Craven said nothing. He waited until the landlord went away, then walked round the hotel and into the lobby where there was a public telephone. The room was empty and he could use it without being overheard.

Chapter Eleven

George Palmer-Jones spent all afternoon at Back Rigg waiting to hear from Dave Benwell. By now there should be some post-mortem results. The search of the hill had been unproductive. Either Ursula had found all that there was to find or someone else had gone before him to clear the last traces of evidence.

Molly said nothing about Ursula’s meeting with Alex. George was irritable and bad-tempered and there was an element of wanting to pay him back. She was also afraid that he would appropriate the information for his own use. She would follow the matter further herself and surprise him with a new discovery.

Throughout the afternoon George found the tension of waiting unbearable. The sunshine had gone and the south-west wind brought heavy clouds across the lake, and rain. At four-thirty he could stand the waiting no longer and phoned Dave Benwell at Appleworth Police Station. He was told that Benwell was out. Perhaps someone else could help him? George replaced the receiver without answering. At five o’clock the telephone went, ringing loudly through the house, startling Molly who was almost asleep in front of the Aga.

George ran to the living room to take the call.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Palmer-Jones.’

He had been so convinced that Dave Benwell would be on the other end of the line that the rich, imperious voice of Marcus Grenville came as a shock.

‘George!’ he said. The word had the resonance of a back-bencher struggling to be heard in the chamber of the House of Commons. ‘George, Olivia and I would like to invite you both to dinner.’

‘That’s very kind,’ George said. He wanted the conversation to be over quickly in case Benwell was trying to get through to him. ‘When would you like us to come?’

‘Tonight,’ Grenville said, surprised, it seemed, that George had not guessed the urgency of the summons. ‘We’d like you to come tonight.’

‘I’m afraid that’s impossible. I’m expecting an important phone call this evening.’

‘Nothing that can’t wait, I’m sure,’ Grenville spoke with complete confidence and George thought: that’s what money and an estate in the country gives you. It’s such confidence that makes the idea of a classless Britain a mockery.

‘I’m sorry,’ George said. ‘I must stay here to wait for my call.’

‘Nonsense!’ Grenville said, trying to make a joke of it but irritated all the same because he was not getting his own way immediately. Then, more seriously: ‘Something’s come up, George. It’s something I need to ask your advice about. A professional matter. I wouldn’t impose on you if it wasn’t important.’