She sipped the gin. The faintest of noises came from the bed. ‘Emlyn,’ she said, fixing her eyes on the glass, ‘can I tell you about what happened today?’

No one ever telephoned Green Shutters, so when Vee heard the ringing while she was pegging washing the next morning, she assumed it must be coming from the Lumbs’ house. There was a stiff wind and the sky was patched with blue, but there was also a line of cloud marching eastward which meant that, chances were, she’d have to take the washing back in again in an hour, and then put it all out for a second time an hour later and that would be the whole morning gone, and she was just retrieving an escaped tea-towel from one of the apple trees when Noel appeared at her elbow.

‘Lady Gillett just rang.’

‘Who?’

‘She lives at Greenbanks. The house next to Taormina.’

‘At the top of the road?’

‘Yes.’

‘Lady Gillett? But what does she want? Who is she?’

‘I think she’s the widow of a baronet – you’ve probably seen her in passing, she looks like Sargent’s portrait of Madame X. She says there’s a misdelivered letter for you at her house, and what she described as “items for collection”.’

‘A letter? For me?’ Vee’s throat was all ice – she hadn’t expected another so soon: the blackmailer may have missed one appointment, but he was clearly wasting no time. She pegged the last tea-towel and dried her hands on her apron, wishing that Jepson were home. ‘I’d better go and fetch it, I suppose,’ she said.

‘I think I should warn you that Lady Gillett sounded rather cross. She said, “My front garden is not a goods yard.”’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I have no idea, but she seemed to think it was your fault. Would you like me to come?’

‘No, I … no, you stay and do your History.’

‘It’s Geography this morning, the Carpathians. What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. I’m just busy, that’s all. Have you fed the chickens?’

‘You know I have, you saw me from the window when I came back with the eggs.’

‘Oh, yes.’

She tried to steady herself, and Noel watched her narrowly, trying to surmise what had rattled her, and there was still that chilly gap between them, plugged with secrets. Vee went in to fetch her coat, and dithered between her beret and her best hat.

‘Did she sound very posh?’

‘Yes, extremely.’

The hat, then. She wedged it on and caught Noel’s eye. ‘All right, you can come, in case there’s something to carry,’ she said. Though mainly in case Lady Gillett tried to start a conversation.

Greenbanks was a three-storey house built of brick the dull purple of uncooked kidneys and set well back from the lane, its long front garden surrounded by high hedges. The area of lawn nearest to the house was a puddled swamp, pock-marked with deep boot-prints.

The door was answered by a maid in a fancy bandeau, who immediately moved aside as a woman a few years older than Vee, with a face like a lurcher and a pair of bottle-green corduroy slacks, came hurtling up the passage.