“I am in your debt, Vicar,” she was saying. “If you hadn’t happened along, she might have taken a bad tumble on the stairs.”

She was dramatizing the situation: That wasn’t the way it had happened at all.

“If ever there’s anything I can do to show my gratitude, you’ve only to ask.”

And then it all came tumbling out of the vicar’s mouth—at least most of it. Fortunately he didn’t mention Cynthia’s coaching lessons.

“So you see, Miss Wyvern,” he finished up, “the roof has been more or less at risk since George the Fourth, and time is now of the essence. The verger tells me he’s been finding water in the font, of late, that wasn’t placed there for ecclesiastical purposes, and—”

Phyllis Wyvern touched his arm.

“Not another word, Vicar. I’d be happy to roll up my sleeves and pitch in. I’ll tell you what; I’ve just had the most marvelous idea. My co-star, Desmond Duncan, will be arriving this evening. You may recall that Desmond and I had some small success both in the West End and on film with our Romeo and Juliet. If Desmond’s game—and I’m sure he will be …”

She said this with a naughty wink and a twinkle.

“… then surely we shall be able to cobble something together to keep St. Tancred’s roof from caving in.”

• FIVE •

I’D BEEN SPENDING SO much time sitting halfway down the stairs that I was beginning to feel like Christopher Robin.

That’s where I was now, looking out across the crowded foyer, where several dozen of the film crew were gathered in little knots, talking. The only one I recognized was the woman called Marion, who had led Bun Keats away in the afternoon. Since Bun was nowhere in sight, I guessed she was still resting in her room.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” someone called out, clapping their hands for attention. “Ladies and gentlemen!”

The buzz of conversation stopped as abruptly as if it had been cut off with scissors.

A pale young man with sandy hair had made his way to the bottom of the staircase, climbed up a couple of steps, and turned to face the others.