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exclaimed on a note of real dismay. “
Not
Charmless Claude? Don’t tell me!”
    “I do tell you. He left Australia weeks ago and is working his way home on a ship called
Poseidon
. As a steward. I’ve had a letter.”
    The young man Sybil referred to was Claude Carter, her stepson: a left-over from her first marriage in whose favour not even Verity could find much to say.
    “Oh, Syb,” she said, “I
am
sorry.”
    “He wants me to forward a hundred pound to Teneriffe.”
    “Is he coming to Quintern?”
    “My dear, he doesn’t say so but of course he will. Probably with the police in hot pursuit.”
    “Does Prue know?”
    “I’ve told her. Horrified, of course. She’s going to make a bolt to London when the times comes. This is why, on top of everything else, I’m hell-bent for Greengages.”
    “Will he want to stay?”
    “I expect so. He usually does. I can’t stop that.”
    “Of course not. After all—”
    “Verry: he gets the very generous allowance his father left him and blues the lot. I’m always having to yank him out of trouble. And what’s more — absolutely for your ears alone — when I pop off he gets everything his father left me for my lifetime. God knows what he’ll do with it. He’s been in gaol and I daresay he dopes. I’ll go on paying up, I suppose.”
    “So he’ll arrive and find — who?”
    “Either Beryl, who’s caretaking, or Mrs. Jim, who’s relieving her and spring-cleaning, or Bruce, if it’s one of his days. They’re all under strict instruction to say I’m away ill and not seeing anybody. If he insists on being put up nobody can stop him. Of course he might—” There followed a long pause. Verity’s mind misgave her.
    “Might what?” she said.
    “Darling, I wouldn’t know but he
might
call on you. Just to enquire.”
    “What,” said Verity, “do you want me to do?”
    “Just not tell him where I am. And then let me know and come to Greengages. Don’t just ring or write, Verry. Come. Verry, as my oldest friend, I ask you.”
    “I don’t promise.”
    “No, but you will. You’ll come to awful lunch with me at Greengages and tell me what Prue says and whether Charmless Claude has called. Think! You’ll meet your gorgeous boy-friend again.”
    “I don’t want to.”
    As soon as she had made this disclaimer, Verity realized it was a mistake. She visualized the glint of insatiable curiosity in Sybil’s large blue eyes and knew she had aroused the passion that, second only to her absorption in gentlemen, consumed her friend: a devouring interest in other people’s affairs.
    “
Why
not?” Sybil said quickly. “I knew there was something. That night at Nikolas Markos’s dinner-party. I sensed it. What was it?”
    Verity pulled herself together. “Now then,” she said. “None of that. Don’t you go making up nonsenses about me.”
    “There
was
something,” Sybil repeated. “I’m never wrong. I sensed there was something. I know!” she sang out, “I’ll ask Basil Schramm — Dr. Schramm, I mean — himself. He’ll tell me.”
    “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Verity said and tried not to sound panic-stricken. She added, too late, “He wouldn’t know what on earth you were driving at. Syb — please don’t go making a fool of me. And of yourself.”
    “
Tum-te-tiddily, tum-te-tee
,” sang Sybil idiotically. “See what a tizzy we’ve got into.”
    Verity kept her temper.
    Wild horses, she decided, would not drag her to luncheon at Greengages. She saw Sybil off with the deepest misgivings.
     
    ii
    Gideon Markos and Prunella Foster lay on a magnificent hammock under a striped canopy beside the brand-new swimming pool at Mardling Manor. They were brown, wet and almost nude. Her white-gold hair fanned across his chest. He held her lightly as if some photographer had posed them for a glossy advertisement.
    “Because,” Prunella whispered, “I don’t want to.”
    “I don’t believe you. You do. Clearly, you want me. Why