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par with rock climbing?’
    â€˜It’s the useless expenditure of resources,’ he persisted, and frowned at his own pomposity. ‘This kind of vitality is needed; you could be at the peak of any job you gave your mind to.’
    â€˜Yes.’ She looked out at the deepening dusk.
    Miss Pink sipped her brandy. Judson stared at his hands hanging between his knees. A compact young man came out on the terrace, glanced sideways and met Seale’s eyes. She rose and, without touching or speaking, they walked down the steps to the lawn that sloped to the river bank.
    â€˜Who is that young man?’ Miss Pink asked.
    â€˜Lloyd.’ Judson was curt. ‘Joss Lloyd. Lives on my property.’
    Miss Pink murmured something about a chill in the air and stepped into the bar. She saw Gladys Judson sitting alone on a sofa and joined her. They enthused about the show.
    â€˜Where is she now?’ asked Mrs Judson, looking round the room as if short-sighted.
    â€˜Down by the river. With a young man called Lloyd.’
    â€˜With Joss Lloyd? Yes, they have something in common.’
    â€˜What is that?’ Miss Pink asked, for something to say.
    â€˜Youth.’ The tone was unexpectedly dry.
    Judson came in looking flushed and sullen, and crossed to the bar. His wife’s expression didn’t change.
    â€˜We shall be starting the haying at any time,’ she said.
    â€˜Warm work.’
    Miss Pink had followed the thought process without effort: heat, hard work, bad temper. Anna Waring was handing him a large brandy. Her lips moved. He frowned and turned his back on her, surveying the room. His wife was saying, with enthusiasm: ‘The food is all right here? Lucy Banks has her off-days.’
    â€˜Superlative so far,’ Miss Pink said. ‘Too good. Cream in everything, and with everything.’
    They started to discuss food with feeling: of all subjects the least likely to cause friction.
    It was half an hour before Seale came in, alone. She paused on the threshold and looked round the room as if she had forgotten what she had returned for – but she had to go through the hotel to reach her van on the forecourt. She saw Miss Pink and came across to say goodnight prettily, like a very young girl. Her eyes were languid.
    â€˜What are your plans?’ Miss Pink asked. ‘The next lecture?’
    â€˜That’s in Ebeneser tomorrow. I’ll make this place my base for a while.’
    They looked up at her blankly. Her eyes went past them to the front door. ‘So I shall see you again,’ she said, and smiled.
    The drinkers parted to let her pass but before they could draw together again, Judson was pushing through, jostling elbows and spilling beer. People looked after him angrily and one or two glances were directed at the sofa where Miss Pink sat with her companion.
    Judson overtook the girl and put his hand on her arm. She turned and looked at him inquiringly. Miss Pink felt a quick movement beside her. Embarrassed, she looked across the room and saw Anna Waring, in the act of scooping empty glasses from a table, staring at Judson’s back, small white teeth worrying her full lip, and fury in her big blue eyes.

Chapter 3
    The sun had burned the dawn mists off the meadows by the time Miss Pink came striding up the glen next morning. As she passed Seale’s camp she caught a glimpse of scarlet and a movement in the shade of the sycamores but she did not leave the road. It was too early for social calls.
    The meadows were on her left; on her right the oakwoods climbed the slope and shortly she came to the entrance to the Nature Reserve: a small gate at the top of a bank. Between gate and road the slope was of earth, eroded by water and the passage of shod horses, or one horse that had passed that way many times. This was where she’d entered the Reserve yesterday. This morning she regarded the broken ground with disapproval and passed on.
    Ahead and just