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been in, trying to decide whether to raise the child alone, give it up for adoption, or abort it. Simon was certain she would move back to the States at that point, to her mother, Amelia, and her new stepfather. But once she’d decided firmly not to terminate the pregnancy, it was the combination of her old friend Val and her new friend Kate who had convinced Nora she should stay at the lodge for the next year.
      “We have the room, and it would be so much easier to manage your collaboration with Simon if you were here.” Kate was the voice of reason.
      Val agreed. “You don’t have family over here, and you shouldn’t be alone during these months. As much as I’d do for you, I’m at the co-op all day. These guys are right here.”
      “Besides,” Kate persisted, “it will do us all good to have a baby around here. And when you get on your feet and can see where the books are going, you can move on.”
      Simon felt he had held his breath for a week as Nora mulled their offer over, trying not to pressure her, something he’d been guilty of in his past relationships. Finally she had acquiesced.
      “The last thing I want to do is flee home to be fussed over by my mother. I love her but only in small doses—her constant fussing makes me claustrophobic after a few days. She can fuss to her heart’s content over Roger. He adores her every suggestion. Besides, they’re enjoying traveling, and they’ve earned their retirement.”
      Once it was settled, Val returned to Oxford, and Simon spent the summer trying to ignore the chemistry that flew between them as they polished the book. At least Nora seemed capable of ignoring it, he reluctantly admitted. Why do bloody relationships have to be so difficult? Simon wondered, as Nora stretched, yawning noisily. He waited for her to push her glasses back up her nose, an endearing gesture she repeated hundreds of time a day.
      Simon stretched his left leg and rotated each hand in turn to uncramp his muscles. He insisted on doing all the driving, much to Nora’s chagrin, providing her with direct evidence of what she called his “Renaissance Man syndrome.”
      “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I’ve ceased to function,” she complained in clear Connecticut tones as they’d packed up the car.
      “You can drive after we stop for our sandwiches,” he’d said, but then slid behind the wheel before she could get in after a quick stop for fuel and a bathroom break.
      Now she looked at the road sign they were passing. “Only about ten kilometers and we hit Banbury, then less than thirty to Oxford.” She watched the verdant countryside for a moment, and then added: “I do appreciate you driving. I know you’d rather I stay mollycoddled and such —” She put up her hand as Simon started to protest. “I just wanted to say I know you drove out of concern, not control,” she finished quickly, searching through her discs for another selection.
      Simon nodded but remained silent, carefully keeping his eyes on the road. It was like walking a bloody tightrope, but maybe Nora was seeing he respected and cared about her.
      “I wonder how Val is doing. I hate to call her if she’s talking to the police.” Nora frowned. “This is so unbelievable, Simon.” She turned to face him. “I can’t believe the police could think Val had anything to do with it.”
      It was Simon’s turn to frown. “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. She’ll be able to explain herself.”
      “I certainly hope so,” Nora said, ejecting Beethoven and putting in Jack Johnson.
      Simon hid a sigh. These next days were going to be difficult, helping Val cope with Bryn’s death, packing Nora’s flat, and meeting with a publisher who had shown an interest in their book. The last thing any of them needed was for Nora to go about sticking her nose into a murder investigation. In the five months he’d known her, Nora had twice taken it upon herself to solve what