‘Bimbo’s been into it, too. He’s prepared to put up some of the cash and go in as a partner.’

‘Indeed. I am surprised to learn he is in a position to do so.’

She actually changed colour at this. There was a short silence and then she said: ‘Harold, I ask you very seriously to let Andrew have his inheritance.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You may remember,’ she said, with no change of manner, ‘that when I do fight, it’s no holds barred.’

‘In common with most –’

‘Don’t say “with most of my delightful sex”, Harold.’

‘One can always omit the adjective,’ said Mr Cartell.

‘Ah, well,’ Desirée said pleasantly and stood up. ‘I can see there’s no future in sweet reasonableness. Are you enjoying life in P.P.’s stately cottage?’

Mr Cartell also rose. ‘It’s a satisfactory arrangement,’ he said stiffly, ‘for me: I trust for him.’

‘He won’t enjoy the Moppett-Leonard crise, will he? Poor P.P., such a darling as he is and such a God-almighty snob. Does he know?’

‘Know what?’ Mr Cartell asked unguardedly.

‘About your niece and her burglar boyfriend?’

Mr Cartell turned scarlet and closed his eyes. ‘She is NOT,’ he said in the trembling voice of extreme exasperation, ‘my niece.’

‘How do you know? I’ve always thought Connie might have popped her away to simmer and then adopted her back, as you might say.’

‘That is a preposterous and possibly an actionable statement, Desirée. The girl – Mary Ralston – came from an extremely reputable adoption centre.’

‘Connie might have put her there.’

‘If you will forgive me, I’ll have a word with Raikes. I regret very much that I have troubled you.’

‘P.P. is dining with us. He and I are going to have a cosy old chum’s gossip before my treasure-hunt party arrives.’

Mr Cartell said: ‘I am not susceptible to blackmail, Desirée. I shall not reconsider my decision about Andrew.’

‘Look,’ Desirée said. ‘I fancy you know me well enough to realize that I’m not a sentimental woman.’

‘That,’ said Mr Cartell, ‘I fully concede. A woman who gives a large party on the day her brother’s death is announced –’

‘My dear Hal, you know you looked upon Ormsbury as a social scourge and so did I. By and large, I’m not madly fond of other people. But I am fond of Andrew. He’s my son and I like him very much indeed. You watch out for yourself, Harold. I’m on the warpath.’

A motor horn sounded distantly. They both turned to the windows.

‘And here,’ Desirée said, ‘are your friends. I expect you want to go and meet them. Goodbye.’

When Mr Cartell had left her, she moved into the French window and, unlike Moppett, very openly watched the scene outside.