Toni felt very alone. Harry was from another world. In her world, people didn’t go to church or even think of enthusing about church architecture. Harry had the ease of manner which obviously came from a comfortable background. Why couldn’t I have fancied Bill? wondered Toni. I never felt out of place with Bill.

Agatha and Roy drove to the manor house, parked outside, and stood for a moment, Agatha wondering what she should say to Sybilla. Her usual method of detective work was to ask people question after question, like shaking a tree, in the hope that some piece of valuable information would come loose.

The air was very still and hot. Not a leaf on the trees moved. It was as if the whole countryside were waiting for something.

Roy looked up at the cloudless sky and said, “Going to be a storm soon.”

“What do you know about anything?” demanded Agatha huffily. She now prided herself on being a countrywoman.

Roy shrugged his thin shoulders. “I feel it coming.”

“You shouldn’t wear hair gel in this heat,” said Agatha. “It’s melting and you’ve got a snail trail of gel down one cheek.”

Roy squawked in dismay and scrubbed at his face with a handkerchief. Agatha rang the bell.

Following the shrill ring of the bell, silence descended once more.

“Must be out,” said Roy.

“Maybe she’s in the garden and didn’t hear the bell. Let’s walk round the back.”

Agatha pushed open a wrought-iron gate at the side of the manor and, followed by Roy, walked along a weedy path and round into the garden at the back. There were a few signs to show that it had once been a large and beautiful garden. A central path framed by a few struggling rose bushes led to a dry fountain where dusty marble dolphins cavorted over a wide marble basin. Weeds now choked the flower beds.

Agatha walked up shallow steps to a long terrace. “One of the French windows is open,” she said. “Come along, Roy.”