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please?”
    “Yes, Ma’am.” Josie disappeared, half-dragging the frustrated Doberman along with her.
    “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “She gets so excited when we have visitors. She’s only being friendly.”
    “Miata. Nice name,” said Annie, and introduced herself.
    “Thank you.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Robin Armitage. Please come in.”
    Annie followed Robin down the hall and through a door on the right. The room was enormous, reminiscent of an old banquet hall, with antique furniture scattered around a beautiful central Persian rug, a grand piano and a stone fireplace bigger than Annie’s entire cottage. On the wall over the mantelpiece hung what looked to Annie’s trained eye like a genuine Matisse.
    The man who had been staring out the back window over a lawn the size of a golf course turned when Annie entered. Like his wife, he looked as if he hadn’t slept all night. He introduced himself as Martin Armitage and shook her hand. His grip was firm and brief.
    Martin Armitage was over six feet tall, handsome in a rugged, athletic sort of way, with his hair shaved almost to his skull, the way many footballers wore it. He was slim, long-legged and fit, as befit an ex-sportsman, and even his casual clothes, jeans and a loose hand-knit sweater, looked as if they cost more than Annie’s monthly salary. He glanced down at Annie’s boots, and she wished she’d gone for something more conservative that morning. But how was she to know?
    “Detective Superintendent Gristhorpe told me about Luke,” Annie said.
    “Yes.” Robin Armitage tried to smile, but it came out like the twentieth take of a commercial shoot. “Look, I’ll have Josie bring us some tea, or coffee, if you’d prefer it?”
    “Tea would be fine, thanks,” said Annie, perching carefully on the edge of an antique armchair. One of the most civilized things about being a policewoman, she thought, especially working in plain clothes, was that the people youvisited–witnesses, victims and villains alike–invariably offered you some sort of refreshment. Usually tea. It was as English as fish and chips. From what she had read, or seen on television, she couldn’t imagine anything like it happening anywhere else in the world. But for all she knew, perhaps the French offered wine when a gendarme came to call.
    “I know how upsetting something like this can be,” Annie began, “but in 99 per cent of cases there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”
    Robin raised a finely plucked eyebrow. “Do you mean that? You’re not just saying it to make us feel better?”
    “It’s true. You’d be surprised how many mispers we get–sorry, that’s police talk for missing persons–and most of them turn up none the worse for wear.”
    “ Most of them?” echoed Martin Armitage.
    “I’m just telling you that statistically he’s likely–”
    “ Statistically? What kind of–”
    “Martin! Calm down. She’s only trying to help.” Robin turned to Annie. “I’m sorry,” she said. “but neither of us has had much sleep. Luke’s never done anything like this before, and we really are quite frantic with worry. Nothing short of seeing Luke back here safe and sound will change that. Please, tell us where you think he is.”
    “I wish I could answer that, I really do,” said Annie. She took out her notebook. “Can I just get some information from you?”
    Martin Armitage ran his hand over his head, sighed and flopped down on the sofa again. “Yes, of course,” he said. “And I apologize. My nerves are a bit frazzled, that’s all.” When he looked right at her, she could see the concern in his eyes, and she could also see the steely gaze of a man who usually got what he wanted. Josie came in with tea, which she served on a silver tray. Annie felt a bit embarrassed, the way she always did around servants.
    Martin Armitage’s lip curled in a smile, as if he had noticed her discomfort. “A bit pretentious, isn’t it?” he