CHAPTER ONE
The second-class carriage was half empty. There was no
reason why the sandy-haired man with the canvas zip-bag
should have chosen to sit down facing Charlotte when there
were so many other empty seats. She was afraid that he
would turn out to be one of the people who like to talk in
trains. She， herself， in the mood that she was in that day，
was not one of them. As he pushed his bag into the luggage
rack， took off his overcoat， rolled it into a bundle on the
seat beside him and sat down， she turned a page of the pa-
perback that she had bought at the Paddington bookstall
and made it plain that she intended to read.
It did not put him off. \"Miserable day，\" he said cheer-
fully.
\"Yes，\" she agreed without looking up.
\"The forecast said there d be snow in the north.\"
\"Did it?\"
\"Not that they often get it right， but it s cold enough.\" He
had brought a couple of newspapers with him， but he laid
- them down on the table before him and showed no sign of
wanting to read. \"Arid as usual， when it s cold， something
seems to have gone wrong with the heating in here. Have
you noticed how that always happens? On a pleasant warm
day they boil you alive， but as soon as the temperature
drops， they make a point of turning all the heat off. Luckily，
I m not going far， only to Mattingley， That s just about an
hour and a quarter from here. Do you know Mattingley?\"
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