CHAPTER 3 (Friday night)

Now, like the river she was watching as it rushed into the darkness of the tunnel, Sarah had come to Somerset. It was a desperate gamble. There was no way of knowing for certain which way events would turn or how much of what she held precious she would have to give up.

"Why are options always so limited", she thought bitterly and then tossed another stone into the dappled torrent.

"Time to move on!" Peter's voice seemed to come from faraway.

She turned a led the way down the road. Shaking his head, slightly, Peter followed.

Soon the Inn was in view again. She longed to be with David She only wondered how long she could resist her impulse to turn and run back to him.

Peter was now besides her. He had wrapped an arm around her waist and oblivious to these thoughts and memories, felt the most fortunate man in the world.

With a beaming face, he negotiated them both over the last few uneven and worn cobbles that led to the entrance of the inn.

Sarah's heart pounded in her chest. She wondered miserably how many other women over the centuries had passed this way into the bustling public bar and hotel reception. What stories could the heavy studded door tell of their hopes and fears as they struggled with the challenges of their times.

The Hunters Retreat Inn was genuinely rustic in a bravely offhand way and, Sarah grudgingly had to admit, a good choice by Peter.

Partridges hung from nails in oak beams. Pictures with cracked frames depicted hunting triumphs. The fading portrait of a long departed local Lord and patron, beamed with contentment - just back from the market. Well fed and bred.

The innkeeper, by contrast, was the complete professional with smiles, room keys and table bookings effortlessly provided.

Peter went up to check their cases, shower and change. Sarah said she had to make a call.

Her husband, David, answered the phone.

"Just a brief word to say I've arrived alright", she said.

"How is your mother", he enquired.