“Peter doesn’t seem to have any problems with her.”

“Only because she doesn’t like him. She’s convinced he tried to turn her into a Valium addict after her parents died. It’s when she fixates on someone that the problems start…and that’s usually a woman.” She examined my face. “I’m not being unkind, Marianne. I’m just trying to warn you.”

“About what? That Jess is inept at making friendships…or that she’s a lesbian?”

Madeleine shrugged. “I don’t know, but she’s never shown any interest in men. Mummy said she was close to her father, which may have something to do with it. Most people take her for a teenage boy the first time they see her…she certainly sounds like one. Mummy said her hormones went awry when she took on the mantle of farmer.”

Her use of “Mummy” was getting on my nerves. I’ve never really trusted middle-aged women who choose that diminutive. It suggests their relationship with their mother has never developed beyond dependence, or they’re pretending a closer and sweeter affection than actually exists. “The only reason she showed up on my doorstep was because her dogs saw my car in the drive. She called them off when they surrounded me, otherwise we’d never have met.”

“How did they see your car?”

“Presumably she was exercising them along that stretch of road when I first arrived. Perhaps they saw me turn into the drive?”

“Is that what she told you?” She took my silence for assent. “Then she was lying. She breeds from those mastiffs, so she’s hardly likely to jeopardize them in traffic.” She propped her elbows on her knees. “All I’m saying, Marianne, is be a little wary. Even Peter thinks it’s strange that she happened to be passing that day.”

I gave a small nod which Madeleine could interpret how she chose. “You said it was worse when she feels rejected. What does she do then?”

“Prowls about your house in the middle of the night…stares through your windows…makes nuisance phone calls. You should talk to Mary Galbraith about it. She and her husband live in Hollyhock Cottage, and they had a terrible time after Mary made it clear she’d lost patience.” She held out her hands in supplication. “You must have asked yourself why people are so wary of Jess. Well, that’s why. Everyone starts with good intentions because they feel sorry for her, but they always end up wishing they hadn’t. Ask Mary if you don’t believe me.”

I did believe her. I’d already experienced a lot of what she’d described. “I’ll bear it in mind,” I promised, “and thank you for the information.” I reintroduced the subject of broadband. “I’m very conscious of how isolated I am here…particularly at night. I’d feel a lot happier with a more efficient telephone line.”

Madeleine agreed to it immediately, adding: “Jess’s solutions never last very long. She was always rigging things up for Mummy that failed a couple of days later. I remember her trying to make a television work in the bedroom, but the picture was never good enough.”

At least she tried, I thought, wondering what practical help Madeleine had ever given Lily. I took a pack of cigarettes from my pocket. “Do you?”

She looked as offended as if I’d offered her heroin. “Didn’t the agent make it clear this was a no-smoking tenancy?”

“I’m afraid not,” I said, popping a cigarette between my lips and flicking my lighter to the tip. “I think he was so desperate by the time I showed an interest that he’d have handed the keys to an axe murderer as long as the deposit was paid.” I rested my head against the back of the chair and blew smoke into the air. “If it’s a problem for you, I’m happy to vacate immediately in return for a full rebate. Your agent’s advertising a terraced house in Dorchester in his window that already has broadband.”

Her mouth turned down in irritation, as if my “broadbands” were having the same effect on her as her “Mummy’s” were having on me. “As long as you’re careful about putting your cigarettes out. This is a Grade Two-listed building,” she said rather pompously.

I assured her I was always careful. “You must have been worried every time your mother lit a fire,” I murmured, glancing towards the hearth, “particularly when her concentration started to go.”

Madeleine pulled a wry expression. “Not really…but only because I didn’t know how bad she was. She always seemed in such command when I came down…a little forgetful about small things, perhaps, but totally compos mentis about running the house. I’d have been worried sick if I’d realized she wasn’t coping. This house has been in my family for generations.”

I expect I should have let that go as well, but generations suggested aeons instead of the seventy-odd years of actual ownership. “Wasn’t it your great-grandfather who bought the property? I was told he was big in armaments during the First World War…and bought the whole valley in nineteen-thirty-five when he retired.”

“Did Jess tell you that?”

“I can’t remember now,” I lied. “Someone yesterday, I think. How did your family lose the valley?”

“Death duties,” she said. “Grandfather had to sell it off when his father died. He got virtually nothing for it, of course, but the developer who bought it made a fortune.”

“The one who built the houses at Peter’s end of the village?”

“Yes.” It was obviously a sore point with her. “That used to be our land until Haversham was given permission to build on it. Now his family owns one of the biggest building firms in Dorset while we’re left with an acre of garden.”

“Did Haversham buy the whole valley?”

She nodded. “Grandfather was lazy. He couldn’t be bothered to farm himself, or even find tenants, so he let Haversham take the lot and sell the agricultural land in piecemeal plots for twice what he’d paid for it.”

“Who did he sell to?”

“I don’t know. It happened in the late forties. I think my mother said it was split between four of the local farmers, but it’s changed hands several times since. The north acreage was bought by a cooperative from Dorchester about three years ago.”

“What about the Derbyshires? Did they buy any?”

“Of course not. They couldn’t have afforded it.”

“Except Barton Farm’s quite big, isn’t it? Peter told me it’s one and a half thousand acres.”

Madeleine shook her head. “She’s a tenant…owns about fifty acres and the rest is rented. Jess’s family were humble people. Her grandmother worked as a maid in our house after the war.” She looked at the fireplace. “Old Mrs. Derbyshire used to clean out that grate every day. Mummy said she had a squashed nose and flat face and looked like a mongol or someone with congenital syphilis.” She caught my eye. “She wasn’t either, of course, but it’s obviously genetic or Jess wouldn’t have the same problem.”

I blew smoke in her direction. “And it was this lady’s husband who owned Barton Farm in the fifties?”

I could almost hear the words “She was no lady” forming in Madeleine’s head. “No, it skipped that generation. The husband contracted polio during the war and died of it shortly after he returned home-and there was a younger brother who died in Normandy, I think. Jess’s father inherited it from his grandfather. Then he died, and Jess took it over…although what’s going to happen when she goes is anyone’s guess.”

“Perhaps she’ll have children.”

She threw me a scornful glance. “They’ll be virgin births, then. She’d sooner lie with her mastiffs than a man.”

Ss-ss-ss! “So what happened to Jess’s grandmother?”

“When her son took over, she went to Australia to live with her brother. Before that she kept house for her father-in-law. He was a drinker…drove his wife to an early death and then made his daughter-in-law’s life a misery. According to Mummy, it soured her relationship with her son-which is why she emigrated-although I expect the hope of a better life had something to do with it as well.”