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he proceeded to take off first his thick dark-blue fisherman's jersey and then his battered corduroy trousers. He did not appear to have been wearing anything under these clothes at all; or if he had, he had removed all his garments at the same time. Clad then merely in a pair of old white gym shoes, Gregory Rowan strode back purposefully in the direction of the sea.
    Jemima and Cherry could not tear their mesmerized gaze away, and comparing notes afterwards, agreed that they had still expected him to stop on reaching the sea's edge. But Gregory did not check his progress. At first the sea was shallow and merely splashed round his ankles. Then there must have been some shelf and a drop, for he suddenly struck out strongly, swimming along the line of the shore.
    The two women watched him silently for a moment, still mesmerized, and then by unspoken agreement turned back in the direction of their own car.
    'We-e-ell!* Cherry could hold no silence for very long. To Jemima's irritation her tone was definitely admiring. 'Nothing to hide indeed. What about that? And he didn't even have a towel. Did you notice?'
    'I noticed what I was intended to notice,' replied Jemima crossly.
    'It must have been freezing,' pursued Cherry. 'And he didn't even pause as he went in. I must say he's quite—'
    'I dare say we were supposed to notice that too. Come on, Cherry, stop thinking about old Triton, and find me the route back to Lark Manor. I've got something extremely important to ask you.'
    'Triton?'
    'Shelley at Lerici, then.'
    'But Shelley drowned at Lerici! 1 cried Cherry eagerly; as Jemima was well aware, Cherry had once worked on that notorious series The Magnificent Shelleys and could be relied on to get the reference. Unfortunately the literary reference did not have the desired effect of distracting her from the subject of Gregory Rowan. Instead Cherry stopped and began to look back anxiously. He was still swimming strongly and quite fast along the line of the shore; soon he would reach the cliff and the line of jagged black rocks which closed the end of the small bay.
    'Jem, you're such a strong swimmer, do you think you should—' 'He won't drown. Of that I can assur e you! Come on, Cherry, now the thing I want to ask you is this—'
    But it was not until they were both back in the Mercedes, sitting, untangling the hair (Jemima), spraying on new forces of Charlie (Cherry), that Jemima could thoroughly distract he r friend from the black head in the sea.
    'Something that man said. Something that puzzled me. He made this very firm reference to Christabel. Christabel and the Festival. Cherry, who is Christabel? Who or what is she? And what connection has Christabel, any Christabel, with the Larminster Festival?'
    'Christabel,' repeated Cherry. 'I can't think of any Christabel connected with it at all. Hang on, I've got the actresses' names here. Anna Maria Packe, Filumena Lennox ... And most of the other Larminster Festival names. The Committee.' She scuffled in her large ethnically-inclined tote bag. 'No wait, my God, what am I saying? Christabel. Christabel Herrick. The Christabel Herrick. The actress. She used to be married to Julian Cartwright, Julian Cartwright, he of Lark Manor, with the lovely deep voice on the telephone, the man we're going to see. Don't you remember? Then she ran off. Oh years ago. There was all that frightful scandal.'
    'Scandal? What scandal?'
    'Oh, Jem, you're so ungossip-mindedl' On Cherry's lips this was definitely a reproach. 'But this you have to remember. The newspapers wrote screeds about it. It was all so frightfully juicy. And then tragic. But of course that's years ago. I mean, I shouldn't think Christabel Herrick has shown her face down here for years. She wouldn't dare. Certainly not at the Larminster Festival, I mean that would be a real scandal.'
    'I'm sure you're right, Cherry,' said Jemima slowly.
    Behind their backs, the dark head and arms of Gregory Rowan could now be seen heading for the