He brushed past her into the house, with Iain and I trailing after him. Vivien closed the door behind us, shaking her head. 'What on earth were you all doing?'

'Looking at my boots,' Iain supplied, kicking off the articles in question and strolling into the little kitchen in his stockinged feet. He, too, was wearing jeans and a flannel work shirt, and I might have felt overdressed in my skirt and sweater had it not been for the fact that Vivien was wearing a dress, a nicely cut navy-blue dress that set off her fair hair to advantage.

'You have a lovely garden,' I said to her, and she smiled.

'Thanks, but I can't take the credit. Iain's done most of the planting."

'Is there anybody's garden he hasn't worked on?' I wanted to know.

'Likely not,' Iain himself answered over his shoulder, rummaging in the refrigerator. 'I like gardens. Hate to see them wasted.' He straightened up with a sandwich in his hand. 'There used to be a nice garden up at your house, come to that. Old Eddie let it grow over. Didn't want to be bothered with it.'

'The garden where the Green Lady appeared.'

'That's right,' Geoff spoke up, seating himself on a long sofa in the open-plan sitting room. 'You have been digging up the local legends, haven't you?'

'I find it fascinating. I've never had a ghost before.'

'You don't necessarily have one now,' he pointed out. 'The Green Lady hasn't been seen since I was in short pants. Unless you've seen her yourself, lately?'

'No, I'm afraid not.' I shook my head, as Vivien drifted across from the dining area and handed a glass of pale amber liquid to Geoff.

'She has been finding old letters stashed about, though,' she told him. 'Was there a Mariana lived there, do you know?'

'Mariana ...' Geoff sipped his drink thoughtfully. 'I'm not sure. Do you know what her last name was?'

'Farr,' I said. And then, in response to Vivien's questioning look, 'I found her grave in the churchyard.'

'Mariana Farr. No, I don't remember. But she may be mentioned in here.' He tapped the thick file folder he'd brought with him, which now lay on the low coffee table at his knees, flanked by trays of carefully arranged cheese and dry biscuits.

'You'd better sit beside Geoff, Julia, so you can see better,' Vivien maneuvered smoothly. 'Iain, did you want some Scotch as well?'

'Single malt?'

'Blended.'

'Then I'll just have one of these, thanks.' He lifted a bottle of imported beer from the refrigerator and joined us in the lounge, settling himself on the love seat that faced the sofa across the coffee table.

'And what would you like, Julia?' Vivien asked. 'To drink, I mean.'

Every time I had been asked that question in the past, I had, without fail, managed to choose the one item that my host did not have. This time, I tried a new approach.

'You're the bartender.' I smiled. 'I'll let you choose.'

'Trusting soul,' Geoff remarked, as Vivien went to get my drink. 'So, tell me. What, specifically, are you interested in?'

'I'm sorry?'

'Historically. Just your property?'

'Mainly, yes. But I'm also quite interested in the history of your Hall.'

'Are you really?' He looked pleased.

Iain groaned audibly. 'Here we go,' he said, through a mouthful of beer and sandwich.

"Why? What did I say?'

'Nothing,' Vivien said, returning with two tall glasses filled with a pale drink. 'It's just that Geoff does tend to get stuck in a rut, sometimes, when he launches into a history of the Hall.' She set my drink in front of me and took her seat beside Iain, who shot her a sideways glance.

'That's putting it kindly,' he commented.

I looked at my drink, curious, and Vivien smiled. 'There's rum in that,' she warned me, 'but the rest of the ingredients are top secret.'

My first experimental sip was a pleasant surprise. 'It's wonderful. Thanks.'

'You're welcome. Now then, Geoff, on with the lecture. I suppose you'd better take us right back to the Benedictine priory and go on from there, since Julia's interested.'

'Right.' He opened his file folder and cheerfully arranged the papers inside, just like a schoolboy exhibiting a class project. 'That was in 1173, I believe....'

'Seventy-four,' Iain corrected, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

'... when Henry the Second granted a plot of land to one Thomas Killingbeck, for the purpose of building a Benedictine monastery. The Benedictine order was pretty big in those days.' 'Henry the Second,' I mused, leaning forward. 'That's Richard the Lionheart's father, isn't it? The one who had Thomas a Becket murdered?'

Geoff turned approving eyes on me. 'Yes, that's right. Not many people remember that.'

'Well, it's my brother's name, you see,' I explained. 'Thomas Beckett. I sort of paid attention to that part of the history lesson at school.'

Iain stretched his legs out in front of him, slinging one arm along the cushioned back of the love seat. 'Your brother's name is Thomas?' His gray eyes twinkled in amusement. 'Rather appropriate naming on your parents' part, wasn't it?'

'Rather.' For the benefit of Geoff and Vivien, I explained. 'Tom's a vicar in Hampshire, not far from here.'