Back at the Manor, he decided to speak to Mogworthy, who would probably be working in the garden, taking advantage of an uncertain period of winter sun. There were bulbs still to be planted, and it was time he showed an interest in Helena and Mog’s plans for the spring. He passed through the north door leading to the terrace and the knot garden. Mogworthy was nowhere in sight, but he saw two figures walking side by side towards the gap in the far beech hedge which led to the rose garden. The shorter was Sharon; her companion he recognised as Rhoda Gradwyn. So Sharon was showing her the garden, a task usually undertaken at a visitor’s request by Helena or Lettie. He stood watching them, an odd couple, as they passed out of sight, walking in intimacy, obviously talking, Sharon looking up at her companion. For some reason the sight disconcerted him. Marcus and Candace’s forebodings had irritated rather than worried him, but now, for the first time, he felt a twinge of anxiety, a sense that something uncontrollable and possibly dangerous had entered his domain. The thought was too irrational, even superstitious, to be seriously examined, and he thrust it aside. But it was odd that Candace, highly intelligent and usually so rational, had this obsession with Rhoda Gradwyn. Did she perhaps know something about the woman that he didn’t, something she was unwilling to reveal?

He decided not to look for Mogworthy, and, re-entering the Manor, he closed the door firmly behind him.

12

Helena knew that Chandler-Powell had gone to Stone Cottage and was unsurprised when, twenty minutes after his return, Candace arrived in the office.

Without preamble she said, “There’s something I wanted to discuss with you. Two things, actually. Rhoda Gradwyn. I saw her arriving yesterday—at least I saw a BMW being driven past and I assumed it was hers. When is she leaving?”

“She isn’t, at least not today. She’s booked in for a second night.”

“And you agreed?”

“I could hardly refuse, not without an explanation, and there wasn’t one. The room was vacant. I phoned George and he didn’t seem worried.”

“He wouldn’t be. An extra day’s income and at no trouble to him.”

Helena said, “And no trouble for us either.”

She spoke without resentment. George Chandler-Powell was behaving reasonably. But she would find a time to have a word with him about these one-nighters. Was it really necessary to have to take a preliminary look at the facilities? She didn’t want the Manor degenerating into a bed-and-breakfast hotel. On second thoughts, perhaps it would be wiser not to raise the matter. He had always been adamant that patients should be given the opportunity to see in advance where their operation was to take place. He would see any interference with his clinical judgement as intolerable. Their relationship had never been clearly defined, but both knew how they stood. He never interfered with her domestic running of the Manor; she took no part in the clinic.