She was instinctively aware of him as she had been of Julian. ‘If you did not want me to talk of it,’ she told him with characteristic insouciance, ‘you should not have mentioned the matter to me. And if you treat me in this way, you will have my death to answer for, as well as the deaths of my husband and child. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Some foul murder has been committed. Why should she? she asked rebelliously. She saw a pole-chair; that would be this Mr. ’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock. “I am just back from Paris. Shall we say at half-past seven?” She rose from her chair. “I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said.
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