‘Fuck!’ She tore off the nightdress and sat hugging her knees.

‘Poor little dog.’ Matilda stroked her. ‘You will be all right now.’ She switched on her bedside light to look at the time. ‘Three o’clock, soon be dawn.’ She lay back, pulling the sheet round her neck. The dog settled again.

If my picnic had gone according to plan I should be floating by the lighthouse. Time from now on is borrowed. The thought pleased her. She noticed from the taste in her mouth that she had been snoring, got up, rinsed her mouth with cold water at the basin then went back to lie on her side, mouth shut, breathing through her nose. How conventional to wake up and scream, how strong her upbringing. The man must have had a reason to kill his mother. Louise would, Mark could, Anabel certainly. Claud. Not Claud. Something would make him laugh or more probably he would not bother.

Time was I would have killed mine, Matilda thought, only Tom came along. It’s all in the mind, she thought drowsily. It is ridiculous to scream about it. Was I not brought up not to scream? Who am I to judge? I was going to kill tonight, suicide is murder.

Hugh Warner was too deeply asleep to hear Matilda’s screams. Across the British Isles the police were alert for a man answering his description. At airports and channel ports travellers’ passports were examined with care. At 4 a.m. a bored journalist in Cairo filed a message that a man answering Hugh’s description had been seen heading south.

Only Gus, the betrayed, shifted restless, unable to settle among the geese, utterly at a loss, anxious, disorientated, lonely.

6

MATILDA THOUGHT BEST while occupied. Now, kneading dough, her mind came alive.

She and Folly had come down early, Folly trotting into the garden while Matilda made coffee. It was still very hot. Through the open door she could hear the hum of insects, birds singing. Away up the hill a cow cried for the calf recently taken from her. Far off a shepherd was driving sheep – she could hear the harassed bleating, the barking dogs. Folly now sat in the doorway listening.

Matilda heated up the coffee and sat at the table while the dough in its basin rose in the warmth by the Rayburn. Upstairs her visitor slept, she supposed, though he could quite easily have gone on his way while she slept. She hoped he had gone, it would be the best thing. She did not wish to be involved. Sipping coffee Matilda thought, I do not wish to get involved. Then, to be truthful: I would like to be involved and as I am why not enjoy it.

She wore a blue cotton dress, an old friend. Her legs and feet were bare, her hair still damp from washing.