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Carefully, she restored the hairdryer to its box while she made plans. She would go down to the kitchen and her first task would be to open the dampers and get the fire pulled up red from Hattie’s carefully banked-down condition. Then she would make herself a cup of good, strong, hot tea, and only after she had drunk it would she kneel down in front of the cooker and get her hair dry and, with any luck, get warm again.

Soundlessly, she fled down the stairs, and stopped dead on the last one as she heard the sound. It was like a banging followed by a cracking sound. Hattie must have returned early. Kate looked at her watch and dismissed that idea. It couldn’t be that. Hattie would only now be reaching Calver, so it wasn’t Hattie, and the noise wasn’t coming from the kitchen anyway. It seemed to be coming from nearer at hand. Kate waited a couple of seconds and the noise came again, from the study. She went rigid.

There was only one explanation that she could think of: burglars! And she wasn’t dressed to receive burglars, and it was too late for her to run back upstairs and change into slacks and a jumper. Her mind ran over the possibilities. The traditional weapon to repel burglars was, without doubt, a good stout poker; it was equally useful against housebreakers too. There was a difference between housebreakers and burglars, she remembered, although she couldn’t quite remember what; she thought it had something to do with the time of day. Anyway, what she wanted was a poker, and she didn’t have one handy. The nearest was the long, polished brass one in the kitchen, and to get it she would have to pass the study door. If whoever was in there had posted a lookout, she would be caught unarmed and defenceless.

Along the hall, near the front door, was a side table with above it a big brass gong, and on the table lay the hammer with its fat round head. Kate dismissed it. The hammer was too short, less than a foot long, and the felt head of it was squishy. For striking a gong, it was ideal, but as a weapon, no! It would be like trying to hit somebody with a spoonful of jelly. Her eyes slid farther alone to the umbrella stand and she felt a glow of satisfaction. Not a poker but a walking stick! A good stout blackthorn, well over three feet long, with a brass ferrule and a large, heavy silver ball mounted at the top as a handle.

Silently she tiptoed across the hall and drew the stick from its resting place. She tried a few experimental swipes with it and was quite pleased with her performance. She could either poke with the brass-tipped ferrule or bash with the ball. Either method would prove to the housebreaker that she was a force to be reckoned with!

There had been complete silence from the study for some moments, then, as she cautiously approached the door, the noise came again—groaning, protesting noise followed by a splintering crack and then a drawn-out squeak. Kate twisted the door knob fiercely and flung the door part open. Then, grasping her stick in both hands by the ferrule, she pushed her way through the part opened door. The sight which met her eyes stopped her dead in her tracks.

The room was in utter chaos. The filing cabinets along the wall had been wrenched open, the drawers pulled out and the floor was a litter of pedigree charts, bills, receipts, bank statements and accounts. Kate’s head swung to the french windows and the old-fashioned desk. The windows were open and between them and the desk stood Estelle, a small, slim Estelle in narrow black trousers and a skinny polo-necked black sweater under a black leather jacket. The thought, unbidden, slipped through Kate’s mind—just the gear for a break- in! The two girls stared at. each other in speechless surprise for all of ten seconds. Estelle recovered first.

‘Caught in the act!’ Her laugh was high, brittle and a bit forced.

Kate advanced into the room, taking a firmer grip of her walking stick.

‘What in hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘Naughty, naughty!’ Estelle laughed again. ‘Bad language, dear Kate. What does it look like? A little forced entry,’ she indicated the french window, ‘a little search,’ her eyes flicked to the filing cabinets and then to the desk, ‘and a spot of unlawful possession.’ She held up a slim, brown manilla envelope. ‘You’re too late, Kate. I found what I came for and I’ve got it!’ She smiled triumphantly, and leaned back against the wall, still within easy reach of the open window.

‘I thought the house would be empty, I thought you’d gone with the others.’ She smiled again, a not very nice smile. ‘I watched the car going and I felt sure you’d be in it, but I was wrong, wasn’t I? Never mind, I think I like it better this way. I’ve been wanting to see you squirm for a long time. Start squirming, Kate! You know what’s in here, don’t you?’ and she waved the envelope. ‘I haven’t looked, but I know!’

‘Who told you?’ Kate was angry and it showed in her voice.

Estelle tittered. ‘Nobody told me, darling. Nobody had to tell me anything! I worked it out for myself. A few hints from one direction, a couple of pointers from another, remembering something Theo once said about some naughty pictures, and then, the little bit your redheaded Gerald could tell me. It was easy! I knew what to look for and I knew where to look.’

‘Gerald?’ Kate’s mouth tightened. ‘What do you know about Gerald?’

‘Quite a lot, darling!’ Again came the high-pitched, excited laugh. ‘I met him in London, while I was doing my own little bit of detective work. I knew he was going to be useful. It was easy, he’s a sucker for a bit of flattery and wide-eyed innocence. I had him eating out of my hand in no time at all.’

‘And he’s staying with you now.’ Kate nodded to herself in understanding and took a firmer grasp of her walking stick as she advanced on Estelle, a battle light glowing in her eyes. Estelle retreated a pace or two and stopped.

‘Careful, darling,’ she admonished in a high, triumphant voice. ‘Try anything and I’ll run and I won’t run quietly. I’ll scream bloody murder and as soon as I find someone to listen to me, I’ll tell them I caught you ransacking this place, that I tried to stop you and that you attacked me.’ She glanced down at the envelope and then up again at Kate, so very slyly. ‘After all, darling, you’ve much more reason to want this than I have and more reason to want it kept quiet. Just think for a moment what will happen if I make a fuss. The police will take this,’ she waved the envelope, ‘they’ll produce it in court as evidence—and that’s curtains for you, darling!’

‘I haven’t touched anything!’ Kate was indignant as she looked around at the mess.

‘Neither have I!’ Estelle held out her black-gloved hands in protesting innocence. ‘I was only trying to stop you smashing up Mrs Manfred’s home, wasn’t I?’

Kate felt as though she was in the middle of some ghastly nightmare and there was no way out. Reluctantly, she let the head of the walking stick fall and stood leaning against it.

‘That’s better,’ Estelle smiled her approval and became crisp. ‘Here’s what you do. Get upstairs and pack your little bag, then get into your old jalopy and go. At once! No hanging about to make tearful explanations. I want you out of here before Mrs Manfred gets back and I want you well away before Jerome returns, understand? You’re to leave a note for Jerome, very short, just goodbye, and tell him to come across and see me at once. Tell him that I’ll explain for you.’

‘And if I don’t?’ Kate was playing for time while she thought. She could feel her courage returning, and that was a good thing. This girl was obviously out of her head, at least temporarily, and there was no use in arguing with her or trying to make her see reason.

‘If you don’t, I’ll give this envelope to your redheaded ex-boy-friend—or could you call him a friend any longer? He doesn’t feel very friendly towards you, in fact he’s got a big case of the hates. He wants to see you squirm as well. He tells me he does a column for one of the London dailies, he should be able to make a juicy article out of what’s in this envelope. Remember now—
out!
And as quickly as possible. Don’t forget the note for Jerome. I want to see him as soon as he returns. You make sure he understands that!’ And with a final triumphant glance over her shoulder, Estelle skipped lightly out through the french windows and sped along the drive to where her red sports car was parked.

Kate watched her go with relief and took a few minutes to try to conquer the trembling of her body induced by anger, fear and despair. She sagged in a chair breathing deeply and trying to get her thoughts into some semblance of order. All along, she told herself, she knew that the whole thing, the running away, the ridiculous marriage, all of it was a nasty mess, and from where she was sitting, it was looking even messier. Estelle wouldn’t see reason, not if it was painted in foot high letters and held in front of her; she was obsessed with getting rid of Kate and she couldn’t see farther than the end of her nose. And Gerald wouldn’t want to see reason. He’d been waiting for something like this! He would take it and squeeze every last drop of beastliness out of it and into the column he wrote. Kate’s head jerked up at the thought and her back straightened. Over her dead body would he do that! The first thing was to get in touch with Jerome, and to hell with Estelle and her commands!

Her eyes sought the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. She supposed it was lucky to be in an area which had escaped Estelle’s depredations. The pendulum was swinging fussily and the hands pointed to half past four. New York time was five hours back, that meant it would be half past eleven there, half past eleven in the morning. Jerome would be at the office and with luck she would be able to catch him before lunch.

Her hands shook so much as she picked up the telephone that she had to put the handset on the table while she dialled the New York number and use two hands to do it, and she waited in an agony of suspense in case the international switchboard was blocked solid and she would have to wait and dial again. Luck was with her and she heard the ringing tone.

A girl’s voice answered, very clear as if it was in the same room as herself. ‘Manfred Corporation, New York office. Can I help you?’

‘Mrs Jerome Manfred calling,’ Kate was terse. ‘I wish to speak with Mr Manfred.’

‘One moment, please,’ the slightly nasal voice sounded doubtful. ‘I think that line is busy,’ then the voice cheered up. ‘No, Mrs Manfred, it’s clear now. I’m putting you through!’

But it wasn’t Jerome answering, it was the secretary, and she was full of sorrow. ‘No, Mrs Manfred, Mr Manfred’s not here. I obtained a cancellation for him on a late flight from Kennedy yesterday. He should be in London now.’

Overcome by disappointment, Kate thanked the girl and hung up. Then she dialled the London office, but once again she was disappointed. Mr Manfred hadn’t been in and they weren’t expecting him. A third call to the Kensington house elicited similar results. Mrs Davies hadn’t seen him either, he certainly hadn’t been there.

Kate felt like crying. He could be anywhere—Paris, Brussels, Rome, the list was endless and she didn’t know any of the numbers to ring.

Well, she pulled herself together, the first thing to do was get dressed. Something warm, because she was shivering in earnest now and she felt cold all the way through. Her hair was still wet, but that didn’t matter. She sped upstairs and began hastily assembling some garments on the bed—a pair of thick brown wool trousers, an equally thick brown wool jumper with a polo neck, a cardigan which matched, some thick tights and some short, fur-lined boots. She was just struggling to tie back her hair with a piece of ribbon and wondering if she’d have time for a cup of tea when she heard the sound of fat tyres on the gravel. Mrs Manfred’s Rolls, and what was she to do now? She skipped over to the window and looked down on the drive. There was no sign of the Rolls, the car beneath the window shone a dull, metallic grey: Jerome’s Ferrari!

Kate struggled back into her dressing gown, her cold fingers fumbling with the zip, and charged down the stairs, her heart beating violently.

Through the open door of the study she could see him, glaring around him with disapproval, and she had barely entered the room before she was storming at him.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Fright made her voice shrill. ‘I’ve been phoning everywhere for you. I phoned New York and you’d left, I phoned the London office and you hadn’t even been there. I phoned Mrs Davies and you hadn’t been there either. Why don’t you let people know where you are, instead of vanishing off into the blue? It’s most inconsiderate!’ She was beginning to stutter with a mixture of fright, anger and tears. Drawing a deep breath, she tried to be calm, to steady herself. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said desperately, ‘and you mustn’t try to stop me. You’ve got to go across and see Estelle, at once. Please do that, and do it now! She’s been here this afternoon, while I was upstairs washing my hair. She’s been through everything,’ Kate gestured at the open drawers and the mess, ‘and she’s broken into your desk. Look!’ She walked round the desk and noticed for the first time the jagged splinters where the locks had been forced and the drawers wrenched open. She touched the raw scars in the wood with a trembling finger. ‘Estelle,’ her voice shook, ‘she’s found that envelope, the one marked “Kate”, the one with the negatives in it, and she’s d-damaged the desk.’

Jerome stood silently watching her, and it was his silence and immobility which infuriated her. Tears sprang to her eyes and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. ‘Why did you keep them?’ she demanded. ‘Why didn’t you destroy them? Didn’t you realise how dangerous they were? You might have known that one day they’d get into the wrong hands, things like that always do! Now Estelle’s got them and she’s going to use them.’

Angrily she rounded the desk and came to stand in front of him, her fists raised to batter against his chest, and she was crying in earnest now. ‘Estelle says she won’t do anything if we do as she says, but I don’t trust her, she’s got Gerald with her. That’s where he’s been staying, she’s his “friend” whom he met in London.’ Kate was battering Jerome’s chest with futile fists. ‘He’ll have those negatives from her, I know he will! And he’ll spread them through his nasty little column. Why did you marry me?’ she moaned. ‘Why didn’t you just take Philip and leave me to stew in my own juice? Don’t stand there grinning at me like a Cheshire cat, you great brute! Can’t you see what’s going to happen?’