The radio crackled.

Then the heavy iron gates swung inward, slow and deliberate, and the young man waved him on.

The drive curved past clipped hedges and a fountain that had been emptied for the season.

Victoria was standing at the foot of the front steps holding a crystal champagne flute.

She had on a pale blue dress and pearls, and she didn’t look at all like a woman who’d just heard something crash.

Richard parked and climbed out.