ahead. Mike flung this open and I found myself in a real, old-fashioned farm kitchen, complete with an enormous white-scrubbed table and a huge open grate.
A small, thin woman came forward to greet us, nodding her head and watching me with tiny bright eyes. So this was Mrs Johnsonâs sister.
âHow do you do, miss, I heard from Patsy as youâm come.â
âHow do you do?â I turned back to Mike, who was smilingly watching my reactions.
âCome through to the sitting-room and Iâll get you a drink.â
We went back down the passage and he opened one of the other doors. This opened into a long, low-ceilinged room prettily decorated in blue and white. The chairs and sofa were floral patterned, and there were some Dresden figures on the mantlepiece. Above the fireplace, dominating the room, was a large portrait of a young girl. Mike noticed my eyes on it. âThatâs my mother,â he said.
âShe was lovely.â
He stood for a long moment, his eyes on the painting, and I remembered Matthew saying how upset heâd been at her death. To distract him, I went on, And what a lovely room â not quite what youâd expect in a farmhouse!â
He nodded and, as Iâd hoped, turned away from the portrait.
âYes, I love the place, even if we havenât been here for generations, like the Haigs at Touchstone. It was actually bought for my uncle, Grandfatherâs younger son, but he was killed by a tractor soon afterwards. So when â my father died, Mother moved here with me.â
He laughed. âA Grace and Favour residence, as you might say! Fortunately, we have a marvellous bailiff: Simkins. Heâs virtually run the farm for over twenty years.â
The sun was off the windows now and an autumn coolness breathed through the room. I walked to the log fire and sniffed appreciatively.
âApple wood,â Mike said,
âIsnât it rather lonely out here,â I asked, âwith only Mrs Trehearn for company?â
âShe doesnât live in, either. Her husbandâs my head cowman â they live in one of the cottages at the back. No,â he went on reflectively, âI canât say Iâm ever lonely.â He grinned, sliding an arm round my waist. âI can usually find company when I want it!â
âBut seriously, Mike, I should have thought Matthew would have invited you to Touchstone more often. After all ââ
He dropped his arm and turned away. âI donât want Matthewâs company any more than he wants mine.â
âBut why? I asked helplessly.
The door-bell rang, and Mrs Trehearnâs footsteps sounded in the passage as she went to answer it.
âMike?â I insisted, laying a hand on his arm. He paused and looked down at me, an odd expression in his eyes. âThere are some things I canât forgive Matthew, Emily, but you neednât concern yourself with them. Drink your sherry, thereâs a good girl, and stop asking questions.â There were voices in the hall, and as Mike opened the door, Derek staggered in with the crate of beer, Sandra behind him.
Mike helped him to lay the crate in a corner. Derek straightened. âPhew â itâll be easier carrying that outside than in!â He bowed to me. âGood evening.â
I wondered if they were as disappointed to see me as I them. They probably feared I would cast a dampener on their evening again.
I made a conscious effort. âCome and get warm,â I said to Sandra, and she moved over to join me at the fire. She was quite beautiful with her silver blonde hair hanging like a pale curtain and her wide, china-blue eyes â not, I thought suddenly, unlike Linda. But there had been animation on the face in Sarahâs album, whereas Sandraâs, perfect and heart-shaped though it was, was almost doll-like in its lack of expression.
âTime for a quick one before we eat,â Mike said, handing