Dick sank onto a blanket chest by the door. "Supposing you're wrong? Supposing it was someone else you heard?"
"It wasn't."
"How can you be so sure? I thought the solicitor was James till he told me he wasn't. It certainly sounded like him when he said 'Shenstead Manor.' "
"Only because you expected James to answer."
"The same applies to you. You expected Ailsa to be rowing with the Colonel. You were always asking me to find out the dirt on them."
"Oh, for goodness' sake!" she countered crossly. "How many times do I have to tell you? She called him James. She said, 'No, James, I won't put up with this anymore.' Why would she do that if she was talking to somebody else?"
Dick rubbed his eyes. He'd heard her say this a number of times, but the solicitor's remark about words out of context had unsettled him. "You told me the next day that you couldn't hear anything James said… well, maybe you didn't hear Ailsa too well either. I mean, it makes a hell of a difference if she was talking about him instead of to him. Maybe the I wasn't there… maybe she said, 'James won't put up with this anymore.' "
"I know what I heard." Prue said stubbornly.
"So you keep saying."
"It's true."
"All right… what about this punch you said he gave her? Why didn't the postmortem find any bruises?"
"How would I know? Maybe she died before they could develop." Irritably, she pulled the coverlets over the beds and smoothed them flat. "What were you phoning James for, anyway? I thought we agreed to take Ailsa's side."
Dick stared at the floor. "Since when?"
"It was you who told me to go to the police."
"I said you didn't have much choice. That's not an agreement to take a side." Another vigorous rub of his eyes. "The solicitor said there's a case against you for slander. According to him, you've been inciting people to call James a murderer."
Prue was unimpressed. "Then why doesn't he sue? Eleanor Bartlett says that's the best evidence there is that he's guilty. You should hear what she says about him." Her eyes gleamed at some memory that amused her. "Plus if anyone's making abusive phone calls, it's her. I've been there when she's made one. She calls it 'smoking him out.' "
Dick took stock of his wife for the first time in years. She was dumpier than the girl he'd married but a great deal more assertive. At twenty, she'd been mild-mannered and mousy. At fifty-four, she was a dragon. He hardly knew her now except as the woman who shared his bed. They hadn't had sex or talked about anything personal for years. He was out all day on the farm, and she was playing either golf or bridge with Eleanor and her snobbish friends. Evenings were passed in silence in front of the television, and he was always asleep before she came upstairs.
She sighed impatiently at his shocked expression. "It's fair enough. Ailsa was Ellie's friend… mine, too. What did you expect us to do? Let James get away with it? If you'd shown a blind bit of interest in anything other than the farm, you'd know there's far more to the story than the nonsense verdict the coroner produced. James is a complete brute, and the only reason you're making a fuss now is because you've been listening to his solicitor… and he's paid to take his client's side. You're so slow sometimes."
There was no arguing with that. Dick had always taken his time to think things through. What he blamed himself for was his indifference. "Ailsa can't have died that quickly," he protested. "You said the reason you didn't interfere was because she spoke to him after the punch. Okay, I'm no pathologist, but I'm pretty sure a person's circulation would have to stop immediately to prevent the damaged blood vessels leaking into the skin. Even then I wouldn't bet on it."
"There's no point browbeating me, it's not going to change my mind," announced Prue with a return to irritability. "I expect the cold had something to do with it. I heard a door slam afterward, so James obviously locked her out and left her to die. If you're so interested, why don't you call the pathologist and talk to him? Though you probably won't get much joy. Eleanor says they're all in the funny-handshake brigade, which is why James hasn't been arrested."
"That's ridiculous. Why do you take any notice of what that stupid woman says? And since when were either of you friends of Ailsa? The only time she ever spoke to you was when she was after money for her charities. Eleanor was always complaining about what a scrounger she was. I remember how mad you both were when the paper said she'd left £1.2m. Why did she ask us for money, you both said, when she was rolling in it?"
Prue ignored the remark. "You still haven't explained why you were phoning James."
"Travelers have taken over the Copse," he grunted, "and we need a solicitor to get rid of them. I hoped James would put me in touch with his."
"What's wrong with ours?"
"On holiday till the second."
Prue shook her head in disbelief. "Then why on earth didn't you phone the Bartletts? They have a solicitor. What possessed you to phone James? You're such an idiot, Dick."
"Because Julian had already passed the buck to me," hissed Dick through clenched teeth. "He's gone to the Compton Newton meet, dressed up like a dog's dinner, and he thought they were saboteurs. Didn't want to get his blasted clothes dirty, as per bloody usual. You know what he's like… lazy as hell and didn't fancy a run-in with some thugs… so ducked the whole damn issue. It makes me mad, frankly. I work harder than anyone in this valley but I'm always expected to pick up the pieces."
Prue gave a scornful snort. "You should have told me. I'd have sorted it with Ellie. She's perfectly capable of putting us in touch with their solicitor… even if Julian can't."
"You were in bed," Dick snapped. "But be my guest. Go ahead. It's all yours. You and Eleanor are probably the best people to deal with invaders, anyway. It'll scare the living daylights out of them to have a couple of middle-aged women shouting abuse at them through a megaphone." He stomped angrily from the room.
It was Mark Ankerton who answered the peal of the old-fashioned brass bell that hung from a spring in the Manor hall and was operated by a wire pull in the porch. He and James were sitting in front of a log fire in the paneled drawing room, and the sudden noise caused them both to jump. Mark's reaction was relief. The silence between them had become oppressive, and he welcomed any diversion, even an unpleasant one.
"Dick Weldon?" he suggested.
The older man shook his head. "He knows we never use that entrance. He'd have come to the back."
"Should I answer it?"
James shrugged. "What's the point? It's almost certainly a nuisance ring-usually the Woodgate children. I used to shout at them… now I don't bother. They'll grow tired of it eventually."
"How often?"
"Four or five times a week. It's very boring."
Mark pushed himself to his feet. "At least let me take out injunctions for that," he said, reverting to the subject that had brought on the long silence. "It's easily done. We can stop them coming within fifty yards of your gate. We'll insist that the parents take responsibility… threaten them with jail if the children continue with the nuisance."
James smiled faintly. "Do you think I want accusations of fascism added to all my other problems?"
"It's nothing to do with fascism. The law puts the onus on parents to take responsibility for underage children."
James shook his head. "Then I haven't a leg to stand on. Leo and Elizabeth have done worse than the Woodgate children will ever do. I won't take cover behind a piece of paper, Mark."