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they can t afford to buy.
 Well, yes, Libby conceded.  And we do have a lot
of weekenders.
 There you are then. Fran nodded wisely.  You re
all a lot of nimbys.
 I think I should be offended by that, said Libby.
 But I can t be bothered. Now, tell me all about
Charles and Aunt Eleanor.
 I ve told you, Charles told me about Aunt Eleanor,
then she died and I came down anyway. And had the
dream.
 Yes, said Libby, extractin g a packet of cigarettes
from somewhere inside the sofa,  but who exactly is
Aunt Eleanor? And cousin Charles, come to that.
 OK, well, Aunt Eleanor married my father s
brother, Frank, just after my father died. When I was
little, we lived in a flat in a big Victorian house in
London. When my father died, Frank took over the
house and we had to move out. I assume my father had
left it to Frank, or perhaps it was jointly owned and it
passed straight to Frank. I don t know. I was only
about twelve, so all I knew was that we had to leave.
Fran stared into the empty fireplace.  It caused a lot of
bad feeling.
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 I can imagine, said Libby, indignantly.  Why
couldn t they just live in the other flat?
 Frank did. It was after he married Eleanor that we
had to go. I don t really understand what went on. My
mother wouldn t speak about it, and we didn t have
any further contact with them from then on.
 So what about Charles?
 He was Eleanor s nephew. I vaguely remember
him at their wedding. It was a huge shock to hear from
him.
Libby looked thoughtful.  Why, do you suppose? I
mean, after all these years  thirty or so, I suppose 
should she decide she wanted to see you?
 It s more than forty year s, actually, and I really
have no idea. In fact, Charles didn t say she wanted to
see me. Perhaps it was his idea.
 I d ask him. Will you go to the funeral? You ll see
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him then, won t you?
 Oh, yes, he s offered to give me a lift. Funny, I
haven t even met him, yet. Fran leaned down to put
her mug on the hearth.  But I shall speak to him when I
go back tomorrow, because I just have this feeling that
everything s not quite  right.
 Because of the dream? And the feeling in her
room?
Fran frowned.  I suppose so . And I want to find out
about this Barbara Denver, who Charles says is a sort
of cousin.
 Barbara Denver? Good grief! Libby sat forward.
Fran looked up, surprised.  Do you know her?
 We all know Barbara Denver. And her precious
son.
 Great! Fran settled more comfortably into her
armchair.  Tell me all about them.
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32
Libby stared up at the ceiling.  She was small and
pale. Fair hair and slightly buck teeth. Wore her hair in
a single plait. Terribly neat. Barbara Stone, she was
then.
 You ve known her a long time, then?
Libby nodded.  Known of her. Since we moved to
Kent. She modelled for a bit, but not very successfully.
Still, it brought her into contact with old man Denver,
and she would never have met him otherwise.
 So who was he?
Libby finally lit her cigarette and blew out a long
ribbon of smoke with relish.  Old man Denver owned
Blagstock House.  Course, he wasn t so old, then, but
he was a good twenty years older than Barbara. He
was something big in the city.
 So how did he meet Barbara?
 His wife organised a charity fashion show.
 His wife? Fran was surprised.
 Oh, yes, he was married then. Large committee
woman. Did a lot for charity. That s why she organised
the fashion show, and, as a local girl, Barbara was
included.
 So what happened? Fran prompted, after Libby
had fallen silent.  Did she divorce him, the wife?
 Eventually. He got Barbara pregnant.
 Heavens! So he did the decent thing?
Libby shook her head.  Not really. He tried to keep
it quiet  offered Barbara money for an abortion, you
know the sort of thing. But she wouldn t have it and
kicked up a terrible fuss. I don t know the details, but
the upshot was that he moved out of Blagstock House
and set up home with Barbara. His wife divorced him
after the statutory two years, or whatever it was then,
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