she could so afford to alienate him professionally. And personally? There were times every nerve in her body ached to be
in his arms, but that would mean letting him get close. How could she when she had reverse-Midas? As in everything she touched turned to shit. She dropped her head to her chest and hugged the
steering wheel.
It was why she failed at first to spot the two figures huddled in her doorway.
13
Fareeda Saleem was only on her feet because Sumi Gosh was clinging on to her cousin’s shoulders for dear life. Even then Fareeda was bent double, arms clutching her
stomach, and issuing soft low moans with every breath. Bev’s doorstep was stained with what appeared to be drops of blood.
“I couldn’t think where else to go.” Sumi’s words didn’t say a lot, it was an understated plea writ large across stricken features. The young DC was normally never
less than cool, calm and professional. Sumi was rattled now, rapidly losing it, equally patently this was no place to be.
“How ’bout a hospital?” Bev could barely hide her incredulity – and censure – that Sumi had seen fit to show up here with someone clearly so sick.
“No... please!” Fareeda lifted her head briefly, long hair swishing like black satin curtains. Pain deepened the shade of her already dark eyes, and Bev caught a flash of blind
terror.
“I can’t get her to go.” Sumi stroked the younger woman’s back, made soothing sounds. “She’s afraid.”
You don’t say. “Look, Sumi...”
“If you’d rather we...” She cast a sideward glance: pride, propriety, decorum.
Bev had the key in the lock. “First on the left. Sling us your coats.” The sitting room would do. Until she’d talked sense into them. Fareeda needed medical attention. Was she
pregnant? Miscarrying even? When they’d met in the car park at Highgate, Bev hadn’t spotted a bump – only a big fat ugly bruise. Maybe there was a baby – and the two were
linked. “Hang fire, I’ll get the door for you.” She stood back while Sumi, still supporting her cousin, steered a course to the nearest sofa, started settling her, reassuring her
with soft words.
Bev had a zillion questions on hold. “Back in a min,” she called. There was a first aid kit in the kitchen, and they might need hot water. She yanked out drawers, searched cupboards,
scanned shelves. Where was the bloody thing? Under the sink. Where else? Quick check of the contents revealed antiseptic, witch hazel, pain killers, enough bandages to wrap an Egyptian mummy.
Should do the trick. Shame there was no medicinal brandy: Sister Bev needed a drink or three.
“May I get some water for her, please?” Sumi stood in the doorway, her elegant taupe linen suit spattered with blood. Gracious as always, she seemed to be finding eye contact
difficult. And however proper her manners, bringing an injured woman here was out of order.
“Sumi. She needs a doctor.”
The floor tiles were clearly fascinating. “She’ll be OK.”
“Is she pregnant?”
That caught her attention. “Are you mad?” Her guffaw verged not on humour but hysteria. Straight-faced, Bev crossed her arms, waiting. “That was rude. I’m sorry. But Bev,
I doubt Fareeda’s been alone with a man who wasn’t family in her life.”
She didn’t labour the point but Sumi’s answer hadn’t exactly addressed the issue. Bev turned her back, took a Coke glass from a shelf, headed for the tap. Like a lot of
apprehensive people, Sumi felt the pressure to talk, blurting out: “She’s only just eighteen, Bev.” Like that figured?
“And?” Again she wasn’t going to spell it out. Sumi was being disingenuous. Or in denial.
She spread her hands. “Trust me. Fareeda’s not expecting. If you knew her, you’d realise the idea’s preposterous.”
“Then why’s she...?” A wail cut the supplementary. Fareeda might not be pregnant, but she was scared and in pain. As to the answer, Bev was pretty sure she could take a
in his arms, but that would mean letting him get close. How could she when she had reverse-Midas? As in everything she touched turned to shit. She dropped her head to her chest and hugged the
steering wheel.
It was why she failed at first to spot the two figures huddled in her doorway.
13
Fareeda Saleem was only on her feet because Sumi Gosh was clinging on to her cousin’s shoulders for dear life. Even then Fareeda was bent double, arms clutching her
stomach, and issuing soft low moans with every breath. Bev’s doorstep was stained with what appeared to be drops of blood.
“I couldn’t think where else to go.” Sumi’s words didn’t say a lot, it was an understated plea writ large across stricken features. The young DC was normally never
less than cool, calm and professional. Sumi was rattled now, rapidly losing it, equally patently this was no place to be.
“How ’bout a hospital?” Bev could barely hide her incredulity – and censure – that Sumi had seen fit to show up here with someone clearly so sick.
“No... please!” Fareeda lifted her head briefly, long hair swishing like black satin curtains. Pain deepened the shade of her already dark eyes, and Bev caught a flash of blind
terror.
“I can’t get her to go.” Sumi stroked the younger woman’s back, made soothing sounds. “She’s afraid.”
You don’t say. “Look, Sumi...”
“If you’d rather we...” She cast a sideward glance: pride, propriety, decorum.
Bev had the key in the lock. “First on the left. Sling us your coats.” The sitting room would do. Until she’d talked sense into them. Fareeda needed medical attention. Was she
pregnant? Miscarrying even? When they’d met in the car park at Highgate, Bev hadn’t spotted a bump – only a big fat ugly bruise. Maybe there was a baby – and the two were
linked. “Hang fire, I’ll get the door for you.” She stood back while Sumi, still supporting her cousin, steered a course to the nearest sofa, started settling her, reassuring her
with soft words.
Bev had a zillion questions on hold. “Back in a min,” she called. There was a first aid kit in the kitchen, and they might need hot water. She yanked out drawers, searched cupboards,
scanned shelves. Where was the bloody thing? Under the sink. Where else? Quick check of the contents revealed antiseptic, witch hazel, pain killers, enough bandages to wrap an Egyptian mummy.
Should do the trick. Shame there was no medicinal brandy: Sister Bev needed a drink or three.
“May I get some water for her, please?” Sumi stood in the doorway, her elegant taupe linen suit spattered with blood. Gracious as always, she seemed to be finding eye contact
difficult. And however proper her manners, bringing an injured woman here was out of order.
“Sumi. She needs a doctor.”
The floor tiles were clearly fascinating. “She’ll be OK.”
“Is she pregnant?”
That caught her attention. “Are you mad?” Her guffaw verged not on humour but hysteria. Straight-faced, Bev crossed her arms, waiting. “That was rude. I’m sorry. But Bev,
I doubt Fareeda’s been alone with a man who wasn’t family in her life.”
She didn’t labour the point but Sumi’s answer hadn’t exactly addressed the issue. Bev turned her back, took a Coke glass from a shelf, headed for the tap. Like a lot of
apprehensive people, Sumi felt the pressure to talk, blurting out: “She’s only just eighteen, Bev.” Like that figured?
“And?” Again she wasn’t going to spell it out. Sumi was being disingenuous. Or in denial.
She spread her hands. “Trust me. Fareeda’s not expecting. If you knew her, you’d realise the idea’s preposterous.”
“Then why’s she...?” A wail cut the supplementary. Fareeda might not be pregnant, but she was scared and in pain. As to the answer, Bev was pretty sure she could take a
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