“Did she have trouble?” Betsy smiled tightly. “Oh, no. Moira was much too smart for that.” Betsy seemed puzzled. “Anyway, she decided to leave. She was a little sick for a while. But then she got herself a job at Debenhams.”

Jury liked it that a department store beat out Gerald Summerston.

But he wasn’t sure he believed it. And nor did Tom, who said, “Seems unlikely that someone as pretty as Moira Quinn wouldn’t have been pursued by a man who couldn’t seem to keep his hands off any woman he fancied.”

“I agree. And the fact that Moira was murdered along with Manon Vinet makes me wonder even more. Have you seen her medical records?”

“No. I don’t know if they’ve been found yet. Why?”

“She was a little sick after she left. I bet it wasn’t flu.”

18

On their way back, Jury and Tom stopped at a Welcome Break along the M4, collected some soup and salad in the food court and sat down in a booth.

Jury brought up Sydney’s treatment of Aggrieved. “She’s really good. She seems to have an affinity for horses that’s almost—mystical. I don’t know why I chose that word.”

“Because you’re too polite to say ‘obsessive.’ She certainly likes your friend, the ex-lord. He knows something about horses, does he?”

“Nothing at all. You told me that she’d talk only to someone who did, so I told him to bone up, and I expect he learned enough to convince her.”

Tom laughed and spooned up his soup. “Why don’t they know how to make tomato soup anymore?” He replaced the spoon on the plate. “Too acidic.”

Jury smiled. He had an idea Brownell analyzed everything that came his way.

“Mind if I smoke?” said Tom.

Yes. “No,” said Jury. “What is it you think Sydney knows, Tom?”

Tom had lit his cigarette and was blowing a stream of smoke away from Jury. “Perhaps something about Daisy’s death. I wish I could get her to talk to me, but she won’t. I expect I don’t know enough about horses.”

Jury thought for a moment. “I might. I mean, know somebody. He’s connected with a stud farm in Cambridge.”

“Owner? Trainer?”

“Investments.”

“If there’s one thing Sydney’s not interested in, it’s investing.”

Jury shook his head. “Of course. Only, this fellow’s the stepson of the owner and he knows a lot about horses. I mean a lot. And about people, too.”

Tom was thoughtful. “Sydney seems to think people who do are on her wavelength.”

“Maybe I can get him to visit Ardry End.”

The long, winding drive up to the front of Heron House curved past the stable within which dull gold light threw the shadow of someone across the wide sill.

“That must be John Ridgely. He’s stable master and general dogs-body, I guess. Slow down, Richard.”