The Phantom Tree

by Nicola Cornick

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Kate touched her hand lightly. Alison did not react. She wasn’t a tactile person but Kate knew her well enough to know that she appreciated her friendship.

  ‘I met my ex,’ Alison added casually.

  Kate almost choked on the chocolate biscuit she was eating. ‘What ex? I didn’t know you had any.’ She dabbed her streaming eyes. ‘Oh, wait, there was that guy who worked for Deloittes. You went out with him for a couple of months, didn’t you? And there was that hot cyclist—’

  ‘Who preferred to spend his weekends clocking up hundreds of miles in the saddle than spending time with me,’ Alison said dryly. ‘No, it wasn’t him. It was someone I knew a long time ago.’ She wondered why she had mentioned Adam. She wasn’t usually free with the personal information, at least not the sort that was really personal. Trivia was fine—her Facebook page was all about her travels, her friends, the books she was reading, the shows she had seen. But real stuff, stuff that mattered, that was different because it went too deep. She could not be honest about herself, about her past, about the experiences that had made her the person she was.

  ‘You’re late.’ Charles, the MD, had paused by her desk. ‘Meeting in five.’

  Kate slid off the desk and gave her a look that said, Tell me later.

  They all sat around the big oak table in the boardroom. The company, Cleveland and Down, was a young and vibrant high-end tour operator run by a couple of public school dropouts, Charles and his partner Madelin. It was staffed by glossy, public school alumni whose breezy charm and lazy vowels masked a sharp intelligence and laser-like sales ability. Once past its early struggle to turn a profit, C&D had grown exponentially, catering to well-heeled Londoners and their county cousins who wanted adventure holidays, exotic honeymoons and something a bit different. Alison had been with the company from the start, which was why Charles cut her a very small amount of slack over the erratic timekeeping.

  Andre, one of the senior account managers started the business round up. ‘We got the Maitland account,’ he said. He swung back in his chair, grinning. ‘Ponta Dos Ganchos, Brazil. Bride and groom plus fifteen guests.’

  There was some whooping and clapping around the table. Alison took a biscuit and pushed the tin towards Kate, who smiled and shook her head.

  ‘Three honeymoon packages,’ Kate reported briskly. ‘Bahamas, Bora Bora and Orkney.’

  There was more clapping.

  ‘Orkney,’ Alison said, shuddering.

  ‘It’s romantic.’ Kate sounded defensive, as though Alison had insulted her own personal honeymoon choice. ‘That sort of environment provides lots of opportunities to cuddle up.’

  ‘Alison,’ Charles cut in, fidgeting with his pen. ‘Anything to add?’

  ‘Two safari packages,’ Alison said. Africa was her focus at the moment. ‘One self-drive for four in Namibia, the other a couple going with a tour group in Tanzania. Plus a potential booking for the wild flower route in South Africa next August.’

  Charles nodded. ‘We should push that more. It’s a stunning trip.’

  ‘I’m on it,’ Alison said, making a note on the pad in front of her.

  ‘We could make it more of a feature on the website.’ Janet, the social media manager, leaned an elbow on the table. ‘The visuals make it particularly appealing.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Charles said. He looked up from his notes. ‘Now, some news on the open day. Maddy?’

  ‘The programme is almost finalised,’ Madelin said, scattering some sheets across the table for people to pick up. ‘It’s the usual mix of talks, practical demonstrations and exhibitors. We’ve got some new and exciting destinations, stuff on health, photography, luxury camping, survival—without scaring people, of course—and, new this year, some culture.’

  ‘Andre’s going to be leading on developing a cultural programme next year,’ Charles said. ‘It’s a growth area. So we thought we would launch it at the open day with a keynote speaker.’

  ‘I’ve got a shortlist of potential candidates and wanted your input.’ Andre drew a list towards him.

  ‘Steve Backshall, Bear Grylls…’

  ‘In your dreams,’ Kate said.

  ‘He might be too busy,’ Andre conceded, ‘but it’s worth a try. Adam Hewer is a possibility,’ he added. ‘It would be different.’

  Alison almost spewed the dregs of her coffee. ‘Sorry,’ she gasped, rubbing her streaming eyes. ‘I inhaled at the wrong moment.’

  ‘He has that effect on me as well,’ Kate said, slapping her on the back. ‘He’s super hot.’

  ‘But…’ Alison struggled. ‘He’s not… I mean, he’s all to do with history, isn’t he?’ She looked around the table. ‘Is that the image we’re going for?’

  ‘He represents history and culture, he travels to exotic locations, he’s hugely popular, posh and insanely good-looking,’ Maddy said. ‘I’d say that’s exactly the image we’re going for when we launch our new programme.’

  The silence felt hostile. Alison had observed over the years that if C&D had a weakness it was that it was so relentlessly upbeat that any dissension was always interpreted as negativity. In this instance she was guilty as charged. It had never occurred to her that her world and Adam’s might overlap one day, but she could see that if the company was going to launch holidays touring Ancient Greece or trekking to Machu Picchu then Adam Hewer would be the perfect celebrity ambassador.

  ‘Yes, I see,’ she said weakly.

  ‘I hope that isn’t a problem, Alison.’ Charles had fixed her with his disconcertingly shrewd grey gaze. ‘Whilst Andre will be leading on this, we’re a small team so we’re all going to be involved.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ Alison repeated. ‘I just wondered…’ She was thinking quickly. ‘Whether it might be more newsworthy to have a female celebrity to launch the programme? It feels as though adventure travel is so male-dominated that we would look really different and cutting edge to team up with someone like Fiona Ellis, for example.’

  She held her breath for the pause.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ Maddy conceded. ‘Yes…’ She was warming to the idea. ‘She’s young, talented, she’s done a lot of expeditions for charity and there’s talk of a reality TV show.’

  ‘She doesn’t have the cultural credentials Adam Hewer does.’ Charles wasn’t convinced.

  ‘She has a double first from Cambridge,’ someone said, ‘as well as a Blue in fencing and rowing.’

  There were nods around the table and a palpable buzz of agreement.

  ‘I like the fact she’s travelled across the Kalahari Desert,’ Charles allowed. ‘That fits with our existing itineraries.’

  ‘I’m sure she could get up to speed quickly on the new cultural tours if she agreed to be our ambassador.’ Kate caught Alison’s eye. ‘I think it’s a great idea.’

  ‘I’ll contact her agent straight away.’ Andre was keen, already half out of his chair, wanting to make the call. Maddy cast Charles a quick look. He nodded.

  ‘Great,’ she said. ‘Go for it. Good idea,’ she added to Alison, as they filed out of the meeting room. ‘This should get us some great publicity.’

  ‘I hope she agrees,’ Alison said.

  ‘She’s more likely to be available than Adam Hewer,’ Maddy said. ‘He’s hot property at the moment, almost impossible to book, I hear.’

  ‘Really?’ Alison was surprised even though she knew she shouldn’t be. She’d seen Adam’s popularity for herself.

  For a moment she allowed herself to sink back into the memories of how it had been ten years before, when they had first met. It was still so vivid to her that it was like watching a film, rich in colour and texture. It had been summer in Marlborough. A heat haze shimmered over the fields. The River Kennet had run dry, the ducks standing disconsolately in puddles, the mud cracking in the heat and smelling of damp and decay. It was too hot to study, almost too hot to think. She had been at the college summer school, taking a short course in Sustainable Tourism
. Adam had been part of an archaeological dig. They had met on her first evening and it had been sweet, hot and had happened fast.

  Even now, in a stuffy office in London in the winter ten years later, she could feel the scent of cut grass tickling her nose and hear the distant hum of the mower, and feel Adam’s hands tracing patterns over the hot skin of her stomach as they lay together in the shadow of the ruined castle.

  She had not loved him the way she had loved Edward. She had wasted the sweetness of first love on Edward in the weeks and months before she had realised that he was using her. That innocence had gone and yet with Adam it had felt more honest and true because she knew that, unlike Edward, he really had loved her. She had seen it in the way he looked at her, felt it in his touch.

  Love had been simple for Adam, but nothing was simple for her. She was only nineteen, still adjusting to an alien way of life, still reeling from the loss of Arthur. She had wanted to love Adam too, but it was all too new, too different, too complicated.

  Adam was going back to Cambridge after the summer to complete the final year of his degree. He had asked her to go with him. She had wanted to go, but she knew she could not. One day she would find a way back to Arthur; of that she was obstinately determined. She would never be able to explain it to Adam, never be able to be honest with him. So she had pretended it had been no more than a fling, a summer romance, and had ended it when he left Marlborough.

  It had hurt at the time. It still hurt to remember it now, even after so many years. She knew it should not and hoped it was only so raw because seeing Adam again had stirred up all the dormant memories and emotions. She hoped so, but was rather afraid it might be more than that. Adam was the one man she did not feel armoured against.

  Back at her desk, she surreptitiously removed the newspaper cutting that Richard Demoranville had given her from her bag and typed the name ‘Smithfield’ into her search engine. She had got back late the previous night and hadn’t had much time to check out either Middlecote Hall or the family that had owned it. Now she was interested to see that there was very little information on the Smithfield family on the Internet. Jack Smithfield had apparently been an entrepreneur who had made his first fortune in packaging solutions and subsequent ones in any number of diverse enterprises. He had owned Middlecote but had seldom visited. His main home was in Miami and he had died the previous year at the age of ninety-one. His children lived abroad.

  Alison rubbed her forehead. So much for her idea of approaching a member of the Smithfield family directly in the hope of gaining entry to Middlecote or learning something of its story. Gisela Smithfield worked in Sweden. Her brother Jack Junior and sister Anna were based in the US. No doubt Adam knew that. Jack Smithfield had invited him to catalogue the contents of the house before he had died. Adam was the only one who had access. Adam was the only one who could help her.

  It all came back to Adam.

  Chapter 11

  Mary, 1560

  The rain stopped and the coach made its way through the sodden landscape, sticking in ruts, skidding on mud, the driver swearing and the sky becoming darker as the winter evening set in early. We were left with two outriders now. One of the squires had ridden back to Wolf Hall to acquaint Edward with the fact that Alison had run away. The other had stayed in Marlborough to hunt for her. I wondered what Edward would do. I already knew he hated dissent and disobedience, perceiving it as a challenge to his authority. Yet he was also weak, or perhaps simply lazy. He might abandon her to find her own way.

  I felt lonely after she had gone. Alison and I had never been friends, our relationship had been too complicated and prickly for that, and yet I had felt close to her. I thought about reaching out to Darrell again but my pride stopped me. I was needy but I did not wish to appear so.

  The coach stopped. I lifted the curtain to peer out. We had passed through a huge archway whose gate piers were topped with stone wyvern. Torches flared from their mouths. Yet it appeared that there was no lodge keeper to guide us on our way to wherever we were going; no sign of life at all. After a muttered conversation between the coachman and the escort, we rumbled forward again, down a long avenue lined with trees, their branches bare and dripping.

  It was daunting. I shivered.

  The house, when it came into view, was another matter entirely. An elegant rectangle around a courtyard, it was built of limestone and flint with a stone roof and impudently arched windows. Tall chimneys stood against the darkening sky.

  We drove into the courtyard. The clatter of hooves, which had filled my ears all day, stopped suddenly and all was quiet. There was a chill breeze sneaking into the coach.

  I stood up stiffly and pushed open the door. I wanted to wash and needed the privy. One of the squires helped me down, which was good because my legs were trembling with tiredness and apprehension. As I stepped into the courtyard, though, an odd thing happened. The grey of the clouds parted and the last pale light of the sun danced along the roof of the house, lifting the darkness to gold.

  A door opened. A girl my age, with long brown hair and pale blue eyes, came running towards me. Behind her, an older woman approached more decorously. The girl grasped my hands in hers.

  ‘You’re here at last! I’m so pleased!’

  She hugged me and, after the initial surprise, I hugged her back. She was as warm and welcoming as the day had become, the sun glowing on the little house and banishing the grey.

  I have a friend at last, I thought. Then: I like this place. My chilled heart eased a little.

  She loosed me. She was smiling, although perhaps I should have noticed the anxiety in her eyes behind the smile. But I was young and tired and lonely. I took matters at face value.

  ‘Lady Mary.’ The older woman—her mother?—had come to join us. She was smiling too, but there was little warmth in it—not, I judged, because she disliked me but because she was a very proper woman. It was evident in the pride with which she held herself, the elegance of her dress and the formality in her manner.

  ‘Please excuse my daughter Eleanor’s hoyden manners.’

  I smiled at Eleanor. ‘It is no matter, ma’am. I am very happy to meet you both.’

  She inclined her head. Unlike her daughter she had dark eyes, watchful beneath the brim of her hood. ‘I am Lady Fenner,’ she said. ‘Welcome to Middlecote Hall.’ She looked around. ‘But where is Mistress Banestre? I thought she travelled with you?

  ‘She remains in Wiltshire,’ I said carefully. ‘I am come alone.’ I had no desire to launch into an explanation of how Alison had run away. I felt another pang of loneliness, unexpected, unwanted. I must be feeling very tired to be missing Alison, of all people.

  I saw Lady Fenner’s fine brows, so like the arches of the windows, snap down in a formidable frown. No doubt she had had a room prepared for Alison, and food and other comforts. Eleanor was looking apprehensive now.

  ‘I do apologise, ma’am,’ I said. ‘For putting you to such inconvenience.’

  ‘No matter,’ Lady Fenner said, having paused long enough to give lie to the courteous words. ‘From what I hear of Mistress Banestre, it is perhaps fortunate that she has gone elsewhere. I am not at all sure that she would have fitted in here. We are a very respectable household.’ Her gaze considered me again and I received another wintry smile. ‘You, Lady Mary, are a different matter I am sure. You will find Middlecote much to your liking and I am persuaded we will like you.’

  The sun had gone in now. I shivered, standing there on the gravel, whilst all about me the servants busied themselves taking in my luggage and the groom and coachman led the horses away to the stables and the steward led Edward’s squires away to refresh themselves. It was as though I was just another piece of baggage. Here was another new place, more new people and another new start. Yet I trailed all the ghosts of the past with me: my reckless father, my tragic learned mother and the retinue of relatives who, down the years, had not wanted me. I brought my gift of dark visions and my secret friendsh
ip with Darrell. Lady Fenner knew of none of those things nor, I was determined, would she ever discover them. Such secret matters had no place in a respectable household.

  ‘I will show you to your chamber.’ Eleanor linked her arm with mine. ‘You will wish to wash and tidy yourself before we eat.’ She squeezed my arm, warm, friendly. I smiled back, weary and grateful.

  I like this place, I repeated over in my mind and I tried to persuade myself it was true.

  Chapter 12

  Alison

  Alison almost missed the signpost for Middlecote. It listed at forty-five degrees, pointing down a tiny lane with high banks and close hedges. Gritting her teeth, she backed up and turned the car, narrowly missing a supermarket delivery van that was heading towards her at high speed. Evidently someone must live down this road to nowhere.

  She met no other traffic on the lane, nor could she see any houses. Middlecote must be very isolated, as much now as it might have been four hundred years before. She felt a prickle of excitement, overlaid by a stronger wash of apprehension. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing here. It seemed unlikely any member of the Smithfield family would be living at Middlecote, and if the house had been let, the tenants probably would not welcome her knocking on the door out of the blue. Information on the history of the house had been as hard to come by as information on the owners. Entries in the heritage listings described its architecture as a mix of medieval, Tudor and later. There was a list of the families who had owned it, including the Fenners, whose distant connection to Jane Seymour was noted. There was a Roman villa in the grounds. In the twentieth century, it had variously been used as a school and a private hospital. It was registered as belonging to the Smithfield Foundation, a charity that was based in the Bahamas.

  All this screamed privacy and should have deterred her from setting out on a wild goose chase yet here she was. Feeling the stir of butterflies in her chest again, she shifted in her seat. For so long she had had no word of Arthur. She had had no means of travelling back to find him. Somehow she had lived with that burden of grief, forcing herself to move forward until the time came when something changed. Now it had and the determination gripped her like a fever. The door to the past had opened a crack and she was going to push on it until she found a way.