Kate had come in her old Morris 1000 and the heater was not as efficient as in the car’s younger days. It was the one thing which Jerome’s garage hadn’t improved. Kate had dithered with excitement when the telephone call came. Her car was ready for collection or—the man’s voice at the other end of the wire had been most obsequious—it could be delivered anywhere that Mrs Manfred wished. Mrs Jerome Manfred had wished it to be delivered to her in Derbyshire. She said so, rather hesitantly, and had been reduced to near silence by the very matter-of-fact ‘Tomorrow, Mrs Manfred. Will that be convenient?’ Whoever it was had been assured that it would be most convenient, and she had found the car on the drive when she had come back from a walk with Philip and they had examined it carefully. It looked just like new. The rusting bits had been removed and someone had given it a complete respray which would have done credit to a Rolls-Royce. The seats had been either replaced or re-upholstered and the carpets had been renewed.
