"Okay," exclaimed Ashleigh as she drove Peter back to where he had left his car.  "Perhaps now you'll tell me why it's so important that Julie mustn't know where you live."

      "Because I'm getting more and more out of my depth, that's why.  I'm forced to pay for that child's upkeep but I can't carry on at this rate.  She's working now.  She's earning a few extra pounds.  Why must I keep forking out money, month after month, to keep her mother in a life-style she never enjoyed before?  That girl doesn't receive a penny from the payments I make, yet I'm being milked dry - for what?"

      "Peter, listen.  Young Julie may not have everything in life, but at least she has a father and a mother.  And even though you've now split up, she still sees you both.  Julie has parents she can turn to, Peter - I don't.  Have you any idea how much I miss that?  Since I was four, I've had no-one who'd come and be kind to me when I wasn't well; no Daddy to sit me on his knee and tell me what it was like when sweets were rationed or how his parents coped during air-raids.  Okay, I heard similar tales from Aunt Elsie - details I wouldn't care to repeat about life between the wars and how lucky I was not to be born then - but I was never spoken to with love and affection.  My God, the number of times I was told how ungrateful I was.  Well, I missed a hell of a lot, I can tell you.  That's why I say I envy Julie."

      "Even though she's got a feckless father?"

      "Oh, Peter, she hasn't.  Few parents can be perfect.  The most anyone can expect is a father who does his best.  Maybe my aunt thought SHE was doing her best - I don't know - but I certainly missed out on plenty.  I missed being picked up and cuddled and loved.  I missed the close bond I saw tonight between you and Julie - the way you looked at each other, exchanging thoughts without a word being spoken, each knowing what the other was thinking.  Most of all, Peter, I missed feeling that I was ever wanted.  So don't you ever take that away from Julie, you hear me?"

      "You sound bitter.  I am sorry."

      Ashleigh reflected for a moment.

      "Bitter?  No, not really - not about what happened - though I'll always have a loathing for fast cars.  That's what killed my parents - not Dad's driving, but someone else with an Austin Healey and no consideration, driving much too fast with too much beer in his belly.  That's why I can't stand nasty little sports cars, whatever the colour.  I've nothing against them being red - in fact, red is good - people can see red coming if you allow enough time.  I won't pretend I'm in favour of people who drink too much - though I suppose even that's fairly harmless if they stay indoors.  But what I'll never understand is those arrogant thoughtless clowns who drive recklessly on narrow roads with no damned consideration for the safety of others.  That's criminal lunacy."

      Ashleigh drove on in silence, angry with herself for chastising Peter who'd treated her to a good dinner, but glad to have spoken her mind.  Now it was his turn to defend himself - if he could.  She certainly gave him the opportunity too, but neither exchanged another word until Ashleigh pulled into the station forecourt where Peter's red car stood waiting.

      "Sorry for the lecture," she said, "but it's best we understand one another.  I like my friends to be considerate and well-mannered.  I don't like being mauled or taken for granted, and I don't like being lied to.  Apart from that, I guess you're okay.  I can see your car waiting for you.  Think over what I've said, Peter, and drive home carefully.  We don't want young Julie to lose her Daddy.  Remember, every time you come to a sharp bend, just think - my parents might have been coming the other way, or maybe Julie on a bicycle.  Think first, and slow down."

      "You ought to write the vicar's sermons," Peter retorted.  "You'd give his flock plenty to think about."

      "Sorry - it's a habit I picked up from Aunt Elsie.  'Don't do this, Ashleigh!', 'Remember to do that, Ashleigh!', 'Don't scratch, Ashleigh!'  Never once did I hear: 'Oh dear, poor lamb, have you been bitten?' - just 'Don't scratch!'  Beyond that, I was left to fend for myself - and as for Aunt Elsie helping me face puberty when it arrived, she flatly denied the same thing ever happened to her.  'My dear, we NEVER discuss details about our bodies!'  That's all the help I got.  No, Peter, true love is a rare commodity - remember that, and always treasure Julie."

      "Do you want to know something, Ashleigh?  You intrigue me.  I'm a salesman.  I've learned to decode customers' body-language and read between the lines, and right now, regardless of what you think you're telling me, I'm getting a very different message."

      "Maybe you are.  Did I say I was envious of Julie?  To be frank, I'm downright jealous of anyone who has a loving father.  Only a Dad or Grandpa can give you that extra special masculine attention that's free from the taint of sexuality.  But in my case, as soon as any man starts showing the slightest signs of affection, I back off, wondering what the hell he's really after - as if I didn't know.  It happens every time.  I wish it wouldn't."

      "So do I.  I'd willingly offer all the kindness and understanding you want, Ashleigh, but I guess you'd dismiss it all as foreplay."

      "And wouldn't I be justified?  After all, Peter you are human.  You demonstrated that sixteen years ago."

      "Ah, but look how she turned out.  Are you telling me I was wrong to help create such a lovely child?"

      "I'd say you were wrong to do it with the particular woman you chose, because you were still far too young and she wasn't ready to offer you a long-term relationship.  I'd be fascinated to meet her, though.  I'd love to hear what she has to say about you."

      "No, you wouldn't.  You'd probably believe every word she said."

      "Then teach me the art of reading between lines.  And what's this other hidden message you said I was broadcasting?"

      "I don't think it's my place to tell you that, Ashleigh.  If I'd had any sense I wouldn't have mentioned it at all."

      "What's wrong with honesty?  Come on, I won't bite."

      "All right, though this goes against my better judgement.  I got the clear impression you were trying to tell me something you didn't dare put into words."

      "Really?  What about?"

      "Come on, Ashleigh, you can't be that naive.  First you try to make me feel guilty for owning a sports car, then you practically accuse me of causing your parents' death."

      "No, I didn't.  You certainly got that wrong.  All I said was - please drive carefully for the sake of other road-users."

      "Including your parents.  You added someone else too, in fact you mentioned Julie's name about a dozen times, saying how precious she was and how much you envied her.  I reckon, you'd willingly swap places with my daughter."

      Ashleigh protested vehemently.  "What nonsense!  I'm perfectly happy as I am.  Why would I want to become like Julie?"

      "So you'd feel more at ease letting me love you as a father!"

      "What absolute rubbish.  God!  You're so devious.  You really think if I let you pretend to be my father it'd stop there?  In two minutes you'd be all over me, just like you were with Sheila sixteen years ago - like you would have been last Saturday if I hadn't stopped you.  You men - you make me sick."

      "And this is the girl who claimed she wouldn't bite.  Well, thank you, Miss Piranha-fish.  It's lucky we've reached the point where we can quietly go our separate ways."

      Peter got out of the car, closed the door, and stalked off proudly towards his own.  Then he halted, paused for a moment, and came slowly back with his head bowed.

      Ashleigh wound down her window.  "Forgotten something?"

      He leaned confidentially towards her, resting his elbows on the door and addressing her in a casual, chatty manner.

      "Ashleigh, my dear, you're a nice enough kid, but you've got one hell of a chip on your shoulder about the way you were brought up.  You complain of being denied real love, yet you hurl my well-intended kindness back in my face and accuse me of being devious.  Some people need love, Ashleigh - some people actually thrive on it.  A few misguided souls may see it as dirty and debasing, and it sounds as if your strait-laced aunt was one of them.  I'd say she had a good deal missing in her life too, and I wouldn't be surprised if you grew up to be just like her.  What a waste that would be.  Good night."

      Ashleigh watched him stride manfully away to his own car and drive off with a perfunctory wave.  She gritted her teeth and started the engine.

      "Of all the nerve!  Who the hell does he think he is?  Arrogant, addle-brained, smug-faced, toady twit."

      She continued muttering scorn and colourful disapproval as she swept the Volvo away in the opposite direction.

      But after she'd had time to relax at home, she reconsidered his words in a warmer light, and by the stroke of midnight she couldn't for the life of her remember why she'd felt angry.  She tried retracing each logical step of their argument.

      Peter had politely asked her out to dinner, and although she had pettishly kept him waiting over half an hour, he'd voiced not one word of complaint.  He had escorted her to a nice restaurant - not pretentious, but offering good value for money - and there he had introduced her to his daughter Julie, who had accepted her with a warm and friendly smile, not for a moment making Ashleigh feel like an unwelcome interloper, but showing commendable manners in what must have been a difficult situation.

      Peter had then listened attentively as Ashleigh revealed how much she regretted not having a father.  Peter had even offered to try and fill the gap for her - and she had responded by accusing him of being devious.  Just how was a man required to behave in order to prove himself a gentleman?  With a long sigh of self-reproach, Ashleigh lifted the phone and dialled.

      "Peter?"

      "Ah, I'm glad you called," said a kindly voice, sounding very soft and close to her ear.  "I couldn't have slept till I knew you were okay.  Sorry if I said things earlier to upset you.   God knows what it was this time, but everything was meant in the kindest possible way."

      "I know," she admitted.  "But if you couldn't sleep, why didn't you phone me?  You've got my number."

      "I figured it might only make matters worse," he said.  "I've not come across anyone like you before, Ashleigh - you're like a foreign car with all its controls in the wrong place.  I try turning left and we lurch to the right; I try to slow down and we seem to go round in circles, or you start racing out of control, off somewhere like a hungry whippet.  If you were a car I reckon I could take you along to the workshop and have you stripped down - no, dammit, now look what I've said.  You'll take that the wrong way too.  Ashleigh, I'm just curious to know what makes you tick, that's all.  You must know I enjoy your company, even if we do keep having these regular squabbles.  I did ask you to warn me before I went heading off in the wrong direction again - but you didn't utter a word till it was too late.  Suddenly, I found things all loused up again, just like a week ago - though I can't fathom out where I keep going off the rails.  We seem to behave on the phone like civilised adults - lying here on our respective beds, just letting our thoughts ramble on.  And I'm not drunk this evening.  You wisely held back on the wine - a sensible decision for both of us.  And I deliberately didn't touch a drop when I got in either, hoping you'd phone and be impressed by my sobriety.  It's gone midnight now.  It took you nearly three hours to pick up the phone.  But I'm glad you did.  You're very good for me, you know.  You're the control rod in my nuclear reactor - you stop me getting too pig-headed and impetuous.  You've shown me how to slow down and take each step logically, one at a time.  The trouble is, I don't know quite which direction my steps are taking me.  I left Sheila, and that seemed like a good move.  I invested my life-savings in an oast-house, and feel I've been a complete ass over that.  And despite repeated phonings to cancel my water-bed, I still can't decide whether to keep it or not.  But I do know one thing, Ashleigh - I know how I feel about you, and I swear I haven't touched a drop of booze all day.  A week ago you said you didn't care to be propositioned by a man who was intoxicated.  Well, tonight a very sober Peter Bushnall is wondering if he dare ask you to visit his oast-house again."  

      He paused, then added cautiously: "Come on, we've played this game before.  Are you still there?"

      "Yes, I'm still here."

      "Good.  I had this sudden thought - she's either a very good listener, or my voice is sending her to sleep."

      "You've got a very restful voice when you're relaxed, Peter, I like it.  It does things to me - nice things - takes me back a very long way.  Do you know anything about Roman history?"

      "Not a lot.  But if it'll help, I'm willing to learn."

      "No need," she said.  "But I can just about remember, sitting on my Dad's knee when I was four, listening to his deep hypnotic voice telling me all about the Romans and how they built Stone Street - it runs from west of Canterbury down to the coast at Lympne.  I haven't a clue what he said, of course - but I remember receiving his full attention - it sort of mesmerised my brain, and made me feel very content and secure.  After that I longed to sit with him again and be told anything - it didn't matter what - anything, as long as he talked to me in that soft, loving voice."

      Ashleigh knew her eyes were filling with tears, and hoped it wasn't obvious to Peter.  It was a long time since she'd really cried - long before her aunt's funeral.  There was no sadness that day - just another solemn church service which she'd been obliged to attend.

      "We've both gone quiet this time," said the gentle voice.  "Still there?"

      "Still here," she sniffed and reached for a handkerchief.  "Sorry, I was getting carried away."

      "I guessed as much.  But that's okay, my love, don't worry.  I never feel ashamed when that happens to me - and it often does, believe me.  I'm a very emotional man, if you want the truth - though tears aren't good for a man's image.  Hence the brash façade you normally get instead.  Are you okay?"

      Ashleigh nodded, then giggled self-consciously for doing so.

      "What's up?" Peter asked.

      "Nothing.  I was just nodding instead of saying yes.  Silly."

      "Body-language," he laughed.  "You can't beat it.  Yours speaks volumes."

      "Oh, God - really?  Go on then, tell me what else I've been saying."

      "Oh no.  That's a minefield I already blundered into tonight, much to my cost.  I'd need to know you a lot better before I made that mistake again."

      "Some things take time, don't they.  Perhaps if we leave it a few days, then get in touch later in the week.  How about inviting you here for a meal one evening?"

      "You trust me that much?"

      "Peter, if I don't start trusting people, I'm going to end up like my aunt, and I sure as hell don't want that.  May I make a suggestion?  Let's try not to phone or see each other for at least a week.  It'll help sort out where we're going and why.  Or if you feel a week's too long - how about next Sunday?"

      "Sunday it is.  Make it twelve-thirty, then I should be back from church - better still, how about ..."  He hesitated, not knowing her religious preferences.

      "A splendid thought, Peter.  I'll join you at St. Andrews for the morning service.  Apart from anything else, it's bound to please a certain old man I once knew and loved."

      Sunday seemed a long way off.  Time and again during the week, Ashleigh would reach for the phone, only to pause like a well-disciplined drinker.  "No," she reminded herself, "be a good girl and wait till Sunday."  Then she'd go and check the calendar to make sure Sunday wasn't really that far away.

      She arrived just in time for the service, having spent far too long ensuring that she looked her best.  The church was by no means full, and just for a moment she panicked.  Where was Peter?  Would she recognise the back of his head?  She wondered what suit he'd be wearing.

      She sat alone in a pew and felt the familiar sorrow, like being out of touch with the real world.  There were a dozen reasons why Peter might be delayed.  She remembered her aunt's frequent comment about those living nearest to church who were more inclined to leave home at the last minute.

      The processional choir entered - mostly women and small boys on black and white robes, and only two men, one of whom was Peter.  Ashleigh tried to catch his eye, but he seemed too engrossed in solemnity to look her way.

      It wasn't until after the first hymn that he relaxed and began to look around at the congregation.  He spotted her at once, acknowledging her presence with a bold wave which aroused the curiosity of the other man standing next to him.  Ashleigh almost got the giggles as she imagined Peter offering his colleague an explanation, perhaps altering the hymn's words as he sang.  Her precarious condition worsened when the other man also looked in Ashleigh's direction and grinned amiably.

      Soon, thought Ashleigh, the whole choir will get involved as the word spreads.  "Peter," she muttered under her breath, "behave yourself."

      Then they sat down, and exchanged a lingering glance that said it all:

      "Welcome back, my friend, I've missed you."

      The Rev. James Alison was in fine form, taking Ashleigh back to the days when she'd sat every Sunday beside her prim aunt in a flouncy pink dress and thick white stockings.  She wouldn't have dared even to smile in those days.

      "I didn't know you sang," Ashleigh greeted Peter when they met outside the church.

      "Neither did I," he grinned.  "I tried to persuade them I couldn't, but it clearly didn't work.  But I don't mind - it's a good way of making new friends in a strange village.  Gets me noticed, you must admit."

      Remembering Mrs. Gibbs, Ashleigh smiled.

      "What were you telling the man next to you?"

      "I don't intend revealing all my secrets before lunch," he said.  "Let's say I managed to satisfy his curiosity as to who you were.  His name's Kevin Sharp and he claims to remember you."

      "Kevin Sharp?"  Her eyes narrowed.  The name rang loud warning bells.  "Yes," she snapped her fingers.  "The little bugger!"

      "Ashleigh!  Really!  On a Sunday and right outside church?  I hope your late aunt isn't listening."

      "Sorry, but that monster was one of my worst tormentors at school.  Well, I'm damned - I mean, how very surprising!  I wonder what he does for a living?"

      "I know it's something in the City - he travels up and down each day.  I hope the pay's good, because I'm blowed if I'd like to spend fifteen hours a week at the mercy of a clapped out rail network.  If Kevin's your contemporary then he's got another thirty years before he retires, poor gentleman.  Listen, are you walking down the road with me or are you going to offer me a lift in your posh car and take me on an extended tour of your village?"

      "Actually," she confessed, "I took the liberty of parking it in your forecourt - I hope you don't mind, but it was very congested near the church when I arrived."

      "Ashleigh, my love, you're worse than Julie.  You had five whole days to prepare for our rendezvous - and you turn up late?  Come on.  I've got a small surprise waiting for you."

      "What?"

      "Never you mind.  Wait and see."

      "At least I know it's not a new car, because I saw your old one when I arrived.  Sorry I was unkind about red sports cars - I wasn't getting at you personally - I hope you understand."

      Peter gave her a lingering look, then paused to rest his arms on an old wooden gate and gaze out across open green fields.

      "No problem," he said.  "Isn't that idyllic?  Kent at its best, the garden of England.  And look at all those hundreds of sheep - what a peaceful life!  So innocent, yet so sad somehow.  Makes me feel downright guilty that I enjoy roast lamb.  See that view to the west.  Can you imagine a high-speed rail link or a motorway being carved through that lot?  Kent should be left as Nature intended, don't you agree?"

      "Absolutely," said Ashleigh.  "What's this surprise?"

      "Now you're behaving like Julie.  Don't build up hopes and then be disappointed - it's nothing really, just a little entre-nous I've managed to cook up for lunch, that's all.  I hope you like it."

      "I'm sure I shall," seemed a suitable reply.

      Peter was in no hurry to reach the oast-house.  He kept stopping to point out some common bird's nest or an ancient curiosity in an old stone wall.  Meanwhile Ashleigh was getting concerned that he might have something burning in the oven.  She felt quite relieved as they rounded the corner and saw no black smoke billowing out through the kitchen window.

      "After you," he declared formally, and held the door open for her.

      Suddenly there was a chorus of voices.  "Surprise!" shouted Peter.  "She's here!  Ladies and gentlemen, meet Miss Ashleigh Ferguson."

      Lights came on and dozens of people surged forward, most in their early thirties.  Among them sat Mrs. Gibbs whom they met six days earlier, while in the far corner Ashleigh saw an even older lady being helped to her feet.

      "My goodness, Ashleigh," she exclaimed, "haven't you grown."

      It was her old headmistress from twenty years ago.  Ashleigh was so taken aback she could scarcely utter the lady's name as she approached.

      "Miss Wall," she managed to croak as the frail figure thrust bony arms around her.

      "Welcome back, my love.  Oh, isn't this wonderful?  I don't suppose you recognise half these good people, any more than I did.  Nature performs some extraordinary feats of evolution in two decades."

      Ashleigh looked around her.  Everyone was smiling, each hoping for recognition as her eyes darted from one face to the next.

      "Mrs. Clover!  And Mrs. Edwards," she breathed, seeing two more of her teachers with outstretched arms.

      "And what about all these children?" exclaimed Mrs. Clover.  "Do you know, Doris and I both found we could still rattle off all their names in alphabetical order, as if we last called the register only yesterday.  Of course, there are some gaps - we couldn't round up the entire school.  Nevertheless, your friend's put on a really splendid show."

      "But what's the occasion," gasped Ashleigh.  "Who's behind all this?"

      "Why, your young man.  He's been working like a horse all week, trying to contact all the names we could come up with.  We had thought of giving everyone name-tags, but decided it was more fun guessing."

      "Besides, there wasn't a lot of time," said Peter, suddenly beside her with an extra glass of wine.  "Cheers," he said with a cheeky grin.  "Surprised?"

      Ashleigh couldn't speak.  Her eyes were full of tears and her lips had become uncontrollable.

      "Steady, steady," he whispered taking her in his arms.  "This is happy hour, okay?"

      "I see our Ashleigh hasn't changed," said another girl.  "She was just as tearful in those days.  Stop it, Ash, or you'll start us all off.  Isn't this fun though?  Half of us were in church this morning, yet very few spotted who we all were.  I must say you're looking good.  Does everyone agree Ashleigh's turned out trumps?"

      Everyone did, of course - it was that sort of occasion.  Ashleigh was led around by an eager group who introduced her to each of the other guests.  Many were there with their partners, giving Ashleigh the added problem of trying to decide which of the faces she ought to recognise.

      "In all," said Peter, following her around, "we managed to track down twenty of your old school friends.  One or two may not have been such friends then, but they're all friends now and they've all sworn good behaviour in the presence of Miss Wall.  Even this rogue - now a Chartered Accountant and resounding church tenor - what was that other word you used?"

      "Compared to what I deserve?" boomed Kevin Sharp.  "Mild, I'm sure.  This poor child - the way I used to tease her in those days.  No hard feelings, I hope?  Weeping Willow, we used to call her."

      "And don't imagine Kevin's improved," said a stout lady beside him.  "Hallo, my dear.  We haven't met but, for my sins, I'm Dorrie Sharp.  From what I hear today, I reckon this monster ought to go down on his knees and beg forgiveness."

      "It's not the first time I've made someone do that," said Ashleigh.

      "No, and I recommend it," confirmed Peter, "believe me, she looks good from any angle.  Listen everyone," he yelled, raising his voice like a fairground auctioneer, "there's plenty of food in the kitchen if you'd all file through and help yourselves."

      Most of the crowd drifted towards the food, though a few held back and checked their watches.  "Sorry, Ashleigh, we can't stop - kids at home, you understand.  We just dropped in to say a quick hallo.  Lovely to see you again.  I say, doesn't Miss Wall look even more like a sparrow?"

      They left their various names and addresses with Ashleigh, adding a general invitation for all to keep in touch, and each set off on nostalgic pilgrimages of their own, beginning with the old school playground.

      Three hours later, as the last of the guests drove away, Ashleigh slumped into a chair and looked across at Peter with a serious smile.

      "God knows how you did that, Peter, but I think you've finally laid to rest the worst of my ghosts.  What can I say?"

      "Would a mere 'Thank you' seem unoriginal?"

      "Thank you, of course, but Peter, my dear friend, why go to all that trouble just for me?"

      "Because I couldn't think of a better way to get my message across."

      "What message?"

      "Is body language not sufficient?  Today's extravaganza was my poor attempt at a good fatherly gesture with no strings attached, and I did it simply because I love you - in the nicest possible way.  If you still doubt my motives, then I'm sorry, but that truly was my best shot."

      Ashleigh stood up and drew Peter to his feet.

      "I think," she said, "we might take another small drink - just to celebrate, don't you."

      "Celebrate what?"

      "Let's drink a toast, shall we?  To a fuller mutual understanding which is long overdue."

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