Looking back, everything Dick Bainton said was a lie. But at the time, it was possible to judge. His implausible excuse for turning up at The Millstone, a rambling farmhouse on the way to nowhere just north of Oxford, was to check security fittings. He also claimed no one answered when he rang the bell. But that aside, he offered money. Not directly, but in the form of another student for Miss Quilter's foreign language school -- and one who might help with the unending repair, maintenance and modernisation bills. The only uncertainty seemed to be the prospective student herself, Dick Bainton's fiancee. A Russian migr still apprehensive of the unknown future awaiting her. Needing security. Anonymity. And somewhere to hide. So Kit Quilter filled in the form, accepted a substantial cheque and handed over a receipt. Kit Quilter BA, MSc, Dip RSA, officially enrolled Ludmilla Tolstoya for a four-week course starting on 15 April. Kit Quilter was an idiot, first class. But at the time, how could she possibly have known?