CHAPTER 4.

Dinner with the Japanese Ambassador was uneventful, for which Fraser was very grateful. He couldn't concentrate on the cultural matters they were supposed to be discussing; his mind kept wandering back to Stephanie. He couldn't shake the feelings from that afternoon.

Fraser's Japanese was rather rusty, but it transpired that Turnbull had been learning a few phrases especially for the occasion and, aside from a few pronunciation errors, he did very well, impressing their guests. The Ambassador seemed happy to agree to the programme of events Fraser and the Inspector had been working on and Fraser was glad to see that all their hard work had paid off.

"A toast!" declared the Inspector. "To our new friends." She smiled and downed yet another glass of wine. Turnbull glanced at Fraser, they were both thinking the same thing; the Inspector had already had far too much to drink on an empty stomach.

Inspector Thatcher had organised outside caterers and the Ambassador and his wife were very complimentary about the mix of Japanese and Canadian dishes on offer. Fortunately, Inspector Thatcher stopped slurring her words quite so badly once she had some food inside of her, but Fraser was still nervous and he couldn't help feeling hugely relieved as he waved the Japanese delegation off in their chauffer-driven limousine and shut the sturdy mahogany door of the Consulate.

Turnbull came running out of the Inspector's office. "Constable Fraser," he began, trying not to show panic. "The Inspector has been taken ill."

Fraser sighed. "How many times has she vomited?" he asked.

"Twice, I believe," replied Turnbull.

"Oh dear," sighed Fraser. He went to the kitchen to make his superior officer something to settle her stomach and a short while later she was heard muttering something about never eating sushi again as Turnbull helped her out to the Consulate car to drive her home. Under normal circumstances the Inspector would never have allowed him to drive the was bad enough when Fraser drove it as if he'd never driven a car before, but she felt so unwell she just wanted to get home to her own bed and she didn't really care how she got there. It transpired that Turnbull's driving habits were worse than Fraser's.

Fraser spent the next two hours cleaning the Inspector's office and the bathroom and clearing away the remains of the dinner before finally sitting down. He glanced at his watch and sighed. He had wanted to call Stephanie, just to see if she was OK and to ask after Mia; hopefully her skin was a little less inflamed and painful by now, but it was far too late and he didn't want to disturb them, so he decided to call her the morning instead.

Dief yawned.

"I think that's a very good idea," agreed Fraser. He went to the closet to hang up his uniform.

"Hello, Son," came the voice of Bob Fraser.

Fraser smiled to himself; he'd been hoping his father would be there. Fraser was in just his trousers and undershirt now. The red serge of his dress uniform had been almost unbearable through dinner in the warm summer evening temperatures. Even Turnbull had, at one point, broken quite a sweat, although Fraser wasn't sure if that was just the effects of the firecracker chilli prawns.

As he stepped through the back of his closet, Fraser could hear the sound of a crackling fire. "A little under dressed, aren't you, Benton?" commented Bob.

"Good grief, Dad," Benton exclaimed. "It's over twenty degrees!"

"Not in here it's not," replied Bob.

Benton was suddenly aware of the drop in temperature. He pulled up a wooden, three-legged stool and sat in front of the fire, warming his hands in the heat of the flames.

His father was sitting on another stool, darning socks. "It's a dying art, you know," said Bob.

"What is?"

"Darning socks," explained Bob.

"Ah. Right you are," nodded Benton.

"Your mother had great skill with a needle and thread," continued Bob. "There's nothing more satisfying than the sight of the woman you love darning your socks."

"That's a very old fashioned and, if I might say so, rather sexist point of view, Dad," frowned Benton.

"Oh, I was just as happy watching her chopping wood or fixing the snowmobile," replied Bob, "but there's something innately comforting about knowing that someone's there if you need them and, equally, in knowing that you have someone who needs you."

Benton sighed. "I don't think Stephanie really needs me," he said. "I assume that's what you were alluding to."

Bob shrugged. "She needed you yesterday and this afternoon," he pointed out, "and that little baby needs a father."

"The baby already has a father…somewhere," began Benton. "Are you suggesting I should pursue a relationship with Stephanie because she is a single parent?" he asked, incredulously. "It's almost the Twenty First Century, Dad! I'm quite certain that she is perfectly capable of raising her daughter on her own."

"Oh I don't doubt that for a minute," agreed Bob, "she is a resourceful and capable young lady, but it's also not a reason for not pursuing her."

"Are you giving me advice on…on relationships, Dad?" Benton asked in surprise. This conversation was beginning to make him uncomfortable and he wasn't entirely sure what point his father was trying to make anyway. "We do appear to be compatible in many ways," Benton started voicing his thoughts. "We have a lot of common interests and I'd have no qualms about taking on joint parental responsibilities for Mia, if it were to come to that, but…" he trailed off.

Bob put the socks and darning needle down on a chair and gave his son his full attention. "But?" he prompted.

"Perhaps if we'd become reacquainted under different circumstances I wouldn't be so…" Benton paused to think of a suitable word. "Confused," he said, finally. "Four years ago I certainly did not have any doubts about the merits of engaging with her romantically."

"So what's changed now?" asked Bob, "apart from the calendar year."

"She's vulnerable right now," replied Benton. "I don't think she realises how much, actually. I don't want to take advantage of her. I cannot be certain that her apparent feelings for me don't stem from her current need for emotional support. She does need someone at this juncture and, well, I'm there, but it could equally be, for example, Ray, or Constable Turnbull providing companionship."

"Turnbull is an idiot," scoffed Bob, "and don't let the Yank get his hands on your girl."

Benton dropped his head into his hands. What on earth had made him think his father was the person to talk to about all this? Bob didn't seem to understand what was going through his mind and why would he? Bob Fraser only ever loved one woman and that was Caroline Fraser, Benton's mother. Once she had been taken away from him, no woman would ever match up to her. "All I'm trying to say, Dad, is that once her life calms down, she will most likely not want to be with me anymore." Benton said and he stood up to leave.

"You have no way of knowing that, Son," replied Bob "and there's no point in second guessing what might happen in the future. If I'd have known how little time I was going to have with your mother, do think I wouldn't have bothered with the Great Double Douglas Fir Telescoping Bank Shot and just let Buck Frobisher have her? Of course not!"

Benton rubbed at his left eyebrow with his thumbnail. "I suppose I'm just afraid of…." he began, but he couldn't bring himself to say what he was thinking.

"Stephanie Cabot is not like that other woman," replied Bob, sternly. He didn't want to say the name Victoria Metcalfe, he couldn't cope with the level of hate just her name invoked in him. "She's gone," he continued. "Forget about her, Son."

Benton's eyes were suddenly moist with tears. "It's not that easy, Dad."

xXxXxXx

Later, as Fraser lay in his so-called bed listening to Diefenbaker snoring, he was still going over and over things in his mind.

What's wrong with me? No one was ever going to see us this afternoon except maybe a few cows in the adjoining field. Why couldn't I have just allowed myself that one beautiful moment?

He wondered if Ray would be acting like this. Ray had been damaged by the pain of his divorce, but if he had the opportunity of a relationship with a beautiful woman who seemed to like him as much as he liked her, would Ray be having all these doubts?

Maybe I should call Ray? This is exactly the kind of thing he would want to talk to me about if our roles were reversed. He finds it so easy to talk about his feelings, though.

The chat Fraser had earlier with his father had only reminded him how hard he found it to open up to people; even to the people he loved. He glanced at the clock and realised how late it was. Calling Ray now would be unfair he concluded and instead he resolved to talk to his friend tomorrow.

Despite the warm night making him feel uncomfortable in bed, it wasn't long before Fraser was fast asleep.

It was just after one in the morning when the loud ringing of the telephone wrenched him from his slumber and he sat bolt upright, wondering who could be calling the Consulate at this hour. He leapt out of bed and crossed to his desk to answer it, worried that it might be Inspector Thatcher calling to say she was feeling even more unwell.

"You have reached the Canadian Consulate," began Fraser, "Constable Benton…" but he didn't get a chance to finish his usual greeting.

"Benton!" It was Stephanie and she sounded very distressed. "Oh god, Benton, there's a fire…the stables!"

"Slow down," urged Fraser. "A fire! Are you alright? Are you safe?"

"I'm OK, I'm OK," she panted, "the Fire Department are here…" but her talking turned into coughing.

Fraser had heard enough. "Stephanie, it's alright, I'm on my way," he said.

Within minutes Fraser was dressed in jeans and a dark blue shirt and was driving the Consular car through the streets of Chicago, grateful that Turnbull had returned it in one piece. As he approached Stephanie's sprawling house he could see flames lighting up the night sky and a plume of smoke billowing into the air. He drove the car down the hill towards the stable block, parking it against a hedge at a safe distance from the fire.

Stephanie ran over to him as soon as he got out of the car. Her face was smeared with black soot and her hair was wild. She threw herself into Fraser's arms and he held her tightly. "What happened?" he asked urgently.

"I don't know?" replied Stephanie. "Mia woke me up and then I saw the flames from the window."

"Where is Mia?" asked Fraser, anxiously.

"She's OK, she went back to sleep," replied Stephanie. "I've been back to the house to check on her already." Stephanie had to stop talking to cough and she covered her mouth with her hand as the spasms coursed through her lungs.

"You've inhaled smoke," stated Fraser with concern, "you need to be examined by a doctor."

Steph started to protest, but then a firefighter walked over to them. "I think we've got it under control now," he said, glancing back over his shoulder to his colleagues who were still spraying water on the remains of the wooden structure. "It looks like an electrical spark started it off and then all that hay and straw just went up and the fire took hold of the building. We'll have to get an investigation team out here in the morning to be certain, but I've seen enough of these things to be pretty sure."

"Thank you kindly," said Fraser. "I'm going to take Miss Cabot to the hospital now."

The firefighter nodded and returned to help the rest of his crew finish the job.

"I'm not going to the hospital," stated Stephanie. "I was only in there for a few minutes, just long enough to get the horses out; they were so scared. Romeo had already kicked his way out by the time I got there and King ran as soon as I could get his gate open. Bessie was trapped by flames, but I got to her quickly. Porthos was fighting me, though; he refused to leave. I had to get a rope around him and drag him out of there."

Stephanie was trembling now and Fraser wrapped his arms around her again. "You should have waited until the fire crew arrived," he said. "You could have been…hurt."

"I couldn't leave them in there," replied Stephanie.

"I know," whispered Fraser. He wouldn't have expected anything less from her and he would have done exactly the same in her position. "Where are they now?" he asked.

"I've put them in the old stable block," explained Stephanie. "It's falling down, but I don't have anywhere else. We should go and check on them; I think Bessie may have some burns. I couldn't really see properly and she wouldn't let me go near her."

They ran across the yard to the old building. Stephanie's previous statement had been quite accurate; it did look as though it could fall down at any moment, although it was secure for now. The horses were still all very distressed and making a lot of noise.

Stephanie led Fraser to the stall where she'd left Bessie. There was a single bulb hanging from the ceiling which gave off just about enough light to see. Fraser glanced up at it; he could easily see how the fire in the other block could have started if this was evidence of the state of the wiring.

Stephanie tried to calm the frightened mare. "Sshhh, it's alright," she said and reached out a hand to stroke her mane, but Bessie snorted, shook her head and kicked out at Stephanie.

"Stay back," urged Fraser. He tried to get close enough to Bessie to see her injuries. "Oh dear," he said. "It does appear that she has sustained burns to her hind quarters. It doesn't look too serious, but burns are notoriously susceptible to infection." As he was talking, Fraser had to sidestep Bessie's hooves as she was very jumpy. "We need to cool her skin with some clean water," he explained.

"I'll fill some containers; we have running water down here," replied Stephanie and she darted out of the stable.

Fraser winced as he heard her coughing again. He turned his attentions back to Bessie and started talking to her in Inuktitut. Within a few seconds she had stopped kicking and allowed Fraser to stroke her muzzle. "Good girl," he said as he was finally able to examine her properly.

Just then, Stephanie ran back in. "Benton, quickly!" she yelled, frantically. "It's Porthos!" She rushed back outside.

Fraser raced after her, making sure Bessie's gate was secure as he left. They found Porthos in his stall making a terrible wheezing noise. He was sweating profusely and seemed to be having trouble staying on his feet.

"He wasn't like this just now," said Stephanie, the panic obvious in her voice.

"Oh dear," said Fraser. He and Stephanie stood either side of Porthos and tried to pacify him, but he was clearly very distressed; his coat was cold and clammy and his breathing was shallow and rapid. Fraser rested one hand on the animal's back and pressed his ear to his body, afraid of what he might hear; unfortunately his worst fears were quickly realised. Without saying anything he walked around to join Stephanie and listened to Porthos' other lung, hoping that his ears were deceiving him on this occasion, but the noises were even worse on that side.

Porthos wasn't happy at all and he tried to kick out, but his front legs just gave way beneath him and he fell forward.

"Porthos!" screamed Stephanie. "Come on, Porthos, get up. Come on." She had her arm around his neck and tried to encourage him to stand, but he just didn't have the strength.

Fraser checked Porthos' pulse, it was erratic and Fraser patted the animal affectionately. He glanced at Stephanie, sighed and braced himself; he was going to have to break this to her gently.

Stephanie already knew there was something terribly wrong by the look on his face. "What…what is it? It's bad isn't it," she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

"He's inhaled a lot of smoke," explained Fraser, kneeling next to Stephanie. "His lungs can't cope with it and his organs are already starting to fail."

"What can we do to help him?" she asked, blinking away tears.

Fraser shook his head. "I'm sorry; there's nothing we can do," he said.

"I'll call the vet," she said and started to get to her feet. "I don't know how I'm going to pay him, but I'll…I'll…"

"It's too late, there's nothing anyone can do to help him now," Fraser interrupted her, holding her by the shoulders.

She tried to shake free of his grasp, but at that moment Porthos' hind legs gave out and he collapsed onto his side. "Porthos, no!" Stephanie sobbed and knelt down beside him again. She could see now exactly how much effort it was taking the poor animal just to breathe. "Benton, please do something," she begged.

Fraser sighed sadly. Only a few hours earlier he'd been riding the magnificent animal in the glorious sunshine and now this had happened. He couldn't bear to see him suffering like this and it was heartbreaking to watch Stephanie's anguish.

"There must be something we can do for him," Stephanie said, desperately.

Fraser took a deep breath and nodded. "There is one thing," he said, quietly. "Do you have a shotgun?"