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Chapters (67)
  1. Cover Page
  2. Title Page
  3. Author’s Note
  4. BOOK ONE
  5. Chapter 1
  6. Chapter 2
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9
  14. Chapter 10
  15. Chapter 11
  16. Chapter 12
  17. Chapter 13
  18. Chapter 14
  19. Chapter 15
  20. Chapter 16
  21. BOOK TWO
  22. Chapter 1
  23. Chapter 2
  24. Chapter 3
  25. Chapter 4
  26. Chapter 5
  27. Chapter 6
  28. Chapter 7
  29. Chapter 8
  30. Chapter 9
  31. Chapter 10
  32. Chapter 11
  33. Chapter 12
  34. Chapter 13
  35. Chapter 14
  36. Chapter 15
  37. BOOK THREE
  38. Chapter 1
  39. Chapter 2
  40. Chapter 3
  41. Chapter 4
  42. Chapter 5
  43. Chapter 6
  44. Chapter 7
  45. Chapter 8
  46. Chapter 9
  47. Chapter 10
  48. Chapter 11
  49. Chapter 12
  50. Chapter 13
  51. BOOK FOUR
  52. Chapter 1
  53. Chapter 2
  54. Chapter 3
  55. Chapter 4
  56. Chapter 5
  57. Chapter 6
  58. Chapter 7
  59. Chapter 8
  60. Chapter 9
  61. BOOK FIVE
  62. Chapter 1
  63. Chapter 2
  64. Chapter 3
  65. A Note About the Author
  66. Also by P. D. James
  67. Copyright

“I never met her, but of course I’d heard of her. I suppose everyone has who reads a broadsheet. I knew her to be a successful and influential journalist. I had no reason to think kindly of her, but a personal resentment, which was really no more than discomfort on hearing her name, didn’t make me wish her dead. My father was the last male Cressett, and he lost almost all the family money in the Lloyd’s disaster. He was forced to sell the Manor, and Mr. Chandler-Powell bought it. Shortly after the sale, Rhoda Gradwyn wrote a brief article in a financial paper critical of the Lloyd’s Names, and in particular naming my father, among others. There was a suggestion that those who were unfortunate had got what they deserved. She gave a brief description of the Manor and something of its history in the article, but that must have been taken from a guidebook, since, as far as any of us knew, she’d never actually been here. Some of my father’s friends thought it was the article that killed him, but I’ve never believed that, and nor, I think, did they. It was an overdramatic response to comments which were unkind but hardly libellous. My father had long-standing heart problems and knew that his life was fragile. It may have been selling the Manor that was the final blow, but I very much doubt whether anything Rhoda Gradwyn could write or say would have troubled him. After all, what was she? An ambitious woman who made money out of the pain of others. Someone hated her enough to put his hands round her throat, but it wasn’t anyone who slept here last night. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like you to leave. I shall, of course, be here tomorrow, whenever you wish to see me, but I’ve had enough excitement for today.”

It was not a request they could refuse. The interview had lasted less than half an hour. As they heard the door close firmly behind them, Benton reflected, and with some regret, that a preference for Thomas Hardy’s poetry over his novels was probably the only thing the two of them had in common, or were ever likely to have.

Chapter 13

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