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either.’
    She saw the colour drain from his face and then come back in a scarlet flood and knew she’d drawn the right conclusions. Well, that was a relief anyway! Until that moment a little nagging voice of doubt that could not quite be silenced by the outrage and furious determination had been nagging at her that she might be building her case on a foundation of quick sand.
    â€˜There’s all sorts I know,’ she went on, ‘like why she hurries off when we’ve finished for the day and who’s waiting for her under the trees at the end of the lane. And all I can say when she gets a house ahead of the rest of us who keep ourselves to ourselves is that it stinks!’
    Her voice was rising; he glanced towards the door with something like panic in his eyes.
    â€˜Mrs Simmons – keep your voice down – please!’
    â€˜Oh, I’ll shout a lot louder than this, Mr Parsons, if I don’t get one of those houses. I’ll shout so loud they’ll hear me all the way over to the Council Offices in South Compton!’
    He was patting the air now in a conciliatory motion.
    â€˜All right – all right – I’ll do what I can. But I can’t promise anything.’
    â€˜I can, Mr Parsons – I already have. If you don’t want everybody else to know what I know, you’ll do more than just try to fob me off like that.’
    â€˜Mrs Simmons …’
    â€˜I won’t keep you any longer, Mr Parsons. I’ve said what I came to say. There’s no point you trying to tell me I’m wrong, because I happen to know I’m right.’ She paused. He was very pale now, the scarlet colour concentrated in two high spots in his cheeks. She felt almost sorry for him and shocked that she could have reduced the pompous Clerk to the Council to this so easily.
    â€˜I’m a discreet woman, Mr Parsons. I don’t go round gossiping like some do. If I get a letter in the next couple of weeks, this will be just between ourselves. Nobody will hear a word of it from me, not even my own husband. They don’t know I’m here, and I shan’t tell them. But if I don’t get a letter, well, then it will be a very different story.’
    He opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off by moving decisively toward the door. He opened it for her, pausing with his hand on the knob and nodding at her almost imperceptively. She held his gaze for just a moment, then went through into the hall.
    â€˜Good night, Mr Parsons. Thank you.’
    â€˜Good night, Mrs Simmons.’
    â€˜I’m sorry for spoiling your dinner.’
    â€˜Don’t worry about that.’
    They both knew the exchange was for the benefit of Alice, who could, for all they knew, be listening on the other side of the living-room door.
    She went out into the night, into the cold and the mist, and her face began to burn, whether from the cold or from the release of tension and relief that it was over she did not know and could not be bothered to wonder. She walked fast, adrenalin driving her along, incapable of coherent thought.
    The light was still on in the library room, the outside door ajar. She went in, asked Miss Phillips to renew her book while she looked on the romance shelves for something by Ethel M Dell. Only when she picked one out did she realise her hands were shaking.
    â€˜I think Glad’s had this one,’ Miss Phillips said. ‘I think so.’
    â€˜Oh well, never mind, she’ll have to have it again.’
    â€˜How is she? All right? This weather …’
    â€˜She’s fine,’ Carrie said. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Phillips, I can’t stop to talk.’
    â€˜No, I shall be closing in a minute anyway. Remember me to Glad, will you?’
    Carrie went back under The Subway, back up the hill, still unable to organise her racing thoughts. The first nervous elation was beginning to subside; she didn’t know what Mr Parsons