‘What is?’ asked Joseph. His mind was elsewhere. After seeing the latest rehearsal of the school Nativity play he was concerned about the perceived lack of Christian content. Billy Icklethwaite as the outspoken innkeeper had told the Virgin Mary, ‘Sling yer ’ook sharpish ’cause my pub is full an’ ah don’t want no donkey crappin’ in my tap room.’ Perhaps a word in the ear of Miss Briggs would help, as John Pruett seemed preoccupied these days.

‘It’s at the Ambassadors Theatre, Joseph,’ said Vera, ‘and it sounds really good.’

‘What does?’ asked her brother through a mouthful of toast.

‘The stage play of Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap has opened in London. We could book tickets in the new year after your busy Christmas schedule.’ Vera was clearly excited at the prospect.

‘What’s it about?’ asked Joseph with affected interest as he reached for a third slice and wondered if Vera had noticed.

‘Well, a group of people gather in a remote part of the countryside and discover there’s a murderer in their midst.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Joseph. ‘Not very Christmassy.’

‘But it’s a cultural experience,’ insisted Vera, ‘and we could visit the museums as well.’

‘Very well,’ Joseph murmured through a mouthful of crumbs.

Vera got up to clear the table. ‘And by the way, Joseph … that’s your third slice.’

It was a quarter past eight and John and Lily had met in the staff-room to discuss the forthcoming Nativity play while Vera made a pot of tea. On the table was Vera’s newspaper with a photograph of the Duke of Edinburgh, who had opened a £1.25 million extension to the Raleigh bicycle factory in Nottingham. Vera sipped her tea and read the article as she admired the handsome features of her perfect man, the Duke. ‘It says here that bicycles are the transport of the future,’ she remarked.

‘We just need some cycle lanes,’ said John, ‘particularly with Stan Coe driving like he does.’

Lily looked up sharply. ‘So was it Mr Coe who ran me off the road?’

John pursed his lips. ‘Not proven, Lily … but very likely. I had a word with Tom and he said that Deirdre Coe would insist her brother was elsewhere on that morning.’

‘I suppose she would,’ said Lily.

‘Well, they weren’t riding their bicycles in London earlier this week,’ said Vera. ‘All those poor people under that blanket of thick smog.’

A week ago a killing combination of smoke and fog had descended on the capital, lasting for five days and causing thousands of deaths, while ambulance men and firemen had to walk in front of their vehicles.

‘We need cleaner air,’ said Lily. ‘The government ought to control the way we pollute it. It’s bad enough here, but in a city the size of London it’s catastrophic.’

‘I agree,’ said John, ‘but how do people keep warm in winter? What’s the alternative?’