Davinia is growingly increasingly distracted. When I first knew her she would hang upon the vicar's words as if his every syllable were an epiphany. I know this was an act, on account of our mutual atheism, but it was a calculated affectation, unlike this inward reflection now, which is genuine, and worrying. It is as if she hears voices in her head and we, in the real world, are mere distractions.

I arrive earlier now at Church, as she has requested, though as yet I have not suspected the reason for it. This morning is different though. I enter alone. She has not yet come, and I am staggered by the sight of Blinkhorn, looking very dapper, standing in the doorway. He does not remember me, and reads my stare as starry eyed adulation perhaps, because he graces me with an oily smile. There are two similarly suited gentlemen beside him, immaculately groomed and stony faced, hands clasped over their genitals as if they expect to be kicked for their association with him.

But I'm not thinking of Davinia now. I'm thinking of Lillian, terrified the devil will take her while I'm gone. We have come close to a row this morning - me not seeing the sense in leaving her in order to come to this place, and she insisting that I go, because it continues to be expected of me, and she assures me she will be all right. She will hide herself in the bivouac. I order her to allow me to stay, but she smiles defiantly. She is only my slave when she wants to be.

I take my seat in the empty pew, shortly to be joined by Grizelda, who appears to be dressed for a garden party, or a wedding, complete with hat. Is she insane? She sits to my left, the brim of her hat invading my space, and her flowery scent is overwhelming. This is Davinia's place, but it seems silly to mention it. Then Davinia arrives. Her entrance is announced by an exaggerated masculine guffaw from the back of the church, and an exchange of bonhomie so false that even Grizelda turns her head and wrinkles her brow in disdain. Davinia's steps are hurried, and when she sits to my right, I can see her blouse fluttering alarmingly as her heart attempts to self-destruct. Her eyes are sliding from side to side like a hunted animal's.

"Are you all right, Miss Barkwell?"

No time to reply.

Blinkhorn slides into the pew beside her. There is another oily smile, his trademark it seems, which she ducks and I end up catching. The atmosphere is tense. One of the stony faced gentlemen takes a seat to the right of Blinkhorn, so that we must all move up one place. The other stony faced gentleman sits behind. I almost fear it might be a mob hit, except Blinkhorn is a member of parliament,… . isn't he?

Davinia grabs my arm. "Swap places, Richard."

I obey at once, find myself briefly in closer contact with her than I have ever been before, the downside being I am now squashed uncomfortably close to our honourable member. There follows a moment of confusion as the stony faced gentleman on the end stands to allow Blinkhorn to slide away from me, and the stony faced gentleman takes his place. It's a farce, and I expect at any moment to hear the congregation behind us tittering at our performance. The stony faced gentleman pushes into me a little to make more space, and something under his jacket jabs painfully in my ribs so that I move still further away.

He's carrying a gun?

I take it he is not a criminal, and suppose he must therefore be some sort of policeman. I raise my eyebrows at him in horror, but he faces front and ignores me. If I had bothered to keep up with the news, I might have heard that Blinkhorn had just been invited to join the high table of government and therefore, as such, he now qualifies for armed protection. You'll forgive my cynicism if I tell you he seems keen to show his protection off this morning.

Davinia is shaking her head as if she's feeling woozy. I catch her hand in alarm as she slumps into my shoulder, though I know she has not really fainted. Grizelda is awakened to the potential for gossip and enquires if she is all right. Davinia ignores her, takes my arm again, and whispers in my ear.

"Get me out!"

So I rope Grizelda in as an unlikely accomplice, and between us, we exit left and spirit the unsteady Davinia away. Grizelda, to her credit is a staunch ally in preserving Davinia's dignity, and holds her as if they had been girlfriends since school. Then we are in the fresh air, the organ is piping up behind us, and Grizelda is looking at me as if to say this is woman's business now and I can clear off. But Davinia is looking at her as if to say it's not, and the three of us are standing there in a kind of stalemate, so Davinia says she's feeling a little better and she'll perhaps walk a short distance to get some air. Grizelda returns, and not knowing Davinia's intentions, I make to follow Grizelda, but Davinia catches my arm and holds me back, then doubles over and vomits copiously against the church wall.

She's looking at me now, ashamed that I have seen her vomit. I offer her my handkerchief and turn my back, that she might recover her dignity and I'm surprised to see there is a stone faced gentleman looking at me now. I smile, stupidly, because I find his presence surreal.

"It's all right," I tell him. "My colleague has recently discovered she suffers from,… a severe allergy."

Davinia links arms with me, pulls me away, and we walk together along the pavement. She's breathing strangely, deeply, as if trying to stave off another vomiting fit. I don't know what to do, what to say, so I simply walk with her. There is a splash of vomit on her skirt and she tries to hide this from me by shortening her stride. I want to tell her I am an old married man and have held many a head while it spewed into a lavatory - that these things do not matter to me. But they do to Davinia, because dignity is everything, and I must respect this.

She pulls up sharp, takes a deep breath, then turns and we walk the other way.

"Surely," I tell her, "you're not going back in?"

She shakes her head violently.

"Going back to the flat?"

She nods.

"Did you know he was coming?"

Another shake of the head. "I had a note, he,… hinted that he might,… sometime."

"Does he even know how much he frightened you?"

She bristles: he did not frighten me, he did not hurt me, she's saying. It did not happen. I am invulnerable.

"Davinia,… he's got policemen with him. They're carrying guns."

"What?"

"Never mind,… I'm a bit confused by the whole thing."

"You're confused!"

"Go back to the flat."

"All right. Come with me?"

"What? Em,… "

I have a woman waiting in the woods, a fatalistic glint in her eye while she thumbs the blade of a knife. I can go nowhere.

"Sorry," she says, crestfallen. "I'm forgetting,… you have other responsibilities now. It's all right. I can manage. It was stupid of me."

She's ashamed, ashamed she asked! Could it be that underneath the fancy airs, she actually thinks very little of herself? Could it be that she demands cooperation, because she is afraid to merely seek it, afraid others think she is unworthy of their cooperation? Their love? Their tenderness?

I see her to the car and open the door for her, all beneath the watchful eye of the stone faced gentleman who now stands guard by the church, in case the residents of Marsden decide to mount an assault.

She drives off.

I stare after her for a while, haunted by this feeling,.. that I want to help her, help her see that it's okay to be afraid,… but I cannot. I cannot engage with her. We are too different, our fates too far apart.

I cannot go back to Durleston yet because I have left my Mackintosh in the pew, and I do not want to disturb the service by going inside for it. Instead, I take a deep breath, then go and stand beside the stone faced gentleman, and neither of us say a word. Now I understand why Davinia wanted me in church early. She wanted to make sure I would always be between her and Blinkhorn, if he ever showed up. She must have been dreading the possibility for weeks.

I have the impression these gentlemen are charged with covering Blinkhorn's worthless hide. Lillian's worth ten of him, but not eligible for any form of protection, nor even charity it seems. I decide I can live without the Mackintosh, so I turn my collar and head for home, my stomach queasy.