Loe raamatut: «The House of Birds and Butterflies», lehekülg 5

‘There’s just a lot to get done,’ she settled on. ‘But if Willow and Daisy aren’t around, how good are you at drawing bats?’

That evening, once Willow, Daisy and Raffle had worn each other out running around the garden, and two of them were upstairs asleep, and the other was snoring gently in front of the fireplace, ears twitching, Abby, Tessa and Neil sat in the snug living room, a bottle of wine open on the table. Abby had relented and decided to stay over, as she often did, the thought of going back to her homely but silent terrace unappealing after spending time in her sister’s boisterous household.

‘We’ve been watching that Wild Wonders thing on the TV,’ Neil said into an easy silence, earning a slap on the arm from his wife.

‘Ssshhh, no we haven’t. Not every episode, anyway.’ Tessa looked mortified, and Abby laughed.

‘I’ve watched some of it too – I had to know what we were up against.’

‘And what do you think? Does that presenter, what’s-her-name, know anything about nature at all?’

‘Flick Hunter,’ Neil supplied.

‘The name on the tip of every Englishman’s tongue this autumn,’ Abby said. ‘I don’t know. She seems competent enough, and they’ve got a good range of experts to provide the detail. It’s well put together, and it’s a great advertisement for Suffolk nature reserves.’

‘You’re not losing customers because of it?’

Abby wrinkled her nose. A month ago, she would have said no, absolutely not. But over the last couple of weeks the footfall had dropped off, takings had dipped and Abby hadn’t found a reason for it – unless the popularity of the television show was growing, and customers who ordinarily would have taken a punt, picking either Meadowsweet or Reston Marsh for their day out, now automatically chose the latter because they’d heard of it.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Possibly. The thing is, I don’t have the answers, and Penelope won’t like that. She wants to know why we’ve lost visitors, and what I’m doing about it. The drop-off is too vague, too gradual, and I need to work on reversing it. But we’ve got a night-time wildlife walk, mask-making, apple bobbing and now, with our stunning drawing examples, who wouldn’t want to come and see us? If I can make this Halloween event successful, then the ripples will perhaps be enough to get us back on track.’

‘It seems like she’s put a lot of the responsibility on you,’ Tessa said. ‘You’re not the only member of staff.’

Abby shrugged. ‘I know, but Rosa’s got the shop and Stephan’s in charge of the café. My remit is activities, visitor numbers, memberships. It makes sense that I should be the one driving it, but everyone mucks in and comes up with ideas. I’m not on my own.’

‘That’s good,’ Tessa nodded. ‘And all this, for Halloween, is bound to be a sure-fire winner, even without leggy blonde television presenters to lure people in.’

‘I’m blonde,’ Abby said. ‘Not so much of the leggy, though.’

‘You’re gorgeous.’ Tessa drained her wine and reached for the bottle. ‘How’s lovely Ryan in the pub? What did you describe him as – a fuzzy St Bernard?’

‘Subtle, sis.’ Abby rolled her eyes. ‘Ryan’s got a girlfriend, and even if he didn’t, I’m not attracted to him. He’s a friend. They all are.’

‘Yes, I know. Gavin’s married, Marek’s not far off being a granddad and even before this girlfriend development, you couldn’t possibly date Ryan because you couldn’t get past his beard to kiss him. There are excuses for everyone, but I refuse to believe there isn’t someone at that reserve, one of the volunteers maybe, or a guy in the village, who hasn’t piqued your interest. You can’t stay single forever.’

‘Why not, Tessa? Why can’t I be happy, just Raffle and me? Why do I need someone else to complete me?’

‘I’ll open another bottle,’ Neil said quietly, slipping from the room.

‘Of course, I’m not saying that.’ Tessa scooted closer, drawing her knees up in front of her. ‘But I also know that ever since you finished with Darren you’ve stayed away from men and dating as if the mere concept could damage your health. Just because Mum and Dad’s relationship was …’ she searched for the word, ‘… volatile, doesn’t mean we’re going to turn into them. Look at me and Neil.’

‘I know that,’ Abby said, already weary at treading over well-worn ground. ‘But doesn’t it make sense to stay away from relationships that look like they could go that way? With Darren, I let it go on too long, and before that …’ She rubbed her hands over her face. ‘I get it wrong, Tessa. Every time, I go for the guys who aren’t like Neil, who aren’t kind and gentle and decent. And then, it’s as if what happened with Mum and Dad is playing out all over again, that somehow I subconsciously go looking for it.’ Her voice dipped, the pain of those memories still able to hurt her despite the time that had passed. ‘It’s easier if I just stay on my own.’

‘But you got out,’ Tessa protested. ‘You put up with Darren’s crap for far too long, but you left him. You didn’t let it get like Mum and Dad, and you are not the same as them, neither of us are. The way Dad behaved was unforgivable, and you have to give Mum credit for fighting back, even if walking away would have been better for everyone.’

‘Tessa—’

‘I understand your reservations. You haven’t made the best decisions with men in the past, but you can’t let it hamper your whole life. Not every guy is going to be like Darren, or Dad.’

‘Except they’re all I’ve experienced.’

Tessa shook her head. ‘No, Abby. Don’t let Dad’s failings stop you from having a rewarding, healthy relationship. He’s caused both of us – you, especially – enough pain. Don’t give him that satisfaction, too.’

‘But whenever Darren raised his voice, or I lost my temper with him, I thought—’

Tessa took Abby’s hand. ‘No relationship is without arguments; what matters is how you deal with them. Dad never got it right. Darren was an idiot, and those guys before … Abby, it doesn’t mean every man is like that, or they’re the only ones you’ll ever come into contact with. You can’t live your life believing that, because you’ll lose out on so much. You’ve had a bad run of things, but you’re much more settled now, with your house and your wonderful job. I don’t see why a loving relationship can’t follow.’ Tessa gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Besides, you’re going to get overheated about stuff unless you’re the Dalai Lama. You need to build up a head of steam then clear the air sometimes. It’s all part of it, and making up can be the best thing.’ Her smile turned into a cheeky grin, but it faded quickly when Abby didn’t reciprocate.

‘But what if they frustrate you every time they open their mouth?’ Abby said. ‘And you feel this rage building up inside you, and you want to scream and pummel their chest, and then every time you imagine doing that, you picture them taking hold of your arms and silencing you with this kiss, this amazing, powerful kiss, so that you don’t even feel the rain or—’ She stopped suddenly, heat going to her cheeks.

Her sister was staring at her with a look of shocked delight, and Neil was standing in the doorway, open-mouthed, holding a bottle of wine.

‘Who the hell is that?’ Tessa asked.

‘Nobody,’ Abby said hurriedly, stretching her glass out towards Neil, who had recovered and was holding the bottle aloft.

‘Bullshit is it nobody,’ Tessa whispered. ‘That is a very well-formed fantasy, and I need to know right now who the man is.’

‘It isn’t anyone real,’ Abby said. ‘It’s just … Octavia got this book for me, from the library. She clearly believes, as you do, that my sex life is somewhat lacking. Anyway, this ridiculous novel is full of—’ she glanced at Neil, who was intent on his iPhone, his nose almost pressed into the screen. She was embarrassing everyone, though in some ways that was better than continuing the depressing conversation about her parents and her own, less-than-happy relationships. ‘It’s a bit raunchy, that’s all. Not what I’m used to.’

‘With a dashing, infuriating hero who you argue with in the rain?’ Tessa hugged her knees. ‘It sounds like the Pride and Prejudice film with Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen. That scene in the downpour is perfection. Whoever this author is,’ Tessa said, and Abby jolted upright, almost spilling her wine, ‘then they’ve clearly been watching that film. You’ll have to give me the details.’ She glanced at her husband then winked at Abby, and Abby felt all at once like she’d been let off the hook and dug herself a deeper hole.

She wished she’d remembered that film adaptation and pretended it was the reason for her over-excitable imagination. Now she would have to invent an author and a book title that sounded convincing – but then Tessa would look online and not be able to find it, or else she’d have to search through Octavia’s stock and see if she could pick out a book to match, which sounded like a hopeless task, and one which would no doubt result in the rumour being spread around the village that Abby Field was looking for erotic literature.

The irony was that the person who would probably be best at conjuring up novel titles was the one who was responsible for Abby’s ludicrous outburst. If only he hadn’t stood there in the rain, in his expensive jacket with his scowling, sea-blue eyes and perfect jawline, and then pulled her beneath the porch with him, she would never have let her imagination run away with her in front of her sister in the first place.

But as long as she kept it to herself and had no more slip-ups like that, then the unhelpful feelings were bound to go away and Jack Westcoat would simply be her irritating adversary, until he realized the delights of the reserve were too much for him and skulked back to London to write his dark books. She was confident that he would be a short-lived problem, and she would soon be able to tick him off her to-do list for good.

Chapter Six

Contrary to some beliefs, pheasants are not known for damaging cars – unless they fly into them, which sadly happens quite often. They are beautifully coloured game birds, with shiny orange and green feathers, and they have a mechanical walk, as if the floor is cold and they want to make as little contact with it as possible. Their loud call is, perhaps, a bit like a hooting rooster.

— Note from Abby’s notebook

Abby had to admit that Destiny, the face painter she’d hired for the Halloween event, was top-notch. A little boy was running around with his features covered in an intricate web, a sinister spider crouching, poised, at his hairline. The pumpkin faces were terrifying or friendly, depending on the age of the child, and now she was creating a kestrel’s elegant face on a small girl who was sitting impeccably still.

The drawing table was full, the café had been taken over by mask-makers when the sequins and feathers started blowing away in the wind gusting through the picnic area, and there was an air of happy chaos throughout the visitor centre. Abby wondered how the real wildlife was coping, but a quick glance showed her that the coal tits and chaffinches decorating the feeders weren’t remotely bothered by the noise and hubbub.

She waved at Rosa as she hurried back to the picnic area, the wind not disrupting a competitive game of apple bobbing, currently being overseen by Gavin. She gave him a grin as he handed a goody bag to a successful bobber, and went to stand next to him.

‘Going well, Gavin?’

‘Never better, Abby. Bloody cold out here, though.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I was planning on dunking your head in the bucket in celebration of all your hard work, but I don’t think even I can be that cruel.’

‘Thanks!’ Abby laughed. ‘I think. It is November in a couple of days, we can’t expect balmy weather.’

‘Yeah, don’t I know it. The girls have already written out their bloody Christmas lists. I’ve told them to talk to Santa, because I’m not interested.’

‘Gavin! You can’t—’

‘They said they wanted them from Santa anyway, so we’re on the same page.’

‘Except Santa’s not real, so you will actually have to go and get the toys.’

Gavin shrugged. ‘There’s loads of time yet. Loads.’

Abby held her hands up in submission. ‘Fair enough. And thanks for the no-dunking thing. I’m leading the night-time walk later, so I could do without getting soaked beforehand.’

‘Yes, boss.’ He saluted, and then stepped forward when two boys got over-exuberant in their attempts to win the prize. ‘You two, stop it, now. We don’t stand for drowning each other at this nature reserve, whatever you might have heard.’

When Abby made it back inside, Rosa was showing Jonny a pair of high-end binoculars. They had a 20 per cent sale on all their birdwatching equipment, and this was the closest she’d seen Jonny come to actually buying something. Everything was going to plan; she just had the night walk to contend with.

When a packet of felt tips was discovered to be dud, and Abby realized they weren’t going to make it through the afternoon with only two orange pens, she took the opportunity to escape the madness and walk to the village shop to pick up some more. She resisted the urge to take the longer route past Swallowtail House. It looked simultaneously regal and slightly spooky at the best of times, but would it seem particularly sinister today? A large, abandoned house was the perfect location for a Halloween investigation, but the padlocks and thick chains would put paid to that, even if there had been anyone brave enough.

Peacock Cottage was quiet as she passed, none of the windows showing signs of life, and she hurried on. On Meadowgreen’s main road, she headed towards the shop, the wind whipping her hair against her face. Her pace slowed as she noticed two people standing next to the postbox, chatting.

Abby felt the familiar yet unwanted flicker of emotion as she saw Jack, his hands shoved into the pockets of his expensive jacket. And then she focused on the person he was with, the long blonde hair falling over the shoulders of a smart black coat, and knee-high, tan leather boots over skinny jeans. It took Abby a moment to place her, to realize she had seen her on the television but not in real life.

Flick Hunter was in Meadowgreen. She was even more beautiful in the flesh, the comfortable intimacy between her and Jack clear even from a distance.

Abby hesitated, wondering whether to keep going or turn quickly around. She didn’t know why she felt so strange seeing them together, or so reluctant to simply walk past them. Jack leaned closer to Flick, his lips twitching into a smile. Abby scrunched her fingers into fists, hovering uselessly on the side of the road, but then Flick put her hand on Jack’s shoulder and steered him to a black Land Rover parked close by.

Abby breathed a sigh of relief, waiting until they were next to the car before she crossed over. But as she reached the shop she noticed a glimmer of movement out of the corner of her eye and turned instinctively towards it. Jack was looking at her, his hand raised in recognition. Her stomach fizzed and she gave him a quick, nervous wave, their eyes meeting briefly, then he climbed in alongside Flick Hunter, the sound of the door closing a heavy clunk that reached her despite the wind.

She decided that she wouldn’t tell anyone what she’d seen. She didn’t want to fuel a fresh wave of gossip about Flick Hunter and Jack Westcoat, and acknowledging that she had spotted them together made her uneasy, as if she was about to come down with an unpleasant bug. There was no reason for her to feel like that. She hadn’t exactly hit it off with Jack, and what business was it of hers if they were good friends or, perhaps, even more than that? Returning to Meadowsweet with felt pens aplenty, Abby went back to the drawing competition. Once it was over, she would have a couple of hours to tidy up the visitor centre before the night walk began.

They set off as dusk was falling, and Abby could hear the usual excited whispers behind her as they made their way along the meadow trail. She stopped everyone at the end of the path, where a fence looked out across a field. It was part of Penelope’s estate, and until a few months ago had been let out to a local farmer for cattle grazing. Abby wasn’t sure what had happened to the cows, but now it was empty and, at this time of day when it was in different degrees of shadow, a good spotting place for one of their best nocturnal creatures.

‘Now,’ she said quietly, ‘if we’re very lucky, we might just see—’

‘There!’ someone whispered loudly. ‘Oh my God!’

As if on cue, a large, pale bird swooped gracefully over the field, its heart-shaped face clearly visible in the gloom. It was mesmerizing, and almost luminous against the twilight backdrop.

‘A barn owl,’ Abby said. ‘There she is. She roosts over in those trees and is seen frequently by visitors and our reserve wardens. She hunts mainly at dawn and dusk, but she’s sometimes out mid-afternoon. The weather can set their hunting patterns off – her feathers aren’t very water resistant, so if it’s raining she avoids flying.’

‘She’s magnificent.’

‘Stunning.’

‘She’s like a phantom,’ said one, younger-sounding visitor. Abby couldn’t disagree.

She immersed herself in the wildlife and her guests’ interest in it. This was where she was happiest, and a night walk on a cold October evening was somehow easier than one on a summer’s afternoon, because she knew the people who had booked onto it would be a more hardcore breed of nature lover. She wanted to inspire more people, of course, but sometimes it was nice to know that she wouldn’t have to work hard at their enthusiasm, that it was already ingrained. The woodland yielded bats, visible coming out of their bat boxes, flying round in wide circles. Abby had brought her monitor, so she could make their weirdly regular clicks audible, and explain how they used echolocation to navigate and find food in the dark.

Everyone was fascinated, the questions kept coming and, as they turned back towards the visitor centre, the darkness almost complete, a Chinese water deer bounded across their path, its large ears and white-rimmed nose so distinctive.

‘Thank you, wildlife,’ Abby whispered under her breath, as there were low murmurings of delight from those around her.

In the café, Stephan had produced a batch of zombie brownies, with white and pink marshmallow pieces that looked like flesh oozing through the chocolate. He was poised to make hot drinks, and Abby hovered while everyone tucked in, on hand to answer any more queries.

One of the youngest visitors on the walk, a girl of about twelve, came up to her.

‘All those things tonight, the owl and the bats and the deer, they’re a bit creepy in the dark, aren’t they? You can see why people believe in ghosts. If you didn’t know what a barn owl was, you might think it was something scarier.’

‘That’s a very good point,’ Abby said. ‘I bet our native wildlife could explain away lots of spooky sightings.’

‘Is there anything else you see that we missed out on?’

‘Not really. We were particularly lucky tonight, though we do occasionally see badgers. It’s not that they aren’t there, but they’re so elusive it’s much harder to spot them. I’ve only seen one once, and I’ve been here nearly two years.’ The girl stared at her, her eyes wide with interest, and so she kept going. ‘I was on my way home, and it really made me jump. This huge thing was lumbering through the trees towards me, and suddenly there was this white, striped nose, which was a bit ghostly. We looked at each other for a second, then it changed course, going back into the woods. But I can’t remember the last time any guests or other staff reported seeing one – we’re not usually around in the dead of night.’

‘It’s been a brilliant walk, though. Thank you!’ The girl held out her hand and, surprised and touched, Abby shook it.

‘Thanks for staying with me,’ Abby said to Stephan as they pulled on their coats. ‘Are you cycling home?’

Stephan nodded. ‘I’d offer you a lift, except space is quite limited on the saddle.’

Abby laughed. ‘I’ll be fine. I know the route like the back of my hand, and I’ve got my torch.’

‘Still a bit late for you to be heading home alone. I could walk you back, get on my bike from there?’

‘Honestly, Stephan, I’m fine.’ She patted his shoulder. ‘It’ll take more than a few ghoulish masks to scare me.’

They switched off the lights and locked the doors, then wished each other goodnight. Abby listened to the sound of Stephan’s bike wheels whirring down the car park, his headlight bright in the darkness.

She started walking, taking her usual shortcut through the trees. She wasn’t scared of the dark – she was a night owl herself, only the need to walk Raffle twice a day forcing her out of bed with the sunrise, and she often pottered or watched television until the early hours of the morning. But tonight, after the young girl’s comments, and recalling her own encounter with the badger – a moment that had truly scared her – she found that she was on edge.

The wind was rustling through the trees, the woodland was never quiet at night, and she couldn’t help picturing Swallowtail House, its dark, hulking shape looming over the village. Her hands shaking slightly, she twisted the back of her torch, checking the beam was on full, pointing it directly ahead, her steps slow and deliberate so she didn’t upend herself over a rock or tree root. It was fine, she told herself; she’d done this so often before. But she wished she had Raffle with her, or even Gavin making ridiculous wisecracks, or Stephan – why hadn’t she taken him up on his offer? It would only have been a few minutes out of his way.

Something screeched to her left and she copied it, clamping her hand over her mouth at the ridiculous outburst, knowing the instant she’d screamed that it was one tree branch rubbing against another in the wind.

‘Come on, Abby, get a grip.’ She surged forwards, seeing the smooth concrete of the road up ahead, and then the glowing, beckoning light of Peacock Cottage. It was just in one downstairs window, but it looked so inviting, so safe, away from the murmuring trees and the darkness creeping in around her. She tried to think of the robins, greenfinches and blackbirds all safe on woody perches, little balls of puffed-up feathers, unconcerned by the wind raging around them. She tried to take strength from her feathered friends, but the pull of the cottage was so strong, her legs automatically turned towards the front door, its bold blue hue hidden in shadow.

And then she thought of Jack’s smirk as she’d ranted about his car, the way that, despite complaining to her about ridiculous things, he’d been entirely confident and unashamed in his self-centred opinions. She felt again the disquiet of seeing him and Flick Hunter together. Her anger returning, Abby’s train of thought led swiftly and predictably to the fantasy she had conjured up, his strong arms grabbing hold of her, his lips, when they met hers, tender but with clear intent, tasting of lemon-scented Earl Grey tea.

She disliked Jack, what little she knew of him. Her mind had no right to be gallivanting off in these wayward directions. Angry at herself now as well as him, she was distracted, and as she stepped with relief out of the trees and onto the road she missed the biggest, most obvious tree root and got her foot caught, her momentum propelling her forward, the torch clattering to the ground as she put her hands in front of her to stop herself landing on her face.

The light went out. It sounded loud, probably fatal for the torch, and she could feel the sting of her grazed palms, a painful tug in her ankle where her foot had been wrenched out of the root as she fell. She swore and scrabbled in her bag for her phone, switching the light app on and casting around for the bits of torch. She didn’t want to risk causing anyone a puncture in the morning.

She worked quickly, finding the black metal casing, the batteries and the spring. She was nearly there, so close to being able to leave the darkness and run home to safety and warmth, when the meagre light from her iPhone was joined by a much bigger, softer, glow. She looked up to find that the front door of Peacock Cottage was open, light spilling across the road, a tall figure silhouetted against it.

‘Hello?’ Jack said. ‘Is anyone there?’

Abby stayed still. Chances were he wouldn’t see her – she was just out of the reach of the pooling light – would dismiss it as any one of a number of irritating creatures, and go back inside.

‘Hello?’ he said again. ‘Who’s there?’ Was his voice wobbling? Abby couldn’t tell over the blood pounding in her head.

She spotted the torch bulb and reached inchingly towards it, and then a third, almost blinding light had her in its grasp. Of course he had his own, powerful torch. Of course he did. It was probably MI5 issue.

‘Abby! Shit, are you OK?’ He was at her side in moments, kneeling in the dirt. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘I’m fine. I tripped, broke my torch. Nothing to worry about.’

‘OK, but can I …?’ He placed his torch on the ground.

‘What?’ she asked, but he’d started running his hands down her arms, his touch feather-light, pausing as he turned over her hands and saw the grazes on her palms. She didn’t want him to touch her, it reminded her too much of her daydream. She tried to pull away but he’d let go of her hands anyway, was patting his hands gently down her legs, from her knees to her feet. She winced as he got to her right ankle.

‘I’m fine, thank you, Jack. I should get home.’

‘You have no light – that doesn’t count,’ he added, when she waggled her phone. ‘And you’ve hurt your ankle.’

‘I haven’t. It got stuck, that’s all.’

‘Come inside, let me check you over properly.’

‘No, I—’ she sighed as he gripped her elbows and pulled her to standing. ‘I’m fine to get home.’ She put her foot gingerly on the floor, relief spiking as she realized it wasn’t that sore, that walking wouldn’t be a problem. ‘Thank you for looking out for me.’ She started putting the bits of broken torch in her bag.

When she’d finished, Jack hadn’t moved.

‘I’m not letting you walk home on your own with only that ridiculous phone light to guide you.’

‘Well, I’m not letting you force me into your house so you can do God knows what to me. Are you a qualified doctor as well as a novelist? It seems unlikely! Your pat-down just then was more like you were searching for hidden weapons at an airport than seeing if I was injured.’

He stared, aghast, and for some reason, Abby kept going.

‘Perhaps you want to experiment on me, to work out all the gruesome ways the victims in your next book will get murdered. How do I know I can trust you?’

‘If I practised my murders before I wrote about them, don’t you think the police would have put two and two together before now?’ Jack shot back. ‘Discovered victims who had reached similarly bizarre ends, and done a bit of digging? I’m not clever enough to commit the perfect murder, and even if I was, right now I’m too cold to even entertain the prospect, and I’m just offering to look at those cuts on your hand for you, check your ankle’s OK. I’m sure your parents told you never to talk to strangers, but I’m really not an ogre, whatever our last two encounters may have led you to believe. Come on, I’m not wearing a coat.’ He bounced up and down on the spot, and Abby bit back the urge to laugh.

‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said, ‘but I have to be at work early in the morning, so I need to get home.’

‘At least let me drive you.’

‘It’s a ten-minute walk! Do you have any idea how much fuel you’ll use up in that huge thing doing a completely pointless journey?’

In the light from the door, she saw Jack roll his eyes. ‘I am not going back inside and leaving you out here,’ he said. ‘Either you come in with me, or you let me drive you home.’

She wondered briefly whether, if she was to take him up on his offer, she’d find Flick Hunter sitting on his sofa. She almost said that he could walk her home if he was that bothered, and then she realized that would involve spending more time with him, and also that she would worry about him getting back safely when he was such a city boy and couldn’t even cope with a few pheasants.

‘Fine,’ she said, sighing heavily. ‘You can drop me at home. Thank you.’

‘Good. Arm?’ He held his hand out, and she reluctantly let him take her arm. It was a few short steps to the Range Rover, and her ankle was barely bruised, and yet she found herself leaning into him, feeling the solid weight of his support. He pointed his fob at the car to unlock it, opened the passenger door and waited while she climbed into the seat. It was even more luxurious than it had looked, and she sank into the soft leather, smelt its creaminess, felt sleep tugging at her instantly so she had to pinch her arm to stay awake.

Jack hopped into the driver’s seat, started the engine, which was much quieter than she had expected, and reversed expertly out of the driveway. She held her breath, waiting for the telltale crunch that meant there was a stray piece of torch she’d failed to pick up, then relaxed when none came. Jack drove slowly, turning left as she instructed when they reached the junction with the main village road, and then round, past the darkened walls enclosing Swallowtail House, the silent building and whatever ghosts inhabited it beyond, then turned right into Warbler Cottages.

It took no more than three minutes, but Abby spent that time studying Jack’s profile, the straight, proud nose, the high forehead partly obscured by his thick, untidy hair. His fingers on the wheel were long and slender, he wore no jewellery, no rings, but a plain, white-faced wristwatch with a gold surround and tan leather strap. It looked classic, expensive.