Minette Walters - Fox Evil

James quizzed Mark on the law of adverse possession, land registry, and what constituted habitation and usage. Finally, he pushed his plate aside and asked the younger man to repeat what both Dick Weldon and Eleanor Bartlett had said about them.

"How very odd," he mused, when Mark mentioned the scarves over the mouths. "Why should they be doing that?"

Mark shrugged. "In case the police turn up?" he suggested. "Their mug shots must be in most of the nicks in England."

"I thought Dick said the police didn't want to be involved."

"Yes, he did but-" He paused. "Why so interested?"

James shook his head. "We're bound to find out who they are eventually, so why hide their faces now?"

"The lot I saw through the binoculars were wearing scarves and balaclavas," said Nancy. "Pretty heavily muffled, in fact. Doesn't that make Mark right… they're worried about being recognized?"

James nodded. "Yes," he agreed, "but by whom?"

"Certainly not Eleanor Bartlett," said Mark. "She was adamant that she'd never seen them before."

"Mm." He was silent for a moment before smiling from one to the other. "Perhaps I'm the one they're afraid of. As my neighbors seem fond of pointing out, they are on my doorstep. Shall we go and talk to them? If we cross the ha-ha and approach through the wood we can surprise them from behind. The walk will do us good, don't you think?"

This was the man Mark knew of old- Action Man -and he smiled at him before looking inquiringly at Nancy.

"I'm game," she said. "As someone once said: 'know your enemy.' We wouldn't want to shoot the wrong people by mistake, now, would we?"

"They may not be the enemy," Mark protested.

Her eyes teased him. "Even better, then. Perhaps they're our enemy's enemy."

Julian was brushing the dried mud off Bouncer's legs when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He turned suspiciously as Eleanor appeared at the stable door. It was so out of character that he assumed she'd come to tear strips off him. "I'm not in the mood," he said curtly. "We'll discuss it when I've had a drink."

Discuss what? Eleanor asked herself frantically. She felt as if she were skating blindfolded on thin ice. As far as Julian was concerned, there was nothing to discuss. Or was there? "If you mean those wretched people at the Copse, I've already dealt with it," she said brightly. "Prue tried to pass the buck back to you but I told her she was being unreasonable. Do you want a drink, sweetheart? I'll fetch you one if you like."

He tossed the grooming brush into a bucket and reached for Bouncer's blanket. Sweetheart…? "What do you mean Prue tried to pass the buck?" he asked, spreading the blanket over Bouncer's back and stooping to buckle it under his belly.

Eleanor relaxed slightly. "Dick couldn't get hold of his solicitor so she asked me to put Gareth onto it. I said I didn't think that was fair, bearing in mind we have no claim to the land and you'd be paying Gareth's fees." She was unable to suppress her hectoring personality indefinitely. "I thought it was a bloody cheek, actually. Dick and James's solicitor had a row about it… then Prue rowed with Dick… so you and I were expected to pick up the pieces. I said to Prue, why should Julian cover the costs? It's not as though we've anything to gain by it."

Julian made what he could of this. "Has anyone phoned the police?"

"Dick did."

"And?"

"I only know what Prue said," Eleanor lied. "It's to do with ownership of land, so it's a matter for a solicitor."

He frowned at her. "So what's Dick doing about it?"

"I don't know. He went off in a huff and Prue doesn't know where he is."

"You said something about James's solicitor."

She pulled a face. "Dick spoke to him and got blown out of the water for his pains-which is probably what put him in a bad mood-but I've no idea if the man's done anything about it."

Julian kept his thoughts to himself while he filled the water pail and replenished the hay in Bouncer's trough. He gave the elderly hunter's neck a final pat, then picked up the grooming bucket and waited pointedly by the door until Eleanor moved. "Why would Dick phone James's solicitor? How can he help? I thought he was in London."

"He's staying with James. He arrived on Christmas Eve."

Julian shot the bolt on the stable door. "I thought the poor old boy was on his own."

"It's not just Mr. Ankerton. There's someone else there as well."

Julian frowned at her. "Who?"

"I don't know. It looked like one of the travelers."

Julian's frown deepened. "Why would James have travelers visiting him?"

Eleanor smiled weakly. "It's nothing to do with us."

"Like hell it isn't," he snapped. "They're parked on the bloody Copse. How did the solicitor blow Dick out of the water?"

"Refused to discuss it with him."

"Why?"

She hesitated. "I suppose he resents what Prue said about James and Ailsa fighting."

"Oh, come on!" said Julian impatiently. "He might not like her for it-he might not like Dick either-but he's not going to refuse to discuss something that affects his client. You said they had a row. What was that about?"

"I don't know."

He marched up the path to the house with Eleanor scurrying behind him. "I'd better call him," he said crossly. "The whole thing sounds totally ridiculous to me. Solicitors don't row with people." He pulled the back door open.

She caught his arm to hold him back. "Who are you going to phone?"

"Dick," he said, shaking her off as abruptly as Mark had done earlier. "I want to know what the hell's been going on. Anyway, I said I'd call as soon as I got back."

"He's not at the farm."

"So?" He wedged his right heel into the bootjack to yank off his riding boot. "I'll call him on his mobile."

She eased around him into the kitchen. "It's not our fight, sweetheart," she called gaily over her shoulder, taking a whisky tumbler from a cupboard and unscrewing the bottle to top up her own and pour him a generous slug. "I told you. Dick and Prue have already come to blows over it. Where's the sense in our getting caught in the middle?"

The "sweethearts" were grating on his nerves, and he guessed it was her answer to Gemma. Did she think terms of endearment could win him back? Or perhaps she thought "sweetheart" was a word he used as a matter of course with mistresses? Had he used it with her when he was two-timing his first wife…? God knew. It was so long ago he couldn't remember. "Okay," he said, padding into the kitchen in stockinged feet. "I'll call James."

Eleanor handed him the tumbler of whisky. "Oh, I don't think that's a good idea either," she said rather too hastily. "Not if he's got visitors. Why don't you wait till tomorrow? It'll probably have sorted itself by then. Have you eaten? I could make a turkey risotto or something? That would be nice, wouldn't it?"

Julian took in her flushed face, the half-empty whisky bottle, and the signs of repaired makeup around her eyes, and wondered why she was so determined to stop him using the phone. He tipped the glass to her. "Sounds good, Ellie," he said with an artless smile. "Give me a call when it's ready. I'll be in the shower."

Upstairs in his dressing room he opened his wardrobe door and looked at the neatly spaced suits and sports jackets that he'd left pushed to one side in order to remove his hunting jacket, and he asked himself why his wife had suddenly decided to search his things. She had always behaved as if looking after a husband was a form of slavery, and he had long since learned to pull his weight, particularly in the rooms he called his own. He even preferred it. Comfortable clutter was more in tune with his nature than the showy cleanliness in the rest of the house.

He set the shower running, then pulled out his mobile and scrolled down the menu for Dick's number. When the phone was answered at the other end, he quietly closed his dressing room door.