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THE EXCEPTIONALLY SMOOTH single-malt whisky served at the Earl’s Head loosened tongues and encouraged local gossip, Cruz discovered. Following his unproductive visit to Eversleigh Hall he had returned to the village pub, where he had earlier booked a room for the night, and ordered a double measure of Scotch with a splash of water, no ice.

‘There’s no better cure for life’s problems than a drop of amber nectar,’ the old man sitting at the bar—a farmhand, Cruz guessed from his rough clothes— commented.

‘Too true,’ Cruz muttered as he pushed his empty glass towards the barman and asked for a refill, plus the same for his companion. Two-thirds of the bottle of whisky later, Cruz had learned some interesting facts about the Bancroft family, including that the pub had been named after one of the current earl’s ancestors, who had been accused of fraud and treachery during the reign of Elizabeth I and beheaded for his crimes.

Treachery clearly ran in the family genes, Cruz thought bitterly. Henry Bancroft had cheated his father out of his rightful share of the Estrela Vermelha diamond, and tonight Sabrina had denied any knowledge of the map of the abandoned mine. But Cruz was certain she was lying. When he had questioned her she had hesitated for a fraction too long and her eyes had darkened to the colour of wet slate.

He drained the whisky in his glass and nodded to the barman to refill it. What could he do? He could hardly shake the truth out of her, he brooded. Somehow he needed to gain access to Eversleigh Hall so that he could search for the map that it seemed likely her father had hidden in one of the house’s secret places.

He thought of his meeting with Sabrina and felt furious with himself. It had been a mistake to kiss her, but he had been unable to resist her cool beauty and he despised himself for his weakness. Although it had not been all one-sided, he consoled himself. Sabrina’s ardent response proved that she still wanted him and the knowledge was a useful weapon that he would be a fool not to use.

Cruz pulled himself from his thoughts when he realised that the farmhand was speaking.

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if Lady Sabrina up at the hall didn’t try to forget her problems with the help of a bottle of highland malt.’

‘What kind of problems?’ Cruz asked curiously.

‘Money.’ The farmhand shook his head. ‘The estate has become more and more run-down since her father took over from the old earl many years ago. Henry Bancroft never spent much time at Eversleigh. He was always going abroad for business reasons. It’s said that he trades in diamonds, but no one has seen the earl for well over a year and there’s a rumour in the village that his daughter has reported his disappearance to the police.’

Cruz remembered Sabrina’s curious statement—my father is incommunicado at the moment.

‘My guess is Lady Sabrina is struggling to cope with running the house and estate.’ The farmhand downed his whisky and allowed the generous stranger who was such a good listener to fill his glass again. ‘I used to do a bit of work up at the hall myself, but all the staff have been laid off, apart from old John Boyd and his wife who have been in service there for as long as anyone can remember, and some young girl who looks after the stables.’ He sighed. ‘The trouble is these old country houses are expensive to maintain. It’ll be a shame if Eversleigh is sold.’

‘There may not be anything left of it to sell,’ the barman said as he put down the phone and came over to them. ‘That was Miss Bancroft. There’s a fire up at the hall, and she phoned to ask if some of her guests can spend the night at the pub.’ As he finished speaking the loud wail of a fire engine’s siren sounded outside on the main road.

How bitterly ironic it would be if the house went up in flames before he’d had a chance to find the map of the diamond mine, Cruz thought grimly. Aware that he was over the alcohol limit to drive, he said urgently to the barman, ‘Can you call a taxi to take me to Eversleigh Hall?’

* * *

‘I’m glad to report that the fire is under control. The blaze was almost certainly caused by a smouldering cigarette dropped onto a carpet or chair,’ the fire officer explained to Sabrina. ‘I understand there was a party taking place here tonight. Perhaps one of the guests drank too much and fell asleep holding a lit cigarette.’

‘I’d asked people not to smoke in the house.’ She grimaced. ‘I can’t believe how quickly the fire spread and how much damage it has caused. It looks as though most of the top floor of the east wing and the roof have been completely destroyed.’

The fireman glanced up at the dark sky as rain began to fall. ‘I suggest you call a local building firm to come and rig up tarpaulins so that the damaged part of the house will be protected from the weather until you can see if any of the furnishings are salvageable.’ He gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘I imagine some of the paintings are originals and irreplaceable, but at least they’ll be covered by your contents insurance.’

Sabrina felt a sensation like concrete solidifying in the pit of her stomach as the fireman’s words sank in. Three months ago she’d had to cancel the contents insurance policy on Eversleigh Hall because she had been unable to afford the premium. It had been a difficult decision but there had been other more urgent bills to pay for, such as a new boiler for the central heating system that had packed up on the coldest day of the winter. Since then she had been meaning to renew the policy but unforgivably it had slipped her mind.

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