“Max…” she began, then stopped. Max’s study door was ajar. He and Rowland were talking. She could hear their conversation only too well.

“Forget it, Max,” Rowland was saying in a cold, angry voice. “I told you. Try John Lane again. Use Huxley.”

“Look—I can’t damn well get them. No reply from Lane. Huxley’s calling back at four. He’s in bloody Norfolk. That’s no use. I need someone here right now.”

“Then let’s think of someone else. And let’s make it a man, for God’s sake. I’ve had enough of female histrionics. First Lindsay, now her.”

“Think about this, Rowland. You’re overreacting. Why? She’s gone for a walk. Maybe that’ll give her time to think.”

“Does she think? I see no evidence. Neither of them thinks, Max. They just lose their tempers, flounce out, turn every issue into some damn personal conflict. They’re a pain in the ass.”

“All right. All right. I could try Nick, I suppose.”

“Call him now. If you can’t get him, I’ll go up to that damn barn myself. The police won’t keep those travelers there forever. We’re wasting time.”

“You call Landis. Use the other line. Get an update—they could have word on the car she left in. Then call the news desk again. Oh, and tell Landis we need a picture of Mina, a recent one.”

There was silence, then sounds of dialing. Miserable and angry, Lindsay turned away.

She returned to the kitchen and began to make sandwiches. Fifteen minutes later she heard the sound of rapid footsteps, then Gini entered, kicking off her muddy boots by the door.

Lindsay stared at her in astonishment. Gini looked transformed. The cold air had brought color to her face, but beyond that it was as if a different woman had just entered. There was new light in her eyes, new determination in her face. She moved in her old way, every line of her body indicating energy and purpose. Lindsay, dumbfounded, stared at her, unable to break her gaze. The transformation was sudden, and for a second it made her unaccountably uneasy: she had forgotten just how lovely a face Gini had; she had forgotten how her vitality could light a room.

“Where’s Max?” Gini began without preamble.

“In there. With Rowland.” Lindsay hesitated. “Running you down, Gini, if you want to know the truth. Listen—”

“I don’t give a damn, okay? I need to talk to him. I’ve been up to that barn. I went to see the travelers.”

“That’s where you’ve been?”

“Of course. What’s more, they talked to me. I took them some cigarettes, some scotch. That helped.”

“You bribed them?”

“Lindsay, it’s currency, that’s all. Very useful currency. I used it in Sarajevo all the time. Plus grass. The most useful currency of all. Max!”

She broke off. As she called his name, Max and Rowland had entered, still in argument. It was apparent to all four people in the kitchen that the word “bitch,” just uttered by Rowland, did not refer to Max’s dogs. Both men, seeing Gini, fell silent. She ignored their expressions and the comment just overheard.