A Room Full Of Bones
Page 27
Perhaps because of the smoke, starlings roosting on the nearby rooftops rise into the air in their own inky cloud. Murmuration, thinks Nelson. Now why does he know that word? As the crowd disperses, he finds himself next to Randolph Smith.
‘How’s everything at the stables?’ he asks.
Tamsin Smith and Len Harris have both been remanded in custody pending trial. Tamsin is denying everything and, as she has employed an expensive and unscrupulous QC, it promises to be quite a battle. Nelson’s looking forward to it; he hasn’t had a good fight for ages.
‘Not too bad,’ says Randolph. ‘Some owners have taken their horses away but we’ve got some who’re loyal to us. And we’ve got the horses that Dad owned, like The Necromancer. He’s a terrific prospect. I’m going to enter him for next year’s National.’
‘Did you hear that?’ says Nelson to Clough, who is hovering nearby, eating crisps. ‘Your favourite horse is going to run in the National. You must have a bet.’
‘I never want to see that horse again,’ says Clough with dignity.
Randolph laughs. ‘He’s a reformed character, Sergeant. You should see him. I’ve been riding him out twice a day and he’s a lamb.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ says Clough.
Ruth and Max are watching the birds wheel and turn in the darkening sky. Ruth thinks of the Saltmarsh, of the lonely, beloved landscape, of walking with Kate and Max on the beach.
‘Do you want to come for Christmas?’ she blurts out. ‘It’ll be quiet, just me and Kate, but we could get a tree, roast some chestnuts.’
Max’s face breaks into a smile worthy of Bob Woonunga himself. ‘I’d love to,’ he says.
He reaches out and takes her hand. Ruth is rather taken aback. It’s been so long since she’s been in a relationship that she’s forgotten how couples behave. Do they really hold hands like this? It feels rather odd but she’s willing to try anything once. She lets her hand rest in his.
‘Hallo Ruth.’
‘Hi Nelson.’ She tries to remove her hand but Max’s hold tightens. ‘Do you remember Max Grey?’
‘Yes,’ says Nelson, without enthusiasm. ‘How are you? You’re a long way from… Brighton, isn’t it?’
‘I’ve come for the ceremony’ says Max. ‘And to see Ruth of course.’
‘Well, I don’t blame you for giving Norfolk a miss,’ says Nelson. ‘Not much of a place is it?’
‘On the contrary,’ says Max, smiling warmly at Ruth. ‘I like Norfolk very much. I have a feeling I’m going to be spending a lot more time here. In fact, I’m coming to Ruth for Christmas.’
It ought to be easy, thinks Ruth, watching Nelson disappear into the crowds and the smoke. Nelson is happily married, Ruth is about to start a relationship with a man she really likes. Nelson can see Kate; perhaps, in time, all four adults can become friends.
It ought to be easy. But it isn’t.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The Smith family and the Slaughter Hill Stables are completely fictitious. However, in order to see how a racing stable operates, I spent some time at the incredible Cisswood Racing Stables in Lower Beeding and would like to thank Jayne and Gary Moore for their hospitality and help. Special thanks to Lucy Moore for showing me round and answering all my questions. I need hardly say that Jayne and her wonderfully talented family have absolutely nothing in common with Danforth Smith and co.
Similarly, the Smith Museum has no counterpart in real life, though many British museums do hold human remains, and there are pressure groups demanding their return. For details of one such repatriation, I am indebted to John Danilis’s marvellous book Riding the Black Cockatoo (Allen and Unwin).
Bishop Augustine is fictitious although Pope Joan apparently did exist.
Thank you to Michael Whitehead for the Blackpool background and apologies to Sarah Whitehead (who looks lovely in tangerine) for the football joke. Thanks to Andrew Maxted and Dr Matt Pope for their archaeological expertise and to Keith Jones, equine vet extraordinaire, for the information about horses. However, in all these cases, I have taken the experts’ advice only as far as it suits the plot, and any resulting mistakes or inaccuracies are mine alone.
I didn’t get his name but thanks to the lovely guide at Norwich Cathedral who showed me Mother Julian’s cat. Thanks to Becki Walker for her help with proof-reading.
I’m very grateful, as ever, to my editor Jane Wood, my agent Tim Glister, and all at Quercus and Janklow and Nesbit, for their continued faith in me. Heartfelt thanks to all the publishers around the world who have taken a chance with Ruth.
Love and thanks always to my husband Andrew and our children, Alex and Juliet.
This book is for my friends Nancy and Anita, with whom I shared so much of my childhood, and in memory of their mother, Sheila Woodman, who was always so encouraging about my writing.
E.G. January 2012
Elly Griffiths
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