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Fran laughed at Libby s expression. Sorry, Lib.
Is he gay? Libby was indignant.
No, of course not. Just a gentleman. And I m not
exactly the sort to inspire uncontrollable lust, am I?
Hmm.
Come on, Lib. Just be grateful that there are nice
men out there who don t have unrealistic
expectations.
I have to say, said Libby, after giving it a
moment s thought, that Guy usually attracts the
younger element. I ve seen him with some real
glamour in the past.
What the hell s he taking me out for, then? said
Fran, looking as though she d gone down suddenly in
a lift.
I don t know, said Libby simply. But he s
attracted to you. Otherwise I wouldn t have pushed
you together.
Are you saying that this is entirely due to your
intervention? Fran was now looking amused.
Well, partly, said Libby, attempting to look
modest.
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Don t forget he was chatting me up in The Swan
before he knew we were friends.
I did say partly, said Libby.
But now Fran was in London, Ben was clearing out
his flat in Canterbury prior to moving permanently to
The Manor and Libby had nothing to do. She painted
in the mornings, finishing her autumn picture, starting
a new pretty peep of Nethergate Harbour, not worrying
too much about accuracy. The people who bought the
paintings wanted an idealised interpretation of an idyll,
not a photographic rendition.
After lunch, she sat in the garden, rejoined the
library, and one day drove to the supermarket just to
pass the time. The weather was changing, going from
the unnatural warmth of the early summer to the
normal grey of early autumn, so time in the garden was
limited, and Sidney began to spend more and more
time indoors.
Towards the end of the week, Libby woke to a
beautiful day. Two things occurred to her. One, she
ought to check whether Guy s cheque had cleared in
her bank account so she could buy the computer she
had now set her heart on, and two, it would be a lovely
day to go and see Tyne Hall and its chapel. She
reassured herself that it was a purely aesthetic trip, and
nothing to do with any sort of investigation.
She checked her bank account at the ATM inside
the village post office, and was so excited by the sight
of her balance she nearly abandoned her sightseeing
plans to rush off to Canterbury and buy a computer.
Deciding, however, it would be preferable to have an
experienced computer user by her side when she did
so, she put Romeo the Renault in gear and set off for
Tyne Hall.
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It hadn t occurred to her that there might be a
problem in getting access to the chapel. Following
signs to Tyne Hall not easy, as there were no brown
and white signposts and only one or two wooden ones
she finally came upon two large iron gates set into a
crumbling brick wall, where an old notice hanging on
a gatepost informed the public that this was Tyne Hall,
and there was no entry.
Realising that she should have done a little more
research before setting out on this trip, Libby fished
out her mobile and rang Ben.
I just thought I d come and have a look at it, she
said, after listening to his forcibly expressed
exasperation. It was such a lovely day. But I can t
find an entrance.
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Tyne Hall isn t open to the public, Libby, said
Ben, so you won t find an entrance. If it s the chapel
you particularly want to see, you can get to it another
way. But I think you re mad.
It s a beautiful day, and I only want to have a look.
What could happen?
Oh, all right, said Ben with a sigh, and gave her
directions.
A little lane led past a few cottages and a wide
stream, where Libby was enchanted to see crested
grebe. She parked on a grassy verge, and crossed a
small stone footbridge which lead to a track between
overhanging beech trees. This lead out on to one side
of a shallow grassy valley, at the top of the other side
of which, surrounded by more trees, already turning
golden and red, stood the chapel. Of the same colour
stone as the bridge, all Libby could see of it was the
gothic arch of the door set into a short tower. Away to
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