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sounded like a car but they weren’t expecting anyone.
    â€˜Maybe that’s Anthony,’ said her mother.
    Rachel doubted it, but she rose to go and see. She swung open the old-fashioned wooden door and her face fell at what she saw before her. A fancy 4x4 had parked on the gravel and the person she was least looking forward to seeing was climbing out. She had had a very uncomfortable conversation with Philip Milligan the previous afternoon and had been dreading its sequel.
    â€˜Hello there,’ she said, taking a step forward and forcing a smile to her lips. ‘We weren’t expecting you so early, I thought you said this evening …’
    â€˜I came as soon as I could,’ he said shortly. ‘I was worried about Ben. Naturally.’
    â€˜Of course. I’m pleased to say he’s doing very well but do come in and see for yourself.’ Rachel hesitated. She had just realised that there was someone else in the car, a very small someone. ‘Would you like to bring in …?’ She indicated the blonde-haired little girl firmly strapped into the back seat.
    â€˜My niece. No, this won’t take long, she won’t mind waiting.’
    Rachel examined the child doubtfully. She looked neither happy nor unhappy, she just sat docilely as instructed. Philip Milligan had already entered the house, so with a wave to the child she hurried after him.
    â€˜Mr Milligan has come to collect his dogs,’ she said as she followed him in to the kitchen. She and her mother both glanced at her father. They hadn’t wanted to worry him by telling him of Ben’s accident and now it looked like it would all come out. ‘I’ll take him straight through, shall I?’ She tried to hustle the newcomer through to the conservatory and out into the yard.
    â€˜Why, it’s Phil Milligan,’ said her father delightedly, stopping her in her tracks. ‘I am right, aren’t I? Goodness, why did no one tell me we had acquired such a famous client?’
    â€˜Good of you to recognise me,’ said their visitor, pausing reluctantly. He could hardly carry on walking after such a greeting.
    Rachel looked at him more closely. She had thought those dark good looks were slightly familiar but she still couldn’t place the man.
    â€˜Don’t you recognise him?’ said her father. ‘From Every House Has a History ? Tuesday evening, BBC2. Excellent programme. I thought you liked your history, Rachel?’
    â€˜I usually play badminton on a Tuesday,’ said Rachel. She felt such a fool, of course she should have recognised the man.
    â€˜That’s who you are,’ said Mrs Collington. ‘I had a feeling I knew you, but we’ve all been at sixes and sevens this last week. You’ve made my husband’s day, you know, and here he is, just back from hospital. You’re one of his very favourite presenters. He’s quite a history buff, is John.’ She smiled fondly at her husband. She seemed to have forgotten the awkwardness surrounding their visitor’s dog.
    â€˜Wonderful to meet you in the flesh,’ said her husband, stretching out his hand to shake. ‘Please excuse me not getting up, I’ve had a little accident with my ankle.’
    Philip Milligan returned the handshake and looked down at the brilliant white plaster cast. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said awkwardly. Rachel almost pitied him. Her father had clearly spoilt what had been intended as a very abrupt entry and exit. He smiled briefly and then attempted to regain control of the situation. ‘Nice to meet you. Now perhaps I could see Bill and Ben …?’
    â€˜Of course, come this way,’ said Rachel and ushered him out before her father’s enthusiasm could delay them further. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said. ‘And about not recognising you before.’
    â€˜No reason why you should,’ he said huffily.
    â€˜And