Agatha opened her eyes. Her neighbour was leaning over the garden fence. He had a thick shock of pure white hair and sparkling black eyes in a thin, clever face.

“Yes?” demanded Agatha rudely.

“I’m your new neighbour, Paul Chatterton.”

“So? What do you want?” asked Agatha, closing her eyes again.

“I wanted to say hullo.”

“You’ve already said that.” Agatha opened her eyes and stared at him. “What about trying goodbye?”

She closed her eyes again until she felt he would have fully appreciated the snub. She cautiously opened them again. He was still standing there, grinning at her.

“I must say you make a refreshing change,” he said. “I’ve been besieged by village ladies since I arrived, and now I decide to be sociable, I happen to pick on the one person who doesn’t want to know me.”

“Bother someone else,” said Agatha. “Why me?”

“You’re the nearest. Besides, I hear you’re the village sleuth.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“I read in the local papers that there’s some old woman over at Hebberdon who is being frightened out of her wits by ghosts. I’m going over there to offer my services as a ghost buster.”

Agatha’s recently dormant competitive instincts rose. She sat up. “Come round the front and I’ll let you in and we’ll talk about it.”

“See you in a few minutes.” He waved and loped off.

Agatha struggled to her feet, thinking that old-fashioned canvas deck-chairs like the ones in the Green Park in London had been expressly designed to make one feel old. She found she could not struggle out of it and had to tip it sideways and roll over on the grass to get to her feet. She gave it a furious kick. “You’re for the bonfire,” she said. “I’ll replace you with a sun lounger tomorrow.”

She hurried into the house, stopping only in the kitchen for a moment to wipe the sunblock from her face.

Agatha hesitated before opening the door to him. She was wearing a faded house dress and loafers. Then she shrugged. Men! Who needed to bother about them?