Six people sit down to a sumptuous meal at a table laid for seven. In front of the empty place is a sprig of rosemary - rosemary for rememberance. A strange sentiment considering no one is likely to forget the night, exactely a year ago, that Rosemary Barton died at exately the same table, her beautiful face unrecognisable, convulsed with pain and horror. But then Rosemary had always been memorable - she had the ability to arouse strong passions in most people she met. In one case strong enough to kill.