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‘Leave my baby alone!’ she screamed. ‘I’ll call the perleece.’
    ‘Do that,’ said Agatha coldly, ‘and I’ll have your son charged with theft and actual bodily harm.’
    Sean twisted Terry’s arm up his back. ‘It’s in the bag on the floor,’ he howled. ‘You’re hurting me.’
    Agatha recognized the camera bag Phil had given Toni. She opened it up and saw the camera and lens were inside.
    ‘Keep him there,’ she ordered. Mrs Gilmour had collapsed, weeping, on to the sofa.
    Agatha ran up the stairs, shouting, ‘Toni!’ Toni unlocked her bedroom door. She had a cut lip and what looked like the beginnings of a black eye.
    ‘Pack a suitcase. You’re getting out of here,’ said Agatha.
    Toni hauled a suitcase down from the top of a wardrobe and began to stuff clothes into it. Agatha looked round the room. Unlike the rest of the house that she had seen, Toni’s room was
neat and clean, reminding her bitterly of her own childhood where she had tried to create an island of calm amongst the drunken chaos wrought by her parents.
    ‘He’ll kill me if I try to leave,’ whispered Toni, shutting her suitcase.
    ‘No, he won’t. I’ve got two strong men downstairs who’ll make sure he doesn’t. Come along.’
    Agatha stopped at a bank and drew two hundred pounds out of the machine. She paid the two men and dropped them off at the pub before driving Toni to her home.
    ‘Get your bag and come in,’ ordered Agatha. Carrying the camera case, Agatha led the way.
    In the kitchen she ordered Toni to sit down and examined her lip and eye. ‘You won’t need stitches but you’re going to have one hell of a black eye. I’ll make you a cup
of sweet tea and then check the spare room. I had a guest who’s just left, so I’ll need to change the sheets.’
    But when she went upstairs, Agatha found that her excellent cleaner, Doris Simpson, had been in and changed the sheets, cleaned the room, and placed a small jug of wild flowers beside the
bed.
    She returned to the kitchen. ‘It’s all ready. Has this happened before?’
    ‘He’s never hit me before. Just played nasty tricks. When I was going to school, if he found my homework, he’d rip it up, things like that.’
    ‘Where is your father?’
    ‘I don’t know who he is. Ma would never say.’
    ‘And your mother drinks a lot?’
    ‘All the time.’
    ‘Any others? I mean brothers or sisters?’
    ‘No, just Terry.’
    ‘What a mess. I should report all this to the social services. Stay here for a bit until I figure out what to do. Now, have you eaten anything?’
    Toni shook her head.
    ‘I’ll fix us something, but,’ said Agatha with a rare burst of honesty, ‘I’m not the world’s best cook.’
    She searched in the deep freeze and found a packet of lamb stew, given to her the week before by Mrs Bloxby. She defrosted it and then heated it in the microwave. She put a plate of food in
front of Toni and then opened a bottle of wine.
    ‘You’re very kind,’ said Toni awkwardly.
    The doorbell rang.
    ‘Does Terry know where I live?’ asked Agatha nervously.
    ‘No. I didn’t either. You only had phone numbers on that card you gave me.’
    Agatha went to answer it. Her friend, Sir Charles Fraith, stood on the doorstep.
    ‘Come in,’ said Agatha. ‘But I’m in the middle of a bit of a drama.’
    Charles was as beautifully tailored as ever, his fair hair in an excellent cut and his neat features betraying nothing more than amiable curiosity. Agatha introduced Toni and briefly outlined
what had been happening.
    Charles helped himself to a glass of wine. ‘I haven’t enough food for you,’ said Agatha.
    ‘I’ve just eaten. Do you know what you should do?’ said Charles.
    ‘About what?’
    ‘About Toni here.’
    ‘It’s arranged. She can stay here as long as she wants.’
    ‘You’ll soon want your own space and start bitching, Agatha.’
    And Agatha, who had been feeling like a saint for rescuing Toni, glared at