odd chap, secretive and all that.'
'Couldn't you get an invitation for me?' Royan asked, but Georgina shook
her head.
'Why don't you ask Prof Dixon? He is often one of the guns at Quenton
Park. Great chum of Quenton-Harper.'
It was ten days before Prof Dixon was ready for her. She borrowed her
mother's Land Rover and drove to Leeds. The Prof folded her in a bear
hug and then took her through to his office for tea.
It was nostalgic of her days as a student to be back in the cluttered
room filled with books and papers and ancient artefacts. Royan told him
about Duraid's murder, and Dixon was shocked and distressed, but she
quickly changed the subject to the slides that she had prepared for the
lecture. He was fascinated by'everything she had to show him.
It was almost time for her to leave before she had an opportunity to
broach the subject of the Quenton Park museum, but he responded
immediately.
'I am amazed that you never visited it while you were a student here.
It's a very impressive collection. The family has been at it for over a
hundred years. As a matter of fact, I am shooting on the estate next
Thursday. I'll have a word with Nicholas. However, the poor chap isn't
up to much at the moment. Last year he suffered a terrible 'personal
tragedy. Lost his wife and two little girls in a motor accident on the
MU He shook his head. 'Awful business. Nicholas was driving. I think he
blames himself' He walked her out to the Land Rover.
'So we will see you on the twenty-third,' he told Royan as they parted.
'I expect that you will have an audience of at least a hundred, and I
have even had a reporter from the Yorkshire Post on to me. They have
heard about your lectures and they want to do an interview with you.
jolly good publicity for the department. You'll do it, of course. Could
you come a couple of hours early to speak to them?'
'Actually I will probably see you before the twenty-third,' she told
him. 'Mummy and her dog are picking up at Quenton Park on Thursday, and
she has got me a job as a beater for the day.'
'I'll keep an eye open for you,' he promised, and waved to her as she
pulled away in a cloud of exhaust smoke.
The wind was searing cold out of the north.
The clouds tumbled over each other, heavy 6- and blue and grey, so close
to earth that they brushed the crests of the hills as they hurried ahead
of the gale.
Royan wore three layers of clothing under the old green Barbour jacket
that Georgina had lent her, but still she shivered as they came up over
the brow of the hills in the line of beaters. Her blood had thinned in
the heat of the Nile valley. Two pairs of fisherman's socks were not
enough to save her toes from turning numb.
For this drive, the last of the day, the head keeper had moved Georgina
from her usual position behind the line of guns, where she and Magic
were expected to pick up the crippled birds that came through to them,
into the line of beaters.
Keeping the best for last, they were beating the High Larches. The
