‘But in a funny sort of way,’ Fenella said, ‘I felt that she was honest and had got standards. And much as I loathed the thought of her marriage to Grandfather, I felt sure that according to her lights she’d play fair. And most important of all, I felt that the title meant much more to her than the money. She was grateful and affectionate because he was going to give her the title, and never would she have done anything to prevent him doing so. While I was still gaping at her she took my arm, and believe it or not, we went upstairs together like a couple of schoolgirls. She asked me into her frightful rooms, and I actually sat on the bed while she drenched herself in pre-war scent, repainted her face and dressed for dinner. Then she came along to my room and sat on my bed while I changed. She never left off talking, and I suffered it all in a trance. It really was most peculiar. Down we went, together still, and there was Aunt Milly, howling for the kids’ and Grandfather’s medicine. We’d left it, of course, in the flower-room, and the queerest thing of all,’ Fenella slowly wound up, ‘was that, although I still took the gloomiest possible view of her relationship with Grandfather, I simply could not continue to loathe her guts. And, Mr Alleyn, I swear she never did anything to harm him. Do you believe me? Is all this as important as Paul and I think it is?’

Alleyn, who had been watching Jenetta Ancred’s hands relax and the colour return to her face, roused himself and said: ‘It may be of enormous importance. I think you may have tidied up a very messy corner.’

‘A messy corner,’ she repeated. ‘Do you mean—?’

‘Is there anything else?’

‘The next part really belongs to Paul. Go on, Paul.’

‘Darling,’ said Jenetta Ancred, and the two syllables, in her deepish voice, sounded like a reiterated warning. ‘Don’t you think you’ve made your point? Must we?’

‘Yes, Mummy, we must. Now then, Paul.’