She did not instantly rush indoors, because it was a Monday, and Mrs. Abney was there, pushing the vacuum cleaner around like a mad thing and filling the house with the smell of furniture polish. Mrs. Abney loved to answer the telephone, and, sure enough, a moment later the sitting-room window was flung open to reveal Mrs. Abney, waving a yellow duster to attract Eve’s attention. “Mrs. Douglas! Telephone.” “Coming.” Carrying the prickly bunch in one hand and her secateurs in the other, Eve made her way up the leaf-strewn grass, shucked off her muddy boots, and went indoors. “I think it’s your son-in-law, from Scotland.” Eve’s heart gave a faint lurch. She put the flowers and the secateurs down on the hall chest and went into the sitting room. The furniture was all over the place, the curtains draped over chairs to facilitate floor-polishing. The telephone stood on her desk. She picked up the receiver. “David?” “Eve.” “Yes?” “Eve … look … it’s Jane.”
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