To Ramsay’s surprise Rosemary Henshaw’s eyes filled with tears. Her emotion contrasted sharply with Henshaw’s apparent indifference, and he wondered what significance that might have. She would be the sort, he thought, to cry easily.

“Poor soul,” she said. “ Such a shock to her family.” And she seemed genuinely concerned by her neighbour’s death.

“Did you know her well, Mrs. Henshaw?” Ramsay asked. Perhaps the women had been close friends and the awkwardness of the building dispute with her husband had come between them.

“No,” she said. “Not well. But she was kind. When we first came to the village, she made us welcome. She took me to the WI. Not all the old families were so friendly. It’s hard to settle in a new place, especially if you have no children.”

“Yes,” he said. “ It must be.”

Yet her sentimentality made him uneasy, and throughout the interview he treated her carefully, afraid of upsetting her again.

“Mrs. Parry came to see you last night,” Ramsay said. “You were the last people we know of who saw her alive.”

He looked at them, expecting some response, but there was none.

“She sold you some land,” Ramsay said. “ She came to see you to offer to buy it back.”

“Yes,” Henshaw said. “ She sold me some land.”

“Did you accept her offer to buy back the land?”

“No,” he said. “ Of course not.”

“Did you argue about it?”

“I never argue,” Henshaw said. “I explained to her the facts of business. I’ve already got prospective buyers for some of the houses. I’ve spent thousands drawing up the plans and putting them before the council. I couldn’t sell it now.”

“Is it true that Mrs. Parry only sold the land to you on the understanding that the houses you built would be small and inexpensive and available to local families?”

“No,” Henshaw said firmly. “That was a misunderstanding. I never gave any such commitment. Even Mrs. Parry accepted she’d been mistaken by the end of the evening.”

“Are you sure?” Ramsay asked. “ There was a protest meeting in the village yesterday afternoon and Mrs. Parry was very angry.”

“She was angry when she got here,” Rosemary Henshaw said. “She was quite rude. I didn’t want to let her in.”

Ramsay looked directly at Henshaw. “What did you say to persuade her that she’d been mistaken about the houses?” he asked.

“There was nothing in writing,” Henshaw said. “She was an old lady. Old ladies get muddled. Besides, it suited her purpose, didn’t it, to let the village think I’d cheated her. Let me be the bad guy. I’m used to it. That way she’d get her money and they’d all still love her.”

“Can you prove that’s the way it happened?”

“No,” Henshaw said. “ I told you, there was nothing in writing.”