At one o’clock they stopped for lunch, which was spread out as a buffet in the large dining room. The food was excellent and the cost of the meal would probably have paid, George thought, for the maintenance of a small nature reserve for several months. While the others were still drinking coffee he went outside. He needed fresh air, a little exercise, a reminder too of what all the talk was about. Because of that he saw the policeman arrive and heard the exchange between him and Grenville on the door step.

The policeman appeared on foot from the back of the house. He must have come up the east drive and parked there. He was embarrassed, apologetic. Even from his seat out of sight on the terrace George could tell that. When he spoke to the housekeeper who opened the door his voice was loud and defensive.

‘I’d like to speak to Mr Grenville,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘ Mr Grenville’s busy with his guests.’

For a moment George thought he would leave it at that and arrange to come back later when it was more convenient but he stood his ground.

‘It won’t take a minute,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait here for him, shall I?’

The door closed and there was silence, except for the sound of the policeman nervously pacing at the top of the steps. Then the door opened and George heard Marcus Grenville, breezy and polite, never forgetting that this was one of his voters.

‘Yes?’ he said. ‘ What is it, Constable? I can’t give you much time, I’m afraid. I’m tied up all day.’

‘I’ve been asked to come to talk to you, sir …’ The policeman had obviously prepared a speech but now, faced with the man he had seen so often on the television, it was forgotten.

He began again: ‘We had a phone call this morning from a member of the public making certain allegations.’

‘What sort of allegations?’ Grenville was less dismissive than George would have expected. He was on his guard.

‘About the illegal use of poison on the estate, sir,’ the policeman continued unhappily. ‘Contrary to the Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981.’

‘And who made these allegations?’

‘I’m sorry, sir. I can’t tell you that.’

‘It’s that bloody Ottway woman again,’ Grenville said, forgetting for a moment that he was a politician. He controlled himself. ‘That’s all right, Constable. She’s made similar allegations to me. Of course as a responsible landowner I’ve looked into it. I take such matters very seriously. I spoke to my head keeper this morning about it and he assures me that no illegal poisons have been used at the Cadver. You know Vic Liddle. He’s a careful man. I think you’ll find that your informant is malicious.’