Chapters (67)
- Cover Page
- Title Page
- Author’s Note
- BOOK ONE
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- BOOK TWO
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- BOOK THREE
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- BOOK FOUR
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- BOOK FIVE
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- A Note About the Author
- Also by P. D. James
- 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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