She stood up and, with a last look at the children, led him into the house. He thought it was her confidence which made her so trusting. She was so secure that she believed this relative stranger could do her family no harm. Inside it was cool, ordered, cared for, without being uncomfortably tidy. Children’s Wellingtons stood in a row just inside the door. Anne must have been picking apples, because there was a box of them, wrapped separately in newspaper, in the hall. Duncan’s study was a mess of papers and files. An open ordnance survey map was spread over the floor, and they had to step over it to get to the desk. On the desk a rack of plastic trays was spilling over with letters. “It’ll be here somewhere,” she said, working through the papers in the top tray. “It’s doesn’t look like it, but there’s a kind of system.” He watched her pile letters and bills into some kind of order. “ Here we are,” she said. “This is the telephone bill. It came on Saturday, too.”

“What’s that?” George said, pointing to a printed white envelope.

She opened it and pulled out a glossy brochure.

“No,” she said. “ This is an advertisement for a new leisure complex in the county. There’s been controversy over it for years, since the original plans were proposed. It’s in the middle of Rashwood Park. Duncan supervised the environmental impact assessment. There was a lot of opposition to the project locally, but unfortunately he couldn’t find any habitat rare or important enough to stop it going ahead.”

“Could I have a look?” George asked.

The development company was called Squirrel, and the publicity was emblazoned with a logo of oak leaves and acorns. The complex included a four-star hotel and golf course, a health club and gymnasium. It had been open for six months, and the photographs showed scrawny middle-aged women drinking cocktails by a swimming pool. On the border of the front page, in red ink, was written a Bristol phone number.

“Did this arrive on Saturday?” George asked.

“Yes,” Anne said vaguely. “It must have. It was next to the telephone bill.”

“Did you see Duncan open the circular about the Jessie Ellen trip?”

“No,” she said, “I don’t think I did. Lucy goes to ballet on Saturday morning, and I was in a hurry.”

“Would you mind if I kept this?” he asked, holding out the glossy booklet.

“No,” she said. “Keep it.” Saunas and jacuzzis would not appeal to her, he thought. She would think them common.

They stood, suddenly awkward, in the little room. He was challenging the confidence which had seen her through so far. She was starting to realise he might be dangerous. She felt George had betrayed her. She had thought he was one of her sort. Now here they were together, rifling through the private papers on her husband’s desk.