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It was the fringe of autumn yet the sun retained enough of its summer heat to warm Bethany's back as she pedalled vigorously along the leafy suburban roads of North Oxford. She cycled with purpose, oblivious of drawing an admiring glance from a passer-by as he appreciated the rhythmic movements of her slender athletic legs and the bobbing of her titian-red curls. She seemed the essence of a happy and healthy eighteen-year-old, revelling in her youth and without a care in the world.

          But little is as it seems.

          Beth was troubled. That morning, before leaving the confines of the comfortable Edwardian house where she lived with her parents Desmond and Prudence Burnett, Beth had rowed with her mother and now she was furious with herself for letting her quick temper get the better of her.

          Beth's anger often flared no matter how hard she tried to keep it in check. Afterwards she was generally full of regrets and was quick to apologise but this morning the row had made her late for work and she had left the house without making peace with her mother. Beth recognised she would spend an uncomfortable day knowing that her apology would have to wait until the evening when the spontaneity would be lost. Her remorse would, as always, be accepted by Prudence with grace and equanimity but all the same Beth wished she hadn't put it off.

          Prudence and Beth differed in all respects. Prudence was a quietly self-assured woman, having  grown up the only child in an affluent household where she had been encouraged in all her endeavours. She was petite with pale translucent skin, thick dark wavy hair and deep blue eyes that proclaimed her Irish roots. Beth on the other hand stood out from the crowd, not only for her lanky five foot ten but also because of her mop of bright red curls. At school she had rarely been teased about the colour of her hair. This was partly due to her size but mainly because friends and acquaintances soon became aware that she was extreemly adept at quelling those trying to tease with a few well chosen words. Afterwards she often wished she had treated the situation with disdain but somehow her annoyance always got the upper hand.

          This morning, apart from her frustration at her inability to keep her temper under wraps, Beth had been disturbed by a remark made by her mother in the heat of the argument. She had raced down the stairs in a tight fitting short skirt that she had recently bought and had been looking forward to wearing. She had dived into the kitchen to bid her mother a hasty goodbye before dashing off to her job at The Flower Basket, a local florist's shop. Prudence had turned from stacking the dishes ready for the daily help's arrival and a frown had puckered the smooth skin of her forhead.

          'What's that you're wearing?'

          'It's the new skirt I bought on Saturday.' Beth twirled hurriedly. 'Like it?'

          'I like the colour but it's much too short, it's well above your knees.'

          'Oh Mum it's ninteen sixty-five, everyone is wearing their skirts this length now.'

          Prudence hated to be called mum, preferring the formality of mother, but she let it pass this time in order not to detract from the matter of Beth's skirt.

          'So they might be but not everyone rides a bicycle to work. That skirt will show an indecent amount of thigh when you're pedalling and what Molly will say having her assistant dressed like that at work I dread to think.'

          'Mum, why do you have to be so old fashioned? I'm only eighteen. I don't want  to dress like a frumpy old woman. I bought it with my own money and I'm going to wear it whether you approve or not.' Beth turned to leave, bright spots of anger glowing on her cheeks.

          'Bethany!' Her mother's sharp voice caused her to turn. 'I object  to being referred to as a frumpy old woman ...'

          'I didn't mean ...' Beth was cut short as her mother continued.

          'And I don't like 'mum' as you well know. Now  while you're living here your father and I expect you to behave in a manner that befits the daughter of a well regarded city solicitor. I don't want people who know us seeing you riding through the city showing your suspenders like some brazen hussy from the depths of Cowley.'

          Beth saw red. 'That's all you think about isn't it? What other people think. It's all you care about.' She gasped for breath before yelling, 'Mother you're a snob.'

          Prudence's pale cheeks reddened. 'Your temper matches that red hair of yours and where that came from I'll never know. Not from me or your father that's for sure. Now go upstairs and change into something more suitable.' Her small frame turned and Beth was left staring at her mother's rigid back. Prudence's remark about the unknown legacy of her red hair and temper took the wind out of her sails and she was left temporarily speechless. 

          Angry and confused she slammed out of the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time to her room on the top floor where she changed into a skirt that was just a few inches longer than the offending one. Beth reckond that she had made a sufficient gesture towards her mother's idea of decency. She knew that her employer Molly was broad minded and didn't mind what she wore to work, so long as it was clean. Her clothes were covered by a large green apron when she was in the shop so no one noticed what she was wearing anyway.

          Beth rode swiftly and with determination. She wished she had fought her corner in a more measured way and without resorting to shouting at her mother. But the thing that troubled her most was the remark her mother had let drop about the colour of her hair. For some time now Beth had vaguely wondered about her red hair and from whom she had inherited it. Her father Desmond was of average height and, at forty-five with a sedentary job, was begining to look a little portly. Beth more than matched his height but that was where the similarity ended. His brown hair was neatly cut with a parting on one side and already showed a sprinkling of grey. He was a quiet, serious man with a gentle sense of humour who loved his passionate daughter deeply but did not show his affection in an overly demonstrative way. Her mother was slim but short, reaching only five foot two in her stocking feet. Her dark hair was thick and wavy, quite unlike Beth's mop of titian curls, and she had a quiet poise that was rarely ruffled. Beth thought it strange that she had nothing in common physically or in temperament with either parent. Pedalling hard, she searched her mind for relations that had the slightest hint of red in their hair, but she drew a blank.

          Deep in thought and with her head down Beth didn't see the other cyclist hurtle out of a side turning and therefore took no avoiding action. Their handlebars locked together and they struggled unsuccessfully to keep upright. Beth quicky lost her balance and fell with both bicycles on top of her. The other cyclist managed to jump clear.....