It never occurred to Samantha that she might, in fact, be in possession of too much knowledge – for her own good and everyone else’s. Anyway, she was much too sensible to indulge in the sort of gossip that sometimes made the village seem impossibly small. It might be said that she believed in the silence of the confessional and patients were welcomed into the surgery with the same formality with which they were greeted at church on Sundays. Even Mrs Mitchell, Nancy’s mother, who came to the house three times a week and who helped with the children, knew nothing about her daughter’s condition. That had been difficult for both Leonard and Samantha, but, it went without saying, they were bound by the Hippocratic oath.

They had now been married for eight years. Dr Leonard Collins had been a consultant at the King Edward VII Hospital in Slough. Samantha had been doing volunteer work when they met and they had got engaged soon after. He was lithe and elegant, a darkly handsome man with a well-trimmed beard and a fondness for tweed suits. Everyone in the village agreed that they were ideally matched, living and working together and always in perfect agreement apart from two things. Dr Collins was not a particularly religious man. He accompanied his wife to church out of respect rather than any personal belief. And, much to her displeasure, he smoked a pipe, a Stanwell Royal Briar that he had owned since his teens. She had been unable to persuade him to give it up, but, as a compromise, he never smoked it when the children were in the room.

‘But I hadn’t seen Aunt Joyce for years and years,’ she said now. ‘We didn’t really contact each other – apart from Christmas and birthday cards.’

‘She obviously hadn’t forgotten you,’ Leonard remarked. He picked up his pipe, thought for a moment, then set it down again.

‘She was a wonderful person and I’m very sad to hear she’s dead.’ Samantha had the sort of face – square and serious – that was better equipped to express sorrow than pleasure. ‘I will ask the vicar to say a special prayer for her this Sunday.’

‘I’m sure she would have appreciated that.’

‘I feel bad. I really should have made more effort to stay in touch.’

Samantha sat in silence, thinking about Joyce Campion, who had stepped in after her parents died. It was actually Aunt Joyce who had first encouraged her to go to church. Her brother Algernon, of course, had refused to come. Aunt Joyce had also paid for her to go to secretarial school, where she had learned shorthand and typing, and later on she had used her contacts to get her niece a position in the typing pool of Horlicks, the malted-milk company in Slough. Samantha had always thought of her aunt as the quintessential spinster so it had come as a complete surprise when she had suddenly announced her engagement to Harlan Goodis, a multimillionaire with an advertising agency in New York. That had happened at around the same time that Samantha had met and married Leonard, moving with him first to a house he had inherited near Torrington and later to Tawleigh. It was perhaps inevitable that the two women should have lost touch.

‘Her husband died two years ago,’ Samantha said. ‘They didn’t have any children. As far as I know, they didn’t have any family at all.’

‘From what the solicitors are saying, it looks as if everything is going to you.’

‘Do you really think it could be … a lot?’

‘It’s hard to say. I mean, he was doing pretty well for himself. I suppose it all depends how much of his money she spent before she died. Would you like to ring them or shall I?’

‘I think I’d prefer it if you did, Len. I’d be too nervous.’ Samantha glanced down at the letter for perhaps the twentieth time. From the way she was looking at it, she might have been happier if it had never arrived.

‘Maybe we shouldn’t set our expectations too high,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t even say anything about money. She could have left us something we don’t need. A few paintings or some old jewellery.’

‘A few Picassos or a diamond tiara.’

‘Stop it! You’re just imagining things.’

‘If it wasn’t a lot of money, why would they want to see you?’

‘I don’t know. Because—’

She was about to continue when the door opened and a small boy came in, dressed in pyjamas, fresh from the bath. This was Mark, her seven-year-old son. ‘Mummy, are you going to come up and read to me?’ he asked.

Samantha was tired. She hadn’t even served the children their tea yet and there was still dinner to be made. But she smiled and got to her feet. ‘Of course, darling. Mummy’s coming up right now.’

The two of them had just started reading C. S. Lewis. Mark loved the books. Only the night before, Samantha had found him in the back of his wardrobe, trying to find his way into Narnia. He ran out of the room and she was about to follow when a thought occurred to her. She turned back to her husband. ‘The letter doesn’t mention Algernon,’ she said.

‘Yes. I noticed that.’ Leonard scowled. ‘It says quite specifically that you are the sole beneficiary.’

‘Aunt Joyce was horrified when Algie was sent to prison,’ Samantha said. ‘You remember – that business in Piccadilly.’

‘That was before I met you.’

‘I told you about it.’ Samantha was standing at the doorway, aware that Mark was waiting for her upstairs. ‘She always said that he was untrustworthy,’ she went on. ‘Falling in with the wrong crowd – and all those business ideas of his. Do you think she’s cut him out?’

‘It rather looks like it.’

‘Well, I’ll have to share it with him. I can’t take it all for myself. I mean, if it is … ’ she paused as if unwilling to consider the possibility ‘ … lots!’

‘I suppose so. Yes.’ Leonard lowered his voice, as if he was afraid that the children were listening. ‘Would you mind if I said something, my dear?’

‘You know I always listen to you, Leonard.’ It was true. He had always been the first person she came to for advice. Even if she didn’t always take it.

‘Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t say anything to your brother.’

‘What? Don’t tell him?’

‘Not yet. I mean – you’re right. We don’t have any idea how much money we’re talking about and we won’t know until we go up to London and talk to these solicitors. It would be a shame to make a fuss about nothing.’

‘But just now you were saying—’

‘I know what I was saying, but listen to me.’ Leonard chose his words carefully. Samantha and Algernon didn’t see a lot of each other, but he knew that they were close. After what had happened during the war, the sudden death of their parents and the loss of everything they had, how could it have been otherwise? ‘I’m not sure we should have this conversation now, not while Algernon is staying in the house, but it does worry me a bit.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t want to alarm you, my dear, but there is a side to him that we don’t really know about. And it’s just possible that he might be … ’

‘What?’

‘Dangerous. You know how he is with his schemes and dreams. Let’s not say anything about it for the time being. Let’s at least find out how much we’re talking about before we come to any decisions.’ Leonard smiled and at that moment he was as handsome as the day they had met and Samantha was reminded of why she had married him. ‘You deserve a break,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve never been able to look after you properly. Not on my salary. This could be a new beginning for you.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve got nothing to complain about. I’ve been perfectly happy.’

‘So have I. I’m a very lucky man.’

Samantha hurried over to the table and kissed her husband lightly on the cheek. Then she went off to read about Narnia.

THREE

THE QUEEN’S RANSOM

Melissa had planned to leave the Moonflower as soon as she had spoken to the Gardners. But when she came out of the manager’s office, she noticed Nancy Mitchell behind the reception desk and of course she had to stop for a quick chat. Nancy had worked for the hotel from the very start. She was a good, reliable girl, the daughter of the lighthouse keeper, and it was always Melissa’s policy to be friendly with the staff. She knew how easy it would be to get a reputation for being standoffish.

‘How are you, Nancy?’ she asked with a smile.

‘I’m very well, thank you, Miss James.’

But she didn’t look well. Nancy always had a slightly nervous quality, as if she was terrified of causing offence, but today she seemed to be completely exhausted. Her eyes were red from either tiredness or tears and her long fair hair was tangled, in need of a brush. It must be boyfriend trouble – but did Nancy even have a boyfriend? She was in her early twenties and though not unattractive, her features didn’t quite marry, like one of those paintings where the artist is trying to be too clever. That was Melissa’s first thought. The second was that she couldn’t have guests coming in and out of the hotel past a weeping receptionist. It really wouldn’t do.

‘Is everything all right?’ she enquired.

‘Yes, Miss James.’ Now Nancy seemed fearful.

‘How are your parents?’ Melissa was trying to be pleasant, unthreatening.

‘They’re very well, thank you, Miss James.’