‘I thought,’ said Douglas Grace, ‘that Mr Alleyn was here to make an expert investigation. I shouldn’t think our ideas of Aunt Florence are likely to be of much help. He wants facts.’

‘But you’ll all talk to him about her,’ said Ursula, ‘and you won’t be fair.’

Alleyn stirred a little in his chair in the shadows. ‘I should be very glad if you’d tell me about her, Miss Harme,’ he said. ‘Please do.’

‘Yes, Ursy,’ said Fabian. ‘We want you to. Please do.’

She looked brilliantly from one to another of her companions. ‘But—it seems so queer. It’s months since we spoke of her. I’m not at all good at expressing myself. Are you serious, Fabian? Is it important?’

‘I think so.’

‘Mr Alleyn?’

‘I think so, too, I want to start with the right idea of your guardian. Mrs Rubrick was your guardian, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you must have known her very well.’

‘I think I did. Though we didn’t meet until I was thirteen.’

‘I should like to hear how that came about.’

Ursula leant forward, resting her bare arms on her knees and clasping her hands. She moved into the region of firelight. ‘You see—’ she began.

CHAPTER TWO

According to Ursula Harme

URSULA BEGAN HALTINGLY with many pauses but with a certain air of championship. At first Fabian helped her, making a conversation rather than a solo performance of the business. Douglas Grace, sitting beside Terence Lynne, sometimes spoke to her in a low voice. She had taken up a piece of knitting and the click of the needles lent a domestic note to the scene, a note much at variance with her sleek and burnished appearance. She did not reply to Grace but once Alleyn saw her mouth flicker in a smile. She had small sharp teeth.

As Ursula grew into her narrative she became less uneasy, less in need of Fabian’s support, until presently she could speak strongly, eager to draw her portrait of Florence Rubrick.