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in?’
    â€˜He’s fine,’ Rona assured her quickly. ‘He goes everywhere with me, and is quite used to waiting in the car.’
    â€˜Then let me introduce you properly: Rona Parish – my cousin, Justin Grant.’
    They smiled at each other, and fell in behind Meriel as she led the way back to the drawing room. Rona returned to her previous seat while Justin Grant stood, male-like, in front of the fire.
    â€˜So,’ he began, his sharp brown eyes studying her, ‘what has been decided?’
    â€˜Nothing, really,’ Meriel replied. ‘Ms Parish is going to think it over and let me know whether or not she’s interested.’
    Justin Grant raised an eyebrow. ‘You have reservations?’
    To her annoyance, Rona felt herself flush. ‘I’d promised myself a break from biographies.’
    â€˜Well, Theo’s a challenge, I’ll give you that. He was a chameleon, constantly changing to fit the circumstances he found himself in. It was a question of, “Will the real Theo Harvey stand up?”’
    â€˜But surely we all do that, to a greater or lesser degree,’ Rona argued. ‘If, for instance, I wrote to several friends giving exactly the same news, all the letters would have a different slant, because I’d automatically adapt to the person I was writing to.’
    â€˜Believe me, Theo could “adapt” like no other!’
    There was a tap on the door, and the French girl brought in fresh coffee. Rona, who’d been on the point of leaving, yielded to persuasion to stay for another cup.
    Justin Grant intrigued her; on the surface he appeared bluff and hearty, but there was shrewdness in his gaze and she had the impression that little escaped him. It was also clear that, at least for the moment, Meriel Harvey was very dependent on him. Was he married, Rona wondered, and if so, how did his wife feel about the claims being made on him?
    After a few minutes’ light conversation, she stood up, and the others with her. ‘It’s been good to meet you,’ she said, ‘and thank you for inviting me to do the biography. I promise to let you know as soon as I can.’
    Her car coat lay under Grant’s jacket, and he helped her on with it, then came out to the car with her, bending to talk to Gus as she unlocked it, while Meriel watched from the doorway.
    â€˜I don’t blame you for not rushing into this,’ he said in a low voice. ‘It’s not something to take on lightly. Don’t feel pressured – Meriel will understand if you decide not to go ahead.’
    She straightened and met his eye, bland but watchful. ‘Thanks,’ she said briefly, ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
    As she drove out of the gateway and turned to drive back through the village, she pondered that final exchange. Was he warning her off? And if so, why? What was it to Grant whether or not she wrote Theo Harvey’s biography?
    Having stopped on the way back to allow Gus a romp, it was lunch time when Rona reached home. She made herself a toasted sandwich, which she ate walking restlessly round the kitchen. On the patio, a blackbird was finishing the last of the breakfast crumbs. Soon, she thought, it would be time to refresh the containers with spring flowers.
    During the interview, her notebook had remained in her handbag. Now, laying aside the half-eaten sandwich, she took it out and jotted down a few impressions.
It would be interesting to know her motive
, Max had said of Meriel’s approach.
    Had this morning’s interview provided an answer? Her overriding concern had seemed centred on her husband’s death rather than his life, and whether any blame for it attached to her. If this was her motive for requesting the biography, it was one with which Rona felt less than comfortable.
    Both Meriel and Grant had referred to Harvey’s inconsistencies; how had they manifested themselves? And had Grant’s