It wasn’t until much later that I had a chance to be alone with Belinda. Rose had stuck to us like glue all morning until Tony arrived with the names of a couple of reputable local builders who would be willing to come out to the cottage. Belinda suggested we could go and see them after luncheon. The meal was excellent again: a leek and potato soup, local John Dory—a kind of delicious flat fish—grilled and a steamed sponge pudding with custard. When Belinda said we were off to see the builders, Rose invited herself along. “I’d love to see the cottage for myself,” she said. “And I actually know one of the men Tony has mentioned. He did some work in our bathroom. So it would be useful to have me along.”

What could we say to that? We put on outdoor clothes and then drove out to the cottage. Rose pronounced it to be charming—or it could be charming if Belinda put in a proper bathroom and maybe a conservatory like the one they had at Trewoma. “But you wouldn’t want to live out here, would you? It’s so remote. Wouldn’t you be scared to be on your own?”

“I’ve lived alone for years, Rose,” Belinda said. “And I’d probably only come for short visits. I’d bring Georgie with me.”

“I would be nice to have a friend nearby,” Rose said and I heard the longing in her voice. I felt heartily sorry for her. I too had seen how Tony had looked at Belinda, how he had tried to flirt with her. I could, unfortunately, see why he might have tired of Rose and want to move on to pastures new. But as for trying to kill her? Well, that was hard to believe.

We left the cottage and went in search of Tony’s builder. His office was in Wadebridge, which was the nearest town of any size.

“I’m sorry. Mr. Harris is with a customer at the moment,” the receptionist said. “He shouldn’t be long.”

We had just taken a seat and had a cup of tea produced for us when two men came in, deep in conversation. The older man, with the weathered face of the outdoor life, clapped the younger one on the back. “Don’t you worry about it then, Mr. Jago. We’ll do a lovely job for you. Like one of those Paris boudoirs it will be.” And he gave a hearty laugh that turned into a cough.

That’s when I noticed that the younger man was Jago. He recognized us at the same time.

“Well, hello again,” he said. “We seem to keep bumping into each other.” His gaze lingered on Belinda. “Come about the cottage, have you? Old Harris here knows his stuff, but you can’t have him for a while. I’ve got him working on a big project at Trengilly first.”