by Carola Dunn
“And before that? Hardly anyone really comes from London. Originally, they went to London from somewhere else. You’ve never heard anything suggesting Freeth started out in the colonies?”
“Not a whisper. So it’s a spy from the colonies you’re expecting? Not a Russian? You relieve my mind.”
“Sir Edward doesn’t seem to have considered … At least, he hasn’t mentioned … Nick, I can’t decide whether I ought to say something to him. I’d like to consult you, but I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
“Silent as the grave.” He glanced back towards the churchyard. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Be serious!”
“You know I won’t tell anyone, unless a Russian pops out from behind a gorse bush and kidnaps you.”
“Don’t be silly, Nick. It’s just that the Russians could be interested, and the Chinese, too. The Soviet Union and China are each supporting one of the factions Sir Edward is trying to bring together. Sort of.”
“A Chinese spy would stick out like a sore thumb hereabouts. I suppose it’s conceivable that Freeth could be a Russian ‘sleeper,’ but—”
“Sleeper?”
Nick grinned. “Clearly you don’t read spy stories. A sleeper is a spy who lives in the enemy’s country for many years, behaves like a native, lives a normal life, just waiting for the right moment to act.”
“Not Alan Freeth,” Eleanor said decidedly. “No one could have foreseen the present situation so long ago.”
“That’s just it; they’re in place, waiting for a situation to arise. Which is not to suggest I suspect Freeth. The whole point is to lie low. He’d hardly have embarked on a gay way of life that at the time could have led to trouble with the police.”
“Good. I’m glad he’s in the clear.”
“As far as being a spy is concerned. But why is Megan after him? What’s he supposed to have done? Swiped some client’s savings?”
“Nothing of the sort. She told me Mr. Bulwer reported him missing. He was upset because he left unexpectedly and didn’t say where he was going.”
“Let me get this straight: Bulwer was upset because Freeth left? I’m surprised the police are interested.”
“They aren’t terribly. It’s one branch of the law keeping in with another, I gather. I wonder whether I should let Megan know you’ve seen him.”
“And make me feel like a sneak!”
“I wouldn’t say where. I don’t actually know where. I’ll tell you what, Nick, why don’t I go back with you now and talk to him? Perhaps I can find out what the trouble is.”
Nick groaned. “Eleanor, there’s no earthly reason for you to involve yourself in their affairs.”
“But if Roland Bulwer is unhappy and we might reconcile—”
“No!”
“Or at least persuade Alan to let Roland know where he is.”
“It’s much more complicated than you think, even the little bit I know.”
“Complicated? What do you mean?”
“For a start, Freeth has known Mrs. Mason for yonks.”
“How long,” Eleanor enquired tartly, “is yonks?”
“Years and years. Since he was an articled clerk in London. He seems pretty … fond of her.”
“But he’s … He … You mean, he…?”
“Swinging both ways, they call it these days. Could be, but I’m not going to jump to conclusions. It’s quite possible that they’re genuinely just old friends. He’s been doing some legal business for her, drawing up a will, I think. She’s not very well—heart trouble is my guess—so he’s concerned for her. Only, why not tell Bulwer? And he could easily drive over from Port Mabyn to check on her, every day if necessary.”
“It’s odd. Complicated, you’re right. Is that her house, by any chance?” Eleanor pointed down the slope at a solitary slate roof with a thread of smoke trickling upward from the chimney. They had been unconsciously following the dog, who was following some sort of smell along a barely visible path heading away from the cliff. “If so, Teazle’s tracking your footsteps.”
“All right.” Nick sighed. “You may as well come down. He doesn’t have to talk to you if he doesn’t want to, and I suppose it’s just as well if you tell him what Megan said. When did you see her, by the way? The police may have lost interest by now.”
“Just last night. She’s staying at the hotel as a watchdog for Sir Edward. Her friend from Scotland Yard is there, too.”
“Faraday? What the hell does he keep coming down for? Poking his nose in where it’s not wanted! She’s told him time and again it’s all over between them.”
Hearing his tone, Teazle glanced back, ears cocked. Eleanor noted his annoyance with interest. “I doubt he had any choice, dear. Police officers go where they’re sent.”
“I suppose so.”
“Besides, I rather think he has another interest at present.”
“Who? Sir Edward’s secretary?”
“Heavens no. Oh dear, I really shouldn’t tell you.”
“One of his party, then. Does Megan know?”
“I don’t think so. But as you say, she’s not interested.”
With that, Nick had to be satisfied. They had reached the front door of Mrs. Mason’s Bed and Breakfast Guest House. “Come in. If you’ll wait in the hall, I’ll see who’s in.”
“I’d better tie Teazle outside.”
On either side, the slate path had white-painted posts connected by chains. Eleanor looped the lead round the nearest of these and hooked Teazle up, to her indignation.
“Yip!”
“Just for a few minutes, girl.”
With a resigned “Wuff,” she sat down.
TWELVE
Eleanor followed Nick through the green front door. In the hall, she immediately noticed his painting. It was of children playing in the sand at Kynance Cove, slightly impressionistic but basically straightforward. Remembering the abstract picture chosen by the two lawyers, Eleanor wondered what Alan Freeth had in common with Mrs. Mason.
“Hello?” Nick called out. “Anyone home?”
Freeth emerged from a room towards the back. “Rosie’s popped out to the shops. Is there something I can—Mrs. Trewynn!”
“Good morning, Mr. Freeth. I was walking Teazle on the cliffs and I met Nick.”
“Teazle? Oh, the dog.” He looked distractedly round the hall. “Where is it?”
“I left her outside. I don’t know how Mrs. Mason feels about dogs in the house.”
“Neither do I. She’ll be all right out there?”
“Oh yes, not pleased, but resigned.” There was an awkward pause. Eleanor wished she had not come. Whyever Freeth was here, it was none of her business.
Nick had mentally absented himself in one of his brown studies. He moved towards the stairs.
“Nick! Where are you off to?”
“I need my sketchbook.” He disappeared upward.
Eleanor and Freeth exchanged a glance and laughed.
“The artistic temperament,” said Freeth. “Are you tired from walking? Would you like coffee? Or tea?”
So he was on such terms with Mrs. Mason that he felt free to offer an acquaintance refreshment in her absence. “Nothing to drink, thanks, but I’d be glad to sit down for a minute or two, while Nick’s gathering his stuff.”
“Of course.” He turned towards the room he had just come from, but hesitated before pushing the door open. Eleanor saw that it had a PRIVATE sign. A bed-and-breakfast landlady had to have somewhere to retire to, she supposed. But Freeth decided to go ahead. “It’s not very warm, I’m afraid, but the guest dining room and lounge aren’t heated at all at present.”
“I’m dressed for outdoors.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” To all appearances, Freeth had been sitting at the desk, writing letters. A small fire flickered in the grate, its multicoloured flames dancing about the driftwood log. He invited Eleanor to take one of the armchairs beside it and, after a moment, sat in the other. Inevitab
ly, remarks about the weather were exchanged.
“According to the wireless news,” said Eleanor, “quite a number of people were stranded by the storm.” She implied that she, like Nick, was among the stranded. “Some poor souls had to spend the night in their cars when they were caught by flooding in low-lying places.”
“I take it you didn’t suffer that fate?”
“No, I was quite comfortable, thank you.” Deciding there was no circumspect way to inform a man the police were interested in his whereabouts, she went on, “As it happens, I ran into my niece. You and I being from the same village, she asked me whether I had any idea where you might be. You know she’s a police officer?”
“What the deuce business is it of— Oh, hell! It’s not Roland? Is he ill? Has he had an accident?”
“Nothing like that. It seems he has just the same concerns about you, only he reported you missing.”
With a groan, Freeth sank his head into his hands. “I never thought of that.”
“I don’t want to meddle, but I have to say, couldn’t you at least let him know you’re all right?”
“I have. I wrote to him yesterday. He should have received it today if the floods haven’t interfered with the post. And I’m going home tomorrow. Do you have to tell your niece where I am?”
“No. To tell the truth, she’s not particularly interested. The police have too much on their hands to concern themselves with the wanderings of a grown man.”
He summoned up a weak smile. “Well, that puts me firmly in my place, doesn’t it?”
“If I see her, I’ll tell her to call off the bloodhounds, always supposing your partner hasn’t already done so. I hope I need not assure you I won’t say a word to Mr. Bulwer about having seen you.”
“Thank you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I owe you some sort of explanation.”
“Not at all,” Eleanor demurred, dying of curiosity.
“It’s … complicated. Rosie—Mrs. Mason—went through a lot for my sake. I owe her a huge debt of gratitude. Now, for her sake, I can’t…” He hesitated.
“Nick mentioned that Mrs. Mason is unwell. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“That’s very kind of you. She had a bad turn yesterday, but she’s feeling much better today.”
“Well enough to go to the shops, you said. It’s quite a way to the village. I hope she drove.” Eleanor spared a thought for the Incorruptible, doubtless sitting axle-deep—if not chassis-deep—in the flooded meadow.
“Yes, she took the car.” He glanced at his watch. “She should be back any minute.”
“Tell me honestly, Mr. Freeth—”
“Alan, please.”
“Tell me honestly, Alan, would you rather I left before she gets home?”
He pondered a moment, then shook his head. “No. I appreciate the thought, but our web is more than sufficiently tangled already. Stay till you’re ready to leave—or Gresham is. If she’s not here by then, I’ll tell her you dropped in—as a chance-met friend of Gresham.”
“And one of your clients?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know!”
“Sorry, it doesn’t matter. I was just thinking, in case I ever met her again in a different context and the subject came up … But that’s most unlikely, and there’s no reason she should remember one way or the other.”
“It sounds as if she’s home.”
A car drew up in the drive beside the house. In the silence after the engine cut off, Eleanor heard footsteps in the hall. Then Nick’s cheerful voice called out, “Hold on, Mrs. Mason. Let me give you a hand with the shopping.”
Freeth stood up.
“Would you like me to slip out by a different door?” Eleanor asked.
“N-no…” He made up his mind. “No, I’d like you to meet Rosie. Just a minute.”
Left alone, Eleanor looked round the room. It was about twice the size of her own tiny combined sitting room and kitchen, but still small enough to be cosy. She would have hated to be so isolated, though. She liked living above the shop and right on the street. Solitude, when desired, could always be found on the cliffs or moors.
Perhaps Mrs. Mason had enough of people during the tourist season. She had plenty of books and records to keep her company in the winter, and being on higher ground, she probably had decent television reception, unlike residents of the lower reaches of Port Mabyn.
Eleanor was about to get up and look at the books, hoping she wouldn’t appear nosy, when footsteps tick-tocked on the slates of the hall, approaching the open door. The woman who came in looked about twenty years younger than Eleanor. Unlike Eleanor, who carried a lipstick but rarely remembered to put it on, Rosie (Rosemary? Rosamund? Rosalind? Or just plain Rose?) Mason was fully and skilfully made-up. If her health was bad, her rouge hid it admirably.
“Mrs. Trewynn, how do you do? Mr. Gresham tells me he’s your next-door neighbour. I expect you noticed I have one of his paintings in the hall.”
“I did. I have one in my sitting room.”
They shook hands, with the mutual smile of those who quickly find something pleasant in common with a new acquaintance.
“It’s quite chilly in here,” Mrs. Mason said with a shiver. “Alan should have built up the fire. He doesn’t notice discomfort when he’s busy.” She gestured at the desk, where a neat pile of sealed envelopes testified to Freeth’s diligence. “Would you like coffee? If you don’t mind coming into the kitchen, where it’s warm?”
“I’d love some.”
In the kitchen, Nick was about to leave, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. “Eleanor, I want to get going while the sun is shining in the right direction. Are you coming?”
“Not yet. Mrs. Mason has invited me to stay for coffee.”
“You’ll find your way back all right.”
“Of course, Nick. You go and catch your shadows before they vanish.”
“Will you be back for lunch, Mr. Gresham?”
“I won’t trespass on your kindness. I’ll get a pasty in the village.” With a wave, he was gone.
Freeth was making coffee. A shopping basket and three string bags lay on the table.
“I take my time putting things away,” Mrs. Mason said apologetically. “Doctor’s orders.”
“I already put the frozen stuff in the fridge,” said Freeth.
“In the freezer, Alan?”
“That little compartment at the top, yes. I’m reasonably domesticated. I’ll deal with the rest, under your direction, but then, if you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Trewynn, I’ll go and finish my letters.”
“Don’t mind me,” said Eleanor. “Mrs. Mason, I don’t claim to be domesticated, but if you tell me where to put things, I can hardly go wrong.”
“Heavens no, there’s no need, honestly. There’s no hurry, Alan. I’ll do it in my own time later. You don’t mind sitting at a table with shopping bags on it, Mrs. Trewynn?”
“Not at all.”
“Here you are, ladies.” Freeth set two cups of coffee on the table, and a jug of milk. “Sugar, Mrs. Trewynn?”
“Thanks. No sugar, thanks.” She sat down.
While he poured his own coffee, Mrs. Mason produced a biscuit tin and joined Eleanor. “Do help yourself.”
“Homemade shortbread—lovely!”
Freeth helped himself to a piece and ate it standing, obviously very much at home here. He picked up his cup of coffee. “Just a couple more letters, Rosie. I want to catch the afternoon post.” A second piece of shortbread in his hand, he went out.
Mrs. Mason looked after him wistfully, then turned to Eleanor with a smile. “I’ve enjoyed having someone to bake for. It never seems worth the trouble just for myself.”
“I know what you mean. Not that I’ve ever been a good baker. This is excellent. I gather Alan has to go home tomorrow. Will you be all right on your own? Nick said you’re not well.”
“Oh, that! As long as I don’t overdo things, I don’t need anyo
ne hovering over me. That’s not why I asked Alan to stay.” She hesitated. Eleanor tried to look sympathetic but not inquisitive. “I was afraid of … of something else. But if it hasn’t happened yet, I don’t suppose it will. Alan has other commitments.”
“It’s not easy for a professional man to get away,” Eleanor said tentatively.
Mrs. Mason gave her a surprised look, as if that wasn’t at all what she’d been thinking of. “No. No, it isn’t. Maybe I should get away for a while. Yes!” Her troubled face brightened. “That’s a good idea. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”
“A few days in London, perhaps?”
“Oh no, not London! That’s where— I mean, London wouldn’t suit me at all.”
“I expect you’re right.” That’s where what? Or who? “Too much hustle and bustle. Bath? If you don’t want to drive so far, it’s quite easy to get to by train. No, too hilly.”
“I’ll have to think about it, and see what Alan thinks. Won’t you have another piece of shortbread?”
“I’d better not, thank you. Would you happen to have an old dish or pan I could use to give my dog a drink? I left her tied in your front garden.”
“I’ve got the very thing. Do bring her in. I’m sure she can’t be happy tied up.”
“Her whiskers drip when she drinks.”
“Never mind. Fetch her in and I’ll put the bowl on the back-door mat. She can drip there.”
Teazle was delighted to be rescued, fussed over, and fed a piece of shortbread.
“You’ll have to go on a diet when we get home,” Eleanor told her severely as they walked back towards the church half an hour later. “So will I. What a nice woman. I can’t help wondering what she’s so afraid of. If I knew what’s frightening her, perhaps I could help. It’s none of my business, though. Nor is her relationship, past, present, or future, with Alan Freeth. Even less so, in fact. Surely they can’t be brother and sister. What reason could they have to conceal it?”
Teazle was not interested.
Talking to Freeth and Mrs. Mason had raised more questions than it had answered. Without revelations from one or both, they were unanswerable, though. The question that weighed on Eleanor, which her discussion with Nick had left open, was whether to remind Sir Edward—or perhaps Megan—of the Russian and Chinese connections.
