She had an ambivalent attitude toward the Lockyer-Foxes. The social climber in her wanted to become a frequent visitor to the Manor, to count them among her friends and drop their name into casual conversation. But the fact that she and Dick had been invited only once since their arrival in Shenstead three years ago-and then only for a drink-annoyed her, particularly as her reciprocal invitations to dinner at the farm had all been politely declined. Dick couldn't see what the fuss was about. They're not comfortable with formal socializing, he said. Go and talk to them in their kitchen. That's what everyone else does.

So Prue had turned up a few times, only for Ailsa to give the impression that she had more important things to do than hang around the kitchen gossiping. After that, their encounters were confined to brief exchanges in the road if they chanced to meet, and irregular appearances by Ailsa in Prue's kitchen when she was looking for donations to her many charities. Prue's private view was that Ailsa and James looked down on her, and she wasn't above a little muckraking to find something that would give her an edge.

It was rumored-principally by Eleanor Bartlett, who claimed to have heard them in full flow one time-that the Lockyer-Foxes had vicious tempers, despite the reserve they showed in public. Prue had never seen any evidence of this, but she'd always thought it likely. James, in particular, appeared incapable of showing emotion, and in Prue's experience such rigid repression had to break out somewhere. Every so often one of their children announced a visit, but neither parent showed much enthusiasm at the prospect. There were stories of skeletons in cupboards, mostly to do with Elizabeth's reputation for being sex-mad, but the Lockyer-Foxes were as close-lipped about that as they were about everything.

To Prue, such restraint was unnatural and she was always pestering Dick to dig out the dirt. The tenant farmers must know something, she would say. Why don't you ask them what these skeletons are? People say the son's a thief and a gambler, and the daughter was awarded a pittance from her divorce because she'd had so many affairs. But Dick, being a man, wasn't interested, and his advice to Prue was to keep her mouth shut if she didn't want a reputation as a gossip. The community was too small to make an enemy of the oldest family there, he warned.

Now, with Ailsa's rapidly rising voice carrying on the night air, Prue greedily turned her head to listen. Some of the words were swallowed by the wind but the gist was unmistakable. "No, James… won't put up with it anymore!… it was you destroyed Elizabeth… such cruelty! It's a sickness… had my way… seen a doctor a long time ago…"

Prue cupped a hand to her ear to make out the man's voice. Even if Ailsa hadn't addressed him as James, she would have recognized the clipped baritone as the Colonel's, but none of the words were audible and she guessed he was facing the other way.

"…money's mine… no question of giving in… rather die than let you have it… Oh, for God's sake… No, don't! Please… DON'T!"

The last word was a shout, followed by the sound of a punch and James's grunted: "Bitch!"

Somewhat alarmed, Prue took a step forward, wondering if she should go to the other woman's aid, but Ailsa spoke again almost immediately. "You're insane… I'll never forgive you… should have got rid of you years ago." A second or two later, a door slammed.

It was five minutes before Prue thought it safe to put the dog whistle to her lips and blow for the Labrador. The whistles were advertised as silent to the human ear, but they rarely were, and her curiosity had given way to embarrassment as her menopausal system flushed overtime in sympathy with Ailsa's imagined shame if she ever learned there had been a witness to her abuse. What a dreadful man James was, she thought over and over again in amazement. How could anyone be so holier-than-thou in public and so monstrous in private?

As she gathered the dogs back into the car, her mind was busy filling in the gaps in the conversation, and by the time she reached home to find her husband already asleep it had become a lucid whole. She was shocked but not surprised, therefore, when Dick returned from the village the following morning full of news that Ailsa was dead and James was being questioned by the police about bloodstains found near the body.

"It's my fault," she said in distress, telling him what had happened. "They were arguing about money. She said he was insane and should see a doctor, so he called her a bitch and hit her. I should have done something, Dick. Why didn't I do something?"

Dick was appalled. "Are you sure it was them?" he asked. "Perhaps it was one of the couples from the rented cottages."

"Of course I'm sure. I could make out most of what she said, and she called him James at one point. The only thing I heard him say was 'bitch' but it was definitely his voice. What do you think I should do?"

"Call the police," said Dick unhappily. "What else can you do?"

Since then, the coroner's verdict and James's continued freedom from arrest had led to a prolonged whispering campaign. Some of it-speculation about the existence of untraceable poisons, freemasonry membership, even black-magic sacrifices of animals with James as chief warlock-Dick dismissed as patently absurd. The rest-the man's refusal to leave his house and grounds, his ducking out of sight on the one occasion when Dick happened to see him near his gate, his children's cold-shouldering of him at the funeral, his rumored abandonment of Ailsa's charities and friends with the door being slammed in the faces of well-wishers-all suggested the mental disorder of which Ailsa, and by dint of overhearing their final altercation, Prue, had accused him.

The phone was answered after the second ring. "Shenstead Manor."

"James? It's Dick Weldon." He waited for an acknowledgment that never came. "Look… er… this isn't easy… and I wouldn't be ringing if it wasn't urgent. I realize it's not what you want to hear on Boxing Day morning, but we have a problem at the Copse. I've spoken to the police but they've passed the buck to the local authority-some woman called Sally Macey. I've had a word with her but she's not prepared to do anything till we give her the name of the owner. I told her there wasn't one… pretty damn stupid of me, I know… so now we need a solicitor… and mine's on holiday. It's likely to impact on you as much as anyone-these bastards are right on your doorstep…" He wallowed to a halt, intimidated by the silence at the other end. "I wondered if we could use your man."

"This isn't James, Mr. Weldon. I can ask him to come to the phone if you like, but it sounds as if I'm the person you want. My name's Mark Ankerton. I'm James's solicitor."

Dick was taken aback. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"I know. Voices can be confusing"-a slight pause-"words, too, particularly when taken out of context."

It was an ironic reference to Prue, but it passed Dick by. Instead he stared at the wall, remembering the familiar tone of the traveler. He still hadn't worked out who he was. "You should have said," he answered lamely.

"I was curious to know what you wanted before I bothered James. Few calls to this house are as civil as yours, Mr. Weldon. The usual mode of address is 'you murdering bastard'-or words to that effect."

Dick was shocked. Such a possibility had never occurred to him. "Who would do a thing like that?"

"I can supply you with a list if you're interested. Your number features on it regularly."

"It can't do," Dick protested. "I haven't phoned James for months."

"Then I suggest you take it up with British Telecom," said the other dispassionately. "Dialing 1471 has produced your number on ten separate occasions. All the calls are being taped, and the contents noted. Nobody speaks from your number-" his voice grew very dry-"but there's a great deal of unpleasant panting. The police would say they're more in the nature of heavy-breathing calls, although I don't understand the sexual element as the only recipient is a man in his eighties. The most recent was on Christmas Eve. You realize, of course, that it's a criminal offense to make abusive or threatening telephone calls?"