There was uninterrupted green hedging to the left, paddocks of greying grass to the right. Black cattle nosed around the grass, winding long strands around their tongues. Then, on the left, there was an opening in the hedge. Tall pink gates, a sign, ‘Hocking Hall’. I pulled in, stepped out and pressed the intercom. ‘Cass Tuplin to see Mona Hocking-Lee,’ I said. ‘Mrs Hocking-Lee is away. Do you have an appointment?’ ‘No, but…’ ‘I’m afraid we don’t admit visitors without an appointment.’ ‘I need to return a briefcase.’ Some rustling, as though someone was looking through papers. A murmured conversation. I leaned in, resting my arm against the wall. ‘Actually, the briefcase looks quite expensive.’ More rustling. The gates opened with a hum. I steered along the driveway, a gravel ribbon lined with trees, leading to wide green lawns, and the spouting lion fountains I’d seen on the internet. Finally I saw the house, large, turreted and surrounded by verandahs.
What do You think about Murder With The Lot (2013)?
