George waited until Grenville had gone back into the house before coming out from the shadow of the terrace and into the sunlight.

In the afternoon the conference split into discussion groups, each considering a different aspect of environmental policy. George’s was looking at apparently green methods of energy production. It was a subject about which George felt strongly and he spoke forcefully. What was so green about an enormous windmill park on an area of outstanding natural beauty like the North York Moors? he demanded. And how could any conservationist approve the proposals for barrages on the country’s most valuable estuaries? What was needed was a real energy conservation policy. The money and research should go into finding a way of saving energy, not producing more of it.

At the end of the session George felt depressed. He had talked too much and made a spectacle of himself. Besides, what did all this talking achieve? Perhaps the young people, the new environmentalists with their radical views and their insistence on action, were right.

At four o’clock there was tea and then most of the delegates began to drift away. Grenville stood at the door, shaking hands, thanking them effusively for their attendance. He seemed relieved to see them all go. George was at the end of the queue but still Grenville greeted him with professional enthusiasm.

‘George!’ he said. ‘ Thank you for your contribution. Invaluable!’ He held on to George’s hand until the room was empty and he could be sure they would not be overheard. ‘George,’ he said. ‘ I wonder if I could talk to you. Take up a little more of your time. It’s a delicate matter. I’d be grateful for your assistance.’

George was about to say that Molly and Ursula would be expecting him but found himself being guided towards Grenville’s office, sat in a deep leather chair and being given a large Scotch.

‘It’s about your wife’s aunt,’ Grenville said. ‘Mrs Ottway. She’s one of my tenants.’

‘Yes,’ George said. He gave no indication that he had overheard the conversation between Grenville and the policeman.

‘To put it bluntly, she’s making a bloody nuisance of herself.’

‘In what way?’

‘She came here last night making accusations. Claimed someone had laid poison on the estate. Said it had killed a buzzard. And her cats.’

‘Have your keepers been using poison?’ George asked mildly.

‘No!’ Grenville said. ‘Of course not.’

‘It’s not that uncommon, is it, even on the big estates. There was that prosecution last year of the keeper working for a minister in the Scottish Office. And aren’t there moves to make landowners more responsible in law for their employees’ actions?’