‘Right.’

Thea had acquired a minimum of background information about Tabitha Ibbotson. In her sixties, and already earning decent money as a professional pianist, she had been left a considerable sum by her mother, two or three years earlier. The mother, it seemed, had inherited it in turn from a husband, who had been big in lawnmowers. Months before dying, he had sold the enterprise for three million pounds, and then left it equally to his son and second wife. Even after inheritance tax, they were both very much the richer. ‘He was a nice old 21chap,’ said Gladwin. ‘I knew him before I knew Tabitha and her mum, actually. He used to play bridge with my neighbour, and I sometimes made up a four with them.’

‘You play bridge? You never said.’ The game had been a factor in a recent investigation, which had drawn Thea in to an uncomfortable extent.

‘Well, I’ve lapsed lately. I don’t think I was ever very good at it, but it was a refreshing change when I was a stressed-out Tyneside rookie.’

Tabitha Ibbotson, stepdaughter to the lawnmower man, found herself in possession of almost all her mother’s inheritance, because the old lady died barely six months after her husband. Before long, much of the money had been spent on this house, and Tabitha was expecting to part with another fifty thousand on the renovations. ‘At least,’ said Gladwin.

There were five bedrooms, counting the one in the attic, a large bathroom, a lovely dining room and living room, both with decorated ceilings, and a garden approaching half an acre in size. Built of the usual mellow Cotswold stone, it was old and solid and beautiful. ‘It’d make a perfect brothel,’ Thea thought to herself with a smile.

22

Chapter Two

Managing without a car was a new experience, and Thea began to worry about it halfway through her first day. Bibury, which boasted a big hotel, several very famous old buildings, a river and a trout farm, was three miles away. The round trip would be quite a long way on foot. She also realised that she had hardly taken a walk without her dog in the past seven years. There would be something very weird about doing so now.

In the other direction from Bibury were the three Ampneys, which she was eager to explore. Ampney Crucis, Ampney St Peter and Ampney St Mary formed a cluster around their three venerable churches and would occupy a whole day quite easily. But there was also Quenington, about five miles distant, which she would have liked to visit. ‘I should have brought a bike,’ she muttered, annoyed that this had never occurred to her or Drew. While it would have been scary to set out on an open road on two wheels for the first time in over thirty years, she could in theory do it, if it was true that 23you never forgot how to balance and pedal at the same time. Perhaps she could borrow one from somewhere, she thought vaguely. As for shopping, she supposed she might have to accept Stephanie’s suggestion and do it online. The prospect chafed her, as did most activities connected to her phone. Often the ghost of Carl, her first husband, was conjured when modern technology raised its annoying head. Since his death, the world had thrown itself wholesale into all the delights that a hand-held gadget could provide, and Thea regularly acknowledged how much he would have deplored it. Drew was hardly more enthusiastic, and between them they waged a low-level little war against the whole intrusive business. They tried never to send each other texts, much to Stephanie’s bewilderment. They were scarcely more willing to communicate by actual telephone. ‘Will you want me to call you every day?’ she asked him before leaving for Barnsley.