THE RIDE OUT TO ADAM Ainsley’s’ parents’ home in Suffolk took around an hour. They lived in a pretty village a few miles from Ipswich in which the thatched roofs vied with the black and whites for the title of most picturesque home. There was even a duck pond that seemed to be home to a particularly territorial swan, because as they parked and got out of the car, he came rushing across to them, wings flapping threateningly and emitting the most horrendous row.
Rafferty beat a hasty retreat, waving his arms and uttering placating noises as he went. He hurried to put the car and Llewellyn between it and himself.
‘God’, he said. ‘The wildlife around here’s none too friendly. If I’d have known, I’d have brought some bread to distract him.’
Thankfully, baulked by the width of the car from ge
