Staring at Peter and Rupert, she shook her head in disgust. She didn’t bother checking if the boy on the bed was still alive. It was obviously far too late. He was no more than sixteen, she saw. His hands were tied behind him, and his legs were manacled to the bed. His throat had been cut from ear to ear. When she forced herself to look closely, she found that his head had been practically severed from his body. Nowhere in Briony’s wildest imaginings could she envisage a sex game resulting in this. And she knew more about the sexual wants of people than most. But this was out of her territory.

Peter was crying again. His face had two long glistening trails of mascara down it. Briony stifled an urge to let him feel some pain and scratch his eyes out.

Leaving the room, she went down to Jonathan. ‘Any servants here?’

He shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’

‘I should imagine Peter has someone come in. With his lifestyle, he wouldn’t want anyone living here, would he? It stands to reason.’

‘What are we going to do, Briony? I didn’t know who to call.

If this gets out, my career will be over before it’s even fucking started.’ Jonathan clenched his teeth. ‘Why, oh why, did I ever take up with Rupert again? I must have been mad. The two of them were getting out of hand, and this is the result. You don’t know the half of it...’

He was nearly hysterical and Briony said, ‘Oh, shut up, Jonathan, let me think.’

She paced the room for a while.

‘I’m going to ring Mariah. She’ll help you get away. The main thing is to remove you from here. OK?’

Jonathan nodded. ‘You’re so good to me, Briony! I knew you’d know what to do.’

‘Go upstairs and get dressed. I have a couple of calls to make.

Come on, get your arse in gear!’

She rang Mariah then picked up Peter’s telephone book and dialled Lord Hockley’s number. She spoke to him personally and afterwards sat smoking ’til Mariah arrived. Her driver took Jonathan home and the two women waited in silence for Lord Hockley. Both knew that this was something they could use to their advantage, though neither voiced the thought out loud. Briony, herself, was numb, Eileen’s recent death still an open wound. When Lord Hockley arrived she had the grace to feel deeply sorry for the man.

She walked wordlessly up to the bedroom and opened the door. Lord Hockley, who had fought in the Boer War and had witnessed first hand the tragedy in the trenches of the Great War, took one look at the naked boy on the bed and, putting his hand to his heart, made a deep moaning sound that seemed to be pulled from his strong barrel chest.