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the purse strings,” Patrick said. “Does Derek run the family business?”
    “There isn’t one, or not that you can notice,” Jane answered. “Mrs Ludlow’s pretty rich, but I don’t know where her money comes from. Derek’s on the stock exchange, I think. I’m not sure what Cathy’s father does, but he’s some sort of tycoon. He goes abroad a lot.”
    “What happened to grandfather Ludlow?”
    “He was killed in the First World War,” said Jane.
    “And your old lady’s lived here ever since?”
    “Yes. Ruling her family with a rod of iron,” said Jane.
    Patrick looked admiringly at his sister.
    “How long have you lived in Winterswick, Jane?” he asked.
    “Six months. Why?”
    “I expect you know all about everybody else who lives in the village, too, don’t you?”
    Jane made a face at him.
    “I do not,” she said. “But the Ludlows live in one of the few big houses, and say what you like about the levelling down of society, their affairs are news. The old girl’s quite a figure, you know, driving out in her car for the air, like a dowager duchess.”
    “I believe you’re almost as inquisitive as I am,” Patrick said.
    “Oh no, I’m not. You’re always looking for mysteries. I’m just curious,” Jane said. “I shouldn’t waste your time brooding about the Ludlows, if I were you. There’s nothing particularly mysterious about them. Pathetic, perhaps. Phyllis must have had a pretty depressing life, and it can’t have been much fun for Cathy living all these years with her grandmother and her aunt, but she went away to school. She’s rather bright, as a matter of fact.”
    “Only children often are,” said Patrick. “They get heaps of undivided attention. It brings them on.”
    “You make them sound like ripening fruit,” said Jane.
    “Well, and so they are. All young things have to mature in time,” said Patrick.
    “Some people don’t seem to me to be very mature when they’re middle-aged,” said Jane. “And there’s some middle-aged excitement up at Pantons this weekend.”
    “I’m sure you mean me to ask you what it is,” her brother said.
    “Naturally,” Jane replied. “It’s Cathy’s father. He’s suddenly got married again.”
    “And do you feel that this is an impetuous, immature act?” asked Patrick.
    “Not necessarily. It might be for the best. Why shouldn’t he, after all? But it seems a bit impulsive. He met some female in Italy earlier this year and went chasing after her when his hols were due. He captured her, and they’re coming here this evening.”
    “An Italian lady?”
    “No, she’s American. A widow, she was. If you stay glued to the window tonight you may see her go by. It’s quite a thing for Cathy. I should think she’s rather scared. It’s not the same as if your father marries some childhood chum, or whatever.”
    “It’s rather exciting, isn’t it?” said Patrick. “I can see that Winterswick offers plenty of diversions for the mind, checking up on all the neighbours.”
    “Oh, you,” said Jane. “You’d find diversions on a desert island, studying the sex-life of the crabs. I must leave you to your fascinating meditations now and go and feed your nephew. This greenery I’m clasping is for us, but supper won’t be ready for an hour at least.”
    “In that case I think I’ll just step down to the Rose and Crown for a while,” said Patrick.
    “You do that thing,” said Jane. “And bring a bottle back with you.”

 
VI
     
    At Pantons, conversation during dinner on that Friday evening was sticky. Mrs Ludlow, regal in the crimson lace dress that had been made for her grandson Martin’s wedding, sat at the head of the table and ate a hearty meal; her digestion was excellent. Facing her, sat her elder son Derek; he seemed absent-minded, not the genial uncle eager to listen to the tale of all her doings to whom Cathy was accustomed. She supposed that they must all be feeling the strain of the occasion. Aunt Betty