neck and right into her cheeks as she fought the instinct to look round. Take it slowly, May told herself. There is no need to panic. Had Miss Nettlefold been carrying her handbag with her as she entered the house? May felt certain she had. And then a dreadful thought occurred to her. Still facing forward and sitting up very straight May was able to see the reflection of the back seat in the driving mirror. It was empty.
Just then Miss Nettlefold appeared at the front door of the house. For a second or two she stood quite still, a large and in some ways absurd figure in her black fur hat, her voluminous coat and shoulders rounded and hunched forward, as if she was trying to reduce her height. Shielding her eyes with her hand against the surprisingly strong glare of a setting wintry sun, Miss Nettlefold searched the driveway.
“Wiggle!” May heard her call in a deep American voice, and then again, a little louder with an extended emphasis on the first syllable. “Weeeg-le!”
Miss Nettlefold turned in the direction of the parked car, a woman happy in her ownership of a temporarily missing dog, as she scanned the gravel for the wag of a tail. But her glance fell quickly on a small, still shape just visible beneath a back wheel of the Rolls-Royce.
In an instant the Fort driveway filled up with several black-suited servants, alerted by Miss Nettlefold’s agonised cry. Towered over by the straight-backed Mr. Osborne, they hovered crow-like over the large figure that lay on the gravel, unsure how to lift the comatose Miss Nettlefold inside. In her thick-haired fur coat Miss Nettlefold resembled a bear that had lumbered out of the evergreen rhododendron bushes surrounding the driveway and collapsed in confusion.
Mr. Osborne approached May and suggested that it might be best if she leave now, adding, after a theatrical clearing of his throat, “And remove the instrument of death before Miss Nettlefold regains consciousness.”
A yard or two away, his outline just identifiable beneath a plaid rug, lay the motionless body of Wiggle.
CHAPTER TWO
The following morning, May stood cap in hand in Sir Philip Blunt’s study at Cuckmere Park in Sussex as he faced her, employer to employee, from behind his large mahogany desk. She had returned to the house late the previous evening, and had gone straight to her bedroom without speaking to anyone. She feared the worst. She had tried to prepare herself for the inevitable consequences of her fatal carelessness, and had been unable to stop herself reliving the minutes following the second of impact. She could not absorb the shocking knowledge that she was responsible for the death of a living thing.
Sir Philip put a match to his cigar, igniting it with big billowy puffs. May watched one end of the brown cylinder darken with saliva while the other end glowed with menace. For a moment a large puff of smoke obscured his face.
“I am happy to come straight to the point and tell you that Miss Nettlefold has concluded that yesterday’s incident was not your fault.”
May tried to swallow but her throat felt blocked.
“In fact, it is to you whom Miss Nettlefold now wishes to apologise,” he explained, looking a little bemused. He had received a telephone call from Miss Nettlefold at Sunningdale just an hour ago. She had begun speaking in a state of understandable anguish, even anger, declaring that Wiggle had been “the love of her life,” and the only living soul she could trust. But she had calmed down and in the end registered her distress at the distress that must have been suffered by Miss Thomas. The dog had been unwell for a few days—an allergy to offal, apparently—and that weakness must have prevented Wiggle from dodging the approaching wheels of the car.
At that moment May wished she still had enough hair to cover her face, which she was sure betrayed a vestige of the guilt she still felt. Sir Philip had not finished.
“There is one other small matter that I wish to raise. I understand you met certain people when you delivered Miss Nettlefold to the address at Sunningdale yesterday?”
May nodded.
“Well, far be it for me to question the wisdom of introducing you to those particular individuals. What is important is that I already know you well enough, May, to say that I feel you to be a dependable person. And an intelligent one too.”
She was not quite sure where this was all leading.