The sunlight was retreating before the menacing black cliff of clouds. There was a blinding white flash of lightning and then a tremendous clap of thunder. With a great whoosh the rain came pouring down. Agatha closed the windows. The rain was so heavy, so monsoon-like, that it was like being parked in the middle of a waterfall.

The passenger door was wrenched open and Roy tumbled in. “I’m soaked,” he wailed. “I asked them to let me stay in the unit for a bit until the rain eased off, but they wouldn’t let me.”

“Let’s go home,” said Agatha. “There’s nothing more we can do here in this storm.”

Toni and Harry had run to the church again for shelter. Toni began to feel awkward in his presence. He obviously came from a well-to-do family while her background of a slummy house, drunken mother, brother who had committed suicide and a father she did not know weighed heavily on her.

Harry, seemingly unaware of her discomfort, chatted on about his life at Cambridge.

At last, Toni interrupted him. “I think the storm’s rolled over.”

They went outside into a yellow, watery sunlight. Everything glittered with raindrops and a golden river ran down the middle of the village street.

They mounted Harry’s bike and set off. When they reached her flat, Toni dismounted and said awkwardly, “Thanks for the ride.”

“What about this evening?” asked Harry cheerfully. “Fancy a bit of dinner?”

“No. I’ve got a date,” lied Toni.

“Oh. Right. See you around.”

Agatha was pacing up and down the living room of her cottage, a gin and tonic in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“I wonder if Sybilla left everything to George in her will.”

“But it seems a clear case of suicide,” said Roy.

“Suicides can be faked.”

“The note was clear enough. I’m watching Law & Order. We’ll talk later.”