As Pierre was leaving The Bostal, a fire started at Croft Farm.

It was two in the morning when an anonymous 999 call reported the fire. At two ten, the fire brigade in Steyning set off towards Croft Farm. Six minutes later, the first engine reached the spot in a cacophony of sirens and screeching tyres. It woke every single household in the quiet road on the way. The fire was raging by now, smoke travelling thickly around the old barn with sleek flames dancing a frenzied waltz.

Pierre reached Chichester oblivious to the chaotic scene that was taking place so close to where he had come from, less than an hour ago.

The second fire engine to arrive on the site of the fire came from Worthing. It reached the farm at a crucial time as the team on site was struggling to keep the flames at bay. With the extra resources and hands, the fire was eventually put out and all that remained of the barn was a pile of blackened stumps that scented the scene with an un-aromatic flavour. Fortunately for farmer Jenkins, the grain had been sold and the barn had been empty save for a few empty sacks. With the insurance money Peter Jenkins might be able to get a new storage building, something he had wanted for some time but had kept putting off because of the costs involved. Standing in his pyjamas, farmer Jenkins thought that destiny had dealt him a good hand, for once. He did not yet elaborate on the fact that the insurance company may deem the incident an act of arson and therefore refuse any compensation. At this stage, all his greedy brain could focus on was the prospect of a new building.

It was difficult at this stage to isolate what may have started the fire but the 999 call echoed of suspicious endeavours. The fire brigade woke the inhabitants of Croft Farm up, and it seemed to rule out any possibility of foul play from the Jenkins family.

Taking a sip from his glass of wine at The White Horse, Gianni da Mosto read the article in The Steyning Herald one more time.
‘Perfetto!’, he thought ‘all has gone according to plan.’
He winked at the young waitress as she walked past his table; something Italian men are reputedly too inclined to do. Natalie did not mind. Gianni had been very generous with the tip. Gianni was not remotely interested in Natalie. He finished his glass of wine, walked back to the rental car, and drove off to Brighton for an evening of fun. The gay capital of England awaited him and he deserved a treat. He had done a fantastic job!