‘That was a shock for him, too, mind, going in to tune the piano and finding you like that. Come running out, he did, white as a ghost, saying you’d been killed. That was the blood, you see. And again, in a way, you was lucky. Everybody was here that night, on account of the inquest, see? Doctor and police and all. Took you into Wandford in the police car, they did.’

‘Yes, I was very fortunate.’ She stood up and opened her purse. The woman was quiet while she mentally added and gave the change.

‘Now, you oughta take care of yourself. You still look real poorly to me. D’you think you should carry that lot? Ella’ll be back from Frisbys’ any minute now; she’ll pop across with them for you, and pleased to.’

‘It isn’t heavy, and I do rather want a cup of tea.’

‘If only you’d said. I’d hev made you one in a minute. The kettle’s on now; let me . . .’

‘Thank you very much, but I left my own kettle on.’ It was a lie, but she must get away. All this chatter, this reference to people whom she should know, maddening, maddening. If she had to endure it for another moment she would break down and betray herself.

She was drinking milkless tea and eating cheese and biscuits in the kitchen when a large black cat leaped the wall of the yard and came in by the open door. It ran directly towards her, more like a dog than a cat, and rubbed itself against her ankles, purring more and more loudly.

‘Oh, poor puss,’ she said, bending to stroke it. ‘Such a lovely welcome and no milk.’

She offered it a crumb of cheese, at which it sniffed scornfully. It rubbed around her again, then retreated and stood a little way off, looking at her confidently, and then demandingly. It mewed a little and walked all around her again. In the end she said aloud:

‘All right, I can see I shall have no peace till I do,’ and she unhooked a small jug from the dresser and went to the house next door.

A woman, obviously the mother of the girl to whom Miss Mayfield had spoken earlier in the day, with the same good looks grown brittle, answered the door. Miss Mayfield introduced herself.

‘Your daughter was kind enough to say that you would lend me some milk. Very little would do. It isn’t for me, it’s for a cat, and a token offering would do.’

Mrs Grieve flinched a little.

‘Oh, do you keep a cat? I hadn’t seen it. To tell you the truth, I don’t like them much. I know it’s senseless. I’m tolerant of snakes. Do come in.’

She led Miss Mayfield into a long room crowded with objects – useful, decorative, merely curious – brought from overseas.