The Lavender Lady

by Faith Martin

  She was just approaching the door at the end of the corridor when it began to open. And, still mentally cursing a certain professor for getting her into this mess in the first place, Effie stiffened her spine and forced a polite smile onto her face.

  And as she did so, a man in his early thirties stepped out of the door and smiled at her. He was a little over six feet in height, Effie estimated, with a lean but well-muscled frame that looked at home in much-washed tight-fitting jeans and a plain white shirt. His hair was thick and slightly curly, so dark brown as to be nearly black, and was worn fairly long — whilst not quite sitting on his shoulders, it was certainly well past collar length. Michael would definitely not have approved. But it was his eyes that were the first thing that she noticed about him, being cat-green and almost luminous, followed by a strong, not quite Roman nose and a firm, clean-shaven chin.

  For some reason, she’d been expecting someone much older, and she hoped her surprise had not shown on her face.

  ‘Mrs James? Hello, I’m Corwin Fielding. How do you do?’ He smiled and held out a hand. His fingers were long and sensitive, but his grip was firm as he clasped her hand in a no-nonsense shake. ‘So glad you could make it. Please come on in.’

  Effie forced the smile that was already on her face to stretch a millimetre or two wider, and dragging in a deep breath, stepped into his home.

  The first thing she noticed was that it was open plan, with two enormous sash windows allowing the light to flood in. It illuminated, in one corner, a modern kitchen area with marble work surfaces and shining appliances, whilst a large sitting area was arranged opposite. Two black leather settees were grouped around a big square coffee table, which was itself set in front of a large fireplace. The fireplace was clearly an original feature, complete with decorative William Morris tiles and a black lead grate. Since the day was so warm the fire remained unlit, and in the grate instead stood a large and beautiful flower arrangement of gladioli and leaves. It looked spectacular.

  Instantly Effie knew that they had to be the work of a feminine eye with a taste for luxury.

  ‘What a lovely room,’ she complimented, glancing up at original cornices and an intricately carved ceiling rose, beneath which hung a modern, eye-catching glass dome. The main colour scheme was a restful shade of pale green with hints of lemon and turquoise accents, mainly in the soft furnishings.

  ‘Thank you,’ Corwin said. ‘Please, won’t you sit down?’ He indicated one of the armchairs that matched the sofas. ‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee? Or would you prefer something cold?’

  ‘Oh, fruit juice would be fine, if you have any.’

  He smiled, heading towards the kitchen area. ‘Apple, cranberry or mango?’

  ‘Apple, please.’

  Effie sat, neatly tucking her ankles together and slightly to one side. Michael had always preferred her to be ladylike in her habits, and she felt a swift sense of guilt mingled with defiance as it struck her that he almost certainly wouldn’t have approved of her being here. He’d never had much time or patience for the more whimsical side of life, being a man of practicality and common sense.

  But Michael is gone, she heard a voice in her head say flatly. And now you’re free to act exactly as you like.

  The thought was utterly unexpected and took her totally by surprise, leaving her feeling almost giddy, as if she’d suddenly looked down when just about to take a step, and discovered that she was standing on the edge of a vast precipice. She felt her heart leap, and then jumped almost visibly as a shadow fell across her. Looking up, she saw that her host was now standing beside her, carrying two glasses.

  ‘Oh, thank you.’ She gratefully accepted one long tall glass, clinking attractively with ice cubes. The distraction couldn’t have come at a better time, and she forced herself to take a sip and pull herself together as Corwin Fielding slid lithely into the chair opposite her.

  ‘So, have you known Professor Fergusson long?’ he asked with a smile. ‘When he first approached me with his proposal I was both surprised and intrigued.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve known Duncan and Margot for years,’ Effie said. ‘My husband and I often dined with them,’ she added, then could have bit her tongue. She knew why she felt compelled to bring Michael straight into the conversation and only hoped that Corwin hadn’t noticed that she’d used the past tense.

  ‘I’ve read one or two of the professor’s books, of course,’ Corwin said, when it was clear that she wasn’t going to elaborate further, and casually crossed his feet at the ankles. ‘They’re certainly well written and well researched, but to be honest I’m not quite sure if the paranormal is a field that would best suit his style.’

  Effie shrugged casually. ‘I wouldn’t know about that. I’m not in the publishing business. Nor do I have any experience in your field of expertise.’

  If he thought that she was here to be Duncan’s advocate then it was probably best that she made things clear right from the outset. ‘Duncan can be a very charming and persuasive man, but if I were you, I wouldn’t let him talk you into doing anything that you’re not fully comfortable with,’ she added calmly.

  Corwin’s lips twitched. ‘Well, thank you for your honesty.’ She could tell that he was doing a mental reassessment about his preconceptions of her, and she felt a distinct and curious sense of triumph that seemed totally out of place. ‘The professor certainly put forward a good case for us collaborating,’ he continued. ‘And I can see how we might both potentially benefit from it. He will be able to add another book to his résumé, and it would be good for us C-Fits to have a man of Professor Fergusson’s reputation being seen to endorse our research. And it won’t hurt us to be associated, even loosely, with a project that has its roots in Oxford academia, either, if it comes to that. But even so, I’m not totally convinced.’

  And Effie, who just an hour ago would probably have felt like singing the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ on hearing those words, now felt a distinct sense of disappointment wash over her. ‘Oh?’

  Corwin shook his head. It had the effect of sending the dark mass of his hair rippling around his head, and Effie abruptly began to study a painting on the wall just behind him. It looked like a minor but original work by one of the lesser known French impressionists, and again she got a distinct sense of that feminine touch in the choice of décor.

  It was becoming clear to her that Corwin didn’t live in this apartment alone. Or at least, not always alone.

  ‘You see,’ he was saying now, ‘in my line of work, I’m used to a certain amount of scepticism — sometimes rather a swingeing amount, if I’m being perfectly honest, depending on just who it is that you’re talking to. And not long ago, a journalist with his own particular axe to grind did a bit of a hatchet job on us.’

  Effie’s eyes went back to his and sharpened abruptly. ‘That doesn’t sound very fair.’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t. I believe a close relative of his had been taken for a ride by a so-called medium. A lot of money had exchanged hands, and even more emotional damage had been done. So when one of our team innocently invited this journalist along to experience a vigil for himself, just to prove that we had nothing to do with that sort of thing . . .’ He sighed and spread his hands graphically.

  ‘He wrote a scathing piece for his paper,’ Effie concluded flatly.

  ‘Yes. Of course, he never actually libelled us. He was far too clever and wary for that.’ Corwin grimaced. ‘Nevertheless, I came across as some kind of Svengali-like figurehead out to make money whilst at the same time indulging in some sort of power trip, and the other members of the team were either gullible dupes or crackpots. As you can imagine, it created a lot of ill feeling with everyone concerned.’

  Effie nodded. ‘And it’s almost impossible to defend yourself against something of that kind, I imagine.’

  ‘Exactly. But, sad to say, it’s all part and parcel of what we do. So you can understand why it’s left us a touch, shall we say, wary, when it comes to strange
rs approaching us, offering something that sounds too good to be true.’

  ‘And Duncan’s offer struck you that way?’ she asked curiously.

  Corwin gave a laconic shrug and again spread his hands wide in a telling gesture. He was, Effie realized, one of those people who communicated not just with their voices but with their whole being. Hands, eyes, body language — all were viable tools to help him convey his feelings.

  ‘Let’s just say I have yet to be convinced,’ he agreed dryly.

  ‘Well, in Duncan’s defence, I can say that I believe him to be basically an honourable sort of man,’ Effie began, choosing her words carefully. ‘And if he’s made promises then I would be very surprised indeed if he didn’t keep them. But more to the point, Duncan is rather proud of his books. And although he sees them as strictly money-making projects, he also has a lot of self-belief and pride in himself. Which means that anything he produces has to meet certain standards. His research has to be thorough and comprehensive and fair. And like I said, he’s always honest with the people he works with, even if he can be extremely manipulative at times.’

  Here she had to smile wryly. ‘And I’m a good example of that. When he invited me to lunch, I had no idea what he was going to ask me to do. And, to be truthful, my first instinct was to say no.’

  Corwin’s eyes widened at that. ‘Really? Funny, I don’t know why, but I thought . . . perhaps I misunderstood. Professor Fergusson seemed so sure that you were the right person for the job. I suppose I assumed that you had a keen interest in what we do.’

  Effie reached for her glass and took a sip. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve never really given ghosts or UFOs or anything like that much attention. Oh, like most people, I might have wondered about such things from time to time. Speculated a bit. Who doesn’t? But . . .’ She shrugged casually.

  ‘You’ve never seen a ghost yourself?’ he asked calmly, his tone so neutral he might have been asking her if she took milk in her tea.

  ‘No. Well, not that I’m aware of,’ she corrected herself, determined to be totally fair.

  ‘And yet you agreed to meet up with me to discuss going ghost hunting with us,’ he mused softly. She could feel his shrewd green gaze sweeping over her, and had a sudden hideous thought.

  Did he see her as some sort of bored housewife, one of the army of well-off, middle-aged women who were desperate to break out and prove to themselves that they were still young and daring by doing something different and adventurous? Is that who he’d been expecting to show up on his doorstep?

  She felt herself become hot with shame at the thought, and then cold with dread. And realized, a shade belatedly, that he was still waiting for her to respond.

  ‘Well, er . . . yes, I did,’ honesty forced her to admit, and she just knew that she was probably blushing openly now. ‘But only because Duncan has a way of getting what he wants,’ she added stiffly.

  Corwin again cocked his head to one side, his lips twitching with obvious humour now. They were rather narrow but well-shaped lips, Effie noticed. And they could probably curl up in a rather devastatingly cynical snarl, if so required. ‘That’s hardly a ringing endorsement for the professor.’ He laughed.

  Effie took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. This interview was definitely getting away from her. ‘I’m just trying to give you an accurate picture of how things are, so that you can make your own mind up as to whether or not we should join forces. As for myself, Duncan thinks that because I have no set ideas about the existence — or otherwise — of ghosts and other paranormal phenomena, that I’d make an ideal, impartial observer. Which is what he wants. Also, because I haven’t read about the subject, nor yet watched any television programmes about it, he’s happy that I’m unlikely to have been contaminated with preconceived ideas about it all.’ She paused to take a sip of her drink, and shrugged. ‘Apparently, all he wants is an average sort of person who can give him an honest opinion about what she experiences. And I’ve told him straight that, should we all go ahead with this, I will give him my unbiased take on what happens, regardless of what either you — or he — might prefer me to actually say.’

  She paused, smiled at him calmly, and added, ‘And so it’s only fair that I repeat that warning to you.’

  Corwin nodded. ‘Again, thank you for your honesty,’ he said sombrely.

  Effie smiled uncertainly. ‘I’m not sure if I’ve actually helped you or made things worse.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve definitely helped,’ he assured her. ‘For a start, you’ve confirmed one or two things for me regarding Professor Fergusson. And you’ve put my mind at rest about any of the doubts I might have had regarding your suitability for the project.’

  Effie felt her feathers distinctly ruffle. ‘Oh?’

  As if sensing it, Corwin grinned. ‘Please, Mrs James, don’t be offended. But I do need to ask you something. The vast majority of the time, nothing actually happens on a vigil. We do nothing but spend a lot of time watching instruments and hoping for some kind of phenomenon to take place. It rarely does. But on occasion things can happen. Unsettling things. Disquieting things. And nobody can ever be sure just how they’ll react to that sort of thing until it actually happens, if you see what I mean?’ He paused, then shrugged gently. ‘It isn’t always easy to be calm and collected if you’re feeling genuinely frightened.’

  His gaze focused on her sharply and Effie felt herself tense.

  ‘Are you asking me if I have the nerve needed to do the job?’ she asked him bluntly.

  He spread his hands in an appeasing gesture and then nodded. ‘Yes. I suppose I am,’ he admitted simply, his green eyes watching her closely.

  Effie nodded and took a long, slow breath. ‘Of course, I’ve thought about that aspect of it. How could I not? And, as you say, I have no real idea of how I would react if something . . . er . . . weird happened. I’d like to think that I’d have the wherewithal to take it all in my stride and not get hysterical or anything. But I can only say that I’d try my best not to go to pieces — but it may well turn out that I don’t have what it takes,’ she said honestly. ‘In which case, I can promise you that I’ll have the good sense to admit as much, and retire from the project straight away. No matter what Duncan might have to say about it,’ she added defiantly.

  Corwin laughed and seemed to relax in his chair a bit. ‘Fair enough,’ he said casually. ‘And to be honest, if you’d come out and said that you had no worries at all, or spouted something about having nerves of steel, I’d have been inclined to drop the whole thing right here and now. But I think, Mrs James, that not only will you be able to give a fair and accurate account of anything you might experience, but I would be prepared to bet a considerable amount of money that your nerves will hold out just fine.’

  Effie blinked, totally disconcerted. It had been a long time since anyone had given her such a ringing endorsement. ‘Oh. Er . . . well, thank you. And since it seems we’re going to be collaborators after all, call me Effie.’

  ‘Effie? Delighted to. And that’s a very unusual name.’

  Effie grimaced. ‘Short for Euphemia, I’m afraid. I don’t know what my mother was thinking of.’ She laughed. ‘She claims that I was named after some heroine in a book that she loved as a child, but I’m inclined to think that she and my father simply couldn’t agree on a name, and so decided on something a little different out of sheer desperation.’

  Corwin grinned. ‘Well, I’m hardly in a position to pass judgement on anyone’s given name, am I? It strikes me that we’re in the same boat.’

  ‘Yes, Corwin is unusual too,’ Effie agreed. ‘Is it Gaelic?’

  ‘Yes. It means “from beyond a hill” of all things. Very enigmatic. I think my mother was born a decade or two too late and always fancied herself as a sixties flower child. At least she didn’t call me Moon or Seashell or something equally embarrassing.’

  Effie laughed. ‘Well, I think Corwin suits you,’ she heard herself say, and then froze
briefly in horror.

  What on earth had possessed her to say that?

  But before she could start to squirm in mortification, he was already laughing and beginning to rise. ‘Thank you. And thank you very much for coming. I’m looking forward to working with you.’

  Quickly Effie put down her glass, scrambled to her feet and reached for her bag.

  ‘Obviously, I shall have to talk it over with the others again,’ he was saying, ‘but I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t come out with us on a few vigils. Regardless of whether or not we end up accepting the professor’s proposition, I think the C-Fits could benefit from a cool, clear, unbiased set of eyes. As it happens, we’ve only just this moment agreed to investigate a new case, so you can be in on it right from the beginning. It’ll be less confusing that way.’

  ‘That sounds ideal,’ she murmured. And, in a bit of a daze, she followed him to the door where, once again, Corwin Fielding shook her hand. ‘I’ll be in touch within the next few days,’ he promised. ‘The professor gave me your telephone number.’

  Effie managed what she hoped looked like a cool and gracious nod. ‘That’ll be fine, Mr Fielding.’

  ‘I thought we agreed that we’d be Effie and Corwin?’ he chided her with a grin.

  Effie nodded. ‘Of course,’ she swallowed slightly. ‘Corwin.’

  Once back outside on the warm pavement however, she took a long, slow breath and began to make her way back towards the bus stop.

  She felt utterly bemused.

  She still wasn’t quite sure just how it had happened, but it seemed that she was going to become a bona fide ghost hunter.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Effie had her first meeting with the rest of the C-Fits, not on a dark and stormy night in a creepy old mansion bequeathed to them by an ancient and now deceased former member, but on another bright and sunny day in a cricket pavilion in a village near Cumnor.