirran still had the power to shake her, remembering how she had collapsed into a pathetic, helpless wreck and told him why she would always be dogged by self-loathing. She was glad he knew though, was relieved to have overcome that particular stumbling block. That night was still frighteningly raw in her mind, that baring of her soul. But she knew it was only a cold echo that would grow ever-distant. It may have re-opened old wounds but Dempsey had cleaned away the infection that had hampered the healing process and had allowed her to try again.

"And what does your other son do?" Dempsey asked, deliberately steering the conversation around again. "Jonathan, isn't it?"

Although Harry couldn't acknowledge it, she felt immensely grateful to him for stepping in like that.

"Oh, he…err… he does that clever stuff with err… tomato ketchup bottles… with plastic carrier bags, you know…" Patrick shook his head, frustrated with himself and his inability to make sense of the jumble of nameless images stored away in his head. "Except it's for business."

"It's marketing, isn't it?" asked Harry, casually. "Corporate image? Company branding?"

She knew exactly what Jonathan did, as did Dempsey, they'd talked about it last Saturday night.

Patrick nodded. "Yes, I think so. That sort of thing."

Then his face clouded. "Run into a spot of bother I believe. Bad investments or something. He doesn't tell me very much. Doesn't want to worry me so Robert says." He rolled his eyes. "And then proceeds to tell me how Jonnie has no business acumen and couldn't be trusted to run a market stall. 'You know he's no good with money, Pop', he always says. Must've said that to me a hundred times or more."

Typical Robert, thought Harry. Always sticking the knife in. He had always possessed a slightly unhealthy competitive streak, even with his brother but there, there was an element of rivalry involved too. God, what had she seen in him? But she had been young and a little naieve and his go-getter attitude had seemed a positive thing back then.

"Jonnie isn't stupid," said Harry. "He's got a good head on his shoulders."

"Oh, I know that alright. He looks after me. I'm glad I've got Jonnie in charge. He'll come through. Just got given a bum steer I believe is the term. Bad advice."

"But he was okay the last time you saw him?" Dempsey asked, trying not to make it sound like too much of a question.

Harry caught hold of the thread and said, "I nearly didn't recognise him when I saw him last week. He's let his hair grow hasn't he?" She laughed. "Trying to keep up with the fashion maybe."

Patrick was trying to remember what his younger son had looked like when last he saw him only he simply couldn't bring that time to mind. In his head, he saw him as a teenager which he was sure was wrong.

"I tend not to notice these things, well, not where men are concerned anyway. A hanging offence not to effuse over a lady's wash and set, I realise. I've made that mistake with Barbara a couple of times and lived to regret it." He pursed his lips and sniggered like a naughty child.

Harry smiled indulgently. It seemed they had little chance of finding Jonathan via this route.

However, he was to turn up soon enough and their visit to Harrington Manor, although not helpful at the time would certainly throw some light on future events.

"Don't let your tea get cold now, Patrick," she told him, catching Dempsey's grimace as he braved his own unbearably sweet tea.