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rolls which she set on the table at the far end of the room.
    â€˜Starters’ orders!’ she said.
    â€˜Which,’ Barnie translated, getting to his feet, ‘means, see to the wine. Take a seat, Rona.’
    She walked over to the table, admiring the candles and little vases of snowdrops that Dinah had placed at either end, and, pulling out her chair, discovered the third cat, Koko, asleep on it. ‘Sorry, my love,’ she said, and, scooping him up, carried him over to the others, Gus’s watchfulness from the hearthrug preventing her from stroking the soft, chocolaty fur as she’d have liked.
    As always, Rona marvelled at Dinah’s knack of producing an excellent meal with virtually no advance warning. The first course was salmon mousse, followed by a delicious lamb casserole cooked with herbs and wine. Dessert was home-made brandy snaps filled with cream, and cheese and coffee ended the meal.
    â€˜You do realize,’ she said laughingly, ‘that you’re responsible for my lack of culinary expertise? You set too high a standard!’
    â€˜All you need is a cookery book, as I’ve told you many times.’
    â€˜Wrong; first – and most importantly – you need the
desire
to cook, which, in my case, is sadly lacking. Just as well I have a choice of take-aways and Dino’s just round the corner!’
    Dinah shook her head in mock disapproval. ‘You’re incorrigible!’ she said.
    It was as Rona switched off her bedside light that she realized, with a slight sense of shock, that her talk with Max tomorrow would be only a formality. Sometime during the evening, without her being aware of it, a decision had been reached. For better or worse, she would write Theo Harvey’s biography.

Three
    M ax was slightly piqued to find the decision made without further consultation, and contented himself with muttering darkly that he hoped she wouldn’t come to regret it. They were still discussing the matter when Rona’s mother phoned, inviting them to Sunday lunch.
    â€˜Pops will be pleased, anyway,’ Rona commented as she replaced the phone.
    Max put a conciliatory arm round her. ‘Sorry if I’ve been a bit downbeat, love; I appreciate it’ll be a real feather in your cap if you pull it off.’
    â€˜If?’
    He sighed. ‘I can’t explain; I just feel a little – apprehensive, that’s all.’
    â€˜Of what?’
    â€˜Oh, I don’t know. Basically, because he died so recently, and not in his own bed, like any self-respecting citizen.’
    She laughed. ‘If I limited my subjects to those who’d died in bed—’
    â€˜â€”you might come up with some very interesting stories! Now, pour me another drink, will you, and I’ll make a start on the meal. I can’t compete with Dinah, but I do a mean chicken Kiev, if I say so myself. As
sous-chef,
you can dress the salad.’
    Rona reached for the oil and lemon juice. ‘All the same, if things get tricky and I need a bit of advice, I don’t want you saying, “I told you so.”’
    Max grinned. ‘As if I would!’ he replied.
    The Parishes’ home lay to the west of town, in a residential district of solid detached houses, set in carefully maintained gardens. Though her parents had redecorated over the years, the house never seemed to change and remained in Rona’s eyes exactly as it had been when she was a child.
    Pre-lunch talk was dominated by Lindsey’s worries over Hugh. Max had noticed before that she always held the stage in her parents’ house, and here, he thought sardonically, was the perfect excuse. He was convinced – though Rona wouldn’t hear of it – that she was jealous of her famous twin, and he knew for a fact that her loyalty to Rona fell far short of Rona’s to her. Soon after she and Hugh had separated, she’d arrived at Farthings late one evening and literally