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grew。 'Sterile ground；' the surveyor had shrugged。 'Barren rock from which the elements have washed away the topsoil。' People seemed ready enough to accept that unlikely explanation。 Coyle had taken a camera with him to get a picture for the following week's Herald。 He could have sent Ross； the official photographer； but instead had suggested to Anne that they go and view for themselves the new ugliness creeping into the valley。
Coyle had taken his photographs； and then； on impulse； he persuaded Anne to let him snap her； too。 Coyly； she had agreed。 She had been wearing a thin nylon blouse； and a short skirt which had obligingly lifted in the breeze as he pressed the button。 Nothing else had happened between them； he had not even kissed her。 During the drive back his hand had brushed hers； but she had not responded。
Coyle developed and printed those pictures himself。 Those intended for publication he handed over to Ross； whose wry expression soundlessly criticised his boss's talents。 But the one of Anne he hid in his wallet； and studied later that evening when Jane was out at the local branch of the Scottish Women's Rural Institute。 Somehow； so much more had e out in the photograph。 He could detect the firmness of her nipples through the scanty blouse and bra； and the almost transparent underwear beneath the lifted skirt showed an exciting dark V。
When Jane Coyle returned home； shortly after eleven o'clock； she was mildly surprised at the eager man who shared her bed。 Her weekly S。W。R。I； meeting had not offered its usual pleasantries； and a petty quarrel with Mrs MacGregor had not improved the migraine which had been hovering in the background throughout the day。 She had gently pushed her husband's hands from her bosom； and removed them more roughly from her lower regions。 Her obvious revulsion had been a turning…point in their already waning sexual relationship。
The following day Coyle had asked Anne if she would care to go out for an evening meal with him。 She had accepted readily and innocently； even telephoning her parents； who were flattered to think that the proprietor of the Herald had seen fit to reward their daughter thus for her efficiency。 Coyle had also telephoned his wife； and told her he would be home late due to an article he was preparing。 Jane had not even expressed regret。
After the meal they had driven up to that very same place from which Coyle had taken the photographs less than a week ago。 The moorland was deserted； silent except for the lonely call of a nesting curlew。 A three…quarter moon showed Coyle everything he wanted to see； a radiantly lovely young girl in silhouette at his side。 The legend of Balzur was pushed from his mind。
He had asked if he could undo her pony…tail and see her with her hair down。 She had agreed； giggling。 Usually her parents let her drink only at Hogmanay； and then but sparingly。 Tonight she had enjoyed a sherry before the meal； wine with it； then a couple of brandies； and she even thought it was a great joke when he undid her dress and loosened her bra。 Those nipples were as large and firm as Coyle had expected。
She giggled again when he felt up her skirt； and squeezed a couple of fingers between the tight…fitting elastic of her pants。 They began kissing…she clearly had never had a tongue thrust into her mouth before； but she liked it。 AH the time he rubbed with his exploring fingers； then used his free hand to guide her fingers on to the hard bulge in his trousers。 Five minutes later she was shuddering violently； clutching at him； sobbing…and then she was sober again； and asking to be taken home。
He wondered if she would turn up at the office next morning； and his stomach muscles grew taut when at ten minutes past nine there was still no sign of her。 At twenty…five past he sighed with relief as she came trotting in； and later he could have shouted his joy to the whole world when； amidst blushes and stammers； she thanked him for a wonderful evening。
So he had asked her out again。 It required more ingenuity this time； in order to allay any suspicions growing in the minds of her parents。 He admired her for the convincing manner in which she lied to them over the telephone about going to the cinema with Margaret from the type…setting department。 Had Anne's parents known Margaret they would have been far more concerned； for Margaret was a self…confessed lesbian。
Jane had not appeared the' least concerned that Bob Coyle would be home late。 Recently he had the impression that she preferred to have the house to herself in the evenings。 If she suspected he had taken a mistress； she did not seem to care。
Coyle drove out to that same place again； there did not seem any reason to go elsewhere。 By this time surely Anne was fully aware of his intentions。 The fact that she lifted herself up so that he could slide her pants down； confirmed this。 She was only too eager to clamber over on to the more spacious back seat。
That was how it had all begun。 Coyle drained the last of his whisky； his gaze still fixed on the wallpaper； only dimly aware that he had an erection。 He pondered over the problems involved in divorcing Jane。 She certainly did not want him sexually nowadays。
Yet Anne had never once suggested a break…up of his marriage。 His greatest fear was that one day she would find herself a boyfriend； a younger man； acceptable to her parents； who had a damned sight more to offer her than a married newspaperman fast approaching middle…age。 Sometimes he contemplated getting her pregnant。 He wondered what she would do if that happened。 She would either have to demand a secure relationship or an abortion。 Maybe he ought to try it and see。 At least he would know where he stood。
Plutonium was to blame。 He crushed the empty glass fiercely between his fingers。 Pluto。 And Balzur。
'Bob！'
He started； unaware that the office door had opened； and Anne stood there smiling； her gaze focused on the protrusion in his trousers。
'Sorry； I was miles away；' he swung his feet to the floor； and she advanced on him； perching delicately on his knee； one arm around his neck； the fingers of the other starting to caress his hardness almost immediately。
'I trust you were thinking about me。' Her eyebrows were raised mockingly。
'I was；' he admitted truthfully。 'I was just thinking about how it all happened； how we got together 。 。 。 and how you've been transformed from a sweet little innocent teenager into the most beautiful； sexually desirable woman imaginable。'
'And your journalistic training enables you to put it all so delightfully into words；' she continued to stroke him。 'That's something which an awful lot of women miss out on。 You haven't forgotten we're going out tomorrow night？'
'I can hardly wait。'
'Perhaps your wife will oblige you tonight。'
'I shan't ask her。'
'Oh； by the way； Winston Dyne rang while you were out。 He was a bit shirty。 He didn't like your article in last week's edition； the reference to the Balzur legend and the link between Pluto and pl