She reached out to pick it up and a voice barked: “You can’t take that!”

Lucy jumped a mile. She hadn’t heard the shop assistant returning and spun around, the book still in her hand, to see a small but determined-looking woman standing hands on hips, blocking the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said, feeling absurdly as though she had been accused of shoplifting. “I thought it might be for sale—”

“It’s behind the till,” the woman said. “It’s put aside because it’s not for sale.”

“I see,” Lucy said. She put the book down gently on the pile. “That’s a shame,” she said. “I’m trying to find out more about Robert Catesby. I’m from Knightstone, you see, Catesby’s other estate near here, and we’re researching the property he owned there for a restoration project—”

“Well, why didn’t you say that?” The woman strode across to the table. “You were supposed to come and pick the book up months ago! We were about to send it back to the library—that’s why it’s on that pile.” She shook her head. “When you didn’t return her calls the curator assumed you weren’t interested in it any longer. She was only saying this morning it was a pity because your research might have thrown some light on Robert Catesby’s time here at Chastleton as well.” She stopped, seeing Lucy’s expression. “What’s the matter? You are Charlie MacIntyre, aren’t you?”

“I... Er, no,” Lucy said. She thought quickly. “I’m afraid Charlie isn’t working on the project anymore,” she said. “Perhaps that’s why this fell through the cracks. I’m very sorry.”

“Oh, I see,” the woman said. “Well, you’re here now. Here’s the book.” She handed it to Lucy like a sacred text. “I’ll just give Hazel, the curator, a ring to let her know.” Her gaze forbade Lucy from leaving the shop whilst she was speaking so Lucy tucked the book into her bag and moved away discreetly from the desk. A moment later, the woman covered the receiver and barked at her: “Hazel would like to speak to you. Can you meet in the café?”

Lucy checked her watch. There was plenty of time before she was due back for dinner with Cleo and Sam, and this could be an opportunity to discover what else Charlie and Hazel might have discussed. “That would be fine,” she said.

Five minutes later she was joined by the curator, a dark, smiley woman who offered to buy Lucy a cup of coffee and a frangipane tart.

“I’m sorry about Moira,” she said. Lucy assumed she meant the woman in the shop. “I hope she didn’t give you the third degree? She can be a bit officious.” She took a bite of cake. “What happened to Charlie MacIntyre?” she asked. “He was the person I’ve dealt with previously on the Knightstone project.”

“There’s been a few changes,” Lucy said carefully. “I’m Lucy Brown. I’m afraid Charlie was killed in a car crash earlier in the year,”

Hazel stopped chewing. “Oh my God, how awful! I had no idea. I was away the day that he visited Chastleton so I never met him, only spoke to him on the phone, but he sounded like a really nice chap.”