Angela Clifford-Webb could only watch as the scene unfolded before her. Her brother – the Priest – wearing civvies and curled up on her Persian rug next to a woman dressed in even less.

She noticed the two empty glasses on the fireplace mantle, stained red with wine, and the fire itself, burnt to a cinder. She looked towards the guilty faces – each stained crimson also – and awaited the explanation that she was due.

"Angela…" Peter eventually snapped out of his startled reverie. "It's good to see you."

His sister allowed herself to be enveloped into an awkward hug. "You too, I guess."

"Where's Ron?"

"He had to work…" Angela kept her eyes on to the uncomfortable woman hiding behind her brother. "Have you been to see mum yet?"

"No, I was on my way there. I just thought we'd make a pit stop first."

It was the first time the siblings had made any reference to Assumpta. Taking this as her cue to introduce herself, the publican extended a nervous hand to the woman. "I'm Assumpta," she offered weakly. "Peter's … friend."

"Evidently," Angela returned distractedly, looking the Irishwoman up and down before returning her attention to her brother. "I'm sorry… look, you obviously weren't expecting me. To be honest, I assumed that I'd see you at the Royal Infirmary but when you weren't there –"

"Wait – why would I be at the hospital?" Peter interrupted before the realisation hit. "Mum…" he whispered, his voice full of dread.

Angela nodded gravely and said, "I thought they called you. I thought that's why you were here."

"What happened?"

"A stroke, they think. A heart attack too possibly…"

"How can they not know?"

Assumpta could only watch as Peter began to fall apart before her. Instinctively, she grabbed his hand supportively with her own, a gesture which he returned in kind.

"She was unconscious when they brought her in." Angela added regretfully, her eyes half focussed on the display of affection that was unfolding before her. "A neighbour found her."

Peter feared the answer to what he was going to ask next, but he needed to know all the same. "When?"

"Yesterday."

"I could have been there." Whether it was deliberate or not, Peter relinquished hold of the small pale hand in his grasp and moved his frame heavily towards the bay window.

"There's nothing you could have done. There's nothing anyone could have done. The doctors have her under close observation. Peter – she's in good hands."

Angela gave her brother a moment to consider this. As she did, her eyes fell once again on the small brunette lurking in the shadow of the fireplace, looking as if she wanted to be swept up through it. Who was she?

From her state of undress and the way she made moon-eyes at Peter, it was clear that her relation to the youngest Clifford was far from platonic. But it wasn't like Peter to defy his vocation so blatantly. So what had been happening here? She was determined to find out.

"You can drive back to the hospital with me, if you like?" Angela found herself offering. "I was just coming back to fetch some clothes. Grab a quick shower."

"The boiler's not working." Assumpta chimed in unexpectedly. "The heating too…"

"Did you put money in the meter?"

"Didn't know we had to," her brother admitted.

Angela rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Honestly, Peter. How many times have you been here already? There's a stack of pound coins in the kitchen sideboard. You can find the meter in there too."

As Peter moved to the adjoining room, Assumpta was hot on his heel, grateful for an excuse to leave the increasingly icy stares emanating from their visitor. "Peter… Peter."

The curate turned to face her, his brow creased in anguish. "I'm sorry our evening was cut short…"

"Will you stop worrying about me for a minute? What can I do?"

"You can be there."

His request was followed by a thick, heavy silence. Did he really want to go public with her so soon?

"Are you sure?" Assumpta placed a hand on Peter's forearm, which he covered warmly with his own.

"Perhaps not." he decided eventually. "Mum might get a bit of a shock if she wakes up and finds you and I…"

Peter allowed his sentence to trail – he had no words to finish it. It occurred to them both at that very moment that neither Peter nor Assumpta knew just what they had at this precise moment. Judging by this new development, Assumpta mused, they might just never know.

"I'll wait here," she offered, trying hard to keep her tone light "Leave the hire car and I can drive up if you need me."

The Priest smirked. "On English roads? I've seen your driving."

"Hey!" she slapped him playfully. "I taught you, didn't I? But seriously, I'm not going anywhere. I'm here for you."

Peter allowed his forehead to press against hers. "I know," he whispered gratefully.

An exaggerated cough from the corner of the room interrupted the reverie. Angela purposefully crossed the room to the meter and placed some coins in the slot. "Don't mind me, Father Clifford" she exclaimed sarcastically.

Assumpta's disdain for the elder Clifford grew by the minute. She attempted to catch her companion's eye with an exaggerated eye roll but Peter's gaze was fixed firmly on the floor. She could have been wrong but at that precise moment, the publican could have sworn that Peter looked ashamed at what his sister had witnessed.

In one motion, the Priest relinquished hold of her arm and moved mournfully over to the door. Without a single look back, he exited along with his sister, leaving the publican alone under the harsh light of the kitchen fluorescents.

A/N Thanks to those who have read and reviewed! Fair warning, we're entering into some good ol' angsty territory here. I was never going to make the path to true love run smoothly!

Looking forward to hearing what you think... don't you just HATE Angela?