If the previous night's preparations had been rushed, Dempsey's ablutions for dinner compensated for it in their meticulousness. They had taken another long bath and washed each other's hair. Now he felt invigorated and relaxed in equal measure.

Back in the bedroom he surveyed his reflection in the full-length mirror, adjusting the bow tie so it lay straight against the starched whiteness of his shirt. Bow ties were still relatively new to him – he hadn't had much use for them in New York – and he had to admit, he was kind of getting to like them: they added a certain level of sophistication that he relished. Behind him, Harry was stepping into a sheer, petrol blue cocktail dress. He whistled softly, and she smiled shyly at him in the glass. That she still retained a hint of self-consciousness despite the depth of their intimacy made her even more attractive, somehow.

He was actually looking forward to this evening. Giles and Esther would be in attendance of course, but so would Colonel Aldred, who evidently hadn't gotten around to leaving earlier and would be staying on at the Hall for a second night. He hoped the colonel would help lighten the mood; he'd been entertaining the previous evening in a gregarious, drunken sort of a way.

Dempsey knew it was the day he and Harry had shared that had put him in this positive frame of mind. He couldn't remember a happier one. Spending those precious hours together had brought them even closer. It made him feel that if only they could be like this all the time, nothing bad would ever happen because they had each other. The idea of being with her forever wasn't the scary thought it might once have been with anyone else. Indeed, the fear he felt was in the possibility of losing her.

At the same time, paradoxically, he knew he also felt more relaxed because they were leaving tomorrow to go back to London. He pushed the knowledge away feeling guilty and disloyal, but he couldn't deny it was there. Their time alone had been amazing – intimate and special – but it strongly contrasted with the time spent with Harry's relatives. He couldn't shake the feeling of being a fish out of water, and he didn't like it. It was naïve to think, as he might once have done, that he could bluster his way through any situation and rub along with most types of people. Being in the UK had taught him that life wasn't so simple. Sure he'd adapted in his daily life, and at SI-10, had even found a comfortable niche: he was a 'yank', but he was one of the guys. At Winfield Hall, he knew instinctively, he would never be 'one of the guys', no matter how warm and welcoming Harry's father might be; the barriers of class and upbringing were simply too high for him to overcome. He would simply never feel like he belonged. How he would handle that in the long-term – if there was a long term – he wasn't sure.

She slipped on low kitten heels and moved towards him.

"Ready?' Her eyes smiled as she touched him on the arm, pulling him out of his reverie. Sighing, he put his arms around her and kissed her, then leaned back to appraise her properly.

"You look beautiful, princess."

"Thanks darling. You look pretty good too. Let's go and have a good time. And try to relax!"

"Who said I wasn't relaxed?"

She didn't answer immediately, just kissed him again. Her eyes told him how much she understood.

"You know what I mean. Remember, you're with me. I'll have anyone who disrespects you escorted off the premises."

They walked downstairs and before they joined the others in the drawing room, kissed one last time. He leaned into her, not wanting to let her go.

"I love you, Harry."

"I love you too," she whispered. They had only started saying it to each other very recently and the words in his mouth felt unfamiliar and potent. He squeezed her hand and then guided her towards the door.

She entered the room first. The rest of the party was already assembled, and he immediately sensed that something was wrong. The atmosphere was sombre and there was no buzz of chatter. It was as though they had simply been sitting there in silence, waiting for them.

Neither of them moved from the doorway. After several moments, Lord Winfield rose from his armchair close to the fire and took a few steps towards them. Dempsey was alarmed by his appearance: his complexion was waxy and his mouth worked convulsively. He looked at Harry beseechingly. Finally, as though woken from a dream, she spoke.

"Daddy, what is it?"

He looked at Dempsey, then back to his daughter.

"Harriet darling. Something terrible had happened. Your mother's jewelry – it's all gone. Thompson discovered it only an hour ago. We've been robbed."

For some reason, Dempsey's eyes were drawn to Giles, sitting at the far end of the room. He hadn't turned to acknowledge their entrance, but now he fixed Dempsey with a cold stare. It was the first time they had seen one another since their encounter by the lake.

Harry didn't notice - she was only aware of her Father as she lead him back to the fire and helped him into the armchair.

"But I don't understand," she was saying. "Has someone broken in? Porter, bring Daddy some brandy."

Porter was there almost instantly, re-filling Lord Winfield's glass and then those of the others.

"I keep it all in a safe in one of the back bedrooms – silly really, I knew I should have put it in secure storage, but I like to have it close. Occasionally, I get it out to look at; I suppose this serves me right for being such a sentimental old fool."

He paused, lip trembling. Dempsey looked away.

"The key's been hidden in the same place for so long, and hardly anyone knows where it is. But someone's found it and has opened the safe – all of it gone. I don't know what to say Harry, it was for you of course – all yours. And now, gone!"

The unshed tears were brimming in his eyes, and now in Harry's too. He clasped his daughter's hand and bowed his head. Dempsey swallowed. It wasn't only the value of the jewels of course, he knew that. Her Mother's jewelry was perhaps the strongest link with her they both still had. He felt strange and more of an outsider than ever – watching this small family unit and their grief for a lost wife and mother.

After several minutes, Lord Winfield recovered himself a little.

"The worst thing about all of this," he said, "is that the only conclusion I can come to is that it must be someone here. I'm certain we'd know if there had been a break in. We can't be sure when exactly the robbery took place, but Thompson last checked the safe on Thursday afternoon so it has to be within the last 48 hours. As far as pinpointing an exact time goes though, it's impossible. The key is hidden and certain trusted servants do know its whereabouts. The idea of being betrayed by one of the staff, it's just too much…"

"Shhh." She rubbed his back as he hunched over, soothing him as one would a child. From her position crouched down by her father, she looked back at Dempsey. Her eyes were bleak and he knew one thing – this was the start of a very long night.