by Faith Martin
Clearly, Zoe was a woman who was going places.
‘Oh, that sounds interesting. Where did you study meteorology?’ she asked pleasantly. After her gaffe, she needed to sound at least reasonably intelligent and capable of social discourse without making a total fool of herself.
‘Reading. It was how I came to meet Corwin, actually, when he was a mature student there,’ Zoe said, her voice a shade tight now. ‘One of my fellow classmates was going out with him, and we double-dated with the boy I was dating at the time.’
‘Obviously neither relationship lasted,’ Corwin added laconically, ‘and after we’d split up, Zoe and I got together.’
Zoe slipped her arm possessively around one of Corwin’s and smiled happily up at him. ‘And we’ve been together ever since. Nearly three years now,’ she finished, her gaze meeting Effie’s coolly.
And Effie, with a start, realized that this woman was definitely, if silently, warning her off.
The realization felt utterly bizarre!
Michael had been the only man in her life — ever. For all her adult life, she’d thought of herself as a sexual creature only in regards to him and their marriage. So for another woman to regard her as a threat concerning her man felt distinctly odd and baffling.
What on earth was this beautiful, glamorous woman worried about? It wasn’t as if Corwin would ever give her, Effie, a single — even remotely — amorous thought.
The idea was utterly absurd.
With a bit of an effort, Effie smiled stiffly and nodded at her. ‘Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Zoe. Will you be coming on our vigil tomorrow?’
‘No, afraid not. I’ll be in the television studio. But I do like to come when I can, don’t I, Corwin? I do so love what he does. I think it’s so sexy.’
‘Corwin, I’ve got to get off,’ Malc spoke. ‘I’ve got a job tomorrow in Milton Keynes but I’ll be back here in time for the pre-meet briefing, don’t worry.’
‘OK,’ Corwin said, and as the builder turned and walked away it was, thankfully, the prompt for everyone else to split up and head towards their own transport.
Mickey’s motorbike roared into noisy action as Effie slipped behind her steering wheel, and he shot off first. As she carefully manoeuvred her car towards the entrance, she stopped to let Corwin’s Jaguar go out in front of her. But with a smile and elaborate hand gesture through the windscreen, he beckoned her to go first.
In her rear view mirror, Effie watched as Zoe Younger turned her head to say something to him.
She drove at a steady thirty miles an hour down the narrow country lane, unaware of how tense she felt until she noticed the Jaguar behind her indicate to turn left at the approaching T-junction, where she was turning right.
Once the sports car was out of sight, her whole body seemed to slump in relief.
By the time she reached Hampton Frome, Effie was roundly if silently cursing Duncan Fergusson.
Before that seemingly harmless lunch invitation of his, her life had been quiet, safe and utterly predictable.
Now, given Zoe Younger’s inexplicable animosity, and her own doubts about all this ghost hunting business, she couldn’t help but wonder just what kind of a mess he’d got her into.
CHAPTER FIVE
Extract from the journal of Corwin Fielding:
12 April: Our first vigil on the Claudia Watkins case starts tonight. Our client, Isabel Cadmund, has agreed to our usual terms and seems to be a credible witness. Lonny and Malc are sure that there is a cold spot to be found and monitored in Claudia’s bathroom, and we’re all looking forward to getting some good data on that.
Our newest member, Effie James, strikes me as being an intelligent, capable woman, if a little nervous and unsure about the project. When Professor Fergusson first approached me with his proposal, I had serious doubts. But after having met his candidate for observer, most of my concerns have lessened significantly. Having said that, however, it remains to be seen whether or not Effie is suited for the role. Not everyone can remain impartial or unbiased, and not everyone has the necessary attributes for paranormal research. But I imagine that tonight, and the following weeks, will go a long way towards establishing this.
The rest of the group, I am glad to say, have all told me that they are happy for Effie to be part of the group. Jean, in particular, seems to think that she will be an asset, and all of the others seem to like her and have no objections to working with her — although both Malc and Lonny have made it clear to me that they are still uncertain about Professor Fergusson’s work. Like me, they are concerned that the finished book might misrepresent us. But the professor has agreed to let me read all his proofs wherever the C-Fits are mentioned before going to the printer, and so far I have no reason to doubt his word. And Effie, a long-time friend of the professor, gave me what I considered to be a very honest portrait of the man, and on that basis I am inclined to go ahead with this collaboration, and hope for the best.
Naturally, should I come to believe that Effie is not suited to her role, I will terminate our arrangement at once. As I will if I see any signs that either she or the professor are in any way starting to renege on our agreement, or otherwise bring the C-Fits and myself into disrepute.
On a more happy and personal note, Zoe . . .
* * *
From the back seat, Effie heard Gisela sigh heavily. ‘Do you think this time we might get lucky, finally?’ she asked, her question clearly directed at Jean. ‘It seems ages since we had anything really promising. Not since the mist at Steeple Aston if my memory isn’t playing tricks on me. And between you, me and the bedpost, I think Corwin is beginning to get a bit anxious that he doesn’t have much usable stuff for his next book.’
‘You know as well as I do that you never can tell,’ Jean said patiently. ‘But Malcolm seems sure that the cold spot in the client’s bathroom is real enough.’
‘Well, that’s something,’ Gisela agreed, watching the passing greenery thoughtfully. ‘Having hard data always floats Corwin’s boat. And I suppose it gives our detractors something solid to chew over. But it’s not exactly new, is it? We’ve had . . . what, five cold spots so far. It’s not like filming actual mist, is it?’
Finally Effie could stand it no more. ‘Mist?’ she echoed curiously. ‘You mean like weather-type mist? Why is fog so interesting?’
Jean smiled but Gisela burst into laughter, then instantly apologized. ‘Sorry. No, we’re not talking about weather conditions. When we set up in the cellar at Steeple Aston, it was just a dull overcast day, in fact. No mist or fog in sight.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Effie said. Although she didn’t.
Naturally, it was the ex-teacher who took it upon herself to explain things. ‘Most people think “seeing a ghost” means seeing a recognizable person — or at least a distinctly human shape,’ she said. ‘You know, we’ve all heard the usual stories. A person walks into a room, and sees someone else that they know to be dead sitting in a favourite chair or reading a book. Or maybe a witness will report seeing someone walking out of the room and into another one, but when they go to look, nobody’s in there.’
Effie nodded quickly, having heard such tales herself. It was pretty standard stuff.
‘But actually, those sightings, although always interesting, are not as golden as you might think.’ Jean paused in her lesson to slow down slightly as a flash sports car zipped past them, before continuing smoothly, ‘Since, by their nature, they’re open to several interpretations. For a start, they’re always second-hand, and hearsay evidence. And most people, on hearing such a tale, immediately think that the witness was either drunk or imagining things, or was simply a victim of an overactive imagination. What’s more, I’m sorry to say, a lot of people simply have a nasty habit of just tending to see what they expect to see, if you get what I mean.’
And on seeing Effie’s brow furrow a bit, Jean smiled and obligingly elucidated. ‘For instance, if, on entering a room, they were used to seeing a certain person s
itting in a certain place, or doing a certain activity, then even if they know that person is now dead and gone, they can still imagine that scene very accurately. And might confuse what they’ve actually seen, which is nothing, with what their memories insist they should be seeing — which is their family member or friend or whoever sitting in their normal chair. The brain can be a tricky thing sometimes.’
‘I think I understand what you mean,’ Effie said cautiously.
‘But mist is very different,’ Gisela put in.
‘Yes, but what exactly are you talking about?’ Effie asked. ‘Do you mean actual mist, like steam that causes condensation on a window, or some form of gas?’
‘Sometimes something much less nebulous than that,’ Jean said firmly. ‘Which can obviously be very exciting! Last year, in Steeple Aston for instance, we were investigating an old house that was being remodelled. Several of the builders were refusing to go down into the cellar, although they’d never give the foreman any real reason for it. Which, as you can imagine, caused the poor man no end of problems, since they needed to get the damp course sorted out. Eventually he persuaded one of the men to talk to him, and he admitted that several of the men had “seen strange stuff” down there. And the more the cellar’s reputation for weirdness grew, the more the men made excuses not to go down there. In exasperation, the foreman agreed to call us in to check it out, hoping to placate them. I think several of the workmen thought that we were exorcists or something. Anyway, we set up cameras and left them recording overnight, and when we reviewed the tapes we saw a definite mist, dispersing and reforming.’
‘In a human shape?’ Effie asked, still not sure she was getting a clear picture of what they were actually talking about.
‘No. In a thick, swirling formation that changed shape as it shifted,’ Jean said. ‘Think of the way that a flock of starlings moves across the sky, or a small school of fish, trying to avoid a predator. Like that. Remind me and I’ll ask Malcolm to run the recording for you so that you can see it for yourself. Corwin covered it very comprehensively in his latest book that’s due out next month. Once it hits the shops, he’s going to release the footage on the internet. It’s bound to have serious investigators clamouring.’
‘Oh,’ Effie said, a shade blankly. ‘So what happened then? After you’d got it on film?’
‘Well, of course we were all very excited, and held some daylight and night-time vigils,’ Gisela said, then sighed heavily. ‘But it never came back. The builders were convinced it was gone and finally went down and sorted out what needed doing, and the house sold quickly. We asked the new owners to let us know if they ever had any other problems, but so far they haven’t been in touch.’
‘That’s often the way, I’m afraid,’ Jean admitted a shade grimly. ‘We get some sort of usable data, usually on our very first vigil, or when we leave the equipment unmanned overnight, and then, afterwards, when it’s got our attention and we start to seriously investigate, the activity stops. It’s as if the phenomenon knows that it’s been found out, or is being observed, and is reluctant to continue.’
‘That must be frustrating,’ Effie said diplomatically. But she couldn’t help but feel sceptical. Perhaps the ‘phenomenon’ didn’t want to bear up to proper scrutiny because ‘it’ knew that it wouldn’t pass the test? Although how a prankster would set about reproducing a swirling mist, she wasn’t quite sure. But then she wasn’t very technically minded. No doubt a reasonably competent chemist or physicist could do it. But why bother?
‘I’ve got a good feeling about this latest case,’ Gisela said suddenly and ominously from the back seat.
‘Oh?’ Jean said sharply, her voice tinged with hope. ‘Did you sense something?’
‘No. Nothing specific,’ Gisela admitted at once. And Effie made a mental note to record the younger woman’s innate honesty in her notes for Duncan. ‘You know I would have said if I had. But I did get a strong sense of that old lady. And let me tell you, she’s really mad about something. Let’s just say I’ve got a real feeling that this case isn’t going to fizzle out on us.’
Jean looked pleased, and, with a little start of surprise, Effie realized that, for all her reserved and prim manner, Jean Bossington-Smith was as excited and committed to ghost hunting as anyone in the group.
Corwin’s Jaguar was already parked outside on the street when they arrived. Although the Rollright Inn almost certainly had a large car park further around the corner for the use of its customers, Corwin probably didn’t want to antagonize Isabel’s nearest neighbour by taking up spaces there.
Malc’s van pulled up behind them, and Mickey jumped out and opened up the back. Effie watched as the men set about lugging equipment inside, unsure if she was supposed to offer to help. But since neither Jean nor Gisela did so, she supposed that the men considered such work to be their domain.
Instead, the women went inside where Isabel was standing in the hall, looking a little bemused as the piles of cameras, boxes of meters and microphones and other gauges piled up around her.
She offered the three women coffee, which they all accepted, and followed her into the kitchen. As in most historical buildings, the kitchen came as something of a disappointment. Used to vast modern kitchen-diners that were so beloved of property shows on the television, the Georgian builders of this house had clearly considered kitchens to be strictly the domain of servants. So although the ceilings were still high, there was very little light or workspace, and the few modern conveniences that were actually in evidence — the white goods such as the fridge and washing machine — stood out like sore thumbs.
Nevertheless, the room had all that was needed, and soon the four of them were happily sitting around the square kitchen table and sipping coffee from a variety of cheerful mugs.
‘I’m really glad that you’re here,’ Isabel said at once. ‘No matter what the others say. I’ve even had George Dix over here, moaning on about my unorthodox methods. I tell you, I’ll be glad when probate is finished and done with, so I can go back home.’
‘Who’s George Dix?’ Gisela asked bluntly. Although both Effie and Jean had been wondering the same thing, neither of them would have dreamed of asking. But Gisela had an infectious, innocent, straightforward way about her that would nearly always fail to annoy. And it certainly didn’t discomfit their client.
‘Oh sorry, the family solicitor,’ Isabel clarified at once. ‘Well, Mum’s solicitor, anyway. She’d been with the same firm for years. Although that was a near-run thing apparently.’
‘Sorry?’ Effie felt emboldened enough by Gisela’s example to probe delicately.
Isabel gave a sudden laugh, her hands cupped around her mug for warmth. ‘It was the usual thing, I’m afraid. Either George had done something to get in her bad books, or else Mum had just got another bee in her bonnet about something. But for the last month or so, she’d been mumbling and rumbling and threatening to take her business to another firm. Apparently there’s a new broom in town, and he’d been “courting” her. And Mum, typically, liked to ruffle feathers from time to time. I think it amused her to set George in a bit of a tizzy. Of course, she probably wouldn’t have done anything about it really. She was very much a traditionalist at heart, so it was unlikely that she’d have gone so far as to remove her affairs from his hands. But there had definitely been trouble of some sort.’ Isabel sighed. ‘So I suppose it’s no wonder that George is anxious to see that everything is resolved smoothly. The senior partner in the firm has probably warned him to make sure that it does — not that I have anything against the poor man. But then, George has always been a bit of a dry stick anyway. And when he heard about you . . . he sort of got a funny look in his eye.’
‘Oh don’t worry about what he says.’ It was again Gisela who rushed in where angels feared to tread. ‘Most people act squirrelly when we’re called in. We just learn to ignore it.’
Isabel looked startled for a moment, and then laughed. ‘Well, as it happens, I did tell Ge
orge that he’d just have to like it and lump it, since I had no intention of changing my mind about you. Then he went all stiff and proper and reminded me that as executor, it was my responsibility to see the inventory of the house was conducted in a proper and secure manner.’
‘Good grief!’ Jean said sharply. ‘Did the man actually intimate that one of us might run off with the candlesticks or something?’
Isabel blushed guiltily, a clear admission that the absent Mr Dix may have done just that. And for a moment, there was one of those appalled silences when everyone was too frightened to say anything for fear of making things worse.
But really, Effie thought indignantly, it was a bit thick when someone all but suggested that he thought you might be a thief!
Then Gisela began to giggle and finally laugh out loud, which made Effie and Isabel also began to grin. Finally even Jean managed a stiff smile. Although Effie rather thought that, should the boss ever run into the unfortunate solicitor, the former schoolteacher would give the man a rather pithy piece of her mind.
* * *
Corwin leaned negligently against one wall and ran a hand through his hair.
‘OK, so we’re clear that we all know what we’re doing,’ he began. ‘Isabel, please follow your routine as usual. If you like to watch television late into the night, then continue to do so. If you have a bath before you retire, or you like to read in bed, or whatever, please carry on as normal. For our part, we’ll be scattered around the house and hopefully won’t get in your way. Malc is going to spend the night in the bathroom, monitoring the temperature gauges. Gisela wants to spend the night in your mother’s bedroom. I trust you have no problem with that?’
‘Oh no,’ Isabel said at once. But she was visibly shivering, and Effie would have bet money that she was probably thinking ‘rather her than me!’
