Without being conscious of it, Jack had taken his hand. The man looked at their hands. Jack had beautiful hands, big, and strong, with long fingers ending in blunt square tips. They were warm and comforting. He looked into Jack’s concerned brown eyes, alive with a warm intelligence, and he felt safe.

“What would you do if I was a criminal?” He smiled a little as he spoke. Jack wasn’t deceived.

“It depends what you’d done,” he replied, wondering what in fact the other man had done. “What’s your name, mate? I’m Jack.”

“Samuel.”

“Well, what have you done? It can’t be that bad.” He was still holding Samuel’s hand. “C’mon. Tell me.”

Samuel shook his head, and looked down.

“I won’t harm you.” Jack was looking at him with mild surprise.

“I’m afraid.” The simple words fell into the soft susurration of the rain on the roof, the gentle insistent tick of the grandfather clock.

Jack cocked his head to one side.

“I need help.” Samuel’s eyes were fixed on his, hope and anxiety clear in the dark blue.

Jack let go of Samuel’s hand. “Try me,” he said, as quietly as the other man, brown eyes warm and strong and true.

Samuel looked down for a moment. He raised his eyes again to Jack’s.

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