Gordon returned and slammed the car door so hard she winced.
"Okay, we're not far. We continue down this road for about a mile, then take the right fork and it should be on our left, past a wood: it's an old farmhouse."
They drove slowly up the track, reached the fork, and continued as instructed, passing a wooded area and a copse of high brambles. Eventually, the road became flatter and less bumpy.
Honey Farm had a double-barred gate, which had been left open. Part of it was rotted away. They came through it into a very narrow drive with ditches on either side.
"Wouldn't like to do this with a few beers inside me," Gordon said, winding down his window. They passed a dilapidated barn and two greenhouses that hardly had a pane of glass left intact, and parked outside the farmhouse, a long, low building with small-lattice bishop's miter windows. It was covered in thick ivy that crept up over the tiled roof and seemed to be taking over the entire building. There was a huge tub of flowers by the front door, which was round at the side: an old stable door split in two.
"Doesn't look like anyone's at home," Gordon said.
"Should be; I called ahead to the university."
There was an old iron bell ring. Anna pulled it but the bell was missing. She called out, "Hello!" and waited. She then rapped on the top half of the door.
"Can I help you?"
The voice came from behind, and made them both turn in surprise. A young man in jeans and a filthy T-shirt was standing by the barn.
"I'm looking for Honour Nolan," Anna said.
"She's round the back, in the henhouse."
Anna smiled and was about to ask who he was, when he turned and walked away down a small path at the side of the house. It led to a big kitchen garden, overgrown but evidently still productive. There was a rickety henhouse, on stilts, with a ladder up to the small gate at the top.
Emerging from the back of the henhouse, carrying a large straw basket, was a striking-looking woman. Her dark hair was worn in two big braids down to her waist and she was wearing a long print cotton dress and open-toed sandals. "Hi there, won't be a minute," she called.
They watched her climb the steps and lock the henhouse gate, then come down. "We have to keep our eyes open; the foxes still manage to get in, even up the ladder." She walked toward them with a wide smile. "I'm Honour Nolan."
Anna introduced herself and Gordon. Up close, she could see the likeness to Julia Brandon: the two sisters had the same tall, willowy figures, but Honour was totally natural, with obviously very different coloring. "Come into the kitchen and I'll make some tea." She walked ahead of them and pushed through the half-open door, gesturing for them to follow her inside.
The big, old-fashioned kitchen had two massive threadbare sofas, with throws over them. There were a number of moth-eaten kilims scattered over the York stone floor. Painted cupboards of sky blue and green, with glass fronts and a mishmash of crockery, surrounded the pine kitchen table, piled high with books and newspapers. There was a large open-brick fireplace with last night's logs left charred in the grate. It was a big warm family room, with heat coming from the bright red Aga. Herbs were drying on strings above it, and there were bowls of wildflowers and fruit everywhere. Honour brewed up a pot of tea and placed homemade scones onto a rack to put into the oven to warm. Anna had to sit forward on the sofa; it was so deep her feet lifted off the ground if she sat back. Gordon was sitting in an old pine chair at the table.
"Damien said it was about Julia, the reason you wanted to talk to me?"
"Yes. If you don't mind, I'd just like to ask you a few questions. I suppose you know why?"
"Something to do with her husband?"
"Yes. He was murdered."
"Jesus, she didn't tell me that! When?"
"Six days ago." "Oh God, that's awful. I mean, I didn't know him—in fact, I never met him—but nevertheless ... She must be feeling dreadful.""She hasn't called you?""No. There's no point in hiding the fact that we don't get along. It's not that we don't love each other—of course we do—it's just that we have very different opinions about the quality of life." Her laugh was soft and gentle. "That sounded so crass. I'm sorry, but you must have met my sister, so you can obviously see for yourself that we live very different lives."As she talked, Honour removed the warmed scones, saying that they only needed a few moments; the Aga was hot because she was baking bread. She buttered them and set them out on a big oval plate. She moved like a dancer around her kitchen, fetching jam, milk, and sugar, and setting out cups and saucers on the table, as she cleared the newspapers away.Her arms full, she gestured to Anna. "My husband! These are last Sunday's; it takes him an entire week to wade through them all. Still, they make jolly good fire-lighters.""This is really very kind of you," Anna said."Well, you've had a long drive; I just hope it's not a wasted journey. That said, I can't for the life of me think how I can help you, as I haven't seen Julia for months.""Did you go to her wedding?""No. She didn't invite me.""And you never met her husband?""No. As I said, we don't get along—or, more to the point, we don't mix in the same social circles.""He was also her driver and bodyguard."Honour shrugged and took a scone for herself, passing the plate to Gordon so he could take another. "What about Julia's ex-husband—or partner, rather? She said they never married."Honour bit into the scone, leaving a small trace of jam on her upper lip. She licked her finger to remove it. Anna noticed that her hands, unlike her sister's, had not been near a manicurist. They were rather rawboned, with square-cut nails, and looked as if she needed some hand lotion on them." I don't think she did ever get him to put a ring on her finger; he was not the type.""So you met him?""I didn't say that. Its just that I know she cared about him a lot—or, let's say she liked the lifestyle he introduced her to. He was apparently very wealthy.""Did he leave her?""I think so. 1 know she said he was a lot older, but I didn't meet him either, so I couldn't really tell how much older. She was always jet-setting around—Barbados one minute. South of France the next. I think he had homes in Florida and Los Angeles. To be honest, I couldn't really keep up with her postcards, not that she ever sent very many.""How long was she with him?""I don't know exactly ... maybe ten years? She was very young when she met him.""Where did she meet him?""Couldn't tell you. As I said, we were, and are, very different creatures. 1 couldn't stand to live in London, she couldn't be a country girl—well, not for more than ten minutes. She hated it.""So she came here?""Yes, once or twice, but she was no sooner here than she wanted to leave.""Do you own this property?""No, we rent it. I'd like to own it but we don't have the money. It may look rundown, but there's a lot of land and it would cost a few-million.""Your sister certainly has the finances to help you."Honour reached for the teapot. "Well, maybe she does, but I would never ask her for any. I am married; my husband provides for me.""You have any children?"She stirred her tea and then shook her head. "No. Sadly we don't.""What was his name?""I'm sorry, whose name?""Your sister's ex-partner.""Oh, I'm not sure. Maybe my husband can remember.""Did your husband meet him?""No, but he has a better memory than I have. More tea?""No, thank you."Gordon was about to pass his cup across for seconds, but dropped his hand back onto the table as Anna stood up and took her teacup over to the sink."Oh please, leave them. I do have a dishwasher!""It's a wonderful spot, hard to find.""Yes, we don't get many ramblers, thank God.""In fact, if you didn't know the farm was here, you'd never find it.""Exactly.""Do you work?""No, it takes all my time looking after the animals. I like to paint. I used to run a small antique shop in Oxford, but it was mostly junk. Unlike my sister, I have never felt the need to be materialistic."Anna opened her briefcase and took out the photograph of the Mitsubishi. "Have you ever seen this jeep before?" Honour glanced at the photograph and shrugged. "No. We don't have many visitors, especially ones driving that kind of vehicle—it's hideous.""Have you ever heard of a man called Donny Petrozzo?""No.""Alexander Fitzpatrick?" Anna stared at the beautiful, wide eyes.There was not a flicker of recognition. "No.""Anthony Collingwood?""No."Lastly, Anna showed Frank Brandon's photograph. "This was your sisters husband.""Really? Well, as I said, I never met him."Anna replaced the photographs, as Honour looked to Gordon. "Don't you have anything to say?""Not really."Honour gave a friendly laugh, then fetched a tray and began to clear away the tea things. It felt as if the interview was over, but Anna wasn't through yet. She slipped a note to Gordon as she passed him." Could you show me around?" she asked politely.'Td love to see the rest of the house."Honour gave a rather tight smile. "Why not? There's not a lot to see, but please ..."Anna followed her out into the hallway, full of Wellington boots and umbrellas, old folding chairs, and some browned prints on the shabby flocked wallpaper."We keep meaning to do something out here, but we never get around to it." Honour opened a door to a large, rather musty-smelling lounge. "We don't even use this room much; it faces north and doesn't get much sun."Honour led Anna up the small staircase. There was a large master bedroom, with books lining the walls, but the furnishings were modern. especially the king-size bed. The other room was a small single bedroom, taken over with canvases and an easel and Honour's painting equipment. Anna thought it was not difficult to see why her sister didn't come to stay."This is where I work. I have a small kiln in one of the outhouses, as I'm trying my hand at pottery.""It's so peaceful," Anna said, looking out from the lattice windows. She was taken by surprise as Honour moved close to her."What is it you want? I mean, I really don't understand why you are here.""Just part of the inquiry into your sister's husband's murder; we often have to make what appear to be unconnected interviews.""Well, I'm sorry you had to come such a long way.""It was quite a relief to get out of the station," Anna said as she followed Honour back toward the stairs.As they entered the kitchen, Gordon was sitting on the sofa."What time do you expect your husband home?" asked Anna."That depends. If he has lectures, he's often quite late, as he stays in Oxford for dinner with his cronies.""Is he lecturing today?""I'm not sure." "Could you call him and ask?" Honour hesitated and then shrugged. She walked back out into the hallway. Anna looked at Gordon and then sat beside him. "There's a room off the side of the kitchen: an office, or what looks like it—they've got computers and mobile phones in there, and ..." Anna wondered why Honour had gone into the hall and not used the room Gordon was referring to. "Any photographs?" "No." This was strange—there were no photographs anywhere in the house. They remained silent as they heard Honour saying, "Thank you," to someone, then she walked back into the kitchen. "He's not in his office; he left about an hour ago." "So is he on his way home?" "Don't know." "Does he have a mobile you can call?" "No, he hates them." Anna stood up and looked at her watch: it was after five. She smiled and thanked Honour, and walked toward the back door. "You have a lot of barns and outhouses." "Yes. Some we use, others are rented out to farmers who leave their tractors here occasionally. Do you want to walk around? Only it's a bit muddy underfoot." They heard a car pulling up. Honour said it sounded as if her husband was home. Professor Damien Nolan was a tall man, at least six foot, dressed in a tweed suit, with a checked shirt and a thick knitted tie. As he walked in, he dumped a bulging briefcase on the floor. He was a handsome man, with dark hair flecked gray at the temples and sideburns. He was tanned and looked fit, almost athletic. "Hello, there. I'm sorry, I did try and get home earlier, but I had a tormented student to deal with." He smiled with white, even teeth; like his wife, he had a relaxed air about him. "Is it too early to have a glass of wine.Anna refused, but he opened a bottle and poured himself one. Honour sat at the table watching him with open adoration. He stood beside her, resting one hand on the nape of her neck."So, this is all very intriguing," he said, smiling.While Anna explained the reason for the visit, Honour excused herself—she wanted to check the henhouse and close up for the night.Damien took his wife's seat as Anna joined him at the table; she went through the same scenario as she had done with Honour. Like his wife, Damien was shocked to hear about the death of Julia's husband, but had never met him, nor had he any knowledge of Donny Petrozzo, or Julia's ex-partner."You know, Julia is a gorgeous woman but, to be truthful, she's a pain in the arse. On the few occasions she has stayed here, it was very tedious. One can't really have an intellectual conversation with her. The only thing she seems to be interested in, apart from herself, is her wardrobe.""What about her children?"He seemed nonplussed by the question and then shrugged." I've not met them. To be totally honest with you, it's quite an area of..." He hesitated. "My wife can't have children, so ..."Anna noticed the way he moved his long legs for comfort beneath the table. She wondered if he could possi