It was Bronya, eldest daughter of the newly widowed Carla. She looked straight past Ant at Digby, who jumped out of his chair as if jabbed with a stick. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded.
‘To talk,’ she said. ‘I just want a quiet talk, that’s all.’
‘Does your mother know you’re here?’
‘Mr Frowse,’ she said, with great dignity, ‘I am not a child. And my mother is in no condition to concern herself with my whereabouts. But she has jumped to a conclusion about her husband’s death that I think I should warn you about.’
‘Huh!’ said Ant, following her into the house. ‘You think we need any warning from you? After the way you spoke to me yesterday? Accusing us of taking that packet that’s gone missing.’
‘That packet contained an extremely valuable gold necklace. And there can be no doubt that it has been stolen by someone on this estate. It was handed to a person here on Wednesday afternoon, who scribbled an illegible signature for it, and it has not been seen since. My mother believes that Rufus was out searching for it when he died. He was in his pyjamas, you know. He must have died during the night.’
‘Which night?’ asked Ant.
‘That appears uncertain. We have to assume it was Thursday, but nobody seems to know where he was that day, so it might have been as long ago as Wednesday. The police have spent an hour or more trying to understand his movements on those days.’
‘He was in pyjamas?’ Ant was astonished. Then it became clearer to him. Of course, a wealthy plutocrat, idling his affluent way through the approach to Christmas, might well slob around the house all day in silk pyjamas and a cashmere dressing gown. ‘All right for some,’ he added cynically.
Bronya turned feline. If she’d had claws, his face might well have felt their points. ‘What do you mean?’ she hissed.
‘I mean we live in different worlds, divided only by a six-foot electric fence.’
Bronya turned back to Digby, who was standing stiffly beside the kitchen table, his face pale. ‘Steady on, son,’ he mumbled. ‘Let her say what she came to say. Something about this gold trinket – am I right? So who signed for it? Was it a male or female?’
‘Female. If the delivery man can be believed, which my mother is convinced he can.’ She narrowed her eyes, as if in triumph. ‘And it’s her belief it was your wife.’
‘Well, she’s wrong. Rufus upset her badly by accusing her of having it. She told him days ago that she knew nothing at all about it.’
‘She told you that?’
‘She did.’
‘So please fetch her now and let me ask her for myself.’
‘She isn’t here.’
‘Where is she, then? Listen, you stupid man – my mother is convinced that this is obviously a motive for murder. If, as she suspects, it’s established that Rufus was deliberately killed, you and your family will be the main suspects. The police have already found footprints in the woods, all kinds of evidence that somebody was there where he died. They will form a theory that you were hiding the necklace and my father found you doing it, and you killed him. Perhaps both of you together. Perhaps all three of you. That’s what my mother believes is going to happen. I came, actually, to warn you.’
Ant tried to quell his pounding heart, blustering loudly, ‘That’s ridiculous. Nobody here’s stolen anything. It’ll turn up. One of your staff must know where it is. One of them might even have stolen it.’
Digby waved at him to stop. He was frowning, deep in thought. ‘Does your mother know you’ve come here to warn us? Wouldn’t it suit all of you better to just have us arrested and carted off, so you can come and demolish this house, as you’ve always wanted?’
The woman stood taller than ever, her broad shoulders seeming to expand sideways. She did not answer his first question. ‘I am not like my mother,’ she said. ‘Nor am I like my sisters. They enjoy plotting and cheating and getting something over on people. They will make things far worse for you than you can imagine, now that Rufus isn’t here to keep them in check. For myself, I prefer to keep everything clear and open.’
‘Makes no sense,’ Ant protested. ‘You’re no more concerned about us than your mother is. I think you’re here to stir up more trouble, for your own reasons. I know your sort,’ he finished, belligerently. He had squared up to her himself, closely matching her for height and width, so they looked like two bulls about to charge each other.
Bronya glanced at him speculatively. ‘You know nothing,’ she concluded. ‘You are the least concerned – although my mother might not agree.’
‘That’s true enough.’ Digby said, then chewed his lip for a moment, as if holding in words that might be best unspoken. ‘I know you better than you think.’
‘Nothing you know can do me any harm.’
‘Believe it or not, my dear, I wish you no harm. If I have to take it that far, it’ll be out of self-defence. So if we’re throwing warnings at each other, then there you have it. You get your mother to drop her crazy accusations, and I won’t make any trouble for any of you.’
Again she narrowed her eyes, but to Ant’s bemused gaze, she seemed to have softened a little. ‘You overestimate my influence on my mother,’ she said, with a grim smile. ‘And none of us should forget Annika. My sister is a vixen.’
‘And your mother is a she-wolf,’ said Digby.
‘Well, we’re all Russians, after all,’ said Bronya enigmatically, and took her leave without further comment.
Ant’s heart continued to pound as he tried to grasp the significance of what had just happened. What had his father meant in those final minutes? What did he know about Bronya, and what did he really feel about her? There had been some sort of spark flashing between them, some
