With Barry's money transferred offshore. Terry, a tall, wiry and serious man, was a pro in his business. He parked his Silver BMW a safe distance from Abbey's flat. He always made sure his parking ticket was stuck on the windscreen, while he checked out the locale. A parking fine was the last thing he needed. For him, a rear garden made a quick escape from the property straight forward. His surveillance found an alleyway, which divided the rows of houses. He tried the gate to Abbey's, it was open, but he did not enter.

***

Abbey awoke at six and remained in bed for another hour before going for a shower. With a pot of fresh coffee brewing, she checked her emails and answered those requiring a comment. From a drawer, Abbey removed and opened one of her study folders. For the next hour, she read her notes and made the odd spelling correction. On checking her diary, a highlighted appointment with the clinic stood out. Also, a couple of lectures required her attendance. In two minds, she grabbed her laptop case, notes and handbag and set off for the doctor's surgery.

***

For three days, Terry watched and waited for the whole property to empty. Today and with his clipboard in plain sight, he climbed the steps to Abbey's building. One by one, he pressed the door entry system buttons and waited. When no one answered, the door lock clicked open at his first attempt. A gentle push and he was inside. For a few seconds, he stood still and listened. Once inside Abbey's flat, he opened the rear window wide in case he had to make a fast exit. His eyes scAnnied the kitchen until he found the gas supply to the boiler. Isolating the gas supply at the meter, he removed the metal coupling. "Ready for ignition and lift-off." He chuckled as he stuffed half a dozen sheets of paper under the electric grill.

Terry closed the open window. On his return to the kitchen, he switched on the grill, and his right foot booted the gas supply lever to open. Once outside, he waited in his car. A few minute's later the sound of glass shattering reached his ears. Satisfied, he drove away.

***

The Fire Brigade arrived as shrouds of black smoke billowed towards the sky. Firefighters ran out their hoses, while others prepared to enter the building.

In minutes, the three-man search and rescue team entered the building. In stages, they made their way towards Abbey's flat. At the far end of the street, a gas company employee isolated the gas main. Firefighters played their charged hoses through the damaged windows.

Police cars blocked the street. An officer raised his hand as Abbey went to duck under the blue tape. "You'll have to wait here until the brigade gives us the ok."

"Where...?" she started to say. "My flat is along this road."

"Number 14."

It was not cold, but Abbey trembled. "Is it a bad fire?"

The officer stared at her for a moment before speaking. "I suppose someone left the gas on, or it's a tumble drier fault. Don't understand why people leave the damn things running when they go out. Then we all live and learn. As far as I know, the place is empty."

Abbey hesitated, "It's where I live."

The officer gave her a huge grin. "Doesn't matter. You must stay here."

Abbey paced along the adjoining street, her thoughts a turmoil of possibilities. "Had she left something on? She did not think so but then in her condition had she forgotten? Again, she stopped and stared at the street of Georgian houses. Despite the fire, it stood as proof it existed. It remained like a black scar. Scorch marks spoiled the neighbouring homes. Saved by the firefighters, they remained habitable.

Again, she peered at the hard-at-it fire-fighters.

"Whose house?," asked Steve, his expression quizzical.

"Ours," she told him.

Steve waved his hands in the air. "My mum and dad will be pissed off. It's part of their investment portfolio."

"They'll have insurance," said the officer.

With a sleepy smile, Steve shook his head. "I don't think they'll see it that way. I'm supposed to be looking after the place."

"They reckon it started in my flat," said Abbey.

He shrugged. "Makes no difference. The water damage will make my place unfit to live in."

"Look, they're rolling up their hoses. The fire must be out," said the police officer. "Wait. I'll go and ask."

"Thank you," said Abbey.

"We'll need a place to doss down," said Steve. He punched numbers into his mobile and walked away.

The officer returned with a firefighter. He pointed. "These two have flats in the building."

Abbey spoke with impatience. "When can I return to my flat?"

The firefighter gave a short mocking laugh. "Upstairs will have smoke damage to the common areas but with luck no internal damage. The ground and garden flats, one, two months, if you can find a builder."

Steve returned to the group. "Great news. My mate Harold says he's got yards of room and will put us up until we sort ourselves out."

Abbey gave the firefighter a severe smile before asking. "Can I return to my flat and retrieve a change of clothes?"

He did not answer straight away. "Let me talk to my boss. The kitchen floor has gone, but the rest should be ok. We have authorised a carpenter to board the windows. It keeps out those who would strip the place bare." He walked away.

"Seems a straight forward guy," said Steve.

"I don't fancy him. Do you?"

Steve did not laugh and did not smile. "Not my type."

They both laughed. A grim-faced firefighter strolled towards them.

When he went to speak, she looked straight into his eyes. "Good news, I hope."

"Not the best but a compromise. One of my team will escort you both into your flats for you to collect clothing and valuables. Both kitchen areas are dangerous. We found the gas pipe in flat 14 disconnected. Have you had any work undertaken in that area?"

Abbey shook her head. "As far as I can remember, the last people to look at the gas supply were there to check the meter. They checked and recorded the meter number."

The man's smile contained no warmth. "Well someone took it apart."

Surprised, Abbey gave his words some thought. "What are you implying?"

"Something isn't right. We were lucky the gas company isolated the supply."

She shrugged. "I never touched the gas pipe. Why would I? Anyway, I have been out all day."

"You might have to prove where you were."

"Not a problem. I had a doctor's appointment first thing. When I left the surgery, I attended two boring lectures. Any chance I can get my things."

"Yes you can but one at a time. Who's first?"

"You go," said Steve. "I'll wait outside."

The three of them walked fast along the pavement until they were outside the house. Its once pristine white paint black and scorched around the windows.

"Stay close."

"I'll stay closer than your wife."

"I'm not married, but I know what you mean."

As they entered, she gagged as the stench of smoke filled her lungs. "How do you work in this?"

"Practice and breathing apparatus."

The door to her flat hung on one hinge. She pointed. "That's my bedroom."

"You're lucky the fire never made it this far. We did have to go in and check."

She opened the door and saw her carpet covered in black footprints. In an instant, a mental picture of the last six months overwhelmed her. She swore aloud as Gregory Peters words came to mind. From the end of this month, you will be responsible for the management and repairs to the house and car. That was months ago. Pregnant and with nowhere to live, she sat on the end of the bed and sobbed.

"I've seen worse than this," said the firefighter. Once the builders start, they can have this perfect in a couple of months."

She wiped her eyes. "Shit happens, and you're right."

"I'll help you pack."

"Thanks. You'll find two suitcases under the bed."

He dropped to his knees and dragged both cases out and into the open. One he placed near Abbey and the other on the bed. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed a lipstick, memory stick and eyebrow pencil on the floor. These he scooped together and tossed them into the case.

Abbey opened drawers and dumped everything in one case until it was full. She smiled when she saw the firefighter folding and packing her clothes. "Can you help me close this case?"

In ten minutes, they were ready to leave.

"Can I take a peek in the kitchen?"

He shrugged. "Can't see that it will do any harm."

On their way out, he pulled open the burnt and blackened fire door to the kitchen.

Abbey's eyes stared into a black abyss. Steve's kitchen looked like a tar pit.

"My neighbour will not be happy."

The man coughed and cleared his throat. "No one ever is after a fire and thanks to the gas man we put it out before it took off. Time you let your friend salvage what he can."

Abbey waited for Steve. He did not take long and returned minutes later with a bulging rucksack.

His finger scratched the stubble on his chin. "Most of this stuff needs a good wash, but it's my good gear and should be ok. Come on Abbey. Let's get moving."

When Abbey and Steve turned the corner of their road, he hailed a taxi.

My friend Harold owns a modernised three-bed terraced house. It's not far from Kilburn underground station.

Steve paid the cabby and helped Abbey with her cases.

"His gran died and left it to him in her will. It's a bit of a mess, but it's free. Don't jump when you first see Harold. He's a strange guy, but his heart's in the right place and wouldn't hurt a fly."

She glanced at the terraced house, identical in every way to its neighbours. The once-standard yellow bricks were grubby with London grime. The small front garden contained four wheelie bins of different colours.

Steve jabbed the bell push.

Abbey said nothing when a man opened the door. His long thick beard reminded her of a garden broom. Dark blue jeans and a creased T-shirt covered his thin frame, but his smile put her at ease.

"Come in. Steve told me what happened. Excuse the mess, but housework is not my thing."

Steve followed Harold with the suitcases. Intrigued, Abbey glanced at the many framed black and white photographs.

"My grans," said Harold. "I haven't the heart to remove them. She was a good woman. Nothing was ever too much trouble."

"You're lucky. I never knew any of my family."

"Look, I don't want to appear unsociable but..."

"Please, tell me where my room is, and I'll leave you in peace."

"Steve, you're in the box at the front. Abbey, you're in the double at the back. Make yourself at home." He nodded to a doorway at the end of the hall. "Kitchen's through there but if you need something to eat, you'll have to order a takeaway."

She smiled. "Thank you for being a Good Samaritan."

"Follow me," said Steve as he grabbed her cases and his rucksack.

Before they climbed the stairs, Abbey glanced into the front room. "Wow," she said, as her eyes caught sight of the many bookshelves, which lined the walls.

At the top Steve pointed. "That's your room."

"What does Harold do for a living?"

"He's an environmental scientist. You know global warming and all that stuff. Bit of a boffin from what I'm told."

"No idiot then?"

"Weird, but not an idiot. I need to get my stuff washed. Abbey, when you've sorted yourself out, we'll go to the pub and have something to eat."

"Sounds good." She opened the door, lifted her cases and entered. As her eyes drifted from corner to corner, she smiled. It was as if she had stepped back into an old film set. She dragged a finger across the top of the headboard. To her surprise, no dust. A small chest of drawers stood next to the window that looked out onto an unkempt rear garden. A pink eiderdown covered the entire bed, and the springs squeaked. For a moment or two, the charm of the room distracted her. Then the realisation of what had happened hit her. She removed her shoes, fell on the bed, curled her body into the foetal position and cried. Her world had changed, and she wondered if it would ever be the same again. She raised her head when she heard a tap on the door. "Who is it?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes."

"Ready for that drink? It might help you relax."

Abbey slid off the bed and opened the door. "Give me a minute or two to wash my face."

He smiled as he saw the wetness surrounding her eyes. "I'll go and grab my coat and meet you downstairs."

Abbey arrived five minutes later. "You are one of the good guys, aren't you?"

Steve rested his hand on her shoulder. "Sometimes, it depends."

She kissed him on the cheek.

He seemed surprised. "Why did you kiss me?"

"It's my way of saying thank you. Let's go for that drink?"

He laughed, "My local is four hundred metres away. What's your poison?"

"Gin and fresh orange."

Together they left the house, and as they walked, they chatted about trivial matters. Once inside the lounge of the King's Head, Steve ordered a pint of Seafarers bitter and a gin and fresh orange.

The back street pub was not exactly upmarket. Its ancient floorboards showed through the stained red carpet, and well-used chairs and tables filled the corners.

Abbey sat at an empty table near the window.

Steve returned in a couple of minutes with the drinks and seated himself opposite. "I've ordered two chicken and chips. Is that ok?"

"Perfect."

"Great pub this. A bit rough and ready but never any trouble, and the boss is friendly. Do you know we have been neighbours for two years, and I know nothing about you?"

She gave him a wry smile. "What would you like to know?"

"Anything you want to tell me, and if you don't, that's ok."

"I'm an orphan and never knew my parents. My father lived in America and from what I understand worth millions. He and my mother had a one-night stand, and here I am. Others have controlled my life. As a baby, I had a nanny. When my private schools broke for holidays, someone would collect me and take me on tour. I'd travelled to every major city in Europe before I was eleven. The Far East came and went in my teens. Museums, I've forgotten most of them. The death of my father gave me freedom. No one ever actually cared. To them it was a well-paid job and then I met Brian, another fucking arsehole. What about you?"

He took a large drink of his beer. "Wow, I can't match that. I can't ever recall anyone visiting your flat since you arrived. What about your friends? Someone must be worried?"

"Have you been stalking me?"

He laughed. "You must be joking. I live in the flat under yours. I hear you walking around, moving a chair and rarely any visitors. You must get fed up with your own company."

She paused before answering. "Never gave it a thought. I felt privileged, liberated. The other girls at school were envious of me. I owned a top of the range laptop, and could buy high-end fashion. Travelling around the world was commonplace. That's my life in a nutshell."

Me, I come from a middle-class background. My mum and dad are both honest accountants and made sure I received a good education. Private schools and all that stuff. As it happens, I also have a head for figures, and when I graduate, I'll be joining the family firm."

"Two chicken and chips."

Steve grabbed the two plates. "Thanks, George."

"Abbey picked up a chip with her fingers and dropped it back on the plate. "Hot."

"Fresh chips and precooked chicken from the microwave. Fills a hole," said Steve. George does a great stew at lunchtime. With homemade soggy dumplings."

"It's hot, tasty and saves cooking," said Abby. "So you're all lined up to join the family firm."

"I am, but you're not doing so bad. A million pound flat, a bit singed around the edges. An almost new top of the range Mini. And a rich father. I would say you have a great deal. No worries."

She lowered her head. "Nothing is what it seems. My biological father died a while ago, and I was not included in his will."

"He can't do that. Get a good lawyer, and you could be worth millions."

"I wish it was that easy. My solicitor did mention I could fight but assured me my chances were slim. In fairness, he told me that my father's legal beagles would build the biggest brick walls money could buy. What would I live on?"

He shrugged. "Good point."

"There's something else you should know."

"You're putting weight on in the wrong places, so I guess you're pregnant. Who's the lucky guy?"

"The lucky guy ran back to his wife. More important, I don't think I have any insurance for my flat."

Steve stiffened as his smile vanished. "You must have. Everyone has insurance."

"Everything stopped when my father died. Don't worry, I have money."

Steve ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair. "Not my problem. You'd better hope the fire report doesn't prove the fire was your fault."

Abbey opened her mouth. "I don't understand. How could it be my fault?"

Steve sipped his beer. "I didn't say it was your fault. Don't worry, my insurance has to pay for my repairs; God knows the premiums are high enough. My policy gives new for old, so for me, no problem."

Abbey shifted in her seat. "First thing in the morning I'll go and see my solicitor. He'll know the answer."

"You don't need a solicitor," he said as if speaking to a child.

She stared at him. "You're so wrong, Steve. Since I can remember, Mr Peters always fixed my problems."

"Get real, Abbey. What you need is a good builder, and in London, they are like rocking horse shit."

"Mr Peters will sort it out." She lifted her drink and downed the dregs.

"Want another?"

"One more. I need to unpack and have a shower."

"There's one bath, so it's get in, wash and out." He wandered to the bar. She's a mess.

Abbey found her thoughts confused.

When Steve returned, she said. "It's my round. How much do I owe you?"

"My treat, but if you don't mind me saying you need to get your life sorted."

She gave a sort of helpless shrug. "At the moment it's a bit of a mess, but I know it will sort itself out."

" Abbey, what planet are you on? You're young, attractive and intelligent. Yet you need to wise up to the real world, fast. The thing about real life and not your playing house kind of life is it pushes you until you break. Out of interest, did you choose to buy or was that your Mr Peters.?"

"No. When I left boarding school, Mr Peters had someone from his office escort me there. She told me if I had any problems to contact his office."

"Who paid the service charges and arranged the TV licence?"

Reassured, she knew Steve was the sort of person to help. She lifted her drink and sat back in the chair. "I suppose Mr Peters. He or his firm did everything."

Steve's eyes narrowed. "Did Mr Peters tell you the good life is over? From this moment, the poor little rich girl needs to learn the facts of life. The choice is yours, but don't make another decision without running it past me. I may not know the answer, but I bet my father does."

"Thank you," said Abbey. "But why are you doing this?"

He laughed. "You're just the type conmen are looking for. If someone doesn't take care of you, you'll be broke and on the streets in less than a year."

"You don't believe that, do you?"

"You'd better believe it. Drink up and think about what I said. The choice is yours."