she had opened the wardrobe to find empty hangers where her clothes used to hang, and then discovered that the dressing table had been stripped of all the personal items which had cluttered the surface and filled the drawers. Any shred of hope she might still have harboured for a reconciliation evaporated then. She had only been gone a matter of days and already there was no visible sign that she had ever lived here at all. She knew that her indiscretion had caused her husband hurt, but for him to have removed all visible reminders of her so soon cut her deeply. The kind and compassionate man she had married had changed out of all recognition since he had become embroiled with the church and that conniving vicar had got his claws into him. She shut the wardrobe door. She wasn’t worried about how she was going to afford to kit herself out with some new clothes, or replace her personal items, or put a roof over her head for the time being until she found a job; she knew exactly how she was going to do that, and to hell with what the vicar or Harry made of it when it came to light what she’d done.
Having sorted out a set of clothes for Glen, she made her way back downstairs, laid them on the floor outside the bathroom, knocking on the door to let Glen know they were there, then went into the kitchen to mash a pot of tea for them both and see what she could find for breakfast.
A short while later, sipping the cup of tea Jan had made him, Glen was revelling in the luxury of feeling hot water lapping gently over him. This was the third change of water, and albeit it was murky it was nowhere near the colour of a muddy puddle as the first lot had been. That had had a thick layer of scum floating on top, which he’d had to scrub away from the sides of the bath before he could refill it. After he had shorn his thick growth of beard close enough for him to shave, he set about removing the rest with a cut-throat razor. He had prepared himself to see a stranger looking back at him from the mirror but he hadn’t expected to see someone quite so gaunt with skin the colour of putty, or such deep grooves around his nose, cheeks and eyes where none had been before. If he hadn’t known who it was staring out of the mirror, he would never have recognised himself. Between the next change of water he had tackled his mass of hair, shearing it off his head in big chunks, leaving enough hopefully for Jan to shape into a short back and sides. Seeing his reflection when he had done this was another shock and he kept having to remind himself that it really was him.
As he lazed now in what felt like the lap of luxury, aware that he should really vacate the bathroom in order to give his hostess time to use the facilities before they had to leave, the sound of a loud knock on the back door reached his ears. He sat bolt upright, the action causing a wave of water to slop over the sides and on to the linoleum. His heart was thumping madly. Had Jan’s husband come back for some reason, having to knock on the door as she had locked it after them? Jan might have a right to be here but Glen wasn’t sure where he himself stood. Fear engulfed him that he could be charged with trespass and be facing jail again.
Jan had been frying sausages, about to add the couple of rashers of bacon she had found in the pantry to the pan, when she heard the sound of a key being tried in the back door lock and spun round to stare at it, automatically thinking it was her husband trying to get in. She had told Glen that she had every right to enter the house as she was still technically married to the owner, but in all truth she didn’t actually have a clue where she stood legally. Her mind in turmoil, she had no idea what to do. Open the door or stay as quiet as a mouse, hoping Harry would go off to get a locksmith and give Glen and her time to make a hurried escape?
Then she