George muttered that there had been more than enough energy in the conservation field – it was cash they were short of. But Grenville seemed not to be listening and had already changed the subject to Jeremy. He leaned earnestly across the table towards George. ‘It’s quite a responsibility, you know, for someone of his age to run an estate like this but I trust him implicitly – implicitly. I wouldn’t dream of interfering!’

Then he told old jokes about opposition politicians which took them through pudding and up to coffee.

During the meal Olivia had maintained an almost contemptuous silence. She thinks Grenville is making a fool of himself, Molly thought. She thinks the whole evening is a mistake.

George was hating every minute of it. The afternoon of waiting for the policeman’s phone call had made him tense and he was finding it increasingly difficult to pretend an interest in Grenville’s conversation. It was an insult, demeaning. Was he some sort of peasant to be called to the big house and forced to sit through such drivel? With the arrival of the coffee he could contain his impatience no longer.

‘What is all this about, Grenville?’ he demanded. ‘Why have you asked to see me? You know I’m a busy man.’

Grenville was suddenly sheepish and embarrassed. ‘ Of course,’ he said. ‘Of course. Silly of me. Why don’t we take our coffee into the study so we don’t disturb the ladies?’

‘Nonsense, Marcus!’ It was as if Olivia had spoken for the first time and they stared at her, astonished by the sharpness of her voice. ‘We have no secrets and I’m sure Mr Palmer-Jones has none from his wife. We might even …’ the sarcasm was terrible ‘… have some contribution to make.’

Molly turned to Olivia and smiled at her. It was the last thing she would have expected. Grenville faltered for a moment and smiled awkwardly.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean…’

Then his habitual confidence took over and in his old blustering style he began to explain what was worrying him.

‘I had a phone call today,’ he said, ‘from an old friend. Good chap. Editor of the local rag. Staunch party member. One of the most useful men in the Appleworth Association.’ He paused, sipped brandy and continued. ‘Late this morning there was a phone call to the news desk of the paper. My friend didn’t take the call himself. One of the reporters answered it. The caller was making certain … allegations about Ursula Ottway’s death.’ He paused again. ‘Claimed it was murder.’

‘Was the caller a man or a woman?’ George asked.

‘A man.’

‘The paper must get a lot of malicious allegations,’ George said, ‘with a celebrity like you on the patch.’