After leaving the main road at the top of Hinton Littlemoor the Somerset lanes we had to use to reach it are twisting and narrow, with passing places, and there is no room for error. Patrick drove the Range Rover as fast as he dared with me acting as look-out on the tight right-handed bends. We met a tractor but luckily were near the entrance to a house and Patrick swung the car into the open gateway to enable it to pass. Nearing our destination, he slowed as we did not want Mallory to think us anything but ordinary visitors. With this in mind I had made a quick detour to the kitchen on the way out and grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack, placing it in a small carrier bag containing a pair of sandals I had bought that afternoon, tipping them out unceremoniously on to the worktop. Poor Vicky had fared little better, dumped, with apologies, in her grandmother’s arms just as she was about to serve their, and Matthew and Katie’s, dinner. We drove into the farmhouse drive, not looking again at the same black hatchback we had seen outside Cooper’s house parked close by.
