The clock on the wall was probably fast. If not then Winston was running late as usual. Tommy found the atmosphere of the pub cloying and pretentious. It hardly seemed like the sort of pub Winston would even know about let alone frequent. He recognised some of the overweight legal clerks that were huddled at tables doing deals for the silks and juniors in their chambers. Most would sell their souls for a few shekels of solicitor's silver. He checked his watch and looked around for Winston wondering what on earth was so secret that they needed the seclusion of this place to talk.

Lynley fidgeted with his beer and was just about to leave when he saw her scurrying past his table. "Barbara!" The word left his mouth before it went suddenly dry. She turned and stared at him as if she had just discovered the Holy Grail after a lifetime of searching. The background noise faded to silence and the only thing in the world he was aware of was her face. He knew he was grinning foolishly but he made no attempt to hide his delight at seeing her. It had been too long and he had missed her terribly, far more than he had even admitted to himself. Their phones chirped and he instinctively reached into his pocket. The text was from Winston and simply read, 'Sorry but you both need to talk'. He frowned before understanding that meeting her here was no coincidence.

"Hi Sir." Her voice was tight and tense. "I'm sorry it looks like Winston set us up. I'll be off then."

"Barbara wait!" Tommy stood in case he had to chase her. He wanted to talk. The way they had parted had hurt him deeply and he still did not understand why she had plotted behind his back to leave him. "Maybe we should talk."

"Nah, there's nothing to say is there? We should just leave the past where it is Sir." She may as well have slapped him.

"I need to know why." She shook her head at him then went to leave without explanation or farewell. It was just as painful as a year ago when she had told him bluntly that she was leaving and then had tried to shake his hand as if she was saying goodbye to the butcher, not to someone who had been her partner and her friend for so many years. He had turned away to hide the pain that he felt. When she had left his office cursing him, his pain had turned to anger. He had chased her to the door but as he watched her storm down the corridor he had known there was no point. She had left him and there was nothing he could say that would bring her back.

"Why did you leave me Barbara?" It sounded pathetic, even to his ears but he needed to know. That had been the hardest part, not knowing what he had done to have her want to move to Kent. He could have understood that she wanted more challenge, that she wanted promotion, but she could have had that at the Met and they could still have been friends. It had felt more personal at the time and her reaction now confirmed it. She stopped and looked at him and seemed to resign herself to telling him. She sat down and he followed, grateful that she had not walked out again.

"It was time to move on, we had run our course." What is that supposed to mean?

"I would have supported your promotion at the Met; you didn't have to go to Kent."

"Yes, I did," she said, "it wasn't just about the job." She was talking about their partnership but it also sounded as if she was talking about their friendship. So this was personal! He could not look at her in case he said something stupid or bitter or both.

"So how have you been?" She was clearly trying to change the subject. At least she was not trying to get away from him again.

"I tried to ring you." He had wanted to apologise for his behaviour. He had not wanted their last words to be bitter ones.

"I know, I got the voicemails," she said, "but I never seemed to get you when I returned them."

He wanted to lash out and tell her he knew the game she had played. She had not even tried to contact him, she had simply left messages. "No, so it seemed." He tried, but failed, to sound neutral and non-judgemental.

"Anyway, how is crime fighting in London these days?" She was trying to change topic again. This time he knew she would leave if he was too curt.

"Boring."

"Do you like being DCI?"

"It's fine. It's a job but I might retire to Cornwall soon. Mother has been unwell and I don't seem to have anything to get up for every morning any more." He was looking for her reaction to his thoughts of retirement and suddenly recognised that he had no purpose in life now Barbara was not in it. He had tried to ignore it but as she sat here looking at him he knew it was so very, very true.

He watched her close her eyes and swallow. He had hit a nerve but it was not the reaction he expected. He was transported back to that night in her flat. It was not only him that had lost that, she had too and yet she had chosen to leave. He still did not understand why.

"I hope it works out for you. I really should be going. It's been a long day. Remember me to your mother." She was using her professional voice, the one she used when informing grieving parents that they had found a body that might be their child. It was a sympathetic but emotionally detached voice and he wanted to scream that it was him, her old friend, she was talking to and that she should just tell him what she was thinking.

She glanced guiltily at him and started to stand. She was going to leave and Tommy could not let that happen, not yet, so he put his hand on her forearm. She sat back down in a manner that told him that it was against her better judgement. What is she scared of? He inhaled quickly and let his breathe escape slowly to calm his nerves and ensure she did not think he was trying to pressure her.

"How are you enjoying Kent?" He wanted to guide the conversation onto more familiar and less controversial ground and to buy some time to think. At last she seemed to relax and he saw glimpses of his old Barbara. He knew her well enough to understand that she had not left the Met, she had left him. He had suspected it all along but now it had been confirmed he needed to know why more than ever. They had been friends, good friends, best friends and yet everything had changed so quickly. He remembered she had encouraged him to start living more and when he had she had begun to drift away from him. She moved away deliberately but he was sure he had not changed his attitude towards her in any way. He hoped he had not; he had not meant to change anything. He had liked their relationship. It had been comfortable and comforting.

"So are you seeing anyone?" Where did that come from? The question surprised him as much as it did Barbara.

"Yeah, sort of." He looked up from his beer, clearly shocked. Never ask a question you don't know the answer to, or don't want to know the answer!

"Is it serious?" He simply could not process that she was in a relationship that was not with him. He paused amazed at what he had just thought. Where did that come from?

"No," she said clearly embarrassed. "What about you? Have you settled on anyone yet?"

The tone was bitter and he suddenly saw a pattern unfolding. She had not liked the women, or number of women, he had dated. They had not meant anything to him. He had simply been trying to do what she wanted and get back into his life. What had she expected?

"No. I stopped seeing people after you left," he replied truthfully, "none of them were…" You! He stopped himself from blurting that out just in time. The truth of it floored him. He had dated the women he was expected to fancy but they had not interested him in the way he needed or the way Barbara did.

"Helen," he heard her say sympathetically, "I understand. I'm sorry."

He wanted to explain but he could not find the right words. "I wasn't going to say Helen. None of them were what I need in a woman or what I realised I wanted."

"That doesn't mean the right woman isn't out there. You should keep looking Sir." She sounded exactly as she had always done when she was trying to make him feel better. He had missed the way she made him feel. He had missed her terribly. He had driven to Kent a few times in the early months and sat outside the house where she boarded. He had once made it to the front door but had lost his nerve and retreated to London. He had not known what to say to change things back to the way they had been and when he accepted that it was gone forever he had ceased trying.

"I had what I wanted and I lost it." He was looking into her eyes for some flicker of understanding or a clue as to whether she felt the same way. She reached out and touched his arm and he felt a strange peaceful warmth wash over him. Then he saw her eyes, she thought he meant Helen and the opportunity was lost.

"I'd better be going Sir. It was good to see you." He could see that she was sincere and it gave him hope that they might be able to rekindle their friendship. It was something he wanted more than anything else.

"So early? What about dinner?" He heard the desperation in his voice and his mind worked in overdrive to think of a more suitable restaurant in this part of town.

"Nah, thanks but this place is not my scene. My hotel is close by. I'll order some chips or something."

"I'll walk you back," he said thinking that her idea was better than any of his, "maybe we could share the chips."

"I don't want to be rude but I'd prefer if we just left it here eh?" Tommy was devastated. He had thought they had made progress. He had anticipated that over dinner they could continue to reconnect and rebuild.

There was no point in pushing too hard when she was in this mood. He knew that from bitter experience. He bought himself some time by saying, "let me at least walk you to your hotel."

She thought about it. He could see her eyes darting quickly before she nodded her head slowly. "Ta." He tried hard not to smile.

Barbara said nothing as they walked and his ingrained social skills deserted him as he weighed up what to say when they reached the hotel which was disappointingly close to the pub. It was a modern glass and steel chain hotel that screamed monotony. They stood awkwardly at the entrance. He wanted to say something that would make a difference.

"Thanks," she said with finality that told him he was not going to share her chips.

"My pleasure." It was instinctive politeness. The silence was almost painful and he could tell Barbara did not know what to say either. He could not bear to part on bad terms, not again. She reached out to shake his hand. It was a stiff and overly formal gesture. Last time she had done that he had been angry and disgusted. This time he would not turn his back on her. His hand shot out and clasped hers. On impulse he leant forward and touched his lips to her right cheek. He could feel the heat rise in her face and wondered if it was shock, embarrassment or pleasure. The kiss was longer than socially necessary and when she twisted and kissed his cheek it seemed to hold more intent than a simple goodnight. He debated if he should kiss her properly but sensed that would frighten her. He looked in her eyes and saw a sadness that troubled him. Their moment had past, not now but a year ago and it was too late. Suddenly he realised why she had left him.

"Goodbye Sir." It sounded final but full of regret.

He wanted to change it now but their timing had been all wrong. It was unfair to her to try to change it. She had someone in Kent. He might even be upstairs now waiting for her; maybe that was why she had refused dinner. She deserved happiness and he hoped she had found it. He could not disrupt her life when he did not know what he wanted from her. Was it friendship, love, marriage? And could he really offer any of them? "Goodbye Barbara."

She smiled grimly and he tried to smile back. She pulled away and sauntered to the lifts. He watched her push the button and then she glanced back at him before she disappeared. Fear gripped him in the same way it had when she had been shot. A thousand images of her flashed through his mind like a surreal dream. When Helen had been killed he had known what he should feel but instead he felt guilt. When Barbara had been shot he had felt something he did not recognise but now standing here, feeling it again, he knew. He pushed his way past a group of businessmen trying to hail a cab and rushed up to the front desk.

Receptionists were trained not to give out room numbers, especially of women to aggressive men, so he needed a strategy. He picked out the youngest looking person and quickly read her name tag 'Kirsty'. He pulled out his warrant card. He could turn on the charm if he needed to but he would try to be professional at first and ratchet up pressure if he needed to do so.

"Good evening Sir. Checking in?" she asked as she turned to assist him.

"Good evening Kirsty. No, I am Detective Chief Inspector Lynley of the Met," he said showing her his warrant card, "I need to see a colleague who is up from the Kent Constabulary, Sergeant Havers. I was told the room number but forgot it."

Kirsty looked up the name. "Yes Sir, she is staying here. I can ring up and tell her."

Damn! He flashed his best smile and was pleased as she swayed shyly from side to side and looked down. He might be getting older but he still knew how to impress young women. "I don't want to see her right now," he lied with an ease that vaguely troubled him, "there is someone else joining us and I need to wait for her. That's the trouble with getting old Kirsty, you forget things so easily. I think Barbara said she was on the..." He paused and picked a floor at random. "Fourth floor?"

He was looking straight at her and her guard was down. "You're not old at all Sir," she said with far too much familiarity, "the fourteenth."

Good, that narrows it down. "Oh yes that's right and I think it had a two in it."

Kirsty giggled and Tommy leant a little closer in case she wanted to whisper. "You seem to know, fourteen twenty three."

Tommy smiled again. "Thank you Kirsty. You have been very helpful."

He strode confidently towards the bar knowing she was watching him. He turned to see her engrossed in conversation with the man in a cheap serge suit who had been tapping his foot impatiently behind him. He seized his chance and circled back behind the pillar and snuck into the lift foyer just as the doors to a lift were opening. A man on a walking frame limped out and Tommy smiled tightly trying not to show his impatience. As soon as he could he entered the lift and repeatedly pressed '14' hoping it would make the doors close faster.

The hotel floors were as bland as he had predicted. Beige walls with watercolour prints of London landmarks dotted every few yards and a brown-grey carpet that would hide a multitude of indiscretions assaulted his senses as he searched the for 1423 down the corridor shown on the small sign in front of the lift. He paused to straighten he coat and push his hair off his face then knocked. He could hear the television go silent then her feet padding to the door. It swung open and she stared at him dumbfounded. He pushed his foot through so that she could not shut him out. She had shed her coat and her shoes and untucked her shirt. This was the Barbara he knew and if he was being honest, loved.

"Barbara, I'm not going to let you go again. We need to talk."