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After four seconds the line switched to the answerphone and Prue's vexed voice came through the loudspeaker. "Are you there, Ellie? You promised to call when you'd spoken to the solicitor. I don't understand why it's taking so long… plus Dick's refusing to answer his mobile so I don't know where he is or if he wants lunch." She gave an angry sigh. "It's so damn childish of him. I could have done with some help before Jack and Belinda arrive… and now he'll just sour the evening with one of his moods. Ring soon. I'd like to know what's going on before he comes back otherwise there'll be another row about James's bloody solicitor."

Eleanor waited for the click as Prue hung up, then pressed the delete button to erase the message. She took the scrap of paper with the mobile number on it out of her shirt pocket, stared at it for a moment, then lifted the receiver and dialed. There was no rationale to what she was doing. Perhaps the habit of accusing James-and his timid reactions-had taught her that this was the way to deal with transgressors. Nevertheless, it took two attempts to make a connection, because her fingers were shaking so much that they fumbled on the keys. There was no answer, just a few seconds of silence before the call was diverted to voicemail. She listened to the prompts to leave a message, then, with belated recognition that it might not be GS's phone, she rang off.

What would she have said, anyway? Screamed and yelled and demanded her husband back? Called the woman a slut? The awful pit of divorce opened in front of her. She couldn't be alone again, not at sixty. People would avoid her, just as they had when her first husband had left her for the woman who carried his child. Then she had worn her desperation blatantly, but at least she'd been younger and still employable. Julian had been the last throw of her dice, an office affair that had finally led to marriage. She couldn't go through it a second time. She'd lose the house, lose her status, be forced to start again somewhere else…

Carefully, so that Julian wouldn't know she'd found the emails, she exited Windows and shut down the computer before closing the desk drawers and repositioning the chair. This was better. She was beginning to think straight. As Scarlett O'Hara had said, "tomorrow is another day." Nothing was lost while GS remained secret. Julian hated commitment. The only reason Eleanor had been able to force his hand twenty years ago was because she'd made sure his first wife knew of her existence.

She was damned if she'd let GS do the same to her.

With renewed confidence, she went back upstairs and replaced everything neatly in Julian's dressing room, then sat in front of her mirror and worked on her face. For a woman of such shallow mind, the fact that she didn't like her husband and he didn't like her was irrelevant. The issue, rather like the issue of adverse possession at the Copse, was one of ownership.

What she didn't appreciate-because she didn't own a mobile telephone-was that she'd set a time bomb that was about to go off. A "missed call" was logged on the display unit beside the number of the caller, and Gemma Squires, reining in Monkey Business beside Bouncer as the hunt was abandoned, was about to show Julian that his landline was showing on her handset with the call timed at just ten minutes previously.

The foundations of Prue Weldon's world also began to rock when her daughter-in-law phoned to say that she and Jack wouldn't be staying the night after all. They both had hangovers from their Christmas celebrations, Belinda told her, which meant they wouldn't be drinking that evening and could safely drive home after dinner. "I didn't want you to make the beds unnecessarily," she finished.

"I've already done it," said Prue irritably. "Why couldn't you have phoned earlier?"

"Sorry," said the girl with a yawn. "We only surfaced about half an hour ago. It's one of the few days in the year when we get a decent lie-in."

"Yes, well, it's very inconsiderate of you. I do have other things to do, you know."

"Sorry," Belinda said again, "but we didn't get back from my parents' till after two. We left the car there and slogged across the fields. They're bringing it over in half an hour. Jack's cooking lunch for them."

Prue's irritation grew. Eleanor hadn't called, she didn't know where Dick was, and at the back of her mind were growing worries about slander and nuisance calls. Also, her son's relationship with his in-laws was so much easier than hers with Belinda. "It's disappointing," she said tightly. "We hardly ever see you… and when we do you're always dashing to get away again."

There was an exasperated sigh at the other end. "Oh, come on, Prue, that's very unfair. We see Dick most days. He's always popping over to keep a check on things at this end of the business. I'm sure he keeps you posted."

The sigh fueled Prue's anger. "It's hardly the same," she snapped. "Jack was never like this before he married. He loved coming home, particularly at Christmas. Is it too much to ask-that you'll allow my son to stay one night under his mother's roof?"

There was a short silence. "Is that what you think this is? A competition to see who has more control over Jack?"

Prue wouldn't recognize a trap if it jumped up and bit her on the nose. "Yes," she snapped. "Please put him on. I'd like to talk to him. I presume you've decided for him."

Belinda gave a small laugh. "Jack doesn't want to come at all, Prue, and if you speak to him that is what he'll tell you."

"I don't believe you."

"Then ask him this evening," said her daughter-in-law coolly, "because I've persuaded him that we should come-at least for Dick-on the basis that we won't stay long and we won't stay the night."

The "at least for Dick" was the last straw. "You've turned my son against me. I know how much you resent the time I spend with Jenny. You're jealous because she has children, and you don't… but she is my daughter and they are my only grandchildren."

"Oh, please!" said Belinda with equally scathing emphasis. "We don't all share your petty values. Jenny's kids spend more time here than they do with you… which you'd know if you bothered to come and see us occasionally instead of fobbing us off because you'd rather be at the golf club."

"I wouldn't have to go to the golf club if you made me feel welcome," said Prue spitefully.

She listened to the nasal breathing at the other end as the girl struggled to calm herself. When Belinda spoke again, her voice was brittle. "That's the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't you say? Since when have you made us feel welcome? We flog over once a month for the same ridiculous ritual. Chicken casserole in dishwater because your time's too precious to cook properly… character assassination of Jack's dad… invective against the man at Shenstead Manor…" She drew a rasping breath. "Jack's even more hacked off with it than I am, bearing in mind he adores his dad and we both have to get up at six every morning to keep the business afloat at this end. Poor old Dick's dead on his feet by nine o'clock because he's doing the same thing… while you sit there stuffing your face and slagging people off… and the rest of us are too damn knackered earning your bloody golfing fees to tell you what a bitch you are."

The assault was so unexpected that Prue was stunned into silence. Her eyes were drawn to the casserole dish on the worktop while she listened to her son's voice in the background telling Belinda that his dad had just come through the kitchen door, and he wasn't looking happy.