The only alteration was the covering of the big kitchen table with a white cloth liberally spotted with the stains of previous meals and with one corner unravelling. Mrs Greave was present to start with, emerging from the back kitchen with a series of covered serving dishes which she deployed over the table with more panache than strategy. Dressed now in a pair of tight-fitting yellow slacks and a flowered blouse, with her red hair piled high in a precarious beehive, she looked less like a flower of the field and more like some exotically gaudy insect. Dalziel made no attempt to make contact with her, but he felt her eyes examining him from time to time as she came in and out.'You all right now, Mrs Fielding?' she asked finally.'Yes, thank you, Mrs Greave,' said Bonnie from the head of the table.'Good night then.'She left and there was a general uncovering of serving dishes as though no one had cared to delve beneath the china surface while the cook was still in the room.'I can't believe it,' said Louisa.'What?''Sausages.
