She stood up and Olivia, relieved that the discussion was almost over, rose too.

‘Who else knew about Cassie?’ Molly asked.

‘There was a friend of Joanna’s, Kathleen Prime’s niece, Alexandra. She used to visit Joanna in the nursing home when she was pregnant. But Joanna seemed convinced that she would keep the confidence. There was no one else. Jeremy was away at school. He never knew.’

‘And Ursula?’ Molly asked. ‘She did phone on Friday night to persuade you to change your mind about Cassie?’

Olivia nodded. ‘And I told her exactly what I’ve told you. That she should talk to Joanna.’

‘Did she agree to talk to Joanna?’

‘I never found out. Our conversation was interrupted. She told me that there was someone at the door and she would have to go.’

‘Who could be visiting her so late at night?’

‘I don’t know,’ Olivia said. ‘I thought the call was an impertinence. I was glad of the excuse to ring off.’

She saw Molly to the front door herself. She seemed unrepentant, still certain that her judgement had been sound. Perhaps it was to shake the woman’s confidence that Molly spoke, just as Olivia was about to close the door.

‘Does the name Kathryn Craven mean anything to you?’

Olivia opened the door and said, readily enough: ‘Wasn’t she the girl from the estate who committed suicide?’

‘She was Daniel Craven’s sister,’ Molly said.

‘So she was! They both left the valley as soon as they left school.’

Olivia shut the door and Molly was left on the step, uncertain whether the woman knew of Marcus Grenville’s affair or not.

Eve Theobald had slept fitfully and woke early with the decision still not made. It was impossible at a time like this to know who to trust. The Animal Rights Group had talked about secrecy and loyalty at all costs and Jeremy with his anachronistic notions of duty had seemed equally certain. She was not sure. She was aware that she was trying to cover her back to save herself at the expense of others and the indecision came because she did not want to think of herself as a coward.

She would have liked to trust George Palmer-Jones but he had seemed so much a part of the male, middleclass establishment that she could not see how he would understand. Then she had been tempted to confide in his wife, the woman in the scruffy anorak with the little Billy Bunter specs who had been waiting for her outside school. She had the air of someone who would not by shocked by anything. But in the end Eve had said nothing and that silence seemed a crime on its own.