"Right." Frank drained his glass and put it down on the table before getting to his feet.

"Eh…Guv…" Tosh leapt up. "I…uh…"

"What?"

"You've got that look on your face."

"What look?"

"The look of a man about to stick his oar in where it's not wanted." Tosh looked at him knowingly. "You don't know anything about the circumstances of that."

"If by 'that' you mean the fact that Christina's husband is canoodling with another woman at a public bar, then I think it's pretty clear what the circumstances are, don't you?"

"She could be anyone," Tosh reasoned, "or he could be undercover."

"Don't make me laugh," Frank turned back around to face the scene before him. Stewart was talking to the woman now, half-turned to face her, his arm still lightly around her waist, his face lit up and animated. "It's as obvious as the nose on your face."

"What is?" Ted butted into the conversation, pulling a cigarette from his packet. "What's going on?"

"There."

"Where?" he followed Frank's gesture. "No…is it?"

"It is."

"He wouldn't be so brazen, surely?"

"Do you know Stewart Church?" Frank asked, meeting his gaze.

"No, not really…"

"Well then. I do and I don't mind saying that I don't like him. Christina could do a lot better. Look at him," he shook his head, "all over some tart without a care in a world who might see him. What if she had come in here with us? He'd be doing it right in front of her."

"So are half the married men in London," Ted reasoned.

"Oi, present company excluded I hope!" Tosh said indignantly.

"Well, of course. Who else but your Muriel would have you?"

"True that."

"I reckon a quiet word in DS Church's ear is called for, don't you?" Frank stepped forward, only to feel Tosh take hold of him from behind. "Do you mind?"

"I do actually," the other man said, "I do when I think you're about to make a big mistake. What exactly do you expect him to say? Yes, this is my bit of stuff? He's more likely to punch you in the face, or make a complaint, or tell Christina that you're sticking your nose into things that don't concern you."

"If he's up to what I think he's up to, she'll thank me!"

"Will she, will she really?"

Frank paused. In his mind, it was obvious. If the bloke's cheating, tell the wife. Only…well…nobody had told Julie about what he'd been up to the last few years of their marriage. She had been clueless, until he'd gotten to the point of being so miserable that he hadn't bothered to even try to hide it anymore. It had been almost comical; the lipstick on his collar, the smell of perfume on his clothes, the close encounter when she had come home just as he was saying goodbye to someone whose name he would never remember…had she been grateful to find out? It had certainly spurred them on towards their inevitable divorce. But with Christina, well, it wasn't as if she was heading for an inevitable divorce, was it? She loved Stewart, more than he deserved, or so it would appear.

"So what? We just pretend we haven't seen anything?"

"I think that's possibly safest all round Guv, don't you? I reckon Chris has got enough going on at the moment," Tosh clapped him on the shoulder.

"Fine," he replied irritably, though knowing full well that the other man had a point. "I'll be keeping an eye on him though. If he so much as kisses her cheek, I'll be over there."

"Frank Burnside, white knight," Ted chuckled as they sat back down again. "Saviour of wronged wives."

"Not every wronged wife, just one."

"Who's for another drink before it's clocking on time?" Jim asked, pushing his way into the conversation, clearly oblivious to what had gone before. "It's my shout so grab it while you can."

Orders flew over Frank's head from all sides as desperate coppers sought to sink a final glass of pleasure before the afternoon graft started again. He knew he shouldn't, but another vodka and tonic would go down a treat before he had to tackle his paperwork, not to mention he was supposed to be meeting with uniform later that afternoon with regards to liaising with community leaders on the estates, Councillor Hammond's pet project that, unfortunately, had not gone away as he would have liked. All in all, it made for a pretty dull outlook to the rest of the day.

As he looked round, he was conscious of Ted watching him, a knowledgeable yet serious expression on his face. "What?"

The other man shook his head. "Nothing."

XXXX

When she got home that evening, Christina was surprised to find Stewart already there and, what's more, in the process of making dinner. As she closed the front door behind her she could hear the sounds of Radio 4 coming from the kitchen, along with something that smelled very much like chilli. Venturing into the kitchen, she found her husband moving around from sink to table, humming to himself, pots boiling on the cooker.

"What's all this in aid of?" she asked, putting down her handbag and shrugging off her jacket.

"Oh, you're home!" he greeted her with a kiss. "I clocked off a bit early today, so I thought I'd make a start on dinner. It's chilli, so I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all. I'm starving actually. I didn't really have time for any lunch." It was a lie, of course. With everything that had happened with Sophie Brennan and receipt of her citation, food had been the last thing on her mind.

"Busy day?"

"Sort of," she washed her hands quickly in the sink and then sat down at the table, realising that she had no impetus whatsoever to discuss it with him. It had been like that of late. Whereas before she would regale him with tales from Sun Hill about her day, no doubt with a healthy dose of moaning about Frank thrown in, lately she kept her thoughts on all scores to herself and, she noticed, he never asked anyway. "What about you?"

"Same old, same old. I spent most of it going over statements for one of our cases. Honestly, you have no idea how bad some people's spelling is."

"I can imagine." She lapsed into silence, watching him move, putting the final touches to the meal before setting it down before her. "Thanks."

"No problem. I figured I was overdue in cooking for you," he replied, sitting down opposite her. "I hope it's edible."

"It's delicious," she said, tasting a forkful. "It's certainly better than some of the creations you've come up with over the years, not that that would be hard."

He laughed, "God, don't remind me. That poky little kitchen we had in our first flat. You could barely boil an egg in there, let alone anything else."

As they laughed and joked and reminisced, she couldn't help but see him as the old Stewart, the one who had been her partner in facing the world together. Two young souls, hellbent on becoming police officers. Perhaps he hadn't changed as much as she sometimes thought he had. Perhaps he was still the same Stewart, just older and wiser and with more responsibility to shoulder. Maybe it wasn't his fault that she sometimes felt a lack of support from him.

Once dinner was over and the dishes had been done, they retired to the living room to watch some television together. For the first time in ages, he put his arm around her shoulder as they sat together on the couch. After a while, his hand began to wander down across her chest as he turned to slide his other hand under her skirt. Lovemaking had been so infrequent of late due to conflicting work schedules and general fatigue, not to mention her own feelings on what had happened with Ryan, but he seemed to genuinely desire her and that thought alone gladdened her soul.

In a flurry of hands and clothes and punctured breath, they made love right there on the couch, firstly with her on her back then astride him. It felt good, familiar and yet tinged with an excitement and a fevered passion that seemed to have been lacking in previous encounters. She ground hard against him, working herself into a frenzy of blissful pleasure, coming hard and fast and crying out with the sheer delight of it all. Once over, they giggled like the teenagers they had once been and skipped up to bed, lying together and talking about old times in a way they hadn't done for longer than she cared to remember. It reminded her of the closeness they had once shared, that which had, sometimes, got a little lost along the road of life, but which, she was happy to report, was still there, buried beneath it all.

"I got my citation for the court case today," she said suddenly.

"Which court case?"

"My court case. The one for the undercover job where I…you know."

"Oh that. When is it?"

"Next month."

"You'll be fine. It's not like you haven't given evidence before. Just pretend you're talking about somebody else."

She looked over at him, his profile barely visible in the dark, "What do you mean?"

"When it comes to the tough bits, just pretend you're talking about somebody else. Pretend it wasn't you that he was on top of. It'll be better that way, less emotional."

"Shouldn't I be emotional? Won't the jury want to see how I've been affected?"

"You were an undercover police officer," he replied. "They won't expect you to be emotional. It's your job."

His words chilled her slightly. "It's my job to be attacked and almost raped?"

"Don't overdramatise it."

"I'm not overdramatising it…am I?" He yawned but didn't reply. "Burnside said…well he said that I should perhaps have got some counselling."

"For what?"

"For what happened?"

"Chris, darling, you weren't raped, were you? What would you need counselling for?" he yawned again. "I'd best get some shut eye. I've got an early start in the morning. I'll try and not wake you when I leave. Tonight was incredible. We need to make the time to do it more often." He dropped a kiss on her shoulder and then rolled away from her.

For the longest time, she lay watching him, as his body rose and fall with the easy onset of sleep, a gentle snoring eventually filling the air. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was making more of what had happened than she should. Like he said, she was a police officer after all. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she turned her back on him and closed her eyes.

2 September

"Your rape victim's back, sir."

Frank paused, his hand on the door leading into custody and frowned. "What rape victim?"

"The one who came in yesterday," Barry replied. "The one who had her kids with her."

He groaned inwardly, "Well what's she doing back here? We told her there was nothing we could do seeing as the perpetrator was her husband."

"Yeah well, it looks as though he might have found out what she did. She's got a face like she's been ten rounds with Ali."

"Bloody hell…" he shook his head. "You seen Chris Lewis this morning?"

"No sir, not yet. I think you'd better come and speak to Mrs Brennan though, she's in a bit of a state."

"All right, fine." Turning, he followed Barry back along the corridor and into the front office where Sophie Brennan was standing with her back against the wall. Fortunately, this time, she was on her own and it didn't take binoculars to see, even from a distance, that she had taken a beating. "Sophie…"

"Mr Burnside," she looked at him defiantly, but he could tell that underneath she was terrified. "Are you going to tell me that you can't do anything about this either?"

"Look, come in here," he pushed open the door of the front interview room and followed her inside. "What happened?"

"What do you think happened? He found out I'd been here, and he whacked me one!"

Frank looked at her, realising it would be pointless to suggest that her husband had whacked her more than once. "When did this happen?"

"Last night, when he got home."

"And how did he find out you'd been here?"

"How do you think? I told him."

"You told him? Why in God's name would you do that?"

"Why do you think?!" she demanded, her eyes filling with tears. "So he would do something like this! So I could finally report him and you could nick him!" She sat down heavily and put her head in her hands. "I'm so scared. Please, you've got to help me, please!"

"All right, all right," he said. "Look, I'll go and get you a cup of tea, find WDC Lewis and we'll get a statement from you. Where are the kids?"

"With my mother."

"Ok then, well that's one less thing to worry about. Right, sit tight and I'll be back." Opening the door of the room, he stepped back out into the office, motioning to Pete, who was on the front desk. "Get her a cup of tea will you Ramsey? I'll be right back." Without waiting to see the other man's reaction, he stepped through the doors and took the steps to CID two at a time, arriving in the office in time to see Christina hanging up her coat. "Oh good, you've decided to make an appearance."

She frowned and looked at him, "I'm not late."

"No, not yet. Look, don't sit down, do not pass Go and do not collection two hundred pounds."

"Guv?"

"Your Mrs Brennan's back. Apparently, she told her husband that she'd been here yesterday to provoke him into hitting her, which he's done, and now she wants to report him for assault."

"You're joking."

"Do I look like the funny brigade? Come on, we need to get a statement from her." He hovered impatiently as she put her bag away and started rooting around on her desk for a notepad and pen. "Anytime today would be ideal." She flashed him a look of irritation before seizing upon the items in question and following him back out of the room. "She hasn't brought the kids this time, thankfully."

"So, you reckon we can nick him then?"

"If her statement adds up. Poor cow. She's got to be completely desperate to actually tell him about yesterday knowing he would give her a doing." He shook his head. "Some peoples' marriages."

"Yeah, you never really know what goes on behind closed doors do you?" She pushed her hair behind her ear and he immediately caught sight of something on her neck.

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"On your neck."

"Where?"

"There," he pointed. "It's not a love bite, is it?" Her face instantly went crimson. "It is, isn't it? You dirty cow."

"If it is, I got it from my husband, actually," she replied, touching her neck self-consciously. "I never noticed this morning. Is it really obvious?"

"Not if you don't keep tossing your hair like a horse. I thought that sort of thing went out in the seventies and certainly didn't continue once you were married."

"You mean you never gave your old lady the occasional love bite?" she smiled.

He looked at her wryly, "No comment."

The interview with Sophie went as expected. She told them that her husband, upon hearing that she had attempted to report him for rape, had beaten her up, that he had done it before and that she wanted something done about it. He had watched as Christina had carefully noted down what she had said, her hand occasionally straying to move her hair out of the way, only to falter as she remembered what she was trying to hide.

A love bite. A love bite from her husband. The same husband who had, only the previous afternoon, been apparently cavorting in plain sight with another woman. Frank couldn't help but wish he had ignored Tosh and had given Church a piece of his mind. It would have been very satisfying for him if, ultimately, unsatisfying for Christina. He wondered if, whatever show of affection had occurred between them later that night, hadn't been as a result of latent guilt. Not that he spent time pondering the sex life of his WDC, of course.

Not at all.

XXXX

"Dickhead."

"Well, don't hold back, will you?"

"Oh, come on Guv," Christina said, "he is a dickhead. He must have known that she would come back and tell us he thumped her, and he went ahead and did it anyway."

"Well, some men are just stupid."

She looked at him, "Present company excluded of course."

"Of course." He leaned back against the wall outside of the interview room. "So, I reckon we go and pick him up."

"You think we've got enough to hold him?"

"Absolutely. We've got her statement, not to mention the injuries. If we can find a WPC, we can have her shipped over to St Hughes to get checked over and some photographs taken. That should be enough to get his bail denied, especially if he's already got form. We better check with Hollis in the collator's office."

"Well, I can do that if you want to go and work your legendary magic on Frazer."

"What are you trying to suggest?" he made a face at her.

"Nothing at all," she smiled back at him before pushing open the door and making her way down the corridor to Reg's domain in the collator's office, the hub of information on all creatures great and small on the manor. Before going in, however, she ducked into the ladies' toilet to have a look at the offending mark on her neck. To her relief, it wasn't as large or noticeable as Frank had made it out to be and, if she kept her hair covering it, nobody else would see it. She couldn't even remember getting it. Stewart had kissed her neck during their lovemaking, of course, but not hard enough to leave a mark, or so she had thought.

"Oh, hello," Reg greeted her when she stepped into the room. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from CID?"

"I'm looking for any information on one Dennis Brennan. Lives at 16 Fairfield Gardens."

"On the Larkmead?" She nodded. "I know the name." Reg rooted around in one of the drawers. "Brennan…Brennan…ah yes, here he is. Dennis Brennan, date of birth fourth of March nineteen fifty-eight. Yeah, he's got previous for assault."

"Domestic?"

"No, at least not that he's been nicked for before. He was involved in an altercation on the estate two years ago. Got a fine and a suspended sentence."

"So not a habitual offender then?"

"No, well, not so as you'd know."

"Ok, thanks Reg." Stepping back into the corridor, she came face to face with Frank coming, as he clearly had, from Frazer's office. "What did she say?"

"She said she could spare Martella, but only for an hour so she'll need to be quick."

"What did you have to say to persuade her?"

"Never you mind. You get anything?"

"One previous for assault, not domestic though."

"Yeah, and the rest. Right, I'm just going to have a leak and then I'll be with you."

"Guv." She hovered outside the door, her mind wandering as to the content of the conversation he might have had with Inspector Frazer. There were rumours that, at one time, they had been more than just colleagues and acquaintances, much more. But then, Frazer had also had a thing with Ted for a while. She seemed to like her office romances. She remembered what it had been like at Catford when she and Stewart had worked together. Every domestic argument, every bad mood, every irritation had been played out in front of the rest of the team, despite their best efforts to hide it. It was impossible to work dispassionately with someone you loved. At least they had already been married when he had got his promotion, relationships between senior and junior officers at the same stations in the Met being prohibited as they were. That's why Frazer's relationship with Ted had gone down so badly. She remembered it well.

She'd never liked Frazer.

"You fit?" Frank emerged from the toilet. "Or are you in a haze thinking about your close encounter with your husband last night?"

She couldn't help but laugh, "Something like that, Guv, something like that."