“Is she awake yet?” I heard Stephen ask.
I felt Michael get up off the bed.
I cracked my eyes open a slit and saw, on a bedside table, a mountain of grapes—red and green bunches piled so high they looked like an avalanche hazard—or a monoculture still life. I’m in hospital, I thought. It’s what we do when we visit someone in hospital, bring grapes. Bury Saint Edmunds, I supposed—we’d no hospital in the village.
“No, not awake yet.” I heard Michael speak in quiet tones. I shifted my gaze and saw he stood at the door with Stephen. “But the doctor said it’s all right, that she needed the rest. She lost a lot of blood.”
“Why don’t you go home and change clothes?” Stephen asked. “You look like you just walked out of a slasher movie.”
“No, not until I talk to her.”
“There’s no need to punish yourself,” Stephen said.
“I abandoned her,” Michael replied sharply. “I should never have left—I’d no good reason. Afraid of what she felt about Nick? Where was the courage in that? And what good did it do? If I’d been around, it wouldn’t have come to this. I won’t go until I see her awake.”
“Awake,” I said and blinked, but my raspy voice seemed to belie my declaration. I cleared my throat. “I’m awake.”
Michael appeared at my side. His eyes were rimmed red as if he’d taken a felt-tip marker to them. Swollen, too. His shirt, stuffed into his trousers, had no buttons, and the front of it—well, that looked as if he’d tried to mop up a large spill of…
“Hiya,” he said, staring deep into my eyes and taking my hand. “How do you feel?”
“Good, yeah. I guess. I’m all right.” I thought about the question. “Am I?”
He nodded. “Your forehead”—it felt stiff, and I couldn’t quite lift my eyebrows—“a cut,” he said. “And you hit your head when you fell, but you landed on the urn. It was just cheap metal, so it gave. Lucky”—he took a couple of quick breaths as if he didn’t like the word—“lucky it wasn’t the stone floor.”
A jumble of images tumbled through my mind. It would take a while to put them in any proper order, but I could recall the highlights well enough.
“Is that mine?” I said, pointing an index finger at him while noting the tubes coming out the back of my hand.
“I didn’t have anything else to press on the wound.”
I caught one image as it went sailing past. “I remember you coming in—you and Alfie.”
“She tried to put me off—texting me you were at the cottage,” Michael said. “It delayed me, I should’ve been there quicker. When I finally got to the drive to the Hall, Alfie came hurtling out of the trees and nearly knocked me flat. At least, I figured that’s who it was. He kept squawking and flying just behind me until I’d got to the summerhouse.”
“What about Kathleen?”
“I saw she’d wrestled the shears out of Olive’s hand and had her pinned to the ground,” Michael said, “so I went straight to you. But you’d lost consciousness, and I couldn’t wake you. There was blood, and I thought you’d stopped breathing,” he said, his voice breaking at the end.
“Had I stopped breathing?”
“No, but I…”
“Well, that’s all right, then. I’m fine. I’m awake.” We were alive and seemed to be reasonably well, and I, for one, felt cozy and comfy and a bit sleepy. “Is Stephen still here?”
“I am, darling,” he said. He moved closer to the bed, and I saw he wore red denims and a tight purple jacket and glasses with turquoise frames.
“Stephen, you’re in color again,” I said.
He straightened the jacket. “In celebration of you solving Nick’s murder.”
I doubted that was the main reason.
“Where’s Gregory?” I asked.
Stephen glanced over his shoulder and out into the corridor. “Gone to the hospital canteen for a cup of tea.” He frowned. “With Mum and Rupert.”
“Oh my, are you that far along already?”
He blushed and shrugged his shoulders.
“And are these all from you two?” I asked, nodding at the Mount Everest of grapes.
“God, no,” Stephen said. “You’ve had everyone in that village of yours popping in. I doubt if there’s a single grape left at the local Waitrose.”
“Would you like one?” I asked.
Stephen laughed. “No, thank you. I think I’ll go chase down Gregory and see if he needs rescuing. You’re a brave woman, Jools. I’ll see you later.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek and was gone.
Michael sat down on the edge of my bed.
“Is it still Monday?” I asked.
“No, Tuesday morning.”
“Have you been here all night?” From the state of him, I believed I could answer that question. Then I saw the chair in the corner with a blanket in a heap and my suspicion was confirmed. “You stayed there? That’s not much of a bed. Did you get any sleep at all?”
“Mostly I watched you. You woke up once during the night and smiled at me. I slept a bit after that.”
“Tuesday morning,” I murmured. “I have a great deal of work to do.”
Michael shook his head. “Don’t even try that one on. Linus has closed the TIC until repairs to the door are carried out.”
“You thought I wanted to go into work? The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind,” I said. “I don’t need to—I can work from the cottage. I only need to check a few details for the farmers’ market tomorrow.”
“You will do nothing. I’ve found all your files, and I’ve got it in hand.”
“Have you?” I smiled. “Well, that’s all right, then.” Didn’t that work out well? This would be the perfect way to show the world Michael had returned. “You just be sure to keep your eye on those asparagus farmers—they’re a dodgy lot.”
“They try anything and I’ll sic Alfie on them.”
“Alfie—he’s all right?”
“He is.”
“Tennyson?”
“They were all having a grand tea at the Hall and knew nothing until Callow knocked on that massive oak door.”
“Kathleen wasn’t hurt?”
“A cut on her arm, not as bad as yours. Mind you, I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side,” Michael said. “She kept a firm hold on Olive and didn’t let go until the police arrived.”
“She looked a bit mad herself when she appeared in that doorway.”
“She’d been walking the grounds looking for the summerhouse, she said, but slipped and fell in that drainage ditch.”
I sighed with relief. But that hollow look had not quite left Michael’s face. I reached out and stroked the back of his hand with my finger.
“A few minutes ago,” I said, “before I opened my eyes, you were talking to me.” I watched his face, which remained inscrutable. “I heard what you said. I heard those words.”
His eyes were like midnight. “Good.”
I said those same words to him, and the corner of his mouth tugged up into a smile.
“Now,” I said. “Give us a kiss.”
He obliged, and I responded with a yawn. My eyelids felt as if they had lead weights attached.
“I think I’ll take a bit of a kip,” I said. “I’m all right now—you know that. You go on home, and I’ll see you later.”
—
When I awoke again, the world was in focus, and the sun spilled out from the window and over the foot of my bed. I felt those stirrings of a well person, wanting to get up and get on with things. A young man in scrubs stood next to the bedside table with its mound of fruit.
“Hello,” I said. “Care for a grape?”
“Ah, there she is now,” he said, giving me a grin.
“Are you the doctor?” I asked.
“No, love, I’m the charge nurse.” He took my pulse and looked into my eyes and scribbled something on his clipboard. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, thanks. I’ve a bit of a headache. And—could I cle
an my teeth? Feels rather fuzzy in there.”
“Clean teeth are a good start. Shall I bring everything to you, or would you like to get out of bed?”
I looked at my hand and saw that I was free of tubes.
“I’d love to get up.”
For all my good intentions, I wobbled at first and he had to place a firm hand on my elbow and guide me to the loo, but once inside, I was spoilt for choice of grab bars to keep me upright. I used the toilet, cleaned my teeth, and splashed water on my face. I felt like a new woman. In the mirror, I examined my forehead—a long thin red line stretched almost the whole way across it. No bandage—it seemed to be held together with clear glue. My bangs were slicked back out of the way, but at least they hadn’t shaved any hair off—God knows what Stephen would’ve made of that.
The charge nurse waited just outside the loo door and guided me back to bed, sat me upright, and fluffed my pillows. “I could just do with a cup of tea,” I said, mostly to myself.
“Perhaps your friend here will go off to the canteen and fetch you a cuppa,” he replied and nodded to the door. It was Tess. Or was it DI Callow? The black business suit gave me no clue.
“I will indeed,” Tess said. “Would you like anything else?”
Oh, good, it was Tess. “Hello,” I said. “Well, since you asked, I wouldn’t mind a bite of something.”
“You’ve a meal coming before too long,” the charge nurse said.
I felt sure the meal would not be one of Fred’s burgers and a massive pile of chips, which I was rather in the mood for. “Just a biscuit? I’m starving.”
“Well, we can’t let you starve, now can we? I’d suggest the lemon drizzle—it’s not half bad.”
“Yes, please—tea and cake. Just what I need.”
Alone with nothing to read and no one to talk with while I waited for Tess to return, I ate a couple of grapes and wondered where my phone had got to. I wondered if Michael was at the cottage, in bed asleep. I wondered if Stephen had returned to London and if Gregory had gone with him. I wondered if Beryl and Rupert had gone back to Cambridge or if they were staying over at Hoggin Hall—Linus had offered before. I wondered…Good thing Tess didn’t take too long—my mind felt like an overinflated balloon about to pop.
“Thanks,” I said, taking my cup and lemon drizzle from her. She perched on the edge of the chair with her own tea and cake.
“How are you feeling?”
I swallowed my tea and pointed to my super-glued forehead. I’d also located the bump on the back of my head, and it was quite sore. “No concussion, the nurse said. So I’ll be fine. It’s all over, that’s what’s important. It is, isn’t it? They’ve taken Olive off?”
“They have, but here’s something. Her real name actually is Doris. Doris Oliver.”
“So Daft Doris suited her. But she’s not that swift at thinking up an alias, is she?”
“She’s tried several different names the last few years. She’s been cautioned in Blackpool and Leeds for fraud and threats with a deadly weapon—slipped out of police reach and disappeared each time. Perhaps she thought she’d be safe on St. Kilda.”
“Terry and Sam?”
“Yes, they’re all right. She ran them off the road when they were driving to Sudbury. She’d followed Mr. Hawkins all the way to the B&B; the woman who runs it identified her. She had stolen an old Vauxhall Corsa from a farm—it’s never a good idea to leave the key in a car, even when you live in the country.”
“And sleeping rough?”
“In the car—she’d parked it on the northeast boundary of the estate. She told us where.” Tess put her cup on the windowsill and sat up straight. “Your decision to go after Ms. Hawkins”—Right, here comes my dressing down—“was a brave act.”
I exhaled with relief.
“But foolish. You should’ve waited. Michael had called us, and we were on our way. As was he.”
“She had caught Alfie in a net—there’s no telling what she would’ve done. Without Alfie distracting her, Olive—Doris—might’ve caught Kathleen before Kathleen caught her.”
“Yes, all right. I’m glad you weren’t hurt worse.”
“She took the knife from the Stoat and Hare—you know that?” Tess nodded. “Her scratches—I finally realized she got them from the brambles—and I remember you said Nick had scratches from the brambles.” I stretched out my arm and saw how my own had started to fade. “And you know about how she cut her own hair off?”
“Michael turned over the evidence—from the pocket of your mackintosh, I hear.”
“Alfie again,” I said.
“Yes, a remarkable bird. Look, I wanted to tell you that PC Flynn came across Mr. Hawkins’s laptop at the B&B and found a document titled ‘The Case for St. Kilda.’ He lays out this problem of Fisk and Redman wanting to move the institute to Kent, and why it should stay on the island. And he had two draft emails unsent—one to you and one to Michael. They don’t look finished, but there was enough there. In them, he requested clarification of the grant process and how he wanted to put his case to you in person. In the one addressed to you, he wrote that he hoped you could put your past differences aside and you would intercede for him on this important issue.” Tess lifted her eyebrows. “You were right about why he came to find you—it was about the birds.”
“I did try to tell you all, you know. But then, I had convinced myself that Terry and Sam were murderers, so it’s not as if I was completely right.” My victory was tinged with sadness. I took a deep, deep breath and blew away the last cobwebs of anger and guilt. “Poor Nick. He did so love to be in the middle of nowhere with his birds.”
I heard the rattle of a trolley in the corridor, and a young woman popped her head in the door. “Hello, good evening. I’ve a lovely dinner for you, shall I bring it in?”
Tess stood to leave. “I wanted to tell you—it seems I’ve a massive amount of holiday time built up, and so I’ve decided to take a chunk of it.”
I could well believe the massive amount of holiday time—DI Callow lived to work—but found it curious she would want to tell me about her plans.
“Well, where are you off to?”
“Cornwall. A good jaunt on the motorbike.” Her face turned an uncharacteristic pink.
“I thought you wanted to sell the motorbike.” And then I twigged it. “Are you going alone?” I asked with all innocence.
She smiled. “No, as it happens—I’m not.”
I love happy endings.
Chapter 31
On Friday afternoon, Kathleen and I stood out on the pavement in front of the TIC waiting for her cab. She couldn’t leave the country fast enough and had booked a flight as soon as the police had allowed—with the caveat that she might be recalled to testify. I could see the fear on Kathleen’s face when she heard that possibility, but Tess had reassured her that it was extremely unlikely to happen, as Olive—that is, Doris—had confessed to killing Nick. Only the question of her sanity remained.
Kathleen had declined tea, only wanting to show me that Nick’s remains were in a proper receptacle now—brown stone ceramic, no decoration whatsoever—and to say goodbye before she returned to her island home.
“Your village is lovely,” she said. “And your market on Wednesday looked quite well attended.”
Kathleen hadn’t ventured forth from her hotel room to the farmers’ market, but had been able to observe it all from her window. I had been allowed to attend, but no one would let me do any actual work, and so I had parked myself at one of the WI tables with tea and cake until it was time for lunch, when I’d had a grilled sausage. A successful day all round.
“If you are ever back here for any reason, Kathleen, I hope you’ll visit.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “And if you ever travel to Nova Scotia, please let me know.”
Having each extended an invitation that had absolutely no chance of being realized, we stood for a moment, wordless. At last, I pulled a card out of my pocket.
> “Here’s my email address,” I said.
“Lovely,” Kathleen said, with a relieved smile. “And here’s mine.”
I waved as her cab sped off toward the Sudbury rail station, and when it was out of sight, I propped open our shiny new TIC door to allow the fresh breeze to blow in. I remained where I was, eyes closed, breathing deeply of spring and letting a gust of wind lift my bangs—which I’d so carefully combed over the cut on my forehead—waiting for the sun to make a brief appearance between the billowing white clouds.
And waiting for Michael, too. I spotted him up the high street and watched as he walked toward me. He wore a dark suit and white shirt, his jacket unbuttoned and his tie loosened, with a black leather work bag slung across his shoulder. He looked gorgeous.
He greeted me with a kiss and wrapped his arms round me. I knew he was hiding his face, not wanting me to see. I leaned back until I could see his eyes burning like blue flames.
“Well?” I asked.
He’d met that morning with the decision makers at BBC Two about a one-hour program. He had mentioned the idea in a casual way to someone only two days ago and had been asked immediately for details. The two of us had dashed off a brief proposal—he described the topic in glowing general terms, and I sprinkled in enough practical details to make it look like a firm plan.
He held me in suspense for a moment, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “They liked it,” he said, and smiled.
“Yes!” I kissed him again. “Congratulations—Mr. Executive Producer.”
“My name won’t be the only one on the credits—we’ll be listed together.”
“This is fantastic,” I said. “A new program; Dad will be so pleased.”
Michael looked over his shoulder, up the high street. “Here he is now,” he said. “The star of the new television program, Every Trick in the Rook.”
Alfie soared over our heads, banked right and straight through the open door of the TIC.
From indoors came a hiss, pop, and wheeze.
“What’s that?” Michael asked.
“Alfie,” I said. “He switched the kettle on.”
To Leighton with love
Every Trick in the Rook Page 26
