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was. I don’t remember.’ ‘I don’t know why you bother asking him, Mum. Just send for me, OK? By the way, I think they should know.’
     
    ‘Who should know what?’
     
    ‘The twins should know that Mr Palmer has died. After all, it will affect their mother.’
     
    ‘Why should Michael Palmer dying affect Caroline?’
     
    ‘Well, the twins, you know, the twins .’
     
    Harriet, who was more astute than Jimbo at understanding teenagers’ shorthand, said, ‘What do you know about the twins that I didn’t know you knew?’
     
    ‘Well, that . . . well, they’re the Rector’s and Suzy what’s-its, and Caroline’s not their biological mother.’
     
    Jimbo moaned, ‘Oh my God. I didn’t know you knew. You’ve never said.’
     
    Harriet demanded to know who had told her.
     
    ‘Oh, for goodness sake! I’ve known for years.’
     
    Jimbo, still sitting on the floor, looked up at her and said, ‘It isn’t discussed openly amongst your crowd is it?’
     
    ‘No, but we know.’
     
    ‘You never say anything, do you, to Beth? Nor Alex?’
     
    ‘Give us credit for some sense, please. I wouldn’t dream of it.’
     
    Harriet hugged her. ‘Of course you wouldn’t. It’s not our secret, you see.’
     
    ‘No. But it must have been big news at the time. My God! In a village like this, the gossip must have been flying round the tinned soup shelves like fury. Just wish I’d been old enough to know. People like Sheila Bissett must have had a field day.’
     
    Jimbo and Harriet exchanged glances, both of them reflecting on the accuracy of Fran’s comments.
     
    Harriet, who fully understood Caroline’s motives in being willing to adopt the twins, found it harder to forgive Peter. She decided to change the subject.
     
    ‘Right, well, I’m going for a box of chocolates that have been in the cupboard a whole week and never been touched. Don’t you think I’ve been good? They’re Belgian chocolates from the smart shop in Culworth, present from a grateful client.’
     
    These diversionary tactics on Harriet’s part cut no ice with Fran. At fifteen there wasn’t much that got past her because she loved gossip as much as her dad did. In fact, she was better than him at picking up the latest news now she worked in the Store on Saturdays. She had her wilder moments when she planned how she would expand the business by starting another Store in another village. How she’d love to be in charge of it all by herself.
     
    The three of them sat very comfortably, eating the chocolates and watching TV for at least an hour, when the doorbell rang. Jimbo got up to answer it.
     
    Standing on the doorstep were Ford and Mercedes Barclay, dressed to kill.
     
    ‘Good evening. We’re Ford and Mercedes from Glebe House, just moved in. It’s not a social call. It’s business. May we come in? We know it’s late but we’ve been out all day and made a decision, and we want to sound you out about it.’
     
    ‘Certainly. I’m Jimbo Charter-Pl—’
     
    ‘Yes, we know, that’s why we’re here.’ This was Mercedes speaking. ‘Can we come in?’
     
    ‘Oh! Sorry, I beg your pardon. Yes, please do. Shall we sit in my study or—’
     
    But Ford was already in the sitting room greeting Harriet. ‘My dear Mrs Charter-Plackett. I understand you are a cordon bleu chef. I’m honoured, yes, honoured , to meet you.’
     
    ‘Ah! Right. You must be—’
     
    ‘Ford Barclay. And this is—’
     
    ‘This is Frances. We call her Fran.’
     
    ‘What a very pretty young lady. Do you work in the business? ’
     
    ‘I’m the Saturday girl, that’s all. I’m still at school, you see.’
     
    ‘Ah! Young ladies grow up so quickly now. This is the wife, Mercedes.’
     
    They all shook hands, then Jimbo offered them a drink.
     
    ‘Thank you. A gin and it for both of us.’
     
    Harriet suggested they sat down. By the time the drinks had been served Mercedes was quizzing Fran about school. ‘I loved school.