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the man who’d phoned Plas Dinas. Then there was the waiter, who’d assumed I was here to meet someone. I shook my head to free it of the questions which suddenly filled it like a swarm of bees.
    Across the room, one of the old ladies rose slowly to her feet and started to make her way towards the door. As she passed me her knitting bag slipped from her grasp, and as she fumbled to catch it, a ball of wool dropped out and rolled under my chair. I bent to retrieve it and handed it back to her.
    â€œThank you so much, Carol my dear. I may call you Carol, mayn’t I?”
    â€œClare,” I amended quietly. “Please do. Good-night, Miss Hettie.”
    â€œOlwen,” she corrected in her turn. “I’m the elder one.”
    I looked after her as she went out, and turned back to find Morgan Rees laughing at me.
    â€œThe only way to tell them apart,” he informed me, “is to look at the brooches they wear. Miss Hettie has a cameo and Miss Olwen an amethyst. At least, I think that’s the right way round. All this nonsense about the younger and the elder – they’re twins, of course.”
    â€œHow sweet that they still dress alike, at their age.”
    Talk became more sporadic and I felt my eyelids growing heavy. It had been a long day. Finally Morgan stood up and stretched. “I’m going outside for a breath of air – it’s not ten o’clock yet. Anyone care to join me?”
    No one responded and he laughed. “Lazy lot!” He looked down at me. “Perhaps you’ll let me show you round in the morning, then? There are some lovely walks if you don’t mind a spot of climbing, with spectacular views.”
    â€œThanks, I’d enjoy that.”
    â€œGood-night, then. Pleasant dreams.”
    He left the room. Pauline was still talking to Dick Harvey and Clive had disappeared – probably to the bar. My eyes slid to the newly-weds, laughing softly together, and I felt a sudden twist of pain. There were obviously no doubts for them, their happiness was like a warm radiance.
    I looked quickly away, and caught the curious gaze of the fluttery Miss Bunting. Embarrassed at being caught watching me, she bent her head lower over her crochet-work.
    Suddenly, with a crawling sensation on my scalp, I knew I was still being watched, though less openly. My eyes darted swiftly round the room, but no one here was looking in my direction. I turned my head and my eyes were drawn up the glass wall to the staircase which rose alongside it. The lower steps were brightly lit from the hall and the lounge itself, but beyond the bend there were shadows and surely, as I looked, a pale smudge that could have been a face darted out of sight.
    The hairs rose slowly on the back of my neck. Who was up there in the darkness, watching the brightly lit room below? And who in the lounge warranted such surreptitious spying?
    I stood up suddenly, telling myself I was over-tired and imagining things. The sooner I was in bed, the better. Pauline looked round and I smiled apologetically.
    â€œI think I’ll go up now, if you’ll excuse me. Good-night.”
    â€œGood-night, Clare. Sleep well.”
    The hall was deserted, but there was the sound of voices and laughter from the cocktail lounge. I leant over the reception desk, lifted my key off its peg and started up the stairs, my heart still thumping. Just short of the bend, I in my turn halted and turned to look down.
    As I’d thought, standing here I could see the whole room below, like a television producer in his box high above the set – the Americans, the teachers, Pauline and Dick. And remembering his sudden reluctance to speak of his find, I wondered fancifully if some imaginary producer in his head had shouted “Cut!”
    The thought had just formed when my heart suddenly lurched into my throat. Someone was coming down the stairs! I froze, telling myself I was in full view of anyone who