She could reassure Drew, then, that she personally had not been in danger. She would emphasise the walk she’d taken, exaggerating its duration, and the way she had so carelessly left the door open at the house. She would tell him about Sid and Dave and how sensible and hunky they were. It was much more permissible for her to flirt with the builders than to entertain seriously adulterous fantasies about Clovis Biddulph.

She spent the next ten minutes thinking about Drew, their life together, the business, and the various ways in which the future might unfold. She thought about where he was at that moment – almost certainly outside with Andrew. It had become their daily habit to meet at the burial ground, whether or not there was a funeral, and discuss plans for the coming days, monitor the existing graves and any saplings or markers for which they were responsible. ‘People pay us to make sure they’re looked after,’ Drew had explained, when Thea had remarked that he seemed to be as much a gardener as an undertaker, at times.

But this week would be different because he was in charge of his children. He might take them with him to 123the field, or even leave them for half an hour – but he might equally well decide on a family outing at short notice. She wouldn’t know until she phoned.

The knock on the door came five minutes late. A man and a woman stood there, both wearing plain clothes. They did not smile. The woman carried a large camera. ‘Mrs Slocombe?’ asked the man. ‘We’re from Gloucestershire CID. I’m DS Goodbody, and this is DS Tompkins.’ He showed his identity card, for good measure. ‘We understand you have agreed to take us on an examination of a … position on a footpath?’

‘Sort of,’ she agreed. Fancy sending two sergeants, she thought. Wouldn’t a constable have been good enough?

‘Lead the way, then,’ Goodbody invited.

‘Right. Yes. Although … um …’

‘Yes?’

‘The thing is, the path I took starts behind the church. But there’s really no need to do that again. We could take it from where it crosses the road, which is that way.’ She pointed to the left. ‘It’s a bit dangerous, though. There’s a bend, and no footpath. But it would be a lot quicker.’

‘I see,’ said the man, not quite convincingly.

‘We’ll be all right. We’ll go in single file. There’s not a lot of traffic, is there?’ The female officer spoke decisively. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

So Thea led the way at a brisk march, along the road towards Bibury, only with difficulty recognising the stile she’d used to get onto the track that ran alongside Barnsley Park. She climbed over quickly, anticipating 124with some amusement the faces of the officers when they reached the monumental crossing place over the high wall, at the far end of the track.

Again, she followed the footpath up towards the big beautiful mansion behind the politely forbidding gates, and tried to construct a viable scenario for what might have happened to Grace. Mostly she kept her thoughts to herself, simply escorting the police officers at a steady pace and saying very little.