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with silence.
    ‘Oh, yes. It was defintely worth it. The old dear’s got a treasure trove there.’ From the corner of his eye he saw Roy’s thin-lipped smile.
    ‘What’s she like? A proper Janner if her son’s anything to go by.’
    Bradley’s arms were crossed. He raised a hand and smoothed his cheek with a forefinger. ‘No. Oh, she’s got the accent, all right, but I don’t think much escapes Mrs Pengelly’s notice.’
    They had reached the M5 and both were anxious to be back in the city. Since his divorce Roy had lived alone, over the shop, an arrangement convenient to them both and to Bradley’s insurers who were pleased to have the rooms over the business occupied. The premises were not the sort that generally passed for anantique shop. There were no oddments of china, no broken chairs and no boxes of junk scattered on the floor. The items he sold were genuine and well cared for. Mostly they consisted of large pieces of furniture along with the occasional bit of porcelain or silver. Everything was displayed under bright lights and there were grilles which pulled down over the windows at night. Roy was never sure if any of Bradley’s deals were crooked because he was not privy to them all, like the Pengelly woman, for instance. Still, it was best not to ask. One or two sales a week were enough to keep them both but they usually made far more than that. ‘What if she talks?’
    ‘Oh, she won’t talk, sunshine, I can guarantee that.’
    They reached the outskirts of Bristol and were heading for the centre just as the rain that was sweeping from the west hit them. They drove past Temple Meads Station and continued on to the shop where they unloaded what they had managed to purchase in Cornwall.
    ‘Fancy a drink before I drop you off?’
    Bradley nodded as he padlocked the door grille. ‘A gin and tonic would go down a treat. I can’t be long because I promised the wife I wouldn’t be late tonight.’ His voice was cultured, his manner urbane. ‘All in all a good trip, wouldn’t you say?’
    Together they walked quickly through the city streets. The shops were closed but the traffic was still heavy. The rain hit the pavements with a steady hiss and the drops bounced up again. They began to walk faster.
    After a single gin Bradley glanced at his watch and said it was time he was going. Roy drove him to his house in the suburbs which, he estimated, was worth more than he would ever be able to afford. He bore no grudges because he liked the man with his silvery hair and the twill trousers he favoured who was so very different from himself but who treated him like a father. But he felt unsettled that day. Within him was a sinking feeling that Bradley might have gone over the top back there in Cornwall. He wished he would confide more in him. No, he amended, there had been no need for confidences. Roy knew exactly what Bradley had planned to do.
    Bradley’s wife welcomed him with an absent-minded kiss onthe cheek before carrying on preparing a tray of canapés. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said, ‘but you can use the bathroom first.’
    Bradley went upstairs anticipating an excellent meal.
    As he shaved for the second time that day and got ready to receive their guests he mentally listed the deals he had made during his visit to the West Country and calculated how much money they would make. The Cornish, he thought, are a strange lot. But strangest of all had been the time he had spent in the company of Dorothy Pengelly.

3
    Rose intended making a start on the wild flower sketches after she had seen Dorothy. She drove out of Penzance and joined the dual carriageway, taking a left at the roundabout.
    The rain had eased off but the road was still wet and drops of moisture clung to the long grass in the verges, glittering in the sunshine. Behind her was St Michael’s Mount, Rose caught a glimpse of it in her rear mirror, and around her was countryside. It would be a nice day after all. But something was