Amy made her way over the smart, newly raked gravel of Olivia’s drive and let herself in. In the corner of the front garden were two estate agents’ boards advertising the house was for sale. That’d get the town talking, she thought. Mrs L might have asked her to keep quiet about the sale – which she had done, apart from telling her mum, but that didn’t count, did it? – but now the For Sale boards were up everyone was going to know.

‘Coo-ee.’

‘Morning, Amy,’ replied Olivia from the kitchen. Amy could see she was adding ingredients to what she supposed must be a bread machine only she’d never seen it being used before. ‘We’ve got a viewing this afternoon,’ continued Olivia.

‘So you’re making bread.’

‘Exactly. Every little helps.’

‘What, people buy houses because they smell nice?’ Amy was astounded.

‘First impressions, Amy, first impressions. People aren’t only buying a house, they’re buying a lifestyle.’

Yeah, right. ‘If you say so.’ Amy shrugged off her cardigan and put on her apron. ‘Where do you want me to start?’

‘Lots of polishing, please.’

‘Let me guess – so it smells nice.’

‘And I’m going to pop into town and buy some flowers as soon as I’ve got the bread on.’

Olivia whirled around the kitchen finding the ingredients for her loaf and then as Amy got started in the sitting room came the rhythmic whump-whump of the bread machine mixing the dough.

‘I’m going out now – back in a few minutes.’

Olivia sped out of the house leaving Amy grafting. She considered taking her bike but decided that, because she had so much to do, it would be quicker by car – assuming she could find somewhere to park, which wasn’t a given at this time of day. She jumped into the driver’s seat and two minutes later she was trawling the car park for a vacant spot. Finally, she struck lucky and pulled into the bay.

She grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and headed to the florist’s. She knew that a bunch of flowers might be cheaper in the little Co-op but the selection generally only ran to carnations or maybe some roses but invariably they never smelt of anything and Olivia wanted scent. And lots of it. Freesias, she thought, as she opened the door with a ping.

‘Hello,’ said Belinda, who was standing by the counter.

‘Belinda. What a surprise.’

‘It’s my great-aunt’s birthday,’ said Belinda. ‘And what do you get a nonagenarian who lives in Edinburgh?’

‘Flowers?’

Belinda nodded and tapped the Interflora catalogue on the counter which she’d been browsing. ‘Mind you, given what this bouquet is going to cost it might be cheaper to fly up there and wish her a happy birthday in person.’

‘But she’ll love the thought.’

‘I know. What are you getting?’

‘Oh, only some flowers for the sitting room. Nothing wildly extravagant.’

‘And what’s this I hear about you moving?’ asked Belinda.

‘Seeing there are two estate agents’ boards outside my house I can hardly deny it.’

‘But you love it here.’ Belinda was astounded.

‘We’re not moving away – we’re getting something smaller.’ Olivia faked a bright expression. ‘We’re rattling about in that big house now most of the children have left home. Soon it’ll be only me and Nigel and we don’t need all those rooms.’

‘Even so,’ said Belinda. ‘What are you looking to buy instead? There’s a fabulous cottage down near the church up for sale – you know, the one by the cricket pitch.’

Olivia knew it very well indeed. She also knew that it was going for much the same price as she was hoping to get for her place. And what was the point of telling a half-truth – everyone would know her new address soon enough. ‘No, we’re going to Beeching Rise.’

Belinda’s eyes actually goggled for a second before she composed herself. ‘Oh.’

The florist appeared from a back room. ‘Sorry to keep you, ladies. I had to take a telephone order.’ She looked brightly from one to the other. ‘Now, who’s first?’

*

When Olivia got back she noticed that Amy was whizzing through the downstairs and doing a terrific job. Making up for swigging the gin, she thought, cynically. She put the big bunch of flowers on the counter in the kitchen and opened one of the wall cupboards to get out a vase. She could see the one she wanted on a high self – a big cut-glass one that had been a wedding present. She stood on tiptoe to reach it, pressing on the work surface with her left hand to steady herself, while she managed to get the fingertips of her right hand to reach it. But the vase was heavier than she was expecting, her balance wasn’t perfect and as she lifted it down, it slipped from her grasp and hit the counter, shattering. Razor-sharp splinters of glass flew everywhere and the crash reverberated through the entire house.

‘You all right, Mrs L?’

No, she wasn’t. She stared at her left hand. The back of it had a deep cut right across it – for a split second she could see the white edges of the skin before blood filled the gash and then flowed out onto the counter. She felt sick and dizzy and felt herself swaying. Hands grasped her and led her to a chair.

‘There you go Mrs L,’ said Amy, as she sat her down. ‘Hold your hand in the air while I get a cloth.’

Still feeling very faint, Olivia did as she was told, feeling the warm, slow, viscous trickle of blood make its way past her wrist to her elbow then, a few seconds later she felt something cold and damp being wrapped around her hand.

‘I don’t know much about first aid but I think that needs stitching,’ said Amy.

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ said Olivia.

‘No, it bloody won’t be,’ said Amy. ‘It’s a bad cut. You should get yourself to the doc’s. If Dr Connolly can’t sort it he’ll get you to A&E, who can.’

Now Olivia was sitting down and the original shock was wearing off she began to feel stronger. She opened her eyes and looked at Amy who was crouching down beside her – all around her, all over the floor, were sparkling shards of lead crystal.

‘I haven’t got time, Amy. I’ve got people coming to view the house, remember.’

‘Not till this afternoon. And I can clear this up and finish off.’ Amy grasped Olivia’s uninjured right hand with hers. ‘I’m going to ring Bex and see if she can’t run you over to the surgery.’

Olivia looked down at Amy’s hands gripping hers. ‘Maybe you’re right. And apart from anything else I think I want some decent painkillers.’ She gave Amy a weak smile. ‘As the kids say, it’s proper caning.’

‘Right, I’m going to make that call. And if Bex can’t I’ll try Heather. There’ll be someone who can help, I’m sure.’ Amy crunched over the broken glass to find her mobile. ‘And never you mind, Mrs L, I’ll get all this glass sorted as soon as you’re fixed with a lift.’

Olivia slumped back in her chair and tried not to think about the agonising throb in the back of her hand as Amy began her search for a Good Samaritan.

*

Bex put down the phone and picked up her car keys. Five minutes later she pulled into Olivia’s drive and, not bothering to lock the car, ran to the door. Amy had it open before she had a chance to ring the bell.

‘Thanks for being so quick,’ said Amy.

‘Where’s the patient?’ Bex looked past her and saw Olivia, her hand still in the air and a tea towel, stained with blood, wrapped round it. ‘You did the right thing,’ she said to Amy.

‘It’s a bad cut.’

‘I think straight to A&E, don’t you?’

Olivia overheard. ‘I’m sure that’s not necessary. Besides, you always have to wait so long and I haven’t time.’

‘It’s a weekday morning,’ said Bex firmly. ‘I’m sure you’ll be straight in.’

Olivia looked sceptical.

‘I’m not taking no for an argument. Are you all right to walk to the car?’ said Bex.

‘Of course. I’m not an invalid.’

Amy and Bex exchanged a look. ‘Come on then,’ said Bex. She picked up her car keys and Olivia’s handbag and helped her friend to the car.

Olivia was almost silent on the trip to Cattebury General. Bex glanced at her occasionally and saw that Olivia’s mouth was set in a thin line.

‘Does it hurt?’

Olivia nodded.

‘Won’t be long now,’ said Bex as she pulled away from a set of traffic lights. Ahead was a big sign for the hospital, with the red A&E symbol pointing to a left turn. Bex swung the car round the corner and straight into the car park. She drove right through it, to the door to the hospital.

‘Will you be all right to go to reception while I park the car?’

Olivia nodded.

Bex dropped her off and was back in a few minutes, clutching the parking ticket. Her sandals squeaked on the polished floor as she made her way to the right department. Olivia wasn’t in the waiting area. Had she been whisked off somewhere else?

‘Can I help you?’ said the receptionist there.

‘I’m with Mrs Laithwaite,’ she said.

‘She’s in triage.’

‘Blimey – that was quick.’

‘It’s not all bad news with the NHS,’ said the receptionist, tartly.

‘No, no, I know.’ Chastened, she took a seat in the almost empty waiting area and picked up an ancient and dog-eared magazine from the pile on the table. She was flicking through her third edition of OK! when the double doors to the A&E department opened and Olivia came out with a serious bandage on her hand.

Bex put the magazine down. ‘You done?’

‘Not yet. It needs stitching properly but I’ve got this dressing on in the meantime. More hygienic than the one I arrived with.’

Bex thought about the state of her tea towels in her kitchen and nodded. ‘Do they know how long it’ll be?’

‘Do you need to get off? I can get a taxi home if you do.’

‘Don’t be silly. If it’s any length of time I’m sure Belinda can cover for me. Let’s face it, she ran that pub on her own for an age before she took me on.’

‘I suppose.’

‘How’s the pain?’

‘Better, thanks.’

Silence fell for a while and Bex looked at some pictures of a soap-opera celeb flaunting an engagement ring on her left hand and looking adoringly at a bloke who, while undeniably handsome, also looked completely gormless. Olivia, next to her, glanced across at the pages.

‘Is Amy engaged?’ she asked out of the blue.

‘Engaged? I don’t think so. Why?’

‘I was sure she was wearing a ring, rather a nice one, when she was sorting me out. The trouble is, I wasn’t really with it. The shock...’

Bex remembered. ‘Oh that – yes, the ring her bloke gave her, but according to Belinda, it’s not an engagement one. A gift, apparently – from her bloke.’

‘Only... it’s...’ Olivia frowned.

‘It’s what?’

‘Nothing. Pretty damn generous gift, though, if her bloke is not planning on marrying her.’

‘Maybe it’s paste.’

‘Maybe. I always thought paste tended to be big and showy; that ring is quite tasteful.’

‘And possibly antique,’ said Bex.

‘Exactly the sort of thing my mother used to wear.’

‘When she showed it off to me I was a bit surprised – I mean, I don’t know anything about Amy’s Billy—’

‘Billy?!’

‘Yeah, he’s her boyfriend. Why, do you know him?’

‘Mrs Laithwaite?’ called a nurse from the door to the A&E ward. ‘Would you like to come through?’

‘Told you it’d be quick,’ said Bex, thoughts of Billy and why he’d not given Amy a more contemporary ring evaporating as she returned to her magazine.

*

When Olivia got back home, Amy had finished and had left a note saying she hoped Olivia’s hand would soon be better. And don’t worry about the money, you can pay me next time.

‘There may not be a next time,’ said Olivia under her breath.

She put her bag down on the counter in the kitchen and had a quick look around. She had to admit the girl had done a good job and she couldn’t see a trace of glass or blood. The bread had finished and Amy had managed to remove it from the machine and put it on a rack to cool and she’d also put the flowers in water. They needed proper arranging but at least they hadn’t been left to die.

And the house smelt as she wanted it to – clean, fresh, homely; perfect. Olivia glanced at the clock. She still had an hour before the expected viewing. Her hand was starting to throb again as the local anaesthetic and the painkillers wore off but she had to find out something first before she stopped and took an analgesic. She walked over to Nigel’s desk and took out his keys then opened up the filing cabinet. There was her jewellery box. So that hadn’t been pinched. She opened it. At first glance it looked like it was all there but then she remembered her other boxes, the ones containing the individual items like that eternity ring. She rummaged under the bank statements... the pearls, the emerald brooch, some other minor bits and pieces. But no antique ruby eternity ring.

Of course not, it was on Amy’s hand.

*

Heather was pottering about her kitchen, listening to the early evening news programme and preparing vegetables for their supper, when the doorbell rang.

‘I’ll get it,’ she called to Brian as she put down her knife and wiped her hands on a cloth. She glanced at her husband as she passed his study and saw him leaning back in his chair, deep in thought – but contented thoughts if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

‘Hello, Joan,’ she said when she saw who was on the doorstep. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Can I come in?’

‘Of course.’

‘I won’t be long – Bert dropped me down here and he’s only gone to the cricket pavilion to check up on the fixtures list so he’ll be back to collect me in a couple of minutes.’

‘OK. Come through and take a seat.’

Heather led the way into the kitchen and flicked off the radio. ‘Now, what is it?’

‘Amy’s been arrested.’

‘What?’ The word came out as a strangulated screech.

‘’Tis true.’

‘But Amy? What for?’ Heather lowered herself onto a chair.

‘Something to do with the break-ins.’

‘No. Not Amy. Surely not.’ Heather rested her chin on her hand as she tried to make sense of the revelation.

‘I was having my hair set when she phoned her mum. Mags was in a terrible state.’

‘She would be. I still can’t believe this.’

‘But think about it – you and the doc’s wife both had burglaries, and Amy cleans for you both.’

Heather shook her head. ‘Coincidence. There’ve been plenty of other burglaries.’

Joan leaned back in her chair and folded her arms over her ample bosom. ‘I’m just saying...’

‘Saying what?’ said Brian from the doorway.

Heather repeated the accusation and revelation and Brian looked increasingly baffled and concerned.

‘Where is Amy?’ said Brian. ‘Maybe I should go to her.’ He turned to Joan. ‘Do you know where she is? Is she home?’

Joan shrugged. ‘No idea. Mags may know.’

‘Perhaps I’ll give her a call. Do you have her number?’

‘No, only the one for her salon,’ said Joan.

‘Me neither,’ said Heather. She sighed. ‘It’s all very well everyone having mobiles these days but it makes the old phone book useless.’

‘Do you know anyone who might?’

‘Belinda? Olivia?’ offered Heather.

‘I’ll try them.’ Brian returned to his study.

A horn sounded outside the house. Joan heaved herself to her feet. ‘That’ll be my Bert. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but I thought you ought to know. Let’s hope this’ll lead to you getting some of your stuff back.’

And, while Heather would have loved to see her mother’s antique clock again, she didn’t want it if it came at Amy’s expense. ‘I think I’d rather Amy is found innocent.’

Although she also knew that whatever the outcome, Amy’s reputation, in a little place like this, was going to take a very long time to recover.