Lorna said: ‘What will happen to him?’
Masters shrugged. ‘He had those permanent headaches.’
‘You mean they will act in his favour?’
‘Maybe. We can hope.’
Honingham said: ‘Lorna’s going to run this place.’
‘With Bill’s help,’ Lorna said.
‘I’ll do that.’
‘Good. Because if I hear this place isn’t prospering I’ll come down here and bite your ears off.’
‘You wouldn’t get the chance,’ Becky Honingham said. ‘I’d beat you to it. But it’s nice to know we’ve got somewhere to bring the kids in the holidays.’
‘You’ll be all right.’ Masters turned to Thoresby. ‘Won’t you?’
Thoresby was looking more cheerful. ‘I shall send you a balance sheet every year.’
He left them and wandered over to the swimming pool. It was crowded with bathers. Green and Meg Meeth were sitting on towels. Meg was in a pure white bikini which set off her dark skin and hair admirably. Green was too engrossed in his companion to notice Masters, who decided not to break up the party. He went off to look for the sergeants. He failed to find them, either, so despite her weak protests he cajoled Cathy York out of her box and took her into the bar for a drink.
‘To think that Mr Compton was a man like that. It makes me go all goose-pimply at the thought of working with a murderer.’
‘I’ll tell you something, Cathy. Mr Compton wouldn’t have hurt a hair on the head of you or anybody else but Mrs Partridge.’
She said thoughtfully: ‘I think you’re right. Your sergeants say you usually are.’
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