Free Country Plot by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

her a lot of things about her past life (Peter had been a geographer and surveyor like his hero ancestor, and they had spent the early part of their married life mostly abroad), but they had also chatted about music, wine, current events, animals, holidays and other such neutral topics.
    And when they were settled with their cognacs, Kitty had asked her in the most natural way what had brought her here, and Jenna had found herself telling about Lousy Monday quite freely, almost as she would have told it to Izzy. Kitty’s sympathy was so natural and comforting that she went off to bed (early – ‘This country air really knocks me out!’) feeling as though a thorn had been drawn, and fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.
    Sunshine was trying to get in through the green curtains, so Jenna jumped up and went to open them. Below, the gravelled drive ran from the turnaround in front of the house down to the left and out of sight to the main gate. In the middle of the front lawn before her was a magnificent cedar tree, spreading its noble black platforms to the sun like something in a Merchant Ivory film. Birds were chirping and trilling madly from every direction, and suddenly Jenna felt she had to be out. Kitty had told her to sleep in and said they would breakfast at about nine, but she was wide awake now, though it was only seven, so she thought she’d go for a walk and explore the grounds a bit before she had her shower. She pulled on jeans and a loose-fitting sweatshirt, dragged a brush through her red-gold mane, and went downstairs.
    The black-and-white hall was full of sunshine. The front door stood open – there was a small vestibule and half-glass doors between it and the hall – and she could see the two dogs lying down on the warm gravel outside. She stepped out into the birdsong-filled morning, and they jumped up and came to greet her, grinning and wagging their tails and even frisking a little, suggesting it might be nice to go off somewhere.
    â€˜My thought exactly, boys,’ she said, and set off across the dewy grass with them romping about her foolishly. Barney raced ahead to the cedar tree and came back with a stick which he dropped at her feet beguilingly. She threw it for him. Watch made a token run, but stopped after a few lolloping steps to come back to her. He was an older dog than Barney, greying round the muzzle, and obviously thought stick-chasing was for the young and foolish. They proceeded in this way down to the belt of trees, which she discovered had been planted up as a very pretty woodland walk. She ambled happily through this, noting there were bluebells just coming into flower, but started to feel a bit chilly and thought it was a waste of the sunshine, so she took a side path out before the end, and crossed the lawn to the boundary hedge down at the far end of the grounds, where there was the view to the distant hills.
    The dogs by this time had left her and gone off on their own business, and she stood for a long time, enjoying the sunshine and the sweet air, and wondering what the name of the range of hills was. On the other side of the hedge there was evidently a track or footpath of some kind, because at one point she heard two people coming along it, talking quietly, though she couldn’t see them because the hedge was six feet high and dense. But just as she became aware that she was hungry and thought it was about time to go back and get ready for breakfast, she heard hoof beats, and a moment later saw the ears of a horse and the top half of his rider coming along towards her.
    Always interested in horses, she looked around for something to stand on for a better view, and spotted a tree stump a little further along. Balancing on it, she could just see over the hedge. The horse approaching was a very handsome black, groomed to swooning-point, walking collectedly on the bit. The rider was even more perfectly turned out, which struck her as odd