“Maybe,” she whispers at last.

“Come on,” says Luke. “I’m getting everyone a drink. Including myself.” Taking Minnie by the hand, he strides off, and I hurry to catch him up. “What the hell is going on?” he adds in a murmur.

“Bryce,” I whisper back, trying to be discreet.

“Bryce?”

“Shh!” I mutter. “Blackmail. Tarkie. Tree. Owl’s Tower.”

I jerk my head significantly, hoping he’ll read between the lines, but he just gives me a blank look.

“No. Idea,” he says. “What. Fuck. Going. On. About.”

Sometimes I despair of Luke. I really do.

From: [email protected]

To: Brandon, Rebecca

Subject: Re: Would you like a hat from a county fair?

Dear Mrs. Brandon,

Thank you very much for your offer of a personalized Stetson reading “Smeathie” on one side and “Is a Star” on the other. Although this is very kind of you, I must decline. I’m sure you are right that it would look “fabulous” while I am gardening, but I am not sure it is a “look” I can quite carry off in East Horsley.

On another note, I am truly glad to hear that you and Lady Cleath-Stuart have gone some way to mending your differences and hope you have success with your other endeavors.

Yours sincerely,

Derek Smeath

ELEVEN

OK, here’s my verdict on county fairs. They’re really fun and interesting and have millions of different types of pig. Which, you know, is good if you’re into pigs. The only tiny downside is, it’s absolutely exhausting spending all day at one.

It’s five-thirty in the afternoon, and we’re all totally fried. We’ve done two turns each at staking out the ceramics tent, but no one has seen even a shadow of Raymond. Nor has Suze heard anything more from Tarkie, but she’s being very brave and not talking about it. She spent ages on the phone to her children this afternoon, and I could hear her trying to sound merry—but she wasn’t doing the most brilliant job of it. This is our third day away now, and Suze isn’t great at leaving the children at the best of times. (And this is hardly the best of times.)

Now Danny is doing another stint in the ceramics tent, Mum and Janice have gone shopping, and I’m feeding Minnie French fries in the That Western Feelin’ tent, which has bales of hay and a dance floor. At the same time, I’m giving Suze a pep talk about her meeting later on with Bryce.

“Don’t get into conversation,” I instruct her firmly. “Tell Bryce you’re not playing ball. And if he wants to get confrontational, then you’ll play hardball.”

“I thought I wasn’t playing ball.” Suze looks confused.

“Er…you’re not,” I say, a bit confused myself. “You’re playing hardball. It’s different.”

“Right.” Suze still looks perplexed. “Bex, will you come along too?”

“Really? Are you sure you want me there?”