‘Look. I found all these on the beach there, or in the cliff or in the saltings, and these two I dug up from the dune.’ She tipped the contents of the box onto the table amongst the knives and forks. For once there was no comment about the shower of dirty sand which descended over the cutlery on Diana’s scrubbed table top: several shards, a few pieces of carved bone and one or two unrecognisable fragments of twisted, corroded metal. ‘I think it’s a grave. A Roman grave,’ she said solemnly.

There was a moment’s silence.

Slowly Greg shook his head. ‘No chance. If it’s anything at all, it’s one of those red hill things – to do with ancient salt workings. Not that that isn’t extremely interesting,’ he went on hastily after a glance at the rebellious set of his sister’s face. ‘Perhaps we should get someone over here who knows about these things.’

‘No!’ Alison rounded on him furiously. ‘I don’t want anyone knowing about it. No one at all. It’s mine. My grave. I found it. You’re not to tell anyone it’s there, do you understand. Not anyone at all. I am going to dig there. Anything I find is mine. If you tell anyone it will ruin everything. Everything!’

Sweeping her treasures back into the box, she clamped the lid on it and flung out of the room.

‘Let her be.’ Diana turned comfortably to the stove. ‘She’ll grow bored with it when she realises how much hard work is involved. And I’m sure there is nothing there. Nothing at all that would interest anyone sane, anyway.’ She smiled tolerantly. ‘Clear up that mess would you, Patrick darling and then let’s eat, otherwise our guests will be here before we’ve finished.’

V

His nails had cut deep welts into the palms of his hand; the veins stood out, corded, pulsating on his forehead and neck, but his silence was the silence of a stalking cat.