Harriet glanced across at her elderly relatives and sighed. ‘I suppose you could say they’re land rich and cash poor, so they’ve sold off the odd acre or so for building when times have been really tough, then things muddle along for a time. Unfortunately, there’s always something else with a place as ancient as this.
‘There’s another small farm just down the road, a couple of hundred acres and a dead ringer for Cold Comfort Farm. The tenant died three or four weeks ago – a nasty old so-and-so he was, I have to say – and the offer to buy turned up practically the next day. I can see, I suppose, why somebody might conceivably want the big paddock, which does have road access, though it’s much too close to this house for them even to consider it, but the anonymous buyer insists on having the adjoining Burial Field too. Have you seen it yet?’ Rory shook his head. ‘Oh you must, the field’s covered in scrub at the moment, lying fallow for a year or so, and the copse is overgrown, but it’s the heart of the family, even so. Don’t you see? If this rumour is true, it alters everything.’
She liked his ready intelligence.
‘You mean it becomes a matter for everyone who lives here and not just a private affair? I don’t know anything about oil production, I must admit, but the impression I do have is of the countryside being laid to waste. Surely that wouldn’t be allowed to happen here, would it?’
‘I don’t know. It seems unlikely but palms can always be greased if there’s enough money involved. I gather Walter has been talking to my cousin Sam, though Sam’s the soul of discretion and won’t tell me.’ She looked slightly put out, then shrugged. ‘But it doesn’t take a genius to guess that this astonishing offer featured in their discussions. As for the idea of oil under the land, I can’t imagine Walter going in for drilling, not for a moment, but if someone else were to believe there could be oil here, you’re talking enough money for a thousand pretty substantial bribes.’ Her face reflected her anxiety and frustration. ‘One thing is obvious. Whoever this mystery purchaser is, he’s trying to pull a fast one on them. A parcel of land with oil under it is worth a hell of a lot more money than he’s offering. They don’t want to sell but they’re old and very tired and this business the other night, Walter’s broken collarbone….’
He didn’t try to dismiss her fears.
‘You mean that Mr Attlin could be right? That someone did try to kill him? With him out of the way, how long would Mrs Attlin resist the pressure?’
Harriet and Rory stared at each other, their faces grim.
‘I can’t really discuss it,’ she said, almost in a whisper, as she suddenly recalled that however sympathetic he might be, Rory was a complete stranger. ‘It’s not really any of my business.’
She shivered as another thought slid insidiously into her brain. Land with oil underneath it might well be worth killing for. Glancing at Rory she caught his eye and saw quite clearly that the same idea had occurred to him. Sobered, she looked down at her plate. Perhaps murder would be worth the risk – if you had no scruples and if the reserves of oil were great enough to make it worth your while. And if the only apparent obstacle happened to be one frail old man.
chapter three
Harriet left Sam to find the whisky and glasses for a nightcap while she slipped out to water her runner beans. The cat greeted her as he ran along the top of the fence and when she picked him up she could smell smoke. ‘You’ve been in somebody’s bonfire again, Dylan,’ she scolded him, burying her nose in his soft fur. ‘Lovely smell of wood smoke, but mind you take care. We don’t want a barbecued moggie.’
In the sitting room she found Sam poring over an ancient booklet he’d discovered on the coffee table.
‘You’ve read this, of course?’ He looked up at her with a chuckle. ‘Is this true? According to this, family legend says that the founder of the Attlin family was supposed to be one Lucius Sextus Vitalis, (though how his name is known is glossed over), newly retired from the army some time around the early fourth century AD and finding himself, so the legend says, “heart-sore and weary”, not far from the city of Venta Belgarum – which is Winchester, of course. I suppose, like all the retired soldiers in the Roman army, he would have been given a land grant and built his villa here – all right for some. It says here that Lucius is supposed to have had a dream when the buildings were finished, that an angel appeared and blessed the house. “There came unto him a vision of a great angel. And the angel said unto him, ‘Lucius Sextus Vitalis, thou shalt live here and prosper and all thy children shall dwell here forever.’”’