"My God," said Jane, turning to her mother who had appeared in the doorway behind her, "there's something wrong with her. Jon!" she shrilled with alarm. "Come quick. Anne's ill."
"I'm not ill," said the shaking body, opening its eyes. "I'm laughing." She sat up. "God, I am knackered. Get off me, you great dollop," she said, giving the girl a kiss, "and get me a brandy. I'm suffering severe post-interrogation trauma."
Phoebe hauled her to her feet and marched her into the drawing-room while Jane fetched a brandy. Anne folded happily on to the sofa and beamed about her. "What's the matter? You all look as if you've been sucking lemons."
Diana pulled a face. "We've been worried sick, you idiot."
"You should have more faith," said Anne sternly, accepting the brandy from Jane. "And how's my goddaughter?" She examined the girl circumspectly while she warmed her glass.
Jane smiled. "I'm fine." She was still too thin but Anne was pleased to see that her face had filled out and lost some of its tension.
"You look it," she agreed.
Phoebe turned to Jonathan. "Shall we have that celebration we promised ourselves?"
"Sure thing. I'll raid the cellar. What does anyone fancy? Chateau Lafite '78 or those last bottles of the '75 Champagne? Anne, you choose."
"The Lafite. Champagne on top of brandy will make me puke."
He looked questioningly at his mother. "Shall I drive down and get Fred and Molly to join us? It hasn't been much fun for them either."
Phoebe nodded. "Good idea." She held out a hand to Elizabeth who was sitting slightly apart on the tapestry stool. "You go too, Lizzie darling. Molly can say no to all of us, and does regularly, but she won't refuse you." She looked pointedly at Jonathan.
"Come on," he said. "You, too, Jane." They went out.
Phoebe walked over to the mantelpiece. "I wish David had never used the cellar for storing his wretched imports."
Anne sniffed her brandy. "Why? I bless his memory for it regularly."
"Exactly," agreed Phoebe dryly, "so do I. It's very upsetting." She glanced at Diana. "Lizzie's worried about something. Is it Molly and Fred?"
"No. I'm afraid it's me."
"Why?"
Diana attempted a laugh which didn't work. "Because I told her I'd be the next one in the police mincing machine." She swung to face Anne. "Why did they take you in?"
"They found the safe and it had some incriminating evidence in it." Anne chuckled into her brandy. "A bloody carving-knife, wrapped in a bloody rag." She stirred her glass in her hands, warming it. "It was straight out of Enid Blyton, but they all got very excited and I refused to answer any more questions till Bill arrived."
"You're mad," said Phoebe decidedly. "What on earth were you up to?"
Mischief lit Anne's dark eyes. "To tell you the truth, I didn't think they'd find the safe, and if it hadn't been for the Sergeant, they wouldn't have done." She shrugged. "Hell, you know me. I always put in an insurance policy, just in case."
Diana groaned. "You are mad. I do wish you'd take this whole thing a bit more seriously. God knows what they're thinking now. What was it you didn't want them to find?"
"Nothing too desperate," said Anne easily. "The odd document or two which probably oughtn't to be in my possession."
"Well," said Phoebe, "I can't understand why you aren't still at the Police Station undergoing a grilling. That's more than Walsh ever had on me and he never let up for a minute."
Anne sipped her brandy and looked from one to the other with laughter spilling out of her eyes. "You didn't have my trump card. Bill did his stuff brilliantly. You should have seen him. Walsh damn nearly popped a blood vessel when he finally turned up. He was wearing his string vest." She dabbed at her eyes and examined Diana's face through damp lashes. It was still very strained.
"It's a game with you, isn't it?" said Diana accusingly. "I wouldn't mind so much, if I didn't think it was me they'll come down on. You are a fool, you know."
Anne shook her head. "What can they possibly have on you?"
Diana sighed. "Nothing really, except that I've made a prize arsehole of myself." She smiled unhappily at the two women. "I hoped you'd never find out. It makes me look such an idiot."
"It must be bad then," said Anne lightly.
Phoebe squatted on her haunches with her back to the fireplace. "It can't be worse than Anne's toy-boy, can it?" She looked at her friend and giggled. "Do you remember him? He still had adolescent acne. You thought he was the bee's knees for about a week.*
Anne, whose earlier hysteria was still perilously close to the surface, snorted stinging brandy through her nose. She gasped with pain and laughter. "You mean Wayne Gibbons? A temporary aberration, I assure you. It was his whole-hearted commitment to the cause that attracted me."
"Yes, but what cause? You looked worn out when he finally left."
Anne mopped her running eyes. "You know he's on a study course in Russia now? I had a letter from him not so long ago. It dwelt in extreme and tedious length on the subject of his constipation. I gather he hadn't had any green vegetables since Christmas." She shuddered. "God knows what it's done to his acne." She turned to Diana with a grin. "It can't be worse than Phoebe's wrestling match by the village pond with that ridiculous Dilys Barnes woman-the one whose daughter fornicates in our bushes. No question about that. Phoebe really looked a fool."
In spite of herself, Diana laughed. "Yes, that was funny." She looked at Phoebe's smiling face. "You should never have tackled her in a sarong."
"How was I to know she was going to start a fight?" Phoebe protested. "Also, it wasn't actually Mrs. Barnes who pulled it off. It was Hedges. He got over-excited and did a runner with the damn thing between his teeth."
Anne was shaking with tension-releasing laughter. "It was the way you came stomping up the drive in your wellies, purple in the face, boobs bouncing all over the shop and with only a pair of knickers on. God, it was funny. I wish I'd seen the fight. And what were you doing wearing wellies with a sarong, anyway?"
Phoebe's eyes sparkled. "It was hot, hence the sarong, and I wanted some pondweed from the village pond, hence the wellies. Absurd woman. She ran away screaming. I think she thought I'd taken the dress off myself in order to rape her." She patted Diana's knee. "If you've made a laughing-stock of yourself, it's hardly the end of the world."
"Laughing-stock's right," said Diana. "Oh, hell! I'm never going to live it down. It's too bloody embarrassing. I wouldn't mind so much if I wasn't supposed to have good judgement in these things."
Anne and Phoebe exchanged puzzled glances. "Tell us," prompted Phoebe.
Diana put her head between her hands. "I was persuaded into parting with ten thousand quid," she muttered. "Half my savings straight down the drain, apart from anything else."
Anne whistled sympathetically. "That's rough. No chance of getting it back?"
"None. He's done a bunk." She chewed her bottom lip. "From the way they piled into my correspondence, I suspect the police think they've found him in our ice house."
"Oh lord!" said Phoebe with feeling. "No wonder Lizzie's worried. Who is this man?"
"Daniel Thompson. He got my name from that design consultant in Winchester, the one who helped me with the Council offices. He's an engineer, lives in East Deller. Have you come across him?"
Phoebe shook her head. "You should have gone to the police yourself," she said. "It sounds to me as though you've been conned by this creep."