Chris arose early the next morning. He had finished his breakfast by the time that Laura appeared, and she smiled sleepily at him. "You were restless last night." "A lot on my mind." He smiled easily, and with real pleasure. "I'll probably be gone for most of the day." "Enjoy yourself." "Oh, I will." His smile became a fully-fledged grin as he turned away from her and headed for the door. "See you later." "I certainly hope so." She watched him as he left, and the tiniest of frowns broke out above her wide eyes; then she smiled to herself and shrugged off her concerns. He had only just arrived in Spain - how could he possibly be up to something? Her mind played tricks on her, whispering words to fuel her unease: Are you kidding? This is Chris Tate. She shook the feelings off. Admittedly he had been acting rather oddly, and he did seem a little anxious to get out of the hotel; but there could be any number of reasons for that. The fact that he was Chris Tate didn't automatically mean that he was up to something. She went to the window and stared down into the street. Her arrival coincided with her companion's exit from the hotel, and she watched him as he started purposefully off down the pavement. He certainly seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere. Her frown deepened, but she buried her thoughts and turned back to the breakfast table. She had a meeting in a couple of hours. There were things to be done. Chris made good time, speeding his way down the largely deserted street towards the place where he had seen the blonde woman the previous night. He bypassed the beach walk, determined not to restrict himself to the path with its limiting barriers. It took longer to reach the place by road, but it meant that, when he got there, he was be able to follow the route that she had taken when she had left the beach. It was early still, and there were only a few people on the sand. Chris wheeled himself cautiously to the edge of the road, where a six foot drop without railings looked over the beach. He clicked his brakes on. There were footprints in the sand leading to the nearby steps, but nothing that screamed to him that Kim had been there. It was hardly as though she wore monogrammed shoes, after all. A jogger ran past him, and Chris called down to him. "Excuse me." "What?" Jogging on the spot and looking flushed, the man glanced up. His accent was British, and clearly he originated from somewhere in Southern London. "What can I do for you?" "You're English." The fact surprised Chris, who had arrived in Spain expecting Spaniards, and so far had mostly met British ex-pats. "Most people around here are." The man's eyes narrowed. "You from the Inland Revenue?" "Hardly." Shrugging off his earlier surprise, Chris leaned forward slightly in his chair. "Did I see you running here last night? About seven?" "Could have done." The man shrugged. "I run here twice a day. Have done for eleven years. Rain or shine." He did a few exaggerated stretches. "Got to keep in trim, you know." "Of course." On the surface Chris was smiling, but underneath his subconscious was screaming Prat! He kept his feelings to himself. "There was a woman here last night, while you were running. She was quite tall, blonde, kind of pretty I suppose. Mid-thirties?" "Last night?" The man frowned, then nodded. "Oh, a Brit, you mean. Not a local. That would have been, erÉ Robinson, her name is." He smiled wistfully. "One beautiful woman. If I wasn't marriedÉ" He shrugged. "Lives near here. Hotel I think. She's quite new to the area, but she doesn't take long to start feeling her way around, if you know what I mean. Half of the ex-pat community would be ready to snap her up if they thought they could. She plays hard to get though. Like she's looking for someone special." "Yeah." There was bitterness in the one short syllable, and Chris finished the sentence in his head. Like somebody old, and preferably with a weak heart. "You know where she lives?" "Like I said, a hotel." The other man shrugged. "Don't know which one though. She can't be short of a bob or two, mind, so I'd guess it'd be one of the more exclusive ones." "Sure. Thanks." Releasing his brakes with a short, sharp click, Chris manoeuvred himself away from the edge of the road and headed off in the direction he had seen the woman take. His thoughts whirled about, travelling almost too fast for him to keep up. Robinson was not a name that rang a bell. It had no significance to him, suggesting no link with his step-mother; but this merely reinforced his opinion that the woman had been Kim. He was positive of it; it had to be her. He turned towards the first of the hotels, and fixed his sights on the desk clerk. By the end of the day, he told himself. By the end of the day he would have her. It would all be over soon.

Kim left her hotel on the dot of nine o'clock, heading for the exclusive beach club where she had enrolled herself as a member three weeks previously. She liked the place. It had character and stature, and above all else it had an elite clientele. The people who went there were rich beyond all measure. They were not just businessmen and women. They were the businessmen and women. The cream of the crop. The ones who had gathered their riches by fair means or foul, and had come to this sun-drenched hideaway to spend and to hoard their millions. They were exactly the people that she wanted to know; the ones that she wanted to settle amongst. If anybody was going to open the doors to her dreams, it was these people. There were drug dealers and bank robbers amongst them, she knew that only too well; but in the last year or so, she had come to see herself in an entirely new light; and such people no longer had her disgust. She could almost count herself amongst them; in her eyes at least; and such a liaison might open doors that even she had not yet considered. She quickened her step, and did not spare a thought for the growing number of people beginning to fill the streets around her. Had she glanced back, the pedestrians would have cut off her view of her hotel; but they would also have cut off the hotel's view of her. She was invisible to those moving about around its doors.

Chris wheeled himself through the large entrance of the hotel, cursing it for being so inaccessible. Was it really too much to ask for that a place so impressive could steer its way clear to installing some self-opening doors, or at the very least a ramp that wasn't so steep it would discourage a mountain goat? He negotiated the obstacles with his usual stubborn determination, and came at last to the desk clerk. A pair of bored eyes looked down at him. "Kim Robinson please," he asked. He was assuming that she was going by the same first name; counting on it in fact; but had asked the question so often in the last hour or two that he was becoming increasingly bored. For all that he knew she could be staying in another town altogether. The clerk scanned her vast, leather-bound ledger. "Is that Mrs, Miss or Mr?" The voice was barely accented, putting his pidgin Spanish to shame, and he shrugged. "Mrs. No, Miss probably. I don't know." "Do you know the lady?" Surprise mingled with the superiority now, and Chris struggled to keep his temper in check. Patience was not one of his greatest virtues, as so many people were so fond of telling him. "Yes, of course." He smiled. "She's my step-mother. Well, was. My father divorced her, and that's why I'm not sure what title she's using." "Oh." As discreet as her job demanded her to be, the woman turned disinterested eyes back upon the pages of her great tome. "Room 314. That's the third floor." "Thankyou." He turned about, heading for the lift, and slid easily through the wide doors. They closed behind him, and he nodded at the lift boy. "Third floor." "Si." They rose quickly, though not nearly quick enough for Chris, and he was barely able to wait for the doors to open properly before he was through them and heading down the corridor. Doors went by him: 302, 304, 306É He increased his speed, almost racing along in his eagerness; and he was at number 314 before he was entirely sure what his next move was to be. He frowned up at the door. It looked innocuous enough, but looks, as he well knew, could so often be deceiving. He glanced back down the corridor. The lift had gone, its attendant with it, and he was alone. Some strange emotion stirred within him, and his frown deepened. Surely it wasn't fear that now stilled his hand? His thoughts played back over his last meeting with his step-mother. He remembered the blow which had nearly knocked his senses clean away; recalled the clear, cold malice with which she had dragged him from the chair, telling him that she was going to leave him to die. He had been helpless; but this time he was ready for her, and for her tricks. He would not let her get the better of him again. He might not have her manoeuvrability, but there were plenty of other things that were in his favour; her tendency to underestimate him for one. He smiled and raised his fist, knocking sharply on the door. He could already see her face as she came to answer the knock. He imagined her surprise, her anger, her fear. He imagined his own smug grin, and the self-satisfied way that he would wish her a good morning. He could already see her in prison, her ill-gotten gains confiscated; and James back where he belonged, in Emmerdale. Maybe Chris would even raise the boy himself. He had always wanted another shot at fatherhood. The door opened slowly, and Chris drew himself up as far as he was able. He stared up into a pair of curious brown eyes, topped with unruly white hair. He frowned. "Hello?" There was confusion in the dark eyes. "You want Mrs Robinson?" "ErÉ yes." He offered the maid a hesitant smile. "Is she in?" "NoÉ" There was a further hesitation. "You want speak with her?" "ErÉ well yes, if I can. Will she be back soon?" "No." The maid shook her head. "She back later. Evening maybe." "Oh." A plan began to form in Chris's mind, taking shape among the ruins of its predecessor. "Well can I come in? James is here, yes?" "James is here, si." The woman frowned. "You know him?" "Know him?" Chris grinned, turning on his not inconsiderable charm, and setting his eyes glittering merrily. "I'm his brother. Look." He delved into his pocket and produced his wallet, from which he took a photograph. He had not looked at it in a long time, and was not altogether sure why he still carried it. Maybe because it was the most up-to-date picture that he had of his father (excluding certain wedding photos, which he now avoided). It showed the four of them, as they had been when they had started out together at Home Farm; Frank Tate with Kim at his shoulder, Chris and Zo‘ at either side. They were all smiling, for the picture had been taken before the enmity had begun. Even Chris had got along with Kim in those days; in a manner of speaking. "Kim - Mrs Robinson - is my step-mother." "Oh." Carla peered at the photograph, looking from the tall, blond man in the picture to the darker-haired man now seated before her. She shrugged. "Come in." "Thanks." He waited for her to move aside, then wheeled into the room, looking about. James was sitting in a corner, a pile of coloured bricks before him. Chris grinned. The small boy had grown a great deal since he had last laid eyes on him, and although he was still little more than a baby, Chris was sure that he could see something of his father looking back at him. Frank's eyes, maybe. Or his smile. "You want to wait here a long time?" the maid asked him. Chris frowned, then shrugged. "Yes, I think I'll hang around here a while. Why don't you take a break." "Thankyou." She flashed him a fluttering smile, then headed for the door. "Mrs Robinson will not be back for a long time." "Don't worry about it." He waited until she was gone then wheeled himself over to the small boy, who was now frowning up at him, his eyes curious. Chris smiled. He would have liked to think that the child recognised him, but he had no idea how such things worked with children of this age. He remembered the long hours of waiting at the hospital when James had been taken ill, and how the time had almost brought him together with Kim. It was a sobering thought, and the one thing that stopped him from taking the boy and leaving now. He couldn't do that; not even to Kim. "Hi James." He frowned, wondering if there was a sign of recognition. "I'm Chris. I'm your brother." He knew that the words would not mean a whole lot, and in the absence of conversation wondered if he had looked like that when he was two. There was nobody left who could tell him. He sighed, and settled himself back to wait. Give the kid a chance, and he would warm to his guest; and Kim would come in time. He had no idea that she was already nearly there.