Hell Hath No Fury by Rosie Harris

the one exception. And look where that had landed her, she thought resentfully. By letting her emotions intrude she’d become vulnerable. By allowing herself to fall in love with him she’d suffered heartbreak and humiliation. And she’d also lost a valuable client.
    Even worse, by making a pilgrimage to Benbury she’d resurrected ghosts from her past!
    This time, though, she intended to lay every one of those ghosts. Permanently! They’d never trouble her again, she was determined to make quite sure of that.
    The tension she’d felt while driving eased once she was home. After garaging her Escort she carried the black leather grip, which held the equipment she’d taken with her to Benbury, indoors.
    That would be her first job, Maureen decided. Checking to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind, and then sorting and storing away anything she would need for future use and, of course, disposing of the rest.
    She’d always prided herself on her efficient filing methods. It was an essential part of her stock in trade to allocate a new file to each new undertaking and give it an identifying code name and number.
    Then she collated and subdivided the information she collected until she had built up a complete background picture. Only then did she enter all the details into her computer where she would sift and sort, check and double-check, set up comparison tables and pie-charts before printing out a comprehensive dossier.
    Each undertaking required different methods as well as patience, thoroughness, and painstaking attention to detail and logic. In some ways it was like puzzling out a complex jigsaw. Months of hard concentrated research could amount to nothing because of a single elusive piece.
    In the same way, of course, an obscure fact could be the key that spelled success. A seemingly fruitless task could suddenly gel; it could be the crowning touch and signal another satisfied client.
    Mostly, because she worked at home, her clients had no idea of the gruelling struggles needed to unravel the problem they set her. She preferred it that way. She had her own methods and disliked having to listen to other people’s opinions or concede to their methods.
    Philip Harmer had been the exception. His mind was as analytical as her own, and he was able to think laterally, the same as she often did. His responses had been like an extension of her own mind.
    It was too late now, of course, but she bitterly regretted not keeping her own counsel even with him. What on earth had induced her to let down her reserve after so many years of silence?
    If only she had stopped to think instead of letting her heart rule her head. How could she have forgotten her mother’s anguish about what people would think if they ever found out that she had been raped?
    Her mother had even refused to let her see a doctor because she had been afraid he might report what had happened to the police. She couldn’t face the public shame.
    Her father had been as adamant as her mother. ‘Think what it would mean if this got out!’ he railed. ‘Who would believe your story once people knew you’d gone to a public house drinking with a bunch of boys!’
    She tried to defend herself. ‘You don’t understand,’ she protested. ‘We were all so excited at passing. Only six of us out of a class of thirty!’
    â€˜Six?’
    â€˜That’s right. Me and five boys.’
    â€˜You told us there were four . . . that four boys raped you.’
    â€˜One of the boys was sick when we came out of the pub . . . The others left him behind.’
    â€˜He shouldn’t have been in the pub drinking in the first place . . . none of you should.’
    â€˜We wanted to do something crazy . . . to celebrate . . .’
    â€˜You did that all right!’ her father interrupted bitterly.
    They’d talked and argued that night until her brain was in a spin, trying to decide the best way