The Whole Truth

By Mike Ogden

In a deep valley in the Peak District of England a reservoir built during the Second World War empties during a long drought. When the remains of the drowned village of Bailsford emerge from the water they awaken painful memories for one old lady, Alice Lammas. It is a harrowing tale that Alice tells her grand-daughter, Mary Marquis, of her last summer in that village when she was only seventeen.

The emptying reservoir casts its dark shadow over Mary too, for the retreating water reveals a body, clearly murdered several years ago. But whose body? It is a question that becomes agonisingly important to Mary, intruding into a romance that promised much and bringing it to a sudden and distressing end.

As her own life begins to unravel, Mary seeks consolation in her grandmother’s story, and Alice reveals something that she alone knows – what lies buried beneath the sterile mud that now covers the abandoned village churchyard. And there is more. Alice’s revelation forces Mary’s grandfather, Frank Lammas, to tell a much darker secret that has haunted him for over 60 years.

Mary’s world is shattered when an unwise date with a property developer, Randolph Lambert, ends disastrously and leaves her reputation and her career in ruins. Out of despair comes a reckless plan that almost costs Mary her life, but allows her to rebuild the one relationship that can secure her future.

Two tales in one, The Devil You Know brings Alice’s and Mary’s stories together vividly and dramatically, with many twists and surprises on its way to a hopeful ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Ogden
• Release date: Oct 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301276387

Mike Ogden

HAVING A VIVID IMAGINATION AND HAVING WRITTEN MANY SHORT STORIES, ROMANCE, CRIME, SCI FI AND RESEARCHED MATERIALS AND ALWAYS HAVING A FASCINATION FOR KING ARTHUR THIS JUST SEEMED TO BE THE OBVIOUS THING TO WRITE ABOUT. AND KNOWING THE AREAS IN THE BOOK MADE IT SO MUCH EASIER FOR RESEARCH.

Book preview

A drowned village returns after 60 years.

Amid the remnants a secret lies hidden.

One old lady knows the truth.

But she doesn’t know…..

THE WHOLE TRUTH

Mike Ogden

Here are two tales in one, inspired by the building of Ladybower Reservoir in the Derbyshire Peak District during the Second World War, and by its occasional emptying during times of drought over the years since.

THE WHOLE TRUTH is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events described in the story are fictional, as are most of the places mentioned.

Copyright 2014 Mike Ogden

Cover picture copyright Stuart Herbert

Smashwords Edition, 2014

SMASHWORDS EDITION

LICENCE NOTES

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1 – AS ONE DOOR CLOSES….

CHAPTER 2 – A BOLT FROM THE BLUE

CHAPTER 3 – A DEAD VILLAGE LIVES AGAIN

CHAPTER 4 – UNWELCOME ATTENTIONS

CHAPTER 5 – STOLEN GOODS

CHAPTER 6 – A CONVENIENT LIE

CHAPTER 7 – COMPLICATIONS SET IN

CHAPTER 8 – IMPRUDENT EXPOSURE

CHAPTER 9 – AMITY AND INTIMACY

CHAPTER 10 – A WEEKEND PROMISING MUCH….

CHAPTER 11 – ….AND DELIVERING MUCH MORE

CHAPTER 12 – AN IDYLL SHATTERED

CHAPTER 13 – ANGER AND RELIEF

CHAPTER 14 – UNBEARABLE LOSS

CHAPTER 15 – A CRUEL BLOW

CHAPTER 16 – A SITUATION WITHOUT HOPE

CHAPTER 17 – A BURDEN LIFTED

CHAPTER 18 – DANGEROUS PLEASURES

CHAPTER 19 – ASTONISHMENT AND OUTRAGE

CHAPTER 20 – FRIENDS AT ODDS

CHAPTER 21 – A SECRET LONG BURIED

CHAPTER 22 – THIEVES IN THE NIGHT

CHAPTER 23 – THE BEST LAID PLANS

CHAPTER 24 – MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE

CHAPTER 25 – CALAMITY

CHAPTER 26 – AN UNWHOLESOME BARGAIN

CHAPTER 27 – DESPERATE MEASURES

CHAPTER 28 – ….ANOTHER DOORS OPENS

CHAPTER 1

As One Door Closes….

"I think I’m learning to love the summer again."

Mary is looking at the softly dwindling twilight outside the window, speaking softly – to herself, almost. Calling back her thoughts she opens the wine bottle and pours generous measures for us both. I used to adore the summer before it all happened, she says, settling back in her chair. I loved to swim in the sea. I used to skinny-dip in rivers and lakes as well, when I got the chance.

A furtive grin lights up her face for a second. I got into the grounds of Armadale Hall once, over the big wall, and swam in the lake there, just for the hell of it. I was spotted by some lackey who sat on a tree stump right where I’d left my clothes. Well, I was damned if was going to be intimidated, so I walked out of the water, straight towards him. When he saw I was stark naked he ran off! She sighs and smiles sadly. I didn’t always have that effect on men.

That hardly needs saying, for no-one would dispute that Mary is lovely indeed. She is of mixed-race, dusky-skinned and quite slightly built, and in times past her black hair fell in thick waves to her shoulders. She wears it shorter now, but her face still has a full-lipped, dark-eyed splendour that seems to light up her surroundings. What’s more, she still has – truer, perhaps, to say she has regained – a natural grace that complements her looks, and makes a deep impression upon everyone who meets her.

Yet the sigh itself speaks volumes, for Mary’s beauty has brought her little in the way of good fortune. In fact, there was a time when it seemed a curse, bringing calamity upon her. That ghastly period is now long past, thankfully, but still it stands like an ugly barricade across her life’s path. And now, on the eve of a momentous day in her life, she feels the need to reach out to her former self, and she knows she must climb that barricade to do it.

I wish it hadn’t happened in summer, she muses. And that summer, especially. The wonderful Ashes summer. That should have been such a good time for me. I was settling into my first job after university, here in the Peak District, a place I love so much. Making friends. And it was good, at first….

What Mary is recalling is her job with the local council’s planning department in the Derbyshire spa town of Buxton. She made a keen enough impression, for a young woman of such striking beauty could do no other. But the men treated her gallantly, for the most part, and the women appreciated the reserve with which she maintained her dignity at all times. She was no scalp-hunter: if she had been, her effect on that small office would have been dramatic indeed.

A comfortable and pleasantly settled working atmosphere, then. But one particular day would forever stand out in Mary’s memory as the day when the façade began to crack. It was in July of that year, and it was the day that Randolph Lambert first came to the office, and into her life. A lovely day – a day for sensing the freshness of the world outside, for feeling restless at being indoors and working. Every now and then Mary would smell the breath of the moors that overlooked the town, as a little breeze, faintly scented with heather and bracken, strayed in through the wide-open windows.

Looking up from her work as the breeze blew across her desk and disturbed her papers, Mary saw a tall, young man with longish, fair hair striding towards the building across the car park, carrying a briefcase and a roll of plans. An architect, presumably, but not one of their regular visitors. She returned to her work and gave him no further thought.

A couple of minutes later the phone rang and she was summoned to Reception to talk to someone about a planning application she was dealing with. As she walked along the corridor she saw a familiar figure heading towards her – a stockily built, tough-looking character of middle years, and as he drew near he grinned and gave her a slightly-too-cordial Hello there!

Good afternoon, Councillor Palfreyman, Mary said, hoping to keep walking, but his raised hand made it impossible to pass without seeming rude.

‘George’ is much easier to say, he said. And more friendly.

Alright. Mary gave him a polite smile. I’ll try to remember.

Just make sure you do, he said affably. We’re all part of the same team, you know – members and officers. Going to Reception?

Yes.

I’m seeing Andrew about some big development scheme. I’d much sooner talk to you, but duty calls. Bye for now, then. And it’s ‘George’, remember.

Okay, George.

Excellent! He beamed, well pleased with the encounter, and went on his way to the office of Mary’s boss, Andrew Fisher, the Head of Planning. As Chairman of the Planning Committee, George Palfreyman was an influential figure, and a frequent visitor to Fisher’s office. Mary had no wish to get on the wrong side of him, but – not for the first time – she found him just a little too familiar for comfort.

In Reception she noticed the tall, fair-haired young man she’d seen earlier, glancing absently at plans displayed on the wall while he waited. As she talked to the woman she had come to see, Mary was aware of him giving her the once-over, and maybe the twice-over as well. No doubt he’s the big development scheme George Palfreymn’s come in about, she thought, and sure enough Molly, Andrew Fisher’s secretary, came to fetch him a minute or two later.

When she got back to her desk Mary found a note to ring Richard Aston, an architect who did a lot of work in the area. She pressed out his number, and he answered the phone himself.

Richard? It’s Mary Marquis, from the Planning Service. You were wanting to talk to me?

Yes, he said. Thanks for calling back, Mary. I was wondering if you could meet me on site some time? I’ve got a client who wants to convert some barns into houses. I want you to have a look at them, if you will.

Yeah, okay. Whereabouts are they?

Near Wilgose. On the road to Brindley, overlooking Ravendale.

Mary checked her diary on the computer. I’ve got to go out that way tomorrow, actually. I could meet you…..about eleven?

That’s great. If you go about a mile out of Wilgose, the site’s on the left. It’s called Overmoor Farm. You’ll see my blue jeep parked outside. Bring a hard hat, if you can.

Right. Not dangerous, is it?

No, but there’s the usual low beams and doorways. And there’s a lot of rubble on the floor, where part of the roof’s come down.

I’ll leave the six-inch heels at home, then.

Might be as well. Right, then. Tomorrow at eleven. Okay?

Yep. See you then. Bye.

Meeting Richard Aston, are you? Simon Dickinson said when she put the phone down. He sat nearest to Mary and, having a couple of years’ work under his belt, saw himself as her guide and mentor to the bad old world of local government.

Yes. Why? Mary asked.

Need to watch that one.

Richard Aston? Come off it. He’s a teddy bear.

Simon smirked annoyingly. It’s a good disguise.

Mary glared at him. Oh, come on, Simon! I’m meeting him alone, in an isolated barn. Is there something I should know?

Simon held up a hand to calm her. Sorry, he said. You’ll be alright. Honest.

Sure?

Yes. Quite sure.

Well, why the snide comment, then? It’s not fair on him, as well as me.

Well….. Simon shrugged and pulled a face as he strove for the right words …..it’s just that he’s a bit of a hermit, that’s all.

That’s typical of you, Mary declared. Just because you’re blissfully married you think anybody who isn’t is some kind of weirdo. If he lives in a rubbish skip it’s nobody’s business but his own.

Mary had left her car at home that day, and she walked back to the terraced house in Helston Street that she shared with Kate Hardacre: Kate who was tall and blonde, and vivacious to a fault, with none of Mary’s reserve. She worked as a reporter on the Peak Herald, the local weekly paper, and had been a lucky find for Mary when she had first gone looking for somewhere to live in Buxton, six months before.

Kate’s 500cc motorbike was parked in the street outside, and even before Mary let herself into the house she could hear the sound of ‘Honky Tonk Women’ from inside. Kate was playing the CD she’d bought when they had both been to a Rolling Stones concert recently. Hi! Kate called from the kitchen, turning the volume down a little. I’m just going to do some scrambled eggs. D’you want some?

Please. Mary leaned on the jamb of the kitchen door. Busy day?

Fascinating! Kate buzzed around the kitchen, preparing food as though lives were at stake. Been at Elderbank Reservoir. They’ve found a body!

Oh yes? Somebody drowned? That wouldn’t keep ace reporter Kate Hardacre busy all day, would it?

Did I say drowned? Kate retorted. You know the reservoir’s almost empty, because of the drought?

Mmm.

Well, as the water’s gone down, it’s revealed this body. Been there years, apparently. Kate made a dramatic gesture with the egg whisk. Murdered!

Really?

Weighted down with concrete. And right in the middle, where the water was deepest. Whoever did it must have used a boat. He – we’ll assume it was a he – must have thought it would stay out of sight for ever. He didn’t bargain for this drought, did he?

I wonder what he’ll think when the news gets out, Mary said.

Kate shrugged. Between you and me, having talked to the cops, I don’t think he needs to be too worried. They haven’t got a lot to go on.

They don’t know who it is, then?

Kate’s face didn’t slip. Could be Lord Lucan. Or Glen Miller. Shergar’s still missing. Mary picked up an egg and made to throw it at her. Alright! It’s a woman, actually. Naked. Oh, by the way, Tim phoned.

Oh, God! Mary clapped a hand to her head. I’d forgotten about tonight! What did he say?

Oh, just that he’s besotted with you, and he’s going to throw himself off Lovers’ Leap in Stoney Middleton if you won’t be his forever. The usual stuff.

Mary held up the egg. Do I have to crack this on your head?

Okay, then. He said he’d be a bit late, that’s all. Where are you going?

For a meal at the Clarion, to celebrate his promotion.

And you forgot? I don’t think I’d forget if some handsome guy was treating me to a meal at the Clarion. Kate sighed in mock-melancholy. Or a bag of chips on Spring Gardens, come to think of it. Do you still want this scrambled egg, then?

Better not, I suppose, Mary said. I’ll go and have a shower.

Good God, woman! Kate cried. You look like you’re going to a funeral! What’s the matter with you?

Nothing’s the matter with me.

Well, try and look like it, then. And be nice to poor old Tim. The poor sod’s potty about you.

I know. I know. Mary left Kate and went upstairs. The sun was still high, and shining brightly into her bedroom, making it very warm. She opened the window wide and left the curtains open as she undressed, enjoying the sun’s warmth, and the cooler touch of the breeze, on her skin. The pleasure, though, was only skin-deep, and inside she remained pensive. As she stood naked in front of the wardrobe, wondering what to wear, she knew with an aching certainty that her heart was not in what she was doing.

Tim had been such a welcome distraction when she’d met him back at Christmas: handsome and kind, his family long-established in the county and very much part of the elite. People were already saying what a delightful couple they were.

A couple! The thought made her quail. I don’t want to be a couple. I don’t want any such complications and entanglements just yet. I want…..but what do I want? If only she could say.

So she went out, looking her best and feeling her worst, and trying so hard not to show it. Tim was gallant and charming as ever, full of his new job as junior partner in the family firm. Without saying anything specific, he gave Mary the unnerving impression that he was working his way towards a proposal that very evening. Inwardly she cringed at the prospect, while she tried vainly to share his happiness as best she could.

She was making such a determined effort to give Tim all of her attention that, when the young man she’d seen in Reception that afternoon walked into the restaurant, she was visibly startled. Not as startled, though, as he was. He stopped in his tracks, his face betraying total astonishment. Then, recovering quickly, he dismissed a hovering waiter with a casual gesture and came over to their table.

Well, here’s a surprise, he said. Cousin Tim dining with the belle of the Planning Service. I commend you on your choice of companion, cousin.

Mary looked in wonder from the young man to Tim, who seemed very put out by his sudden appearance. Are you two cousins? she asked.

Well, second or third cousins, or cousins twice removed, or some such, the young man said. I’m a Maybury under the skin, anyway. And since Tim isn’t going to introduce me, I’ll do the job myself. He held out a hand. Randolph Lambert. Very pleased to meet you.

I’m Mary. Mary Marquis. Say something, Tim, for heaven’s sake!

Tim was still frowning – scowling, in fact. What brings you here, Ran? he asked curtly. Don’t usually see you in these parts before August the twelfth.

Business, business. I was at the planning office this afternoon. That’s when I saw Mary.

There was a palpable hostility between the two men, and Mary felt an uncharacteristic blush prickling the back of her neck. Are you staying here at the Clarion? she asked, hoping to dispel the chill that had descended.

Just for a couple of nights. Back to London on Thursday. Are you enjoying your meal?

Oh…..it’s very good, thanks. We’re celebrating Tim’s promotion. I can’t get over you two being related. Isn’t it strange?

Lambert gave a shrug. Well, this is a small town, and it’s family ties with the area that have made me so interested in this project. Sentiment, really, I suppose.

At this Tim couldn’t restrain his annoyance any longer. Kind of you to spare us a thought, he said. What are you building, then? Almshouses for the deserving poor?

Lambert fended off the clumsy jibe with a tolerant smile. Just pulling down a few Georgian terraces to build some multi-storey flats. No more than twenty storeys. Nothing to trouble the planners. What’s your promotion, anyway?

I’ve been made junior partner. Tim looked sulky, as though he knew this wouldn’t cut much ice with Lambert. And it didn’t.

Well, congratulations, he said. The words were cool and formal, with the customary, mildly supercilious tone. The family firm goes from strength to strength, eh? How many Mayburys are there in it now?

Only three of us. Dad, Uncle James, and me.

I take it you’ll welcome the conveyancing business if my deal comes off?

I think there’d be trouble if you gave it to somebody else. Are you going to tell me what it really is?

Not just yet, if you don’t mind. Lambert gave Mary an affable smile. And I think I’ve kept you from your dinner long enough.

Would you like to join us? The question was put with all of Tim’s good manners, and no sincerity at all, and Lambert knew it perfectly well.

I wouldn’t dream of intruding, he said. It’s been a surprise and a pleasure to see you both. Bon appetit. Bestowing another smile upon Mary, he turned, caught a waiter’s eye and was shown to a table at the far side of the room, fortunately out of Mary’s view.

Well! That’s amazing! Mary said, much more brightly than she felt.

Hmm. Tim emptied his glass and refilled it, looking surly and annoyed.

What’s wrong, then? You hardly had a civil word for him.

Oh, he’s Mister Bloody Wonderful, is Randolph. Fancies himself like nobody else I know.

What do you mean?

Well…..he’s so condescending. Always is. Tim shot her a meaningful look. I suppose you think he’s madly attractive?

Mary felt herself beginning to get irritated. And why do you say that? she demanded.

Well, he certainly thinks you are.

I can hardly help what he thinks, can I? And I don’t see how you can say that, after a two-minute conversation.

It was obvious. Tim glared over Mary’s shoulder in Lambert’s direction. The truth was that his Achilles heel had been cruelly exposed by this trivial encounter with his cousin. Like many men who seek the love of beautiful women, his own adoration for Mary was mirrored by a gnawing doubt whether he could hold her affections against other men who would desire her. And in Randolph Lambert he saw someone with whom he knew he could not compete. Knowing that had made him feel horribly vulnerable, and that had made him petulant. And Mary, in her present mood, had neither the guile nor the will to coax him back into good humour.

So the evening degenerated and fell apart. As Tim became sulky, so Mary became bitchy, and both of them said things that they would be ashamed of later. When their meal was finished there was no question of them carrying on the charade any longer. Mary sat silent and angry as he drove her home, and she got out as soon as the car stopped outside her house.

Mary! Tim called in a strained voice.

Yes?

There was a silence, as words failed him Then he could only ask: Can I call you?

Yes. No! Not for a while. Just…..back off a bit, will you? Give me some room to breathe.

Is that what you want, then?

Yes. Yes, it is.

Alright. Another silence, then: You know where to find me. Tim leaned across and pulled the door shut. With a roar the car surged away, and Mary was left alone in the quiet street, not knowing whether to laugh, or weep, or scream with rage. She felt light-headed from the wine she’d drunk, bewildered at the turmoil inside her, and more than a little hysterical.

I wanted to end it with Tim, and didn’t know how best to do it, she thought bitterly. But I shouldn’t have happened in such a crass way, with so much hurt and bitterness. He didn’t deserve that. To hell with Randolph bloody Lambert for ruining everything! But no, it’s not his fault either. It’s my fault, and nobody else’s. I’ve mishandled the relationship with Tim from the start: let it get out of hand, and then trampled on his raw emotions. Now she despised herself.

The last thing Mary wanted to do was talk about her evening, but Kate was obviously bored with her own company and keen to know why her friend had returned so early. Once it was clear that she wasn’t going to get away, Mary dropped into a chair and sobbed her wretched heart out. From among the tears and sobs the fragments of the shattered evening emerged like broken pieces of china for Kate to fit together. And, as she understood what had happened, she became somewhat less than sympathetic.

You mean to say, she said tartly, that you’ve just dumped a guy whose family own half the county?

They don’t own half the county! Mary shouted through her tears. Don’t be fucking stupid!

Kate pulled a disapproving face. It’s not me who’s being stupid, she retorted. And they own a damn sight more than you ever will, sunshine.

I don’t care! And I know my own business.

I wonder. I really wonder. Kate shook her head. Look, I know it’s not just about money. That’s just me being cynical. But walking out on a decent guy like Tim, just because some designer demigod strolls in and says ‘bon appetit’…..

Mary glared savagely at her. Don’t make fun of me, Kate! she said hoarsely. I’ve had as much as I can take tonight.

Well, I’m sorry. I just think you’ve been a bit hasty, that’s all. Bloody hasty, in fact.

No I haven’t. It was going to happen anyway. It’s got nothing to do with this Lambert, honestly. He just came in at a bad moment, and kind of triggered it off.

So, what’s the problem? Kate demanded.

Mary sighed. The problem is…..the problem is….I think…..I didn’t come to Buxton to shackle myself to the Maybury dynasty.

I can think of worse fates.

Maybe. But it’s not what I want.

And do you think it’s what Tim wants?

No doubt about it. I think he sees marriage as his next career move.

Kate gestured in protest. Oh, that’s not fair, Mary! You know he adores you.

I know! I’m not saying he doesn’t. The trouble is, it’s all been so…..oh, I don’t know…..so smooth and inevitable. I feel as if I’ve been vetted by his whole family. Even when we made love it was like signing a contract.

Charming! Kate sat back and stared at her. So you did get him into bed, then?

Yes, of course, Mary said tetchily.

And was it so boring? I’m disappointed. I always rather fancied Tim.

Well, you’re welcome to him. And I didn’t mean it was boring.

Well, what did you mean, then?

Mary was feeling very awkward as her confused inner emotions surged to the surface and challenged her to find words to describe them. It’s just that it was like…..well, like putting the relationship on a formal basis. Like he was taking out a lease on me. This deed witnesseth that the parties hereinafter referred to as ‘the lovely couple, Tim and Mary‘…..I don’t want that, Kate. I don’t want to be taken over. Not just yet.

You’re just not in love. That’s what it comes down to.

I suppose so. Mary started to cry again. I’ve made a complete hash of it, Kate…..hurt Tim. I’m incompetent. I’m not fit to have care of people’s feelings.

You’re too hard on yourself, Kate said, as kindly as she could. I don’t expect you’re any worse than the rest of us. Learn from experience. Stay clear of the marrying kind for a bit.

I obviously haven’t learned how to spot ‘em yet.

You will. And forget this Lambert character.

I’ve forgotten him.

I don’t think you have.

Well, I don’t suppose I’ll see him again.

Let’s hope not. And now, if you’ve any sense, you’ll go and wallow in a hot bath with some of that embalming fluid you put in it.

Mary smiled reluctantly. It’s relaxing oil.

Has much the same effect. Then tuck yourself up in bed with an improving book. One with no sex in it. Something about town planning should do the trick. Have you off to sleep in no time.

Mary reached for yet another tissue to dab her eyes and blow her nose. Sounds like good advice.

The best. Get yourself off, then.

I will, I will.

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CHAPTER 2

A Bolt from the Blue

Perhaps the hot bath worked its magic on her, as Kate had suggested, because Mary slept soundly until she was jolted awake at six-thirty by the alarm clock. Stretching and relaxing, she tossed the duvet aside and let the cool morning air caress her bare legs while she considered how she felt. She found, rather to her surprise, that the distress of the previous evening was gone. In its place was a real sense of relief that she had come to a definite decision about Tim, and a feeling that her life was now hers to enjoy and control as she wished. That unexpectedly positive thought pleased her, and she seized upon it.

So the day beckoned: a routine working day, sure enough, but not without its promise. The site visits that she had to do were mainly in the high villages, and that would be a delight on a beautiful July morning. In her first summer in the Peak District it was still a joy to be able to drive through that wonderful countryside, to visit the remote, living villages and the rugged little farms with their clutter of machinery and their smell of animals. And to be paid for doing it!

And then there was her meeting with Richard Aston. Mary considered him for a moment. He was an attractive man, she had always thought: heading towards forty and of middle build, with a shock of black, curly hair, dark eyes and a neat moustache. His manner was invariably friendly, without becoming too friendly, in welcome contrast to one or two of the regular visitors to the Planning Department. And Simon had called him a hermit which, despite her protests, had lent him a certain air of mystery, or of novelty at least. Hermit or not, he was self-contained sort of man who gave the impression of being entirely in control of his life.

Until today, Mary thought, with a twinge of impish pleasure. She had had enough of merely reacting to other people’s demands on her, and today she would set her own agenda for once. Suddenly she felt confident, and not a little feisty, and she decided it would do her good to knock Richard Aston off his perch.

She jumped out of bed, showered quickly, and dressed in close-fitting black jeans and a crimson silk shirt, fastening perhaps one less button than usual. A pair of black pendant earrings and a matching necklace completed the look. When she pulled on a denim jacket and regarded herself in the mirror she was well satisfied. A bit of make-up and there was every chance, she reckoned, that she would knock Richard Aston bowlegged.

Well! Kate exclaimed when Mary went downstairs. You look a damn sight better than you did last night.

Thanks very much. I feel better.

Changed your mind about Tim, have you?

No. I’m definitely ending it.

Poor old Tim. He doesn’t deserve it.

Yeah, I know. But I’ve got to do it.

Well, put in a good word for me, will you? I don’t mind being shackled to half of Derbyshire, even if you do.

Mary chuckled. You? You’d go mad. What about the Glittering Media Career?

Bugger the Glittering Media Career. And what about Randolph whatsisname?

Bugger Randolph whatsisname.

Well said! They grinned at each other, and the upbeat mood of the morning was cemented more firmly. Mary had no need to call at the office, as she had brought the files for her site visits the night before. She headed eagerly out of the town, climbing to the high limestone plateau that formed the county’s heartland. The day was already warm, and the Fiesta buzzed along with its windows open, filling the air with a cold, fragrant blast that blew Mary’s hair into wild disarray. Not that she cared. It was a morning to intoxicate the senses with the sheer pleasure of being young and fit and free, and ready for all that the world had to offer.

Mary had worked out her route to bring her to Wilgose for eleven o’clock, but events conspired to delay her, and it was twenty past when she drove through the village and along the winding road that led towards Brindley. At Overmoor Farm she saw the range of buildings that she had come to inspect. Their aged stone walls and roofs were spangled with yellow lichen, and their empty window openings stared forlornly at her, as though the buildings knew she was coming to check them out. In the yard, looking incongruously modern in the timeless scene, stood Richard Aston’s blue four-by-four. Mary parked beside it and got out of the car.

Leaning back against the car, she stretched and breathed in the warm, scented air. It smelled wonderfully of earth and green plants, with a promise of heather to come. As she looked about, enjoying the scene, Richard Aston appeared from one of the buildings, hailed her and walked over. He was dressed casually as usual, in grey cords, a check shirt and a suede jacket, and he was carrying a hard hat. But was she imagining something in his look as he walked towards her? Something that made her recall her mischievous thoughts as she dressed that morning? She gave him her best smile, and wondered.

Hello, Mary, he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. This much was normal, for he always shook