by Eric Brown
‘Ah,’ Maria said, beginning to understand.
‘Exactly. Randall thinks Nancy has inveigled her way into his parents’ affections, and fears that one day she’ll take a cut of what he thinks should rightly be all his.’
She stopped suddenly and exclaimed, ‘Oh!’, her eyes wide open and staring into space.
Maria was startled. ‘Harriet? What is it?’
‘Richard! Oh, my word, Maria …’ She reached out and clutched Maria’s hand. ‘Jeremy was here, just a second ago, and he told me that Richard is on his way home! Oh, the relief!’ She sank back into the sofa, her face suffused with joy. ‘Listen,’ she said, gripping Maria’s hand even tighter.
Only then did Maria hear the sound of a car engine as it approached the cottage. She stared open-mouthed at the farmer’s wife.
‘What did I tell you!’ Harriet called out.
Maria crossed the living room and peered through the window. Donald and Richard climbed from the car, the latter extricating his oversized frame with difficulty.
She hurried to the front door and pulled it open.
‘You’re back! And Richard …’ She hugged Donald and smiled at the farmer. ‘Come in. Harriet knew you were on your way.’
Donald stared at her. ‘How on earth …?’
Richard smiled. ‘Her old sixth sense.’ The farmer laughed. ‘It’s unerring.’
They moved to the living room and Maria watched as Harriet stood up, a tiny figure beside the sofa. Richard advanced and embraced her.
‘I’ve been worried sick!’ Harriet cried, dabbing at her tears with a tissue.
‘You silly old thing.’ Richard laughed. ‘I told you there was nothing to worry about, didn’t I? She does fret so!’ he said to Maria.
‘But you’re home now,’ Harriet said. ‘That’s what matters.’
‘Anyone would think I’ve been at war! You do fuss, woman.’
‘And rightly so, with a big lumbering clod of a husband like you!’
‘Can I get you some tea, Richard?’ Maria asked.
‘Do you know, I think I’d just like to get home and settled, if it’s all the same,’ Richard said. ‘There’s work to be seen to.’
‘Roy’s got all that in hand,’ Harriet said. ‘You’re coming back with me and I’m making you something to eat, and then you’re putting your feet up for the rest of the day. You can get back to work in the morning.’
Richard turned and shrugged at Donald and Maria, as if to say who was he to argue? He thanked Donald and followed his wife from the cottage.
As the door closed behind them, Donald said, ‘Did she really claim she knew he was coming back?’
‘I’ll say. It was creepy.’ She described Harriet’s sudden pronouncement that Jeremy had appeared and told her of her husband’s return.
‘And you were taken in?’ he asked.
She punched him playfully. ‘Well, she was right, wasn’t she? Seconds later you arrived back.’
He kissed her. ‘Harriet merely has excellent hearing. She heard the engine seconds before you did, and wishful thinking did the rest.’
‘You cynical old man!’
He moved to the kitchen. ‘Have you been out this morning?’ he asked.
‘No – why?’
‘And have you had lunch?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
He raided the larder, pulling out two pork pies and a bottle of milk stout and stuffing them into the pockets of his overcoat.
‘Donald?’
‘I’ve been thinking of nothing all the way back but going for a long walk with you and munching on a pie at the top of the hill,’ he said. ‘All morning I’ve been talking to people I’d rather not talk to, and … and seeing things I’d rather I hadn’t. Let’s go, and I’ll tell you all about it.’
Laughing, she found her hat and coat, pulled on her boots and followed him from the cottage.
TWENTY-ONE
They walked across the village green, turned along West Lane and cut through Culkin’s Wood. The day was crisp and bright, and the earlier fall of snow had stopped. Even the wind had died down, making for perfect walking weather. The silence was broken only by the occasional cooing of wood pigeons, the cawing of distant crows and the sound of their own panting as they climbed the hillside path through the trees.
‘Do you think poor Doctor Robertshaw tried to kill himself?’ Maria asked when Donald had told her what he and Randall had discovered at the surgery.
He shook his head. ‘It’s impossible to say. I suppose only the doctor himself knows for certain. I suppose we can’t rule out a suicide attempt.’
‘Was the doctor close to his brother?’
‘I asked him that the other day. He said they weren’t especially close.’
‘Did the medic say whether he’d survive?’
He shrugged, looking up the hill. ‘It’s touch and go, apparently.’
The crest of the rise was in view. She slowed down and gripped his hand, allowing him to haul her the rest of the way.
‘I wonder how Nancy will take it?’ she said. ‘Do you know if she was close to Spencer?’
‘She would have met him when he came to examine Xandra,’ he said, ‘and no doubt at family gatherings.’
‘The poor girl; she’s certainly been through it.’
They came to the top of the hill and stood side by side gazing down at the view.
The earlier snowfall had laid a fresh, dazzling patina over the land. The scene was monochrome, predominantly white, with buildings and drystone walls standing out in charcoal hues. The sun was lost now behind a pewter sky, betokening more snow to come. Smoke threaded from a hundred village chimneys, adding to the grey caul. In the distance, the low hills folded in behind each other to the tree-lined horizon. The scene appeared deceptively peaceful.
Maria made out Standing Stone Manor and the stark monolith sequestered in the empty, white-blanketed field behind the house.
‘To think,’ she said, ‘that human beings have been making their homes here for thousands of years. Just think of all the many lives that have passed, unrecorded, forgotten now.’
‘Steady, girl, that’s waxing a bit poetical, isn’t it?’
She nudged him. ‘You unromantic realist.’
He said, ‘Just think of all the intrigues, jealousies, hatreds and murders committed over the centuries. Think of the crimes that have gone undetected, the killers gone unpunished. I’m glad we’re living now, Maria, when law and order prevail. I’d hate to have lived in the lawless times of the Neolithic age.’
‘They no doubt would have had their own laws, though.’
‘You’re right. But what might have been less sophisticated was their means to uphold the law and capture the wrongdoers.’
‘Spoken like a true private detective!’ She laughed.
She gazed down at the village.
‘What I’d rather think about,’ she said, ‘is all the love and happiness and good times spent across the centuries.’
He kissed the top of her head. ‘And that’s why I love you,’ he said.
She pointed. ‘Look.’
In the meadow behind Wellspring Farm, next to the gypsy caravan, Nancy and Roy Vickers, along with Bill the dog, were playing in the snow. Nancy launched a snowball at the young man. He dodged it and the dog leapt acrobatically through the air in a futile attempt to intercept the missile. Their happy cries eddied up the hillside.
Donald produced the pork pies and opened the bottle of stout with his Swiss Army knife, and they sat on a fallen log and ate their impromptu lunch.
Maria told him what Harriet had said about Roy Vickers. ‘You were right – he didn’t have anything to do with the RAF. He didn’t even work in the quartermaster’s stores at Lincoln.’
He passed her the bottle of beer.
‘Do you know something?’ he said as she drank. ‘I can’t dislike him for that. But I wonder why he felt the need to lie?’
She watched the young man c
hase after Nancy with a giant snowball which he launched at her retreating back. It exploded on her duffel coat, and she turned to him suddenly. They came together and embraced.
‘Harriet doesn’t think he deliberately lied, just never corrected the assumptions that he did have an RAF past.’ She passed him the bottle.
He nodded. ‘I like that,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘Listen to you! Under that cynical exterior, you’re just as romantic as me.’
‘That’d be going it some, girl.’ He stood up. ‘Come on, I’ll race you to the foot of the hill.’
‘But I can’t run on this!’ she cried as Donald set off at a sliding shuffle down the hillside and she picked her way carefully after him.
She caught him up as the hillside levelled out and became a meadow to the north of the stream that ran through the village. They pulled open the farm gate, passed through and latched it after them, then set off along the lane.
‘My word,’ Donald said. ‘Is that who I think it is?’
Maria peered up the lane. In the distance, tall against the skyline between the high hedges, she made out the scarecrow figure of Xandra Robertshaw. She carried what looked like a shepherd’s crook and proceeded slowly, picking her way over the snow-covered lane towards them with exaggerated care.
‘Well, I never,’ Donald murmured.
‘Xandra!’ Maria said. ‘It’s nice to see you out and about.’
The woman smiled. She wore a knee-length plum-coloured Burberry with the collar turned up, a woollen scarf, and a hat that looked more like a turban. Her face was pale, her cheeks sunken. She was breathing hard from the exertion, her breath rattling.
‘It’s such a wonderfully fresh day,’ she wheezed, ‘and as I haven’t ventured out for weeks, I thought I’d take the opportunity while I’m feeling a little better.’ She smiled at them. ‘Have you been far?’
Maria pointed to the tree-clad hillside to their right. ‘Up through the wood.’
The woman nodded. ‘I think I’ll turn around now and head back. I’ll join you if I may?’
‘Of course,’ Maria said. They walked slowly as Xandra fell into step beside them.
Donald made a polite comment to the effect that he was pleased she was feeling a little better.
‘I’m feeling alive for the first time in an age, Mr Langham. Oh,’ she went on, ‘Randall telephoned just before I set off.’
‘Ah …’ Donald said.
‘He told me about your discovering Spencer.’
‘Yes. I’m so sorry. Did he say—?’
‘He’s still unconscious – and if he does survive, Randall said, the medics fear that there might be some permanent damage to his liver or some such.’
‘Let’s hope not,’ Maria said.
Xandra sniffed. ‘I never liked the man, to be perfectly frank, though he seemed to feel something for me, which was a pain.’
‘He did?’ Donald said.
‘I think he felt sorry for me – because I was married to Edwin. They were never that close. Or perhaps he pitied me, on account of my illness. Whatever the reason, he seemed to think there was a bond between us that I failed entirely to apprehend.’
‘Did the medics know whether Spencer overdosed on purpose?’ Donald asked tentatively.
Xandra shook her head. ‘I asked Randall the same question, but the doctors couldn’t tell. If it was accidental, then he was a damned fool. As he was a medico, one would have thought that he would have administered himself a safe dosage, wouldn’t one?’
‘Perhaps so,’ Donald murmured.
‘Randall has made an appointment for me to see a consultant in Cambridge tomorrow afternoon,’ Xandra went on. ‘He seems to think that a second opinion might be wise. I assume he’s of the view that his uncle, under the influence of his addiction, might have been a far from competent practitioner.’
They walked on in reflective silence for a time, before Xandra turned to Maria and said, ‘Is that beer I smell?’
Maria smiled. ‘We had a picnic of milk stout and pork pies on the hillside,’ she explained.
The woman looked down at her. ‘Milk stout and pork pies?’ she said with all the hauteur of an epicure. ‘I must admit it’s a combination I’ve never experienced.’
‘I recommend it,’ Donald said with a playful wink at Maria.
‘And speaking of food, if you can call it that,’ Xandra went on, ‘when all this business is over, you really must come to the manor for dinner.’
‘That would be lovely,’ Maria said.
They came to the bridge on Crooked Lane, and Xandra paused. ‘This is where our paths diverge,’ she said. ‘Oh, I saw Nancy earlier and told her that she was welcome back at any time and that she should ignore Randall’s behaviour. I also told her that she’ll no longer need to run after me like a nursemaid. I think from now on I can look after myself.’ She paused. ‘Milk stout and pork pies? I wonder …’
She hoisted her stick in farewell and walked slowly over the bridge.
Donald watched her go, then raised an eyebrow at Maria. ‘Well, she seems to have found a new lease of life.’
Maria threaded an arm through his and they set off along Crooked Lane.
They came to the meadow and the gypsy caravan; there was no sign of Nancy, Roy or Bill the dog, though a snowman stood lonely sentinel before the caravan.
As they were passing the meadow, the caravan door opened and Roy Vickers emerged, carrying a brace of pheasant. He hoisted them in greeting and called out, ‘Half a mo!’
They paused while he hurried over to the wall. ‘I was going to pop over with a message from Nancy,’ he said. ‘Richard and Harriet have invited us to stay for dinner, and Nancy wanted to apologize that she won’t be in till later. She said she’ll be back by nine. I hope that’s all right?’
‘Of course it is,’ Maria said. ‘Enjoy the …’ She pointed at the dead birds.
Roy laughed. ‘Oh, we won’t be eating these tonight. They haven’t hung long enough. They’re a present for Harriet, in thanks for the meal.’ He hesitated. ‘I was going to say …’
‘Yes?’ Donald said.
‘Well, I’m a bit worried about Nancy.’
‘Go on.’
‘After everything that’s happened over the past few days … You see, we saw Xandra just now, and she told us about Nancy’s uncle, the doctor.’
‘And Nancy has taken it badly?’ Donald said.
Vickers gave a crooked grimace. ‘That’s the thing, Donald. Quite the opposite, actually. She seems to be oddly happy-go-lucky, almost bubbly. I think she’s bottling it up.’
‘That’s not uncommon,’ Donald said, ‘as a way of coping with such unpleasantness.’
‘I’m just worried that it’ll hit her at some point and there’ll be a reaction – and she’ll be correspondingly … I don’t know … melancholy. I wouldn’t know what to do if that happened.’
‘There would only be one thing you could possibly do,’ Maria said. ‘Be there to support her, if it happens.’
‘I’ll second that,’ Donald said. ‘It’s obvious that she thinks the world of you. Just be there for her through thick and thin … to coin a cliché.’
The young man nodded. ‘Anyway, I’ll be getting back inside. And thanks for everything – for making Nancy so welcome.’
He turned and hurried towards the farmhouse.
Later, back at the cottage, Maria prepared a quick meal from Wednesday’s leftover casserole, mashed potatoes and boiled cauliflower. Rather than eat at the table in the kitchen, they sat on the sofa before the fire and ate while listening to the news on the wireless followed by My Word!
Afterwards, Maria mixed herself a gin and tonic, and Donald continued where he’d left off and opened another bottle of milk stout. He turned the volume down on some dance music and put more coal on the fire.
He told her about the plot of his next novel as the clock ticked towards ten and the wind blew noisily outside.
Warmed by the fire
to the edge of sleep, Maria murmured, ‘No sign of Nancy yet.’
‘Didn’t Roy say she’d be back by nine?’
‘Probably having too good a time.’
‘We could always go to bed and leave the back door unlocked,’ he said. ‘We’re not in London now.’
She nodded.
A little later, she said, ‘Do you think she’ll be all right?’
‘Of course. She’s only a stone’s throw away, after all.’
‘Not in that way, you idiot. I mean after what’s happened to the professor and Spencer.’
He thought about it. ‘She’s young and resilient, and she has someone who loves her. She’ll bounce back. Hello, speak of the devil.’
The back door rattled open and Nancy called out, ‘Sorry! Sorry! Sorry I’m so late!’ The apology was accompanied by the sound of scrabbling claws on linoleum, and Bill burst into the room followed by Nancy, rosy-cheeked and glowing.
‘I know I said I’d be back by nine, but Harriet was so kind and Richard made me drink some awful Scotch, and we had such a good time.’
Donald laughed. ‘I think you’re a trifle tight, my girl.’
Nancy pulled off her coat and stood swaying, beaming down at them. ‘Just a teeny-tiny little bit. S’all right, though, ’cos Roy walked me home. I’m fine. I think I’ll go to bed now.’
‘Sleep well,’ Maria said.
‘C’mon, Bill!’ Nancy commanded.
The dog had curled up on the rug before the embers and showed not the slightest inclination to budge. ‘I said, come on, Bill. It’s beddy-byes time. Up you get!’
‘You’ll be lucky.’ Donald laughed.
‘He’s badly trained,’ Nancy said. ‘Or, rather, not trained at all. My uncle … he told me off for not training him properly. But then he would, wouldn’t he? He had a thing about dogs being … being well trained. S’pose it was all to do with his first wife, wasn’t it?’
Donald said, ‘His first wife? Deirdre?’
Nancy nodded as she poked Bill in the ribs with her stockinged toe. ‘That’s the woman. Deirdre. She was a dog trainer, you see. Come on, boy, up you get.’
Maria looked at Donald. He was staring up at the girl. ‘You mean,’ he said, ‘that she trained dogs?’
