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From behind the safety of her desk Cathy was looking at her wide-eyed, and with a trace of nervousness.  Kate smiled at the expression on her face, ‘I’m okay, really.  The poor girl was trying to hurt herself, not me, and the blood is all hers.  Is there any chance I could at least borrow a fresh blouse around here?’

‘Some of the staff bring changes of clothes with them,’ said the receptionist dubiously, ‘I’ll see what I can do.  And if you want leave them here I’ll arrange to have those clothes cleaned for you.’

‘Really?’ said Kate in delight, ‘
No, I couldn’t ask that.’

Kathy smiled, ‘We have a laundry service.  It’s not like I have to wash them myself
, you know!  Leave your stuff here and I’ll get it sorted out.’

Fift
een minutes later Kate emerged from Deacon House wearing a dark gray nylon blouse and a bright red jacket that, in her own eyes at least, made her look something like a bag lady.  But beggars can’t be choosers and she simply didn’t have time to go home and change.  She was hurrying to her car when a smartly-dressed man stepped out of a brown sports car parked close to her own TVR.  She looked at both man and machine curiously; cars were a passion with her and this one was an old Maseratti GT, which was distinctly unusual in Dublin.  And although the man was a stranger he was staring at her and had undoubtedly gotten out of his car to speak to her. He was tall, about forty, with blond hair and was handsome in a careful, polished way that Kate didn’t particularly care for; she liked her men groomed but with at least a touch of ruggedness about them.  Certainly they should not be manicured.  Since he evidently had something to say to her, she stopped and said, a touch apprehensively, ‘Can I help you?’

He stared at her consideringly for a
long moment before saying coldly, ‘So you’re Kate Bennett, nosey bitch
extrordinaire.
’

Kate
stiffened in anger and replied coldly, ‘So who are you?  And what business is it of yours who I am?’

‘I’m Grainne’s uncle, Josh Guilfoyle,’ he said malevolently, ‘And I’ve heard all about
you
.’

Kate nodded briskly, ‘Then you know I’m trying to help your niece.’

He nodded in reply and took a step closer, ‘Yes, by jumping into bed with Michael.  Is that your idea of helping?  By trying to usurp my sister’s place?  By blackening her name with your filthy allegations?’

‘My private life is none of your business,’ replied Kate brusquely, ‘
Nor is my treatment of my patients.  So if you’ve got no information that might help me with Grainne, kindly stand aside.’

He stepped in closer
still and sneered, ‘You’ll keep your big nose out of my family business if you know what’s good for you.’

‘What’s the problem, folks
?’ asked a voice from behind them.  It was one of the clinic’s security guards, a tall black man who had been observing them with a quizzical expression, and after a brief glance back at him Kate said, in a neutral tone, ‘No problem.  I’m just leaving, and Mr. Guilfoyle is just getting out of my way.’

At that t
he stranger stood aside, reluctantly and with a scowl on his face.  Kate got into her car and drove away, annoyed but not wholly surprised by his attitude.  Family members often embued dead relations with a rosy glow of perfection, and resented anyone casting doubt on their now-hallowed reputations.  And they resented even more anyone starting a relationship with their ex-partners.  If only he knew; as far as she was concerned any possible relationship with Michael was dead and buried.  She suppressed a smile as she thought,
Even if Peter wasn’t around!

It was now half-past one and she
put the episode from her mind and tore back into town as fast as she could.  She reached her parking space before two and hurried up to the gates of Trinity, assuring herself that no one really
was
staring at her somewhat odd apparel, that it was just her imagination.  She entered the university by the back way to avoid any possible lurking reporters and quickly climbed the stairs to her office, her footsteps slowing as she approached the door and memories of what had occurred there rose in her mind in ugly images.  She opened the outer door rather nervously and was relieved to find that the office had been restored to its old state, with no traces of blood anywhere.  Sally Hanlon was sitting in her accustomed place and when she saw Kate she got to her feet and exclaimed,
‘Kate! 
My God, how are you?’

‘Hi, Sally,’ said Kate guiltily, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t ring you yesterday to tell you I was okay but things have been pretty chaotic.  For a change, eh?’

‘Don’t be
silly! 
I’m sure you had more important things on your mind than ringing me.  And I’m surprised to see you in here at all today.  The police told me everything that happened.  They were here all day yesterday, examining the office for...well, I don’t know what they were looking for, actually.  Fingerprints and stuff, I suppose.  You poor thing, it must have been
awful!
’

Kate had been carefully avoiding thinking about how awful it had been, or about it at all, but on
hearing the sympathy in her secretary’s voice, and being back where it had happened, some of the horror she had been repressing returned and faint tears prickled in her eyes.  ‘Well, it wasn’t much fun,’ she said as cheerfully as she could manage, ‘But it was the policeman that was hurt, not me.’

Sally came around the desk and put a protective arm around her shoulders, ‘I know, but you must have been so
frightened! 
And to see that poor man being stabbed like that...’

‘Sally!’ said Kate, uttering a laugh that was half-sob, ‘I’d rather not even think about it, if you don’t mind, much less
talk about it!  And it can’t have been very pleasant for you, either, coming in to find the office smashed up and blood everywhere.’

Sally waved a dismissive h
and, ‘Don’t talk nonsense!  The police wouldn’t even let anyone in here until they were finished, and the cleaners had sorted everything out before I was allowed in.  But should you be back so soon, after such a traumatic experience?’

Kate managed a
wry smile, ‘I’ve written books on trauma, remember?  Besides, trauma I can handle; it’s ordinary life I can’t cope with.’

‘Sorry?’ Sally asked with a puzzled frown.

‘Never mind.  Anyway, I’m sorry that I didn’t even ring to say I was okay, and to apologise for all the mess.’

Sally shook her head, refusing to even dign
ify this remark with an answer.  ‘I think you should know that your phone has been ringing all morning and you have
tons
of messages.  Some concerned friends but mostly the Press, I’m afraid.  Most of them left numbers for you to call back.  Do you want the list?’

‘
God, no!  I don’t have the time or the inclination.’  Kate smiled weakly, ‘If I ignore them they might all go away.’

Sally pursed h
er lips and said doubtfully, ‘Well, maybe.  Are you going to take your three o’clock lecture?’

Kate nodded, reluctant to share with her just how unwilling she was starting to feel about taking any lecture,
ever
again.

‘Well, I think you must be mad,’ said S
ally frankly. ‘But I suppose you know your own mind best.’  She grinned in complete understanding, ‘You go on in; I’ll make the coffee.’

Kate
smiled back, ‘You’re a life saver.’

‘If you say so.’  She eyed Kate up and down, ‘But are you really going to take your lecture dressed like
that?
’

Kate rolled her eyes and entered her inner office, calling back, ‘Don’t ask, it’s a
very
long story!’

Delivering a lecture on “Cycle
s of abuse in succeeding generations” would not have been Kate’s idea of the perfect way to spend the afternoon even if she didn’t have more urgent matters to occupy her mind, but with the help of her old college notes she muddled through it well enough.  And the sight of Peter’s massive frame propping up the wall at the back of the hall cheered her up more than she would have expected.  And more than she quite cared for; she didn’t want to become
too
used to having him around again, or too dependent upon him.

When the lecture was over she was spared the usual discussion and questions from the
more interested -or sycophantic- students by Peter’s simply walking up, putting his arm around her shoulders, and steering her out of the hall in the face of their obvious surprise and disapproval.  And no little curiosity; like it or not Kate had become something of a celebrity –or freak show- within Trinity’s hallowed walls.

Ordinarily Kate would be
furious at his peremptorily taking command of her like that, but on this occasion she was relieved enough at being spared the usual gauntlet to forgive him; she had had enough for one day and was ready to let someone take care of her.  As they exited the lecture hall a small group of both male and female reporters pounced on her and began taking photographs and firing questions at her simultaneously, all wanting to know if she was the mystery lecturer who had reportedly been attacked on the premises and what, if any, had been Michael Riordan’s involvement in it all.  Once again Peter took command by extending an arm like a tree-trunk straight ahead of them and barging through them all, towing her along behind.  They fled up to Kate’s office, leaving the porter stationed at the foot of the stairs to deal with their pursuers, with the last cries of ‘Do you know who your attacker was, Dr. Bennett?  Is he a patient of yours, or an ex-patient?’ still ringing in their ears.  But they didn’t enter her office, instead they continued on down to the end of the corridor and trotted down the other flight of stairs at the far end before slipping out onto the main street through the side door.  Once safely outside Peter, after a rather wild glance around in search of reporters, said with feeling, ‘God Almighty!  I’m glad they banned fox-hunting, now that I’ve experienced it from the fox’s perspective!  I can’t stand those creeps but you may have to talk to them eventually, you know.’

Kate shook her head and said adamantly, ‘No way!
Don’t worry, they’ll have forgotten all about me tomorrow.  Luckily their attention span is roughly the same as a goldfish.’

Peter looked at her doubtfully,
thinking that the involvement of a government Minister gave her story more longevity than that of most assault victims.  But he kept his thoughts to himself and said, ‘Do you have any more work to do or are you going straight home?’

Kate thought quickly, ‘Uh, home, I think.  I just have t
o leave this file at the porter’s desk for Mullins, the detective investigating Sean’s stabbing.  He was asking about it last night and I said I’d leave him a copy.’

Peter nodded, ‘Right, I’ll do that while you nip on ahead to your car, in case any more of those jackals are lurking
about the place.  I’ll follow you in the BMW in a minute, yeah?  And when we get home I have a surprise for you.’

Kate felt a
slow stirring of heat in her loins and, the stresses and worries of the day suddenly forgotten, murmured, ‘Oh, I do hope it’s something disgustingly sexual.’

He had almost
forgotten how unpredictable she could be, and how swiftly her moods changed, and now he looked at her, startled, before grinning and setting off for the porter’s cubby-hole, saying over his shoulder, ‘You’ll just have to wait and see!’

When they arrived back at the flat in
their respective cars they discovered yet more reporters waiting for her there, though at least this time there were only four of them to deal with.  Once again Peter took control, brushing them aside like flies as Kate got out of her car, and shepherding her to the front door with a grim look on his face.  One of the reporters, irritated at this brusque treatment, snapped a photo of Peter and asked, ‘And who might you be?’

Peter’s reply was short and to the point, and might have shocked anyone less hardened than a tabloid journalist
, who simply sneered back at him.  Once safely inside the flat Kate slumped into her armchair and said wearily, ‘Why won’t they just leave me alone?  I understand that Sean getting stabbed is news but it’s Michael Riordan they keep hounding me about.  They all seem convinced that he attacked me the other night…which he didn’t!  All I want to do is forget the whole thing and get on with my life.’

Peter shrugged, ‘They get paid to do it.  It’s as simpl
e as that.  But hopefully something else newsworthy will crop up today or tomorrow, to deflect their attention.
Their
idea of newsworthy, that is.  Forget them.  Let them sit out there if they want.  It’s cold and I’m sure they soon get tired of it.  Want to see my surprise?’

Kate looked at him doubtfully, ‘Will I be able to handle it right now?’

He simply laughed and led her into the kitchen, showing her that the surprise was what looked like about a thousand euros worth of shopping, all food, whose combined calorific value must have run into the millions.

Kate stared at it all in disbelief, ‘Why aren’t you hideously fat?  I know you’re big and you work out but how could anyone live on food like that?  Just
looking
at all those pies and sausages would be enough to give a normal person a heart attack.  And chocolate, you bastard!  You
know
that’s my weakness!  Are you trying to kill us both?’