Christmas morning dawned mild and sunny. Following a large breakfast served at the long trestle table in the kitchen eaten in shifts as the guests came and went, washed down with jugs of mimosas, hot, strong milky coffee and a great deal of merriment, the house party took a long walk to work up their appetites. Lunch would be more like an early dinner, ready when it was ready. The roasts were already in the oven and there were enough people to assist later. It was time to work up an appetite. 

Before long, the house guests split into two groups. Andreas was a wind up toy, still spinning from excitement at the vast array of presents 'Santa' had left for him, dashing ahead, throwing himself on Liam, whose own rambunctious side was to the fore. Zoe was skipping along beside them, enjoying the sight of her son interacting with his young uncle, laughing as Andreas was scooped up and thrown about in danger of throwing up his breakfast. Abigail and Madeleine were also trotting along. A very easy friendship had formed between them all, redolent of days gone by when they had all been so much younger, with a heavy dose of adoration from the younger woman in the presence of such stellar adult company.

With a sudden change of tack, Liam dumped Andreas in a pile of leaves and hauled up Madeleine in his place, much as he had done years before when she would have been the little one to his teenage boy, tossing her easily over his shoulder, fireman's lift-style, and paddling her bottom as she wriggled around in pretended indignation. Abigail and Zoe picked up and dusted down Andreas who was still giggling himself, scrambling back up and eager to be off and after his uncle. Abby offered him her back instead and set off jogging after Liam, who in no time had encouraged Maddy to climb on his shoulders. A hysterically funny jousting competition ensued, a déjà vu moment from how it once used to be when they had all been children. Zoe stood around amused but watching Andreas carefully; she was a mother first and foremost. Her son was utterly reckless at such times as all little boys are - particularly those sired by Nick Costello  - and Liam forgot how big and strong he was in comparison with the small child. In many ways her brother still seemed like a boy at times like these. It was one of the things she loved most about him, an odd kind of innocence he retained amidst all the virile macho male bad behaviour. She thought it was his saving grace. But by the same token, she didn't want an accident way out here in the deepest countryside to ruin the otherwise perfect day.

Behind them sauntered the older couples, watching the performance of the younger ones with wry smiles on their faces. It was hard to tell the child from the adults, which was how such times ought to be, they mused, the inevitable cares of the real world cast aside for this one special day of the year when everyone became a child again. Dino and Mel strolled on hand in hand, reminiscing about Nate who had called them earlier. They both missed their headstrong son, spending his holidays in South Asia, knowing how much he would have enjoyed this occasion, and how much they wished he was here to make the circle complete, sharing it with his friends.

Annie and Terry brought up the rear, lingering behind, enjoying this chance amongst so many house guests to talk together alone for awhile. Terry had observed his wife had been quieter than he might have expected that morning and wondered what was on her mind. She merely shrugged when asked, in one of her uncommunicative moods. It usually meant she didn't want to burden him with something. He suspected she was thinking about Fliss, Nina and other happier festive occasions of recent years. Just twelve months before, Fliss had been heavily pregnant. It seemed unthinkable that one short year later Liam's relationship with her could be so completely dead and buried.

But Terry didn't raise that particular topic, preferring to test out another one that had been on his own mind. "Zoe seems settled in London, don't you think? I caught her on the phone this morning in the study. Got the impression there was a guy on the other end. She seeing anyone?"

Another shrug, this time accompanied by a wry look. 

"Well, spit it out...!" he retorted. This morning, his male brain was not up to Annie's feminine leaps of speculation.

Annie grinned and held out her hand for him to help her over a log that lay in her path. "She hasn't said anything to me, but she was talking to someone on the phone last night as well. She denied it earlier when I asked her if she had a bloke. But I think she's lying. I'm not sure why she's being so secretive really...unless..." At that, she paused with an emphasis loaded with meaning, looking pleased with herself, although not enlarging on her personal opinion.

Terry grunted. "Have I ever told you that you can be extremely annoying when you want to be? Unless? Unless...what? I'm not a bloody mind reader...!"

With a self-satisfied smirk, she continued. "I'm beginning to think it might be Sergei. He dropped that hint when we met him in Paris, remember? They have seen each other in London since they parted, that much is clear. He made a comment that day about how lovely she had looked then - and if she's reluctant to talk now it might be because she's a little embarrassed that he's back on the scene..."

He swore colourfully. "Fuck, I hope not. I thought we'd seen the last of that miserable bastard..."

"...I thought you liked him," Annie replied, rolling her eyes in scarcely concealed annoyance with her husband.

"Not for my daughter, I don't. He had his chance and he damn well blew it. As I recall, the last time we ran into him, he was on the arm of a woman just about young enough to be his own daughter. Excuse me if I don't relish the idea of Zoe being romanced by cell phone while he's actually spending the holiday in the bed of another woman scarcely out of her teens. It doesn't suggest much constancy or commitment..."

Annie gave his reply some thought. "He's a guy. And I didn't say they were having a romance. I just wondered if he's been calling her. He can't just drop everything... They might just be sounding each other out..."

"Come on! He shouldn't be calling one woman while shagging another. Surely you want more for her than that? Christ, he should be on his bended knees trying to get her back, not running a few women at the same time, just in case..."

Annie's face showed that she was a little deflated but that she agreed with him to a point. Her hopes were that her daughter would find a great love to replace Nick. Sergei seemed to be that sort of man, but what Terry had said was essentially true. He had replaced Zoe quickly enough in his affections, it would seem. Would a man truly in love behave like that?

"I just get the feeling she's pining for someone. It made me recall that first Christmas after we met, remember? I spent the entire time on the phone to you or moping about. My Mum went nuts. On the other hand, I don't actually know how you spent that particular holiday season, do I? I can hardly believe you sat at home waiting for my calls and pining back for me. I know what you were like back in the day. I'll bet you were out cruising and picking up something to keep your bed warm until I showed up again..."

Terry flashed her one of his looks, lips pulled up in pugnacious disapproval. "I beg your pardon? If you must know I was convalescing from a broken rib. And waiting for this girl I was crazy about.  Do you really imagine I was fucking around while you were gone? Thanks a lot..."

"Really? You were really hung up on me?" Annie almost skipped in glee at his revelation. "Why didn't you say something then? You were always so damn cool about everything. I never knew where I was with you. I felt so gauche and you seemed so sophisticated..."

"Christ, I was like a lovesick boy. All I could think of was what you were going to feel like when I finally got you in my bed..."

Annie groaned. "That's not love, that's lust, Terry. I thought you meant you were thinking sweet nothings about me..."

"Men don't do sweet nothings. I wanted you. What's wrong with that? I was alone in that sterile apartment, eating sandwiches, drinking beer, watching crappy Christmas specials and fantasising about this loopy woman who had me in knots..."

"You stayed in thinking about me? That's so cute..."

"Cute? Jesus, I hadn't been laid in weeks...it was heroic!"

Annie pulled her tongue out at him. "Don't spoil it by being crude. I remember being so scared you'd forget about me by the time I got back to London. I thought you'd have some new glamorous model girlfriend or something..."

"Forget about you? You were on the phone every five minutes. How could I? And while we're on the subject of keeping people in the dark, I never knew what was going on in your mind either. And I was scared that you'd find out what I did for a living because you were so fucking prim about everything. Miss Political Correctness..."

Annie laughed gaily at his comment. "Men and women, hey? I thought you were too much man and you thought you weren't principled enough. Why is it we were so good at reading each other wrong? I mean, we were intelligent people!"

Terry hunched his shoulders. "Insecurity. I'd lost too many women for a whole host of reasons, and more was riding on my relationship with you than on most of them. This time I suddenly seemed to wise up and work out that you were what I needed, not some vacuous high maintenance blonde airhead.  And you hadn't got a clue what men thought about you. Or that a man like me wanted nothing more at heart than your innocence and purity. He just never thought he would get a crack at that again..." Terry's smile was tinged with sadness as he recalled that younger man and the quiet despair of the life he had been leading.

Her manner changed at his perceptive words. She slipped her arm through his and snuggled up close. "How could we have ever imagined this, though? Who could blame us for being insecure in the face of what we thought we might have found - and could so easily lose? And I didn't think you weren't principled enough. I thought you the most honourable man I had ever met. As well as the most exciting. And sexy. And shaggable. Imagine all that in one package...not to mention the other package...well, pardon me, boy, if I didn't feel a little bit small town girl in your presence..."

Terry smiled again, this time with that edge of the arrogance of his younger self showing through, that Australian cockiness that had always stopped him from being too perfect. Annie wouldn't have wanted too much goodness from her man.

"Yeah, I was something then, huh? Back in the day..." he glanced up at his virile son ahead, entertaining his troupe of ladies and adoring nephew.

"Less of the past tense. Liam still has a long, long way to go to measure up to you. That's his burden. But he's beginning to get there, I think. He looks good, doesn't he? Happy. Relaxed. Healthy. Fit. She's good for him. As long as they take it slow. He's not ready yet for something heavy."

Terry nuzzled up to her, bussing her neck, whispering in her ear. "You're biased. You're his Mum. But yeah, he looks great. Why wouldn't he? Young, rich, famous and dating one of the world's most beautiful supermodels? What's not to like about that? But I wouldn't count Fliss out yet. That was a very special relationship. You and I made it through the storms. Maybe they still can yet. Which reminds me. I hope you're wearing that dress for dinner. It cost enough. My Christmas present to myself..."

"You never change. How wonderful...!"

He kissed her then, stopping to hold her tenderly, her delicate face in his large hands. 

"Man, let her go. You are so predictable...!" Dino's voice broke into their intimate moment. Neither took any notice. They would finish when they were ready.

After a few hours' sleep, a brisk run along quiet Christmas morning streets, a quick shave and shower, Tom was back at the Grid. He could have stayed at home, liaising with duty staff by phone or online; he was senior enough merely to make himself available on Christmas Day, not be physically in the office all the time. But there was no real reason to sit in his home constantly reminded by the banal Christmas TV and radio that he was alone when the rest of the country was indulging in its annual schmaltz-fest.

He dressed carefully in the blue cashmere jumper she had bought for him, the gift opened up in his kitchen that morning as he drank a solitary cup of tea. It gave him an inexplicable sense of being loved, a different kind of warmth than that expected from an expensive yarn. From time to time during the day he found himself touching the smooth tactile softness of the elegant knitwear. It somehow reminded him of soft womanhood, her loveliness, the sense of caring she brought to him, her gentle hands on him, the incredible silky perfection of her naked body on his skin.

Another reason, apart from loneliness, made him eager to return to the office; he had some research of his own to do. For long solitary hours, broken only by endless cups of coffee, a packet of digestive biscuits and Zoe's phone call, he brought up everything he could find on the files on Jeremy Cuthbert, his known associates and his every move over the past few months. The more he found, the more he realised that Adam Carter had been correct in his instincts. Jeremy Cuthbert had an agenda - and Zoe Costello was central to it.

 It was time to examine this using a different lens.

Late afternoon, Tom stood up and stretched, taking a turn round the largely empty office space, thinking over what he had learned so far. Cuthbert was back in England. What would he himself do in his place if he was really closing in on Nick Costello's secrets? Cuthbert was clever, a past master at this game. He had to have observed Zoe and himself together. He must have worked out what was driving MI5's interest in her. In a sense, Cuthbert had an easy run if he knew of the top secret dossier they were seeking. He didn't have to do anything much at all; they were doing his job for him. All Cuthbert had to do was hang around and keep them under observation. Wouldn't they themselves lead him straight to the cache if it truly existed?

But what could Cuthbert do to get his hands on it? Unless he had someone on the inside, it would all be largely speculation. How viable was it that someone in Five was selling information? Tom was not naïve. It was perfectly possible Cuthbert had government sources on his payroll. But who here at the Grid knew anything of real significance? Apart from his team, little of this operation was recorded anywhere. It was mostly conducted on his own time. He had increasingly kept more and more of the details to himself. Of his Section, he had no doubts; they might disagree from time to time but there was no question of their loyalty to him. They were all fully aware of Cuthbert on the sidelines, too, so an apparently innocent approach would be immediately suspect.  Harry Pearce might occasionally have his own agenda but it was usually for the public good and his dislike of Cuthbert was well known. Tom was not inclined to see Section B or his commanding officer the source of any leak.

That left only one possible source. One person at Five was nurturing a personal grievance against him. She also possessed about as much milk of human kindness as a hungry piranha, and was probably capable of betrayal given enough provocation: Tessa Phillips.

Tom tried to access her files but found them blocked to his protocols. In itself, that was not incriminating. Even at his level complex electronic scrambled shields were in place in place to protect each section from others. Cross-department access was always a potential weak link. The fewer people in possession of intelligence limited opportunities for treason. If something was then leaked, the easier it was to trace the source. There were, however, ways around everything. A quick call to Ruth and Tom soon had the password and code he required. Miss Evershed herself was no friend of the lady in question.

Tessa's files made for very interesting reading indeed. She had worked extensively with Cuthbert earlier in her career when he had been a military officer and later with him at MI6. They were well known to each other, even romantically involved off and on, if that was the correct term for a sexual liaison between those two wily predators. Trawling even further back, however, Tom found a reference to Miss Phillips once having had an abortion. Had that little mistake been anything to do with Cuthbert? If so, it would suggest an even deeper bond might exist between them - so he dug deeper. What he ultimately found shook him profoundly. The records showed that in her early career as a field officer, Tessa Phillips had been assigned to a highly controversial bit of political interference in Israel working alongside a young SAS officer - by the name of Terrence Thorne.

Tom hit the desk with a clenched fist. She had known Zoe's father well? Analysts at the time had even suggested the relationship between the two undercover agents had overstepped acceptable working parameters. They had been kept apart subsequently as a precaution. Miss Phillips had fallen hard it would seem for the dashing young soldier only for him to up and leave her, shortly after to marry a general's daughter instead. The date of the operation in Israel matched with the subsequent termination. Terrence Thorne had probably never known he had left Tessa pregnant.

From that time on, her records indicated she had rarely formed close relationships with men, devoting herself to her career at the expense of all else. Terrence Thorne had gone on to leave the army at the height of his career - and his wife and child - to make a success (and a good deal of money) as a hostage negotiator, eventually marrying again, this time more happily - and fathering two more children: Zoe and Liam Thorne. Tom groaned at the simplicity of it all. They operated amongst the world's most sophisticated and intrusive intelligence networks but, at the end of the day, the connections came down to little more than a woman scorned. Tessa nurtured an intensive professional dislike for him - how much more would she hate the man who had left her abandoned and pregnant? Would that bitter resentment be enough to cause the woman to embark on a macabre revenge to make the child of the man she had loved and lost pay for the life of the child she had aborted? It was entirely possible. Tessa Phillips was vindictive enough to do much more than that.

 At last Tom felt he had a hook on this convoluted mess. Perhaps he might not emerge as the villain of the piece after all.

Annie came down the stairs, still playing with a stray strand of hair and smoothing down the figure-hugging red dress she personally considered to be the least appropriate attire to wear when for preparing a Christmas meal. Liam was striding in the opposite direction heading for the bedrooms, humming along to a song on his I-pod.  As she passed him by, he glanced casually up at her. The smile died on his face. Ripping off the headset, he gave his own mother a detailed once over. "Bloody hell, Ma, is that legal at your age? You're giving me very unsuitable thoughts..."

She slapped his arm playfully; he grinned and re-inserted the earphones. "Lucky Dad! He gets to unwrap that later, huh?"

Tutting at his cheek, Annie continued on into the kitchen where Zoe and Andreas were already helping themselves to the iced Christmas biscuits. Her daughter looked up as she entered - and gasped. "My God, look at you! Damn, I'll have to go change now!  You look sensational! I cannot be outdone on Christmas Day by my Mum. Andy, look at grandma!"

Andreas clapped in delight. "Nice shoes, Nanny! You look like a dancing girl on MTV!"

Zoe giggled as she dashed out of the kitchen, muttering, "He's already got his Dad's taste for 'fuck me' shoes, Mum..."

Andreas followed her out but not before stopping to pat Annie's rear as he went. The little boy seemed most taken with the snug fit of the dress.  Annie found herself tutting loudly again, a matronly sound that did not go with her outfit in the slightest.

 Deciding on an apron to conceal and protect the expensive gown, she bent down to search one out from a cupboard when she heard a voice from behind her. "Have I died and gone to heaven? That tush has to belong to an angel ...! What an invitation, honey...!"

"Dino! Behave!" Annie spun round, pulling at the hem of her skirt that had ridden up as she bent down. He chuckled, without any apparent attempt at apology.

"Your husband sent me in for a couple of beers to go with the very fine malt we were just sampling. He obviously doesn't know what's waiting for him in here or he would have been in like Flynn himself. Good thing it was me, thought.  By now he'd have had you up against the table, honey, but then, I always was less of an animal..."

"Honestly, what is up with all of you? It's just a Christmas party frock!" Annie protested. 

Dino snorted. "And I'm just Santa's little Christmas helper. Now if women in the kitchen regularly looked like this, I'd be washing up till kingdom come..."

She handed him the cans in exasperation. "Two beers - now, go and get out of my hair or this meal will never be ready...!"

"...I refuse to work side by side with a woman who looks that good in the same room as me! Annie, you are evil! How can you do this to your best and oldest friend?" Mel started almost as soon as she walked through the door. Annie located the apron and tied it on.

"Blame Terry. He insisted, the pervert. Honestly, he's as bad as Liam. All he thinks about is tits and ass..."

"Hard not to in the presence of such a dress," Dino observed as he dodged the teacloth Annie swiped at him.

"Is everyone going to make such a song and dance about this dress? I like a compliment as much as the next woman, but this is ridiculous! I feel self-conscious now... It's too revealing, isn't it? A woman of my age should dress more soberly, especially at a family gathering..."

"A woman of any age who can get away with such a dress should wear it daily," Mel retorted. "Don't dare start. I would give my right tit for that sort of attention from the boys. Is that the dress Sergei Litvinov approved of? Dirty bugger! Has he got no age limit, upper or lower?"

Annie handed a knife over. "Shut up and peel. I'll tell you how successful it was tomorrow. Although if our husbands continue to hit the bottle with the gusto they are doing, we can expect them fast asleep in a chair by six - what a waste of an outfit! So if they're drinking themselves into oblivion, we better start catching up.  I'm going to open another bottle of champers. I need a Mimosa...!"

Tessa Phillips lived in a converted Docklands warehouse apartment, its entrance a discreet black doorway giving straight out onto the cobbled street beyond. Tom Quinn had been squatting in a nearby alleyway for the past few remaining daylight hours, watching the lights in the apartment above. Miss Phillips was home and the car parked outside suggested she had a visitor. Tom even knew who the caller was. The car, although hired in the name of Trevor Beckett, had been easy to track back through the camera security video in the Hertz rental office. A snapshot of every customer was taken as the transaction was completed, a fact not widely known to the general public whose sensibilities would have been offended by such an infringement of liberties. Cuthbert would have known and had averted his face from the lens, but there was enough in the image to suggest that it was him. Tom needed nothing more than circumstantial evidence anyway.

The knowledge that Carter's hunch and his own deep research had been on track was enough to help block out the chill of the approaching night, the loneliness of a Christmas Day spent on surveillance, and his desperate fear that Zoe might soon be lost to him forever. Few people passed him by during the tedious vigil; those who did presumed he was a homeless vagrant. The battered parka, the greasy woollen balaclava and the moth-eaten blanket he was wrapped in soon sent people hurrying on, uneasy at the reminder of the plight of the unfortunate dispossessed on such a day of excess.

The car had been there since the night before, Tom suspected; the road surface beneath the chassis was dry. There had been outbreaks of light rain interspersed with sunny spells on and off throughout the day ever since morning. So Cuthbert and Tessa were lovers still, were they? Tom stretched out his stiff limbs, rubbed at his stubble, blew on his fingers, and took a sip from his flask of hot tea. They might be planning to hole up for the entire holiday. This could be a long wait.

Just then, the door he had been staring at for hours opened. Jeremy Cuthbert himself stepped out, inserting a hand into a leather glove, talking to a companion who remained hidden in the shadowy doorway behind him. The older man tucked his scarf round his neck, pulled out the remote device of his car and released the lock. Raising a hand, he acknowledged the unseen person but was soon behind the wheel, driving away. Tom witnessed the door closed smartly.

He waited until Cuthbert had cleared the corner before shrugging off his grimy outer clothes and jogging across the street, leaning heavily on the door bell. The intercom was answered quickly. "For Christ sake, Jemmy, what did you forget this time?"

"Cuthbert's gone, Tessa. Tom Quinn. Open the bloody door; it's freezing out here..."

There was silence on the other end of the line. Tom held his breath, willing her to open the door, counting on her curiosity to find out what he thought he knew. He couldn't imagine Tessa would back down from a challenge, even one as potentially damaging to her career as this. But if she refused to give him access, he was stymied.  Her security was very high and he did not want to raise an alarm even on a night like this. But he needn't have worried. Moments later the door opened and Tessa was standing there, a brown mohair shawl around her shoulders. She surveyed him for a moment, impassive and unruffled as ever, then stepped back indicating he could enter.

"You little shit! You're smarter than I gave you credit for. Strike one, Thomas. I hope you froze your public school bollocks off outside. Merry Christmas! Enjoying the day?"

She waited while he mounted the narrow stairway before carefully bolting up and resetting the alarm. Tessa was taking no chances; she had to be anxious despite her apparent cool, he conjectured. Yet, somehow she had still managed to make him feel off guard. He was aware of her watching from behind as he climbed the stairs; it already felt like she was manipulating the course of the interview. It was not a feeling he appreciated or to which he was accustomed.

At the top of the stairs was a narrow corridor. "Door straight ahead..." she instructed. He pushed on it; it opened onto a large elegantly furnished loft space with glass windows set high up. Yet for all its minimalist style, the apartment possessed an unexpected cosiness. Tessa had taste and a flair for design.

"Whisky? You look like you could do with it..." Again she had taken the ascendancy, pouring him a healthy measure and one for herself. She handed it over, clinking his glass. "Compliments of the season, Quinn."

His hand closed around the heavy crystal tumbler, grateful for the drink as well as the warmth of the apartment. He was cold; his hands were blue and his fingers stiff. A drink of this excellent malt brought an immediate kick, sending a hot wave down his throat and a loosening of tension through his system.

"This is hardly a social call," he muttered, looking about him before taking a seat on one of the pieces of a large comfortable sofa set arranged around an open living flame fire. Tessa perched on an upholstered footstool before him.

"I hardly need reminding of that. When have you ever been kindly disposed to me?"

Tom scoffed into his glass. "And why would I be? You've resented me since I joined the department, correctly assessing that I was going to be a threat to your career from day one. However, what you have always failed to understand is that the main obstacle to your rise in Five has always been you yourself. You're cynical, bitter and obstructive to the smooth running of the department. This is a team game but you only play for yourself..."

Tessa licked her lips, amused by his vehement outburst. "...While you are here tonight for the sake of national security alone, are you? Don't insult my intelligence. You're here because of your little Australian tart. What do you want from me, Tom?"

He slammed down his glass. "I want you locked up for treason! You've been working with Jeremy Cuthbert using MI5 resources to track highly sensitive information which I can only imagine you wish to sell on the open market should it fall into your grubby little hands. Cuthbert's a renegade. You are a servant of the Crown. Look at this place. It must have cost you a fortune! How did this happen on your salary? I'll bet you've been on the take for years...and I'm going to track it all down...Every penny..."

Tessa shrugged. "Wise investments, love. I had a house left to me years ago when I was a young woman. Sold it and made a killing when the market was at its height. There are some benefits to maturity, you know...?"

Her explanation did not impress him. "Explain Cuthbert away as easily..."

"Known him for years. Old boyfriend. It's Christmas time. Bit of a nostalgia trip...Perhaps unwise in the circumstances, but...well, not exactly a crime..."

Tom chewed his lip; Tessa's eyes glinted. She was so cocksure he had an urge to slap her. Breathing steadily, composing himself, he gave her a stare as inscrutable as her own. "A fair few old boyfriends seem to be climbing out of your woodpile these days.... I was just reading up today on another of them. Terrence Thorne. Now, you knew him even before our friend Cuthbert, I believe. And Terrence Thorne is Zoe Costello's father. The coincidences are beginning to pile up, love...in the circumstances..."

He caught the reaction that flared up in her eyes for an instant at the mention of her former lover's name. It was enough to give her away. There was a silence for a moment during which he knew she was thinking. He had to be ready for whatever she threw at him; he doubted she would go down without a fight.

Her response still took him by surprise. "I've got to give it to you, Tom. You're good at this. I won't insult you with any more stories then. If you take even this much to Harry, he'll act against me. He's been looking for a reason for years. So, you win. Yes, I've been working with Cuthbert since the start. This was always a set up. He offered a sum sufficiently substantial for me to take the chance. And you must admit, we had a fair run of it..."

"You realise I'm taping this? That what you have said is tantamount to a confession to treason?"

Tessa smiled. "I would be very disappointed in you if you weren't. The trouble is, Tom, whether you would like to see me tried and banged up or not, who do you want most? Cuthbert - or me? If I go down, he'll just disappear and your precious little bed mate will be even more at risk than before. He'll be desperate and that will make him lethal..." Tessa paused, this time allowing Tom thinking time.

"Queen's evidence? Is that where this is leading?  Are you going to play Cuthbert for us in return for immunity? Is that the deal?" Tom spat out his words, aware that Tessa would no doubt be able to wangle this, getting off scot free, losing nothing more than a few years on her pension. With what she had no doubt salted away in the past, it was a travesty. Yet, he would have to accept the bargain for Zoe's sake. She was the only reason for all of this.

"Yes, that's about the shape of it. I'll give him over hook, line and sinker. The whole operation. We can set up a camera now and I'll lay it all down on the line. But not unless you give me twenty four hours to get out."

"And if I don't?"

"Do you imagine that I don't have a fail-safe? I have to call Jeremy in two hours. If I don't, then he will know.  As I don't actually know myself where he is at this precise moment, I can't help you track him before then. But he knows where your girl is. Give me your word, Tom, and you can have him..."

"I don't believe you. But I could promise you anything, couldn't I, hmmm? How will you know I won't renege on the deal once you've outplayed your usefulness? I owe you nothing..."

That brought a wider smile to Tessa's face. "...Because you are Tom Quinn and Tom Quinn is an honourable man...or perhaps because I will bring you all down with me if you don't keep to your side of the bargain. The very last thing you want is Tessa Phillips before a jury trial..."

Tom's eyes darkened. "Don't be so sure about me, Tessa. Frankly, I don't give a fuck about you - but I do want Cuthbert. You can go to hell for all I care. The only reason I will play along with you is that I know if we haul you in, you'll drag the department into years of litigation - and make it all public. You have to have dirt on everyone. You would hit below the belt and great damage would be done... To people I care about and their careers. You'd take us all down with you. That about right?"

Tessa merely surveyed him calmly, without acknowledging yes or no. He knew he was right.

"Play me for a fool now, and there's still one card left to me," Tom added through gritted teeth. "You'll soon find out that I can fight as dirty as you.  I read his file, you see. Your Terrence Thorne is another very honourable man. But he would destroy you if he ever learned what you planned to do to his daughter. Just make sure you do exactly what you say you will - or he might just find out from me. Now wouldn't that be poetic justice after all these years?"

Her face seemed to freeze into a rigid mask-like representation of her former smug assurance. She was scared of Thorne.  Her ex-lover would have no mercy where his child was concerned. He could be ruthless if driven.  His private dossier was full of revealing insights into this enigmatic man. And Tessa Phillips knew that implicitly.

"We reaching an understanding now, Miss Phillips?"

Tessa nodded.

"Then set up the cameras. I want it all...right from the very start..."

"Hi, Liam. Merry Christmas..." Fliss sat in the conservatory with Nina at her feet playing with some of her new toys. The day was unseasonably mild, sunny and clear with light rain showers. The conservatory almost felt spring-like as she sat there in a sunny spot. But there was more than the temperature that prevented this day from feeling like Christmas.

It seemed so wrong to be without him and his family at this time of year. For the past years, Christmas had always been either traditional in France, or casual around the pool in the soaring summer heat of Sydney, but always spent with Terry and Annie, Zoe and Andreas - and most of all, with Liam. Fliss recalled the previous Christmas, heavily pregnant with her daughter, suffering in the heat, listless and lumpen, full of maternal hormones. Her beautiful Liam had never seemed more virile and handsome to her, bursting with pride as he watched his girl swell with their child. She had clung to him and he had tended her so gently and with such deep affection. At nights, she had been unable to sleep; he had sat up holding her in his arms, massaging her aching back or making her cups of warm milk. They would sit up talking until she gradually grew drowsy and fell asleep in his arms. Those nights alone together were on her mind very much one year on. They had never been as close as in those final months, both afraid of the great responsibility of love and care they were taking on, but eagerly anticipating sharing the arrival of the miracle of life they made together.

And here she was, twelve months later, in the home he had bought and paid for, surrounded by many of his treasured personal possession - and another man was tinkering on the grand piano upstairs that had been formerly been Liam's pride and joy. It had been a mistake for her and Damon to spend the holidays there. It might be the perfect house for a traditional family Christmas but it was entirely unsuited to their adulterous liaison. Fliss could barely even look at her daughter without being consumed with guilt. Nina should be with her Daddy today; Liam should be with his little girl.

"Hi. Merry Christmas! What's the weather like over there?"

"S'okay. Mild. Quite sunny...Bit of rain off and on...France?"

"Pretty good. We had a walk before. Could have been spring..."

"Yeah, same here. Some shoots are even growing in the sheltered parts of the garden..."

"That's global warming for you. Hear about Perth? Record temperatures. 45 degrees. They say you can hardly breathe..."

"Really? That's over 100, isn't it?"

"Way over. More like 115....boil your brains..."

Fliss wanted to scream out to him to stop spouting inconsequential chatter. They had spent too many wasted courtesy calls in this manner of late, filling the time with vacuous small talk, never addressing the real issues lying between them.

"So, what did Santa bring Nins?" Liam brought himself to ask. He hadn't seen his daughter in weeks. Each day that passed left its own scar. Babies changed daily. What was he missing? Would she even remember him?

Fliss laughed softly. "She's more interested in the wrapping paper and the boxes. But she loved the little rocking horse...thanks so much for that..."

"I'm her father. You don't thank a father for giving his own child a present. How's the boyfriend? What did Santa bring him?" Liam's mood had changed on a sixpence.

Fliss grimaced. She hadn't wanted them to fight today, the very opposite. She had called to hear his voice. 

If the truth were told, she missed Liam. She'd lost her best friend when they had split up. Closing her eyes, Fliss willed him to talk to her properly, from his heart. If she could only find a way to reach him! Maybe they had been too hasty. Maybe she had been too naïve. Maybe what she had been after had never been anything to do with Liam at all but more to do with her own inadequacies. Men had become convenient whipping boys these days for everything. Saying someone is the cause of your pain doesn't make it so. Not if they never were in the first place.

"I thought maybe when you come over...before New Year...maybe we could spend a day together? The three of us? It would be good for Nina and it would help settle her with you before I leave..."

"I can manage. I'm not a complete loser..."

"That's not what I meant, Liam. I just thought it would be good for her to see us together again..."

"...Pretend we're a happy family? That what you mean? Why the change of heart? I thought you wanted me out of your life..."

"...Liam, we're her parents! That's nothing to do with our personal relationship!"

"You think not? Are you crazy? What the fuck else is parenthood then? Semen deposit? I'll call over when I'm in London and we can arrange the exchange. Fliss, you're not the only one with another life now...."

Fliss winced. "I saw a picture of you with that leggy bimbo model. Come on, Liam, she's shagged every dick in London and beyond...Everyone knows she snorts cocaine...please, don't get involved in all that sort of stuff again...!"

"...Her name's Abigail. She's my friend. I've known her since I was a kid. And for your information, it's me she's shagging now, Fliss. And you know something else? I'm having the time of my bloody life. But then you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? What was it you said about me not fulfilling you any more? I'm beginning to understand what you meant there, love....Look, dinner's ready. I'll have to run. Call you in a few days. Kiss Nina for me..."

Liam disconnected the call and lay back on his bed. Dinner was not ready. He just could not bear to speak to her or even think of her one moment longer. The image of his little daughter loomed before his eyes. He missed her so much. Watching Andreas and Zoe together made it worse. His sister and nephew so cruelly deprived of Nick - and here he was, desperate to be a father and not allowed to be. For that, he blamed Fliss entirely. He had done everything he could to keep them together. She had been the one to throw it all away.  As the weeks had passed, his bitterness and resentment had grown stronger, focussing more and more on the betrayal of his former girlfriend. It seemed that the love he had once felt was now turned in equal measure to hatred. There's a thin line between them, so the song said. He couldn't argue with that. Liam had discovered in himself an intolerance he had not suspected. He had a line. If crossed, there was no going back.

Checking the time, he dialled Jake. It would be morning in California. He needed to talk to him. No one seemed to calm him down at these melancholy moments quite as much as his friend Jake. "Hi...Merry Christmas! How's things?"

"Great, just great. I'm with the family...we just opened our presents...."

"Me too. With the family. It's really good. Except I kind of miss you.  You and Nina. That would make it complete, somehow. Christ, I sound like a girl, huh?"

Jake chuckled softly. "I don't think so. You'd never pull that one off, Liam. I know what you mean. I was thinking of you, too. When I opened that damn poop scoop you gave me. What kind of present is that, you flake?"

Liam laughed. "Well, your dogs crap everywhere. It's a practical gift. I'm a practical kind of bloke. Your real present comes the next time I see you..."

"Oh yeah?" Jake replied softly.

"I'm going to get you drunk. Night on the town. On me. No women... 'Cept the ones we pick up along the way..."

He flopped back on the bed, selecting a track on his I-pod and shutting out the world to listen to it. His complex friendship with Jake was beginning to confuse him. He didn't want to think about its implications; he just wanted to let it happen. Some things are not meant to be explained. They just have to be experienced. Why did everything have to fit into some narrow box of righteous judgment? He hadn't changed. Nothing had changed. He was the same man he had always been, except for a discovery he had recently made. There were no narrow boxes, just endless ways of reaching the one truth, each one particular in its own special moment in time. But how to explain that to other people, even those closest to you, even to yourself with all the prejudices and misconceptions our psyches drown in?  It was delicate. So very delicate that he was afraid to speak its name...

We might kiss when we are alone
When nobody's watching
We might take it home
We might make out when nobody's there
It's not that we're scared
It's just that it's delicate

So why do you fill my sorrows
With the words you've borrowed
From the only place you've known?
And why do you sing Hallelujah
If it means nothing to you
Why d' you sing with me at all?

We might live like never before
When there's nothing to give
Well, how can we ask for more?
We might make love in some sacred place
The look on your face is delicate

So why do you fill my sorrow
With the words you've borrowed
From the only place you've known?
And why do you sing Hallelujah
If it means nothing to you
Why do you sing with me at all?