This was such an uncommon occurrence that both Taryn and her aunt rushed outside to see what was happening. ‘Miss Penreath?’ One of the drivers got out and looked questioningly at the two women. ‘I’m Miss Penreath,’ replied Taryn. ‘The car you hired,’ he said smartly. ‘You should find it satisfactory.’ ‘But I didn’t—I haven’t hired a car.’ He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. ‘Miss Penreath, Honeysuckle Cottage, Ferndale. One car for an unlimited period—it’s all here. Good day, ma’am.’ Taryn stared as he climbed into the other car. ‘Er— thank you,’ she called lamely after them as they disappeared in a cloud of dust. ‘What do you make of this?’ she asked, turning to her aunt. ‘Beats me,’ shrugged the other woman. At that moment a motor-cycle came over the brow of the hill and squealed to a halt beside them. ‘Telegram for Miss Penreath.’ Taryn’s eyebrows slid up in astonishment.
