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farming the entire valley for the last thirty years. If I marry and have kids, then my father's
grandchildren
will own the two thousand acres after me. As I fully intend to do both,
and
add Smith to my children's surname, then there's a good chance these fields will be farmed by Smiths for another two centuries. Is there anything more I can say that will make my position clear to you?"
    He gave a resigned sigh. "Have you no curiosity?"
    "Absolutely none."
    "Can I ask why not?"
    "Why fix something that isn't broken?" She waited for him to respond, and when he didn't: "I may be wrong, Mr. Ankerton, but by the sound of it it's your client whose life needs fixing… and off the top of my head I can't think of a single reason why that burden should fall on me."
    He wondered what he'd said that had led her to so accurate a conclusion. Perhaps his persistence had suggested desperation. "He just wants to meet you. Before she died his wife asked him several times to try to find out what had happened to you. I think he feels it's his duty to honor her wishes. Can you respect that?"
    "Were they party to my adoption?"
    He nodded.
    "Then please reassure your client that it was completely successful and he has nothing to feel guilty about."
    He gave a baffled shake of his head. Phrases like "unresolved anger" and "fear of rejection" hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he had the sense not to say them. Even if it were true that her adoption had left her with a lingering resentment-which he doubted-psychobabble would only irritate her more. "What if I were to repeat that you'd be doing a great kindness if you agreed to meet the Colonel? Would that persuade you?"
    "No." She watched him for a moment, then raised a hand in apology. "Look, I'm sorry, I've obviously disappointed you. You might understand my refusal better if I take you outside and introduce you to Tom Figgis. He's a nice old boy, and he's worked for Dad for years."
    "How will that help?"
    She shrugged. 'Tom knows more about the history of Coomb Valley than anyone. It's an amazing heritage. You and your client might like to learn a little of it."
    He noticed that every time she said "client" she lent a slight emphasis to it, as if to distance herself from the Lockyer-Foxes. "It's not necessary, Captain Smith. You've already convinced me that you feel a strong connection to this place."
    She went on as if she hadn't heard him. "There was a Roman settlement here two thousand years ago. Tom's the expert on it. He rambles a bit but he's always willing to pass on his knowledge."
    He declined politely. "Thank you, but it's a long drive back to London and I've a stack of paperwork in the office."
    She flashed him a sympathetic glance. "You're a busy man… no time to stand and stare. Tom will be disappointed. He loves chewing the cud, particularly with Londoners who have no idea of Herefordshire's ancient traditions. Round here we take them seriously. It's our link to our past."
    He sighed to himself.
Did she think he hadn't got the message already?
"Yes, well, with the best will in the world, Captain Smith, talking to a total stranger about a place I'm not acquainted with isn't a top priority for me at the moment."
    "No," she agreed coolly, standing up, "nor for me. We both have better things to do with our time than listen to elderly strangers reminisce about people and places that have no relevance to us. If you explain my refusal to your client in those terms, then I'm sure he'll understand that what he's suggesting is a wearisome imposition that I could do without."
    He'd walked into that with his eyes wide open, thought Mark ruefully as he, too, rose to his feet. "Just for the record," he asked, "would it have made any difference if I'd said from the start that it was your grandfather who was looking for you?"
    Nancy shook her head. "No."
    "That's a relief. I haven't made a complete dog's breakfast of it, then."
    She relaxed enough to give him a smile of genuine warmth. "I'm not