‘Then please call me Emilia.’
They went back to the car and Liz handed her their card. ‘Don’t take any notice of the private investigator label. We are offering to help simply because we care about what happens out here on the fens. After all, you are our closest friends’ neighbour. Please promise to ring if you are concerned about anything at all. You might not want to call the police, but you can call us, anytime.’
After some hesitation, Emilia finally accepted the card, adding, ‘But don’t you waste your precious time looking out for me. I’m what my husband called a tough old bird.’
That was probably true, but Liz had seen the gratitude in her smile.
Back in the car, Liz asked whether they should call at Will and Kate’s place, as they were only two minutes away.
Matt said no. ‘If you recall, he said Kate’s agent and the author of the books that she illustrates will be there today. They won’t want us intruding.’
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I’d forgotten about that. Just seems a shame to be so close and not drop by. We haven’t done that in quite a while, and I feel bad about it. When they first moved in, we used to see quite a lot of them.’
Matt turned the vehicle around and they made their way back to Tanners Fen, Liz gazing out of the window. ‘It’s a very different landscape here to where we live, even if it is only a few miles away. We are pretty remote, but this place is in another league altogether.’
Matt nodded. ‘We are that bit further inland, into farming country, and our part of the sea bank runs alongside the river. Whisper Fen leads directly on to the marsh and then the Wash and the North Sea. My gran on my mother’s side lived here. In fact,’ he pointed out of the driver’s window, ‘see those two small cottages in that tiny copse close to the marsh lane?’
Liz saw them. To her they looked sad, lonely, weather-beaten, and in desperate need of some TLC.
‘Don’t know who’s there now, but she lived there for most of her life.’ He grunted. ‘Deserved a medal in my book. Cannon Farm, my paternal grandparents’ home, was warm and dry and a good place to grow up in, but I’m not sure I would have liked to spend years of my life here.’
‘I’m damned sure I wouldn’t.’ Liz gave an involuntary shiver. ‘Although I have to say, Mrs Swain’s place is very attractive.’
‘Must get lonely being so far out, though she’ll probably be mobile again soon — in her new Mustang or her Lexus.’ He laughed. ‘What a woman! You have to admire her, don’t you?’
‘I do, but she’s still very vulnerable, living alone.’ Liz could foresee the problems that would accompany advancing years in a remote location. ‘I’m glad Will is not too far up the road. He could be a lifeline as she gets older.’
Matt sighed. ‘I think our Will is struggling to cope with his own problems, darling, without taking on other people’s. I’m sure that’s why he wants us on the case. He feels slightly responsible for the old duck but doesn’t have the energy to be on call for her.’
‘I wonder how Kate’s going to behave tomorrow? Will seemed terribly edgy about her, didn’t he?’
‘Oh well,’ Matt said. ‘Not long to wait. And I’m dying to see Will actually cook something. What’s the betting it’s a Pot Noodle?’
Liz elbowed him. ‘I’m sure you’ll be utterly amazed.’
‘If he cooks at all, that’ll be enough for me.’
They drove back to Tanners Fen, laughing about times past. There had been some horrific cases, but there had been a lot of fun too. Liz was happy that they were beginning to leave the bad things behind and recall the good times. Life was finally moving on.
She rested her hand on his leg.
* * *
Angela Lazenby, the author of the Fairy Dreams series, and Hubert Price, who was agent to both Kate and Angela, had phoned ahead to say they had been held up but should be there within the hour.
‘Damn and blast! Don’t they realise I could be working! I can’t sit fannying around waiting for them to get their arses into gear,’ Kate said.
Will didn’t even try to stop her tirade. She’d been on edge all morning, constantly telling him what a pain it was, having to put everything on hold for this “royal visit.” He hadn’t liked to remind her that it was she who had insisted they collect the new designs because she didn’t want to trail up to London with them. ‘But, sweetheart,’ he ventured, ‘you’ve finished this new character now. Why the rush to get back into the studio?’
‘Because,’ she emitted a harsh exhalation, ‘if you must know, I’m sick of Angela’s bloody fairies and I’ve started a book of my own.’
Will stared at her, open-mouthed. She had always said she wanted to create something that was not some other author’s brainchild, a work for adults, something that was entirely her own making. ‘Well, that’s brilliant! But why the secrecy? You always used to show me your work.’
Kate fiddled with her watch strap. ‘Er, well, they are a bit different to my usual style. I’ve been experimenting, and I wanted one finished painting for you to look at.’
Will gazed at her with interest. Her style had been developing since they moved, and he could hardly wait to see her latest work. ‘So, can I see?’
‘Give me three or four days, baby, will you?’
His face fell. ‘But . . .’
‘Please?’
He’d give in of course, he always did, but he couldn’t resist one last try. ‘Then show me this new fairy that Angela and Hubert are collecting. I can’t believe you haven’t even let me inside the studio while you were designing it. Please let me see it before them?’
This new habit she had of working behind a closed door caused him considerable pain. For years, he had loved to watch his beautiful wife work, but since she’d taken possession of a new studio upstairs, he had not been allowed to enter. She told him her concentration was not as good as it used to be, and she would work better alone. He had had to accept it.
For a moment Kate looked irritated, and then she nodded. ‘Of course you can. Come on.’ She held out her hand and led him up the stairs.
Kate opened the door to her studio. It appeared to be empty, apart from a single painting displayed on an easel.
The painting depicted a boy fairy standing under a rowan tree. It took Will’s breath away. ‘Incredible! Kate, you are getting better and better. The detail in this will be lost on children. It’s really beautiful.’
Kate explained that fairies considered the rowan to be a very special tree, and they always protected the garden in which it grew. It was a “witch” tree, which meant it belonged to the goddess. ‘There is a spell you can cast to make your bedding plants flourish. We must try it, darling, now we are proper country people. It involves burying old leather boots and shoes along with a handful of rowan berries. You repeat a little charm over them — I’ve got the words here somewhere. You do it by the light of a waxing moon, either a Friday or a Wednesday as they are the nights of the guardian angels, Anael and Raphael. Oh yes, and the berries have to be collected on Rowan-tree Day, that’s 13 May.’