“Well, your weekend seems to be going better than mine. We were going to have a quiet time with lots of champagne to celebrate the end of term for Dorcas and neither of you can get here … No … she’s been trying to contact you. Haven’t we all? But no luck. You can’t ring her because she’s gone off in a huff, heaven knows where. Has something gone wrong between you, Joe? Well, get here when you can. The champagne will keep. I can’t promise the same for the terrine de fruits de mer. Or the cherry ice cream.”

She meant it to sting.

Joe signed off with all the dignity he could muster, replaced the receiver, then picked it up again and asked the operator to connect him with the veterinarian, Mr. Hartest.

Adelaide answered. She recognised his voice and seemed pleased to be hearing from him. She listened while he relayed Cecily’s invitation for the following evening. Two seconds was all it took for her to make up her mind.

“Certainly not!” she snapped. “For about ten reasons. I don’t want to. I don’t like her. I wouldn’t like her guests. I would almost certainly drown Alex in his soup. I shall be preparing Pa’s supper at exactly that time. I shall be in church at the Evensong service. Choose whichever you like.”

Joe put out a finger and broke contact abruptly, then he replaced the receiver. Pausing to count out a sixpence and a two-shilling piece to put into the box placed by the phone, he darted into the hall and flushed out Styles.

“Bicycle? Do you have such a thing on the premises?” he asked with some urgency.

“Certainly. May I enquire as to the nature and duration of the jaunt you are contemplating, sir?” The measured enquiry was laden with respectful censure. Like a good herd dog, Styles was not happy when a guest appeared to be making a run for it.

“A short errand for her ladyship.” Not quite a lie.

This proved acceptable, apparently. “You’ll find a selection in the garage. Everything from racers to sit-up-and-begs that don’t scare the ladies.” He measured Joe for a moment from head to toe with a tailor’s eye and called, “Timmy!” A young trainee footman presented himself. “Timmy, show the gentleman to the garage and point out the Schwinn, will you?”

BOWLING DOWN THE lime avenue on a daringly drop-handled, balloon-tyred speedster (the Swine, according to a reverent Timmy, who would clearly have given his shining buttons for a ride on it), Joe chortled with amusement. Butlers! He wondered how many decrepit old guests had been flattered into flinging a gouty leg over this seductive killer. He felt a surge of exhilaration, not only from the speed and smoothness of the ride but from relief at his escape and the energy powered him all the way to the vet’s neat house. He arrived, braking silently in front of the copper beech hedge and noting that his ride had taken only five minutes. What right did he have to impose himself on Adelaide? None at all and he prepared to have his ears boxed and be sent off straight back to the Hall. He adjusted his tie and fiddled with his plaster.

She was dead-heading the roses and turned with a smile as she heard the iron gate creak open. Clearly expecting her father, Joe supposed. He wished that the welcome had been for him but the smile faded and she squinted in puzzlement when she recognised her visitor. His only recourse was to boldness. He clanged the gate shut and pushed his bike up the path.

“Joe? What on earth?”

Well, at least she’d remembered his name. It was a start.

“Wretched telephone! We were cut off. I’ve come to hear the remaining four.”

“Four what?”

“Reasons. You promised me ten and had delivered six, none of which I liked. You were saying …?”

She put the secateurs away in her pocket and came to stand in front of him. “Seven: there’s a play on the wireless I’d planned to listen to with Pa. Eight: I have nothing suitable to wear for such an occasion. Nine: I’m damned if I’m going to rattle up to the Hall in Dad’s old vet’s estate car. Ten: I don’t want to risk being put to sit next to you all evening.”

Joe grinned. “Now there’s the truth! I’d be persuaded by any one of those. But listen, we can work our way around seven and ten so we’re left with—”

“No—you’re left with. This has very little to do with me. I think you’re very rude to come here and put me on the spot. You should arrest yourself for harassment.”

Joe ignored this as he couldn’t contradict. “The car—they’ve got plenty at the Hall. I’ll have them send a chauffeur to fetch you and I’ll bring you back myself. The dress? Hmm … Are you sure? It needn’t be a designer number. Whatever you wear, you’ll put the other women in the shade. Crocodiles in pearls!” he said in a voice bright with encouragement and challenge. “Go and look in your cupboards.”

“First, I’d like to take a look at whatever you’re hiding under that dressing,” she said, peering up at his cheek. “Something bitten you?”

Joe exclaimed, as without further warning, she ripped the plaster off. “Good Lord! That’s nasty!” She put up a hand and ran it over the bumps and creases. “There are splinters in there. Wood? Have you been hugging a tree with indecent fervour?”

“Some idiot chucked a log at me. A man with a green face and a green shirt. Yet another person in the county who thinks Joe Sandilands is a bit of bad news.”

“Urgh! You fell foul of Robin Goodfellow? Rustic comedian and resident parasite? You should have run him in. Look, you’d better come into the parlour, sit yourself on a chair, and I’ll get my bag. Tweezers and a spot of iodine should work wonders. You can’t afford to pick up another scar—that would be extravagantly romantic. They’d have to put you in a musical comedy.”

He closed his eyes politely as her swift cool fingers worked on his face, gritting his teeth against the stabs of pain from the probings and the antiseptic, and opened them again when a new dressing was in place.

“You can always tell the crocodiles you got that in a duel. Left cheek scars are all the go in Prussia, they tell me. You can say you’ve just been initiated into Herr Hitler’s élite bodyguard of strutting thugs. They might just believe it. Some of the guests might even approve,” she added darkly. “There’s some speculation as to where exactly Truelove’s sympathies lie. His brother-in-law, married to the older of his two sisters, if I’ve got that right, is a psychologist, a eugenicist or something of that nature, and he’s recently defected to Germany to ply his disgusting trade, did you know?”

Joe grinned. “I’m delighted to say it was my boot up his rear that decided him to leave England in a hurry. I’m collecting enemies in high places, I’m afraid.”

“Well, watch your step up there in that company then. I’m good at grazes and bruises but I have no experience with bullet wounds. Though Pa might be able to help. He served in the war and found he had to extend his skills to human patients as well as equine.”

She snapped her bag closed and was clearly about to send him on his way when he began to blurt. Blurting was the only word for the reckless effusion of nonsense that seemed to be coming from his lips. “Do come, Adelaide! For me, not them! I can’t tell you what a difference it would make. To see a friendly face across the table, to hear a voice that doesn’t crack the glassware. To have someone whose eye I can catch in understanding. Will you change your mind?”

The urgency of his appeal silenced and concerned her. Quick and decisive as he was beginning to judge her, she said, after a questioning stare, “I’m not inviting you up to my room. The contents of it will have to come down to you. Wait a minute.”

After five minutes of rummaging overhead, she clumped back downstairs and dumped the contents of her wardrobe at his feet.

“Three flowery cotton washing frocks,” she announced. “No use at all.” These were thrown aside to form the base of the rejected pile. A cream linen day dress followed. “Women’s Institute Committee meeting … Now this one—long, black, formal. Bias cut. Silk. I wore this for a degree-giving dinner six years ago.”