BOOK 4

'Thanks,' she repeated with more enthusiasm, and half-rose. 'The keys are in my school bag . . .'

'Don't move.' As usual he was on his feet long before her. 'I'll fetch it.'

But her house keys weren't in her bag. Not in their own special front pocket, not loose in the main part of the bag, not in any of its other sections. After five minutes of ever more frantic searching, she had to admit that she must have lost them.

It was the last straw. Tears of self-pity welled up, and she wanted nothing but to put her face in her hands and sob and choke and hiccup like a two-year-old. Jim must have sensed her distress; he emerged from under the table with a clatter of claws, laid his head on her lap, and looked up at her. She took a hasty gulp of her coffee, and stroked him.

Then suddenly Paul was there too, kneeling at her other side, his arms round her and her chair together. 'Want to cry it out?'

It felt so good to have him close again, so warm and safe, that she was almost tempted to accept