Free Country Plot by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles Page A

at this time of day – who poshed up for the early morning hack? She was slim and looked as if she would be tall, wearing immaculate breeches and boots, tweed hacking jacket and black velvet crash-cap. Her corn-blonde hair was confined as if for the showground in a net, and her face was fully made-up, beautiful in a rather enamelled way. She looked hard as nails, like a professional showjumper: just by switching to a black jacket she could have gone straight into the ring at Hickstead or Olympia. One of the posh locals, Jenna thought: a County Tough. She was about to jump down, so as not to attract attention to herself, when the woman spotted her.
    â€˜Who are you? What are you doing there?’ she demanded in ringing, authoritative tones. ‘That’s private land. Don’t you know you’re trespassing?’ The horse passaged about a bit, upset by the sudden voice, and she checked it with a firm hand.
    Jenna saw no reason to explain herself to a complete stranger; but on the other hand, this
was
the countryside, and the woman was probably just looking out for her neighbour, which was the decent thing to do. So she stood where she was and said, ‘I’m staying with Mrs Everest.’
    The fact that she had pronounced the name correctly perhaps weighed with the horsewoman, for she frowned at Jenna with slightly less hostility; but she said suspiciously, ‘I’ve never seen you before. And I didn’t hear she had anyone staying with her.’
    This Jenna thought was just rude; and besides, she had tired of the game. She said, ‘Perhaps she doesn’t tell you everything,’ and jumped down and walked away.
    â€˜Stop!’ the woman called after her; and when Jenna didn’t, she said, ‘I don’t know what you’re up to, but I shall check up on you, you know. And I have a photographic memory.’
    Jenna gave her an insouciant wave of one hand without turning round, walking briskly towards the house and breakfast, heard the hoof beats resume, and thought no more about it.
    Kitty was in the hall when she went back into the house, and said, ‘Ah, there you are! Did you have a nice walk? Are you ready for breakfast?’
    â€˜Yes, it’s lovely out. I’d just like a quick shower first, if you don’t mind.’
    â€˜Of course. We’ll eat on the terrace at the back – straight through the conservatory when you’re ready. And do you like tea or coffee?’
    â€˜Tea, please.’
    Ten minutes later, freshly washed and clad in a soft chambray shirt and stone-coloured cotton trousers, her feet in comfortable coral-coloured suede sandals, Jenna ran downstairs, through the crowded sitting-room and the airy conservatory and out on to the terrace, where one of the conservatory tables and two chairs had been set up facing the view, and the dogs had assembled already in a hopeful row. Kitty was in one of the chairs, and a pleasant-faced, comfortably-figured, grey-haired woman in an apron was putting things on to the table from a large tray.
    â€˜Ah, Jenna,’ said Kitty, ‘this is Mrs Phillips. Mrs Phillips, Jenna Freemont, whom I told you about. She’s a cousin to some degree of removal, and she’s kindly come to stay and help me sort things out.’
    Mrs Phillips gave Jenna a careful look, as though memorizing her, and then smiled and put out a civil hand. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said in a local accent. ‘Mrs Everest said you’d not been well lately, and I must say you do look a bit peaky. Never mind, you’ll soon feel better, what with our good air and our good local produce. It’s the minerals in the soil or something, so they say, but it’s that healthy round here, nobody ever dies!’
    â€˜I like the sound of that,’ Jenna said. ‘And I certainly had the best night’s sleep of my life last night.’
    â€˜Holtby air,’ said Mrs Phillips and Kitty at the same