Blood and Stone

by Chris Collett

  ‘Good to meet you,’ said Mariner. ‘I hope you don’t mind my just showing up like this.’

  ‘Not at all.’ The sentiment seemed authentic although the eyes remained a little wary. ‘I’d heard about you before, so it’s good to put a name to the face.’

  ‘Really?’ Mariner was taken aback.

  ‘Don’t get too excited,’ Elena chipped in cheekily. ‘I forgot all about you years ago. It was dad who used to mention you from time to time, especially when his mind started to go.’ She walked over to the kitchen door and called into the lounge. ‘Cerys, your tea’s ready.’

  ‘Beer?’ Rex offered, gesturing Mariner to one of the chairs.

  ‘Great, thanks.’

  They sat round the kitchen table to eat, with the TV on low in the background. When the men had finished their beer they moved on to wine.

  ‘It’s a decent bottle,’ Rex said, pouring Mariner a generous glass of something French and red.

  ‘Can’t compete with any of the stuff Bob Sewell used to keep though,’ Elena said, lifting her glass. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’ Mariner smiled at the memory of the farmer. ‘His cellar was a revelation. He was the last person on earth you’d have expected to be an expert on that sort of thing. Not that I was old enough to appreciate any of it.’

  ‘Oh, he knew his stuff all right,’ Rex agreed. ‘He’s put it to good use now, too. That’s where he’s gone, retired to the Loire valley where he owns half a vineyard.’

  ‘Wow.’ Mariner was genuinely surprised. ‘Who’d have thought?’

  ‘He was helped on his way by circumstances,’ Elena said. ‘The cellar at the farm is a natural cave that links up to a whole network of limestone tunnels round here, so when we had a particularly bad rainfall in 1998 his whole collection got flooded out. It ruined thousands of pounds worth of vintage stuff. Then a couple of years later, when foot and mouth struck, he decided that it would be sensible to up sticks and go to where the weather was warmer and where he could make his own wine instead of just collecting other people’s. He’s doing well at it by all accounts. We get a card from him every Christmas, along with a couple of bottles.’

  ‘You’re from round here then, Rex,’ Mariner said.

  ‘Llangybi,’ Rex said, naming one of the numerous outlying villages, ‘though I spent a few years in Aberystwyth. Came back – ooh, must be going on twelve years now.’

  ‘We ran into each other in Tregaron,’ Elena said. ‘Rex’s firm handled the power of attorney application for Dad.’

  ‘You’re a solicitor,’ Mariner deduced. So much for the rugged outdoors look.

  Rex grinned. ‘Yeah, don’t quite look the part, do I?’ He knew he’d had Mariner fooled.

  ‘So how do you know my mum?’ Cerys piped up, suddenly, fixing Mariner with a gaze.

  ‘I stayed here once, a long time ago,’ Mariner said. ‘We were friends.’

  She absorbed that. ‘Were you her boyfriend?’

  For some unaccountable reason, Mariner felt his colour heightening, and he glanced across at Elena and Rex, who both seemed to be enjoying this turn of conversation rather too much. ‘Yes, I suppose I was.’

  ‘Why did you stop being her boyfriend?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure your mum could explain …’

  ‘No, you’re doing fine; carry on,’ said Elena, far too entertained for Mariner’s liking.

  ‘Well, I went back home to Birmingham, but your mum stayed here, so that was that.’

  ‘This was in the days before we had texting or Facebook,’ Elena reminded her daughter. ‘We had to rely on real letters delivered by the postman.

  ‘We didn’t even have mobile phones,’ Mariner added. ‘If I wanted to talk to your mum without my mum overhearing I had to walk down the road to the phone box.’

  Cerys was regarding them both with fascination, as if they were weaving fairy stories. ‘But didn’t you go and stay?’ she asked Elena.

  ‘I did once, but it wasn’t really the same.’

  Mariner remembered that weekend. It was pretty bloody awkward as he recalled, his mother insisting that Elena sleep in the guest bedroom.

  ‘Mum said you’re a policeman.’ Cerys had moved on.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Like Ryan.’ She looked enquiringly at her mum, who shrugged.

  ‘I suppose so.’ Elena glanced at Mariner. ‘A friend of ours,’ she said, dismissively. ‘Anyway,’ she said to Cerys, ‘Tom was asking about the Czar. And as you’re the local expert …’

  Cerys wrinkled her nose. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Where he made his money,’ said Mariner. ‘I could do with some tips.’

  ‘It was oil and gas originally as I understand it,’ said Rex. ‘Though I think he owns a few media companies and that kind of thing.’

  ‘How do you know all that?’ asked Elena.

  ‘He’s doing a bit of business with the firm,’ Rex said.

  ‘Is he?’ She seemed a bit put out. ‘What kind of business?’

  ‘Well it might turn out to be something or nothing,’ Rex said. ‘He’s asked us to look at some of the land boundaries. Apparently that historian who’s working for him has uncovered documents that suggest some kind of anomaly on the boundary of the estate; there seems to be some question about the ownership of several acres that border it.’

  ‘Which several acres?’ asked Elena.

  ‘I can’t tell you that, love. Until we’ve established that there’s a case to answer we haven’t even told the current owners of that land; there’s no point. My feeling is that an explanation will be found and it will just fizzle out. Meanwhile if Mr Shapasnikov is happy to send some of his considerable fortune our way, we’re just as happy to take it.’

  ‘Making hay while the sun shines,’ Mariner said.

  Rex grinned. ‘Something like that.’ He cast each of them in turn a meaningful look. ‘Needless to say, this must all stay within these four walls.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mariner.

  ‘Well, there you go,’ said Elena, gathering up their empty plates. ‘I’ve learned something tonight.’

  ‘Can we play chess now?’ Cerys asked Mariner eagerly. Barely waiting for a response, she produced a traditional rubberwood set and laid it out on the table.

  Mariner felt ludicrously apprehensive facing the eleven-year-old. ‘Sure you don’t want to play dominoes?’ he asked, blatantly buying time. ‘I’m much better at dominoes.’

  Cerys rolled her eyes and held out closed fists containing white and black pawns. Mariner indicated the one nearest him and was rewarded with the black. She would go first. She started confidently and, as Elena had said, had clearly inherited the family gene.

  After a couple of moves though, bits of strategy started to come back and Mariner felt relaxed enough to continue the conversation. ‘The new owners have made a few improvements up at Abbey Farm,’ he observed, making his move.

  ‘Yes, that’s changed a bit since Bob went,’ Elena said. ‘Not everyone thinks it’s for the better, but we get on with them okay.’

  Cerys made her move and Mariner studied the board. ‘Who’s them?’

  ‘It’s owned by a guy called Willow.’ Mariner looked up at her and she rolled her eyes in response. ‘I know. His real name is Nigel Weller, but Willow is his “new age” name. The place was pretty rundown when he bought it, let me see, must have been about 2001. He’s from out your way actually – Birmingham or Solihull?’

  ‘Don’t let anyone from Solihull hear you say that,’ Mariner warned. ‘There’s a big difference you know. Though neither is particularly known for its agriculture.’ He moved his rook across to block an attack from Cerys.

  ‘I don’t think his background is farming exactly, but it started off as experimental,’ Rex said. ‘He runs it as a sort of eco project; a farm that runs on self-sufficiency to produce organic vegetables and other produce.’ He raised his eyebrows at Mariner. ‘You want to watch your queen there,’ he murmur
ed.

  ‘Rex!’ Cerys protested. She moved her bishop decisively to threaten Mariner’s king and distract him.

  ‘That’s no easy task in this climate,’ said Mariner, frowning. He blocked with his knight.

  ‘From what I understand, he was a chemist by profession and has developed some kind of new soil treatment,’ Rex went on. ‘A fertilizer, I suppose, that raises the temperature of the soil and allows things to grow in less hospitable climates for a greater part of the year and gives good crop yields.’

  ‘That sounds ambitious. Does it work?’

  ‘He’s been there going on for ten years now. It’s taken a while to get it all up and running and to begin with he had to rely on volunteers to help him out. The farm was operated along communal lines with people who used to come out here to work on it just for short periods, students and the like, although inevitably some of them ended up staying. Now he seems to manage with a small core who have been there a while.’

  ‘And it’s enough to turn a profit?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘Hm, that bit’s rather murky. I heard rumours when it first started up that he was pretty wealthy and was able to invest a lot in it, but nevertheless it seems to be thriving. They produce enough to sell at the farmers’ markets locally and I think they have some kind of mail order arrangement too.’

  ‘We get most of our veg from there,’ Elena said. ‘It’s good stuff.’

  ‘Checkmate,’ said Cerys, with a quietly smug smile.

  ‘What?’ Mariner looked down at the board. She’d beaten him, in just a few short moves. How the hell did that happen? ‘Your granddad’s got a lot to answer for,’ he told Cerys with a wry smile as they shook hands over the board.

  ‘Right now, bed,’ said Elena. ‘You can have your rematch tomorrow.’

  Cerys started to protest but it sounded pretty half-hearted and she did as she was told nonetheless.

  ‘Remind me, how old is she?’ Mariner asked when she’d gone.

  ‘Eleven.’

  He shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘Don’t worry, man.’ Getting up to fetch another bottle of wine, Rex put a sympathetic hand on Mariner’s shoulder. ‘We’ve all been through it.’

  ‘So whose side would you be on?’ Mariner asked, replacing the chess pieces in their box. ‘The capitalist or the liberal leftie?’

  Elena shrugged. ‘I like Willow,’ she said. ‘He’s eccentric all right and can be a bit up himself, but we’ve kind of got used to him. There was some resistance when he first took over the farm – he started with the disadvantage of being English, after all. But as soon as it became clear he wasn’t going to ruin anything around here people changed their tune. Soon after he turned up, Ron and Josie took over the Hart and between them all they’ve put some life back into the village, so we’re not complaining.’

  ‘We’ve all had to adapt,’ Rex added. ‘Foot and mouth was a disaster. Hospitality and tourism are about the only things we’re good for round here now, so a bit of successful farming is a bonus.’

  The conversation continued, along with the drinking, until nearly midnight. Mariner was exhausted, but the couple were such good company, it was easy to stall and put off being left alone with his thoughts again. But finally he could delay it no longer. The sky was clear and a half moon shone in the sky, making it a cold night as he lurched across the yard. He was a little woozy and realized that he’d been drinking steadily all evening, consuming far more than he would ordinarily. He had to concentrate on finding his footing, which meant that he almost didn’t notice the glossy black bulk of a Range Rover skulking on the opposite side of the road. Despite the lateness of the hour, as his gaze swept across it Mariner thought he could make out a figure sitting in the driver’s seat, even though the lights were turned off. Mariner had done his share of surveillance, so, resisting the urge to look directly at it, he kept on walking. As he opened the hostel door and stepped into the shadows, he took the opportunity to turn back and observe the vehicle more carefully from the cover of the doorway. It was more difficult to tell from this angle, however, whether what he could see was simply the outline of the headrests, or if there was an occupant.

  Going into the hostel Mariner felt uneasy about that vehicle, but upstairs his view of the street was obscured by the branches of the beech tree in the yard. He knew though where there was a much better vantage point. He’d only once been up to the attic room, accessible via a narrow flight of steps at the end of the landing, when he and Elena had been seeking privacy one afternoon. Taking his torch, he ventured up there now. It was a little tower room no more than eight feet square, with windows on all four sides. Despite this, what little heat there was in the building had risen, and it felt marginally warmer than the other rooms. It seemed in better condition too, with more snug-fitting windows and for a minute Mariner wondered if he might be better off sleeping up here, though that would require the necessary energy to move all his things, and to create some suitable space. There wasn’t much room to spread out, thanks to the clutter of old furniture and pictures, and a couple of spare mattresses propped against one wall, but Mariner managed to pick his way over to the window.

  As he did so, he heard the low murmur of a high-performance engine igniting into life and peering down he watched as the Range Rover moved smoothly away, lights still extinguished. Mariner thought back to the SUV that had tailed him out here on Thursday afternoon, before realizing that connecting them didn’t really make any sense. Anyone passing through the village could have just parked up for a few minutes here for a break, or maybe to make a phone call. It was most likely to be one of those ubiquitous sales reps returning home after a long evening of schmoozing a customer. Mariner undressed and got into his arctic sleeping bag. He fell asleep quickly, strangely reassured by the familiar smell of the hostel.

  FOURTEEN

  Day Five

  When Mariner awoke on Saturday morning in a creaking bunk it was to the sound of a woman’s voice echoing up the stairs. ‘If you’re quick you can join us for breakfast,’ Elena called. It was just after seven-thirty.

  ‘It’s an ungodly hour, I know.’ She was apologetic when he arrived in the kitchen, having hastily pulled on his clothes. ‘But you know us country folk. How did you sleep?’

  ‘Fine thanks, though I might try the attic room at some point. It seemed a bit warmer.’ Mariner considered telling Elena about the car hanging around outside last night, but something stopped him. Instead he remarked on the absence of the Volvo from the yard.

  ‘Rex often puts in a half day at the office on Saturdays,’ Elena told him. ‘He’s always worked long hours.’ She put down a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Mariner.

  ‘I could get used to this,’ he said.

  Cerys, chewing lethargically on a piece of toast, pulled a face. ‘Ugh, how can you eat that at this time of day?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll manage.’ He looked across at her. ‘Want a game before I go?’

  He didn’t need to ask twice and an hour later Mariner had evened the score.

  ‘Best of three?’ Cerys said hopefully, quickly returning the pieces to their rightful squares.

  ‘No,’ said Elena. ‘Tom isn’t just here to entertain you. He’s here on holiday. Leave him alone.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Mariner agreed. ‘Much as I’d love to while away the day locked in conflict, I have other plans.’

  ‘Like what?’ Cerys wanted to know.

  ‘I’m going up to Devil’s Mouth. I thought I’d do the tourist bit.’

  ‘Only if it’s not raining,’ said Elena. ‘And you haven’t got a dicky heart, have you? Health and Safety have gone to town up there; you can only visit the falls if the sun’s shining and you’re glowing with health.’

  ‘Can I come with you?’ Cerys asked.

  ‘No again,’ said Elena straight away. ‘You don’t even like walking. You’ll get bored after five minutes and the last thing Tom needs is a whining eleven-year-old trailing after him. Anyway I tho
ught you had plans as well.’

  ‘So what are you up to?’ Mariner asked.

  Cerys gave an indifferent shrug. ‘Me and Emily are going down to the stables to muck out the horses and maybe get a ride if we can.’

  ‘Sounds like much more fun,’ said Mariner.

  ‘Here, you can take these; they’re past their best.’ Elena passed her a couple of apples.

  ‘They’re all wrinkled,’ Cerys grumbled.

  ‘But still in their prime,’ shot back Elena. ‘Just like me.’

  Cerys brightened. ‘Can we do some baking later?’ she asked. ‘There’s a cake sale at school next week.’

  ‘If I can get some more eggs. I’ve just cooked the last ones for Tom.’

  ‘I’ll pick some up for you while I’m out,’ Mariner offered. ‘It’ll give me an excuse to go and have a nose round the farm. I’m curious to see what it’s like now at close quarters.’

  ‘Okay. They don’t usually sell direct, but if you tell them they’re for me I’m sure they will. And if you go first thing you’ll catch them before they go off to the markets. Look out for Theo; he’s a nice lad.’

  Since they were initially heading in the same direction, Mariner set off along the road with Cerys but before getting to the centre of the village he wished her a good day and, remembering his undertaking to pick up some eggs, branched off along the gravel track up to Abbey Farm.

  The three-storey farmhouse that dominated the yard had always been impressive alongside the odd collection of ramshackle barns, though everything was neater and in much better condition than back when he’d worked here. In Mariner’s time it had largely been a dairy farm with a few sheep that were put out to graze on the hillsides. One of Mariner’s main tasks that summer was to help make the hay that would sustain the animals for the winter. Now the only form of livestock seemed to be the chickens and ducks that clucked and waddled about the yard. A brand new van parked by one of the sheds announced the farm’s current line of business: ‘Abbey Farm Organic Vegetables; all products locally grown’. That in itself was an impressive declaration, and measures had been taken to make that happen. The new shed was a prefabricated aluminium structure, with a generator at one end that emitted a faint, slightly eerie humming noise. Just behind that was a huge pile of what looked like manure, but from the innocuous smell and in the absence of any animals to produce it, Mariner guessed must be some kind of compost.