‘Right. Well, if you do hear from her, would you let me know?’

Madi gave a non-committal nod.

‘Anyway, I mustn’t keep you. Nice to meet you, Madi, and if you fancy a chat or a coffee, I’m just down the lane there. Orchard House. Not that we’ve got an actual orchard, or even one apple tree these days, but these old names stick, don’t they? Like the snowdrops here.’ She pointed at the name on the cottage door. ‘You’ve probably seen that there aren’t any. Still, any morning will suit me, if you want to pop down. I’m working up at the new vets’ surgery in the afternoons. Well, not every afternoon, but still helping out when needed. My husband’s the vet, you see. The senior partner.’

‘Yes, I know the place. I went there for the keys when I arrived. I met … Sian, was it?’

‘Ah, yes, Sian. Lovely girl. Prue’s best friend, ever since they were at school together, and even she doesn’t know where she’s gone. Or, if she does, she’s not telling. Kids, eh?’ She let out something that sounded halfway between a huff and a snort, and retreated back through the gate, waving over her shoulder but not looking back.

Madi waited until she had walked off to the right, gone around the corner and out of sight before following her as far as the gate and then turning the other way. Best to keep her distance for now and avoid another grilling about something that really was none of her business.

She walked slowly, enjoying the peace and quiet. So, Prue was young then? A kid, her mother had called her, although judging by the best friend she had met yesterday, she guessed they were probably both in their early to mid-twenties. A lot younger than she had imagined Prue to be, from the outdated look of the cottage, but the fact it had until recently belonged to her elderly grandmother explained a lot.

This time, she didn’t take the turning by the church that led up to the surgery, but carried on past it, back in the direction from which she had driven into the village the previous afternoon. She remembered passing a small row of shops, although they had looked closed, it being a Sunday, and a sleepy-looking pub, The Brown Cow, caught in the lull between lunchtime and evening drinking hours, with only a couple of cars in its gravelled car park. Today things were different. There was a delivery in progress at the pub, with all the banging and crashing of barrels and trap doors, and someone cursing as they dropped a box of crisps. Alongside it was a small antique shop that Madi made a mental note to investigate later and, strangely, for such a small village, an estate agency. She stopped to look at the photos and read the cards in the window, amazed at just how cheap property was around here, when compared to the exorbitant prices she was used to back at home.