Silent Mother On Friday evening, Sarah Newby rode out into the countryside towards Wetherby. There had been a storm that morning, and the newly washed trees and fields glistened in the sparkling evening sunlight. Through her polarized helmet visor the clouds were so beautiful that it was difficult to keep her attention on the road. But at last she found the gate and turned down a track towards the river, the wheels of her bike splashing through puddles as she approached the Walters’ house. A small black and white collie ran out barking hysterically as she pulled up outside the front door, and Miranda Walters came hurrying after it. ‘Down, Tess, down! Come here, you wretched dog! I’m sorry, she’s not used to motorbikes, you see.’ ‘Don’t worry.’ Sarah took off her helmet and bent down to make friends with the suspicious animal, which crept forwards with its belly low on the ground to lick her hand. It was an old, grey-muzzled dog, but still quite fit. ‘There. I’m not a burglar after all.’ She smiled up at Miranda, whom she had only met briefly in court.
