She looked amused. "I doubt that citing the rights of women is the best analogy you could have drawn in the present circumstances. Who has precedence in this case? The woman you represent or the daughter she gave up?"

"You, of course."

"Thank you." Nancy pushed herself forward in her chair. "You can tell your client I'm fit and happy, that I have no regrets about my adoption, and that the Smiths are the only parents I recognize or wish to have. If that sounds uncharitable, then I'm sorry, but at least it's honest."

Mark moved to the edge of his seat to keep her sitting down. "It's not Elizabeth who's instructing me, Captain Smith. It's your grandfather, Colonel James Lockyer-Fox. He assumed you'd be more inclined to respond if you thought your mother was looking for you"-he paused-"though I gather from what you've just said that his assumption was wrong."

It was a second or two before she answered. Like James, her expression was difficult to read and it was only when she spoke that her contempt was obvious. "My God! You really are a piece of work, Mr. Ankerton. Supposing I had replied… supposing I'd been desperate to find my biological mother… when were you planning to tell me that the best I could hope for was a meeting with a geriatric colonel?"

"The idea was always to introduce you to your mother."

Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. "Did you bother to inform Elizabeth of this?"

Mark knew he was handling this badly, but he couldn't see how to retrieve the situation without digging bigger holes for himself. He deflected attention back to her grandfather. "James may be eighty but he's very fit," he said, "and I believe you and he would get on well together. He looks people in the eye when he speaks to them and he doesn't suffer fools gladly… rather like yourself. I apologize unreservedly if my approaches have been-" he sought a word-"clumsy-but James wasn't confident that a grandfather would appeal over a mother."

"He was right."

It might have been the Colonel speaking. A quick, scornful bark that left the other person floundering. Mark began to wish that the golddigger of his imagination had been the reality. Demands for money he could have dealt with. A complete disdain for the Lockyer-Fox connection fazed him. Any minute now she would ask him why her grandfather was looking for her, and that was a question he wasn't at liberty to answer. "Yours is a very old family, Captain. There have been Lockyer-Foxes in Dorset for five generations."

"Smiths have been in Herefordshire for two centuries," she snapped back. "We've farmed this land without interruption since 1799. When my father retires, it'll be my turn. So, yes, you're right, I do come from a very old family."

"Most of the Lockyer-Fox land is rented out to tenant farmers. There's a lot of it."

She fixed him with a furious gaze. "My great-grandfather owned Lower Croft and his brother owned Coomb. My grandfather inherited both farms and incorporated them into one. My father has been farming the entire valley for the last thirty years. If I marry and have kids, then my father's grandchildren will own the two thousand acres after me. As I fully intend to do both, and add Smith to my children's surname, then there's a good chance these fields will be farmed by Smiths for another two centuries. Is there anything more I can say that will make my position clear to you?"

He gave a resigned sigh. "Have you no curiosity?"

"Absolutely none."

"Can I ask why not?"

"Why fix something that isn't broken?" She waited for him to respond, and when he didn't: "I may be wrong, Mr. Ankerton, but by the sound of it it's your client whose life needs fixing… and off the top of my head I can't think of a single reason why that burden should fall on me."

He wondered what he'd said that had led her to so accurate a conclusion. Perhaps his persistence had suggested desperation. "He just wants to meet you. Before she died his wife asked him several times to try to find out what had happened to you. I think he feels it's his duty to honor her wishes. Can you respect that?"

"Were they party to my adoption?"

He nodded.

"Then please reassure your client that it was completely successful and he has nothing to feel guilty about."

He gave a baffled shake of his head. Phrases like "unresolved anger" and "fear of rejection" hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he had the sense not to say them. Even if it were true that her adoption had left her with a lingering resentment-which he doubted-psychobabble would only irritate her more. "What if I were to repeat that you'd be doing a great kindness if you agreed to meet the Colonel? Would that persuade you?"

"No." She watched him for a moment, then raised a hand in apology. "Look, I'm sorry, I've obviously disappointed you. You might understand my refusal better if I take you outside and introduce you to Tom Figgis. He's a nice old boy, and he's worked for Dad for years."

"How will that help?"

She shrugged. 'Tom knows more about the history of Coomb Valley than anyone. It's an amazing heritage. You and your client might like to learn a little of it."

He noticed that every time she said "client" she lent a slight emphasis to it, as if to distance herself from the Lockyer-Foxes. "It's not necessary, Captain Smith. You've already convinced me that you feel a strong connection to this place."

She went on as if she hadn't heard him. "There was a Roman settlement here two thousand years ago. Tom's the expert on it. He rambles a bit but he's always willing to pass on his knowledge."

He declined politely. "Thank you, but it's a long drive back to London and I've a stack of paperwork in the office."

She flashed him a sympathetic glance. "You're a busy man… no time to stand and stare. Tom will be disappointed. He loves chewing the cud, particularly with Londoners who have no idea of Herefordshire's ancient traditions. Round here we take them seriously. It's our link to our past."

He sighed to himself. Did she think he hadn't got the message already? "Yes, well, with the best will in the world, Captain Smith, talking to a total stranger about a place I'm not acquainted with isn't a top priority for me at the moment."

"No," she agreed coolly, standing up, "nor for me. We both have better things to do with our time than listen to elderly strangers reminisce about people and places that have no relevance to us. If you explain my refusal to your client in those terms, then I'm sure he'll understand that what he's suggesting is a wearisome imposition that I could do without."

He'd walked into that with his eyes wide open, thought Mark ruefully as he, too, rose to his feet. "Just for the record," he asked, "would it have made any difference if I'd said from the start that it was your grandfather who was looking for you?"

Nancy shook her head. "No."

"That's a relief. I haven't made a complete dog's breakfast of it, then."

She relaxed enough to give him a smile of genuine warmth. "I'm not unusual, you know. There are as many adopted children who are perfectly content with their lot as there are who need to go looking for the lost pieces in their jigsaws. Perhaps it has something to do with expectation. If you're satisfied with what you have, then why court trouble?"

It wouldn't do for Mark, but then he didn't share her confidence in herself. "I probably shouldn't say this," he told her, reaching for his briefcase, "but you owe the Smiths a lot. You'd be a very different person if you'd grown up a Lockyer-Fox."

She looked amused. "Should I take that as a compliment?"

"Yes."

"It'll make my mother's day." She led him to the front door and held out her hand. "Goodbye, Mr. Ankerton. If you have any sense you'll tell the Colonel he's got off lightly. That should kill his interest."