A loud knock made her jump.
‘Zoë, dear?’ Rosemary Formby put her head round the door. She was a small woman, somewhere in her late sixties, her iron-grey hair cut boyishly short, her face, devoid of make-
up and weather-beaten, highly coloured, which served to emphasise eyes which were a brilliant Siamese cat blue. ‘Steve and I are going into Woodbridge. I wondered if you needed anything?’ Coming in, she dropped her shoulder bag and car keys on the table in such a way that Zoë understood she was on the move and wouldn’t be stopping, something for which Zoë was secretly pleased. Their new neighbours were friendly and hospitable but perhaps a little too enthusiastic and in your face.
The woman glanced towards the window. ‘Is Ken down at the boat again?’
Zoë nodded. She had already put the memory of the mist and her strange attack of panic behind her. ‘He’s making the most of every moment of this glorious weather.’
‘Well,’ Rosemary was already scooping up bag and keys again, ‘don’t let him turn you into a sailing widow. There are enough of them round here already.’
Zoë shuddered. It was just an expression but nevertheless it was an unfortunate turn of phrase.
As Rosemary headed back to the door she paused. ‘I see Leo’s back.’
‘Leo?’
‘Our elusive neighbour.’ Rosemary inclined her head towards the window. She hesitated. ‘He can be a bit touchy, Zoë. Don’t go rushing in there. Fools and angels, you know.’ And she had gone.
Fools and angels? Zoë stared after her. Then she went to look out of the window again. Sure enough a thin stream of blue smoke was rising from the chimney of The Old Forge. Zoë loved a mystery and as this man was the nearest thing to it in her life at the moment he intrigued her. It was very hard to resist the urge to make a neighbourly call.
Leo Logan was standing in his garden staring down at the river. It was a view of which he never tired. Whatever the light, whatever the state of the tide, the water fascinated him. The sages knew. You can never step in the same river twice. The sunlight was catching the soft cinnamon-red bark of the pine trees, warming them, dancing on the trunks, painting them with ever-changing shadows. He heard the latch on the gate behind him and scowled. He had already guessed who it was. He had seen that they had moved in. He knew someone would eventually buy the place but it had been a blissful few months of peace while it was empty. He took a deep breath, nerving himself for what was to come, and turned round.
It was the woman. She was tall and slim with short wavy blonde hair, artfully streaked to look as though it was sun-bleached. Her eyes were intriguing. Amber. And nicely shaped. But her smile had frozen into place as he knew it would the moment she saw his face.
She swallowed and held out her hand. ‘Hi, I’m Zoë Lloyd. Your new neighbour. I just thought I would say hello.’
‘Hi, Zoë. Leo Logan.’ He grasped her hand momentarily then turned away to give her a moment to compose herself. ‘How do you like it here?’
‘I’m reserving judgement.’
Her answer surprised him. He had expected her to gush nervously and head for the gate. As it was she held her ground and even more astonishingly she confronted him at once. ‘What did you do to your face?’
‘Accident in a forge.’
‘God!’ She came to stand beside him, also looking down across the hedge towards the water. ‘What a bugger.’
‘An irony, isn’t it, considering I’m now living in one!’ He gave a bark of laughter. ‘And before you ask, I do not wear a mask like the Phantom of the Opera. One day I will probably have plastic surgery but at the moment I can’t afford it and the insurance money, if there is any, will probably not come through until I am in my dotage and no longer care. I try and present my best side to strangers. You took me by surprise.’
She smiled. ‘I am sorry. Given the option I nearly always manage to do the wrong thing.’
‘How refreshing.’ He folded his arms. ‘So, is there a Mr Lloyd? Lots of little Lloyds? Dogs? Cats? Horses? Boats?’
‘Hasn’t Rosemary given you our life history yet?’
He shook his head. ‘Rosemary and I are not bosom friends. As it happens, I have been away for a while, but also, I value my privacy.’
‘I see. And I have barged in, I’m sorry. I’ll go.’ She turned away, rebuffed. ‘For the record,’ she added over her shoulder, ‘there is a Mr Lloyd and a boat. The other things, no.’ Her voice sounded, even to her ears, strangely bleak as she said it.
She half expected him to call her back as she headed towards the gate, but he said nothing. A quick glance as she unlatched it revealed a resolutely uncompromising back view, taut shoulders beneath the denim shirt, an air of concentration as he studied the river.
Fools and angels indeed.
Pushing open the kitchen door she came to an abrupt standstill, staring round. ‘Ken? Are you there?’
Again she was aware of the eerie sensation that there was someone around, someone who had just that second left the room. ‘Ken?’ She knew it couldn’t be him. Once he was down on the boat he would be there until lunchtime if not later. She glanced at her mobile, still lying where she had left it on the antique pine table, and shook her head. She was not going to call him again.
‘Zoë?’ The voice from the doorway behind her made her spin round. It was Leo. He had followed her across the grass. ‘Sorry. I was rude. Can’t help myself. It wasn’t intentional. Peace offering?’ He held out a wooden trug. In it was a selection of vegetables and on top a spray of golden chrysanthemums. He put it on the table and glanced round. ‘This has the potential to be a nice place. I’m glad you’ve got rid of the chichi blinds.’
She smiled, looking round, seeing the kitchen through his eyes. It had been well designed and expensively fitted, a country house kitchen with soft lavender-blue walls, a cream Aga, a refectory table and old chairs which she had found only weeks before in a shop in Long Melford. ‘There weren’t any blinds when we arrived. They must have gone with the previous owner. They didn’t stay here long, did they?’ Without her realising it there was a touch of anxiety in her voice.
‘No, thank God.’ He began to unpack the trug, scattering earth across the table. ‘I’ll take this back, if you don’t mind. There is one thing I will mention while I’m here. You need to kill those damn security lights. They illuminate the whole area like a football stadium when they come on. They destroy the view of the night sky for everyone for miles around. Do that and I would be eternally grateful.’
Zoë was taken aback by his vehemence. She had barely noticed the lights; all the barns had them. When she had, it was to enjoy the shadowed views they cast across the lawns. She decided it was better to ignore the comment for now, say nothing and respond later if he brought it up again.
‘This stuff is very welcome,’ she said. ‘Ken isn’t a gardener. It was one of the attractions of this place, that most of the gardens are communal and are mown by someone else.’
‘And you?’ He scanned her face enquiringly. ‘Don’t you garden either?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ve never thought about it. We lived in London before.’ She was watching his hands. They were strong and well formed; his nails were filthy.
‘So why on earth have you come here?’
‘Ken wanted to live in the country, and he adored the idea of having a mooring for the boat at the bottom of the garden.’ She didn’t realise that she hadn’t included herself in this statement; that she was distancing herself from the decision.
‘And he couldn’t find a mooring nearer London? What does he do?’
‘IT consultancy.’
‘And you?’
‘Nothing at the moment.’
‘A lady who lunches, eh?’ Was there a touch of scorn in his voice?
The colour flared into her face. ‘No,’ she said defensively. ‘Hardly. I don’t know anyone round here to have lunch with. And anyway, I shall be looking for a job.’
‘Which would be?’<
br />
‘I worked in an art gallery.’
‘I’ll bet it was a posh one. Bond Street?’ There was no touch of humour in his voice.
She didn’t dare look at his face. ‘Yes, if you must know.’
His laugh was soft and, she realised, sympathetic. ‘Some friends of mine have an antique shop in Woodbridge. I can ask them if you like. They might know of something which would suit you.’
‘That would be great.’ She risked another glance at him. The scars, now she knew they were there, weren’t so bad. There was an area of red, puckered skin and tight silvery marks from his temple down across his left cheek almost to his chin. His eyes, she realised, were blue, not the bright almost harsh blue of Rosemary’s, but a deep misty colour. ‘Leo –’ She paused for a second, then took the plunge. ‘Our other neighbours. In The Summer Barn. Do you know them?’
‘Indeed.’
‘They don’t seem to be here much.’
‘No, thank God!’
‘What happens in the summer?’
‘Usually they go to Marbella or somewhere like that. Suffolk is too quiet.’ Leo gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Don’t worry. We don’t have to contend with that. And if they come down for Christmas at least they keep the doors shut.’
‘Is it possible,’ again a moment’s silence, ‘is it possible that one of the children might come in here, and somehow hide, move things around?’
He smiled. The scars affected his smile, gave a strangely quirky twist to his mouth. ‘Anything is possible with them. But I think it unlikely. They live somewhere down near Basildon and the kids seem to think coming up here is the next best thing to parental-inspired torture. The youngest, Jade, is almost bearable, she’s about eleven, but she would be at school. And there would be all hell to pay if she wasn’t, so we can rule her out. One thing Sharon and Jeff are fanatical about is that the girl should get her education. The boys are, I fear, beyond hope.’ He put the empty trug down by the door. ‘I take it you have had the feeling there has been someone in the house?’
She nodded. ‘Stupid. It’s just taking time to get used to the place. It’s so big after the flat and it’s so quiet here.’
He glanced round. ‘There’s no need to be worried about it. This place has always had a strong feeling that there are things going on. Not the kids next door, not real people. Just echoes.’
For a moment she said nothing. ‘Is that why the people before us left?’ She walked over to the window, fighting the tightening in her chest. He was going to tell her it was haunted. That was all she needed. ‘It’s a new conversion,’ she went on. ‘Hardly anyone has lived here. No one has died here, have they? It can’t be ghosts.’
He frowned. ‘This building is hundreds of years old. Surely you realise that.’
‘But it’s a barn. Nobody lived here,’ she repeated firmly.
‘No. Nobody lived here.’ Whatever he had been going to say, he changed his mind. ‘Don’t worry about it. These old buildings creak and groan with every change of wind or temperature. You’ll get used to it. In the end you won’t hear it any more, or if you do you will feel it’s like a conversation. My place is the same. I can tell what the weather is like and which way the wind is blowing just by which beam creaks in the morning when I wake up.’
She smiled. ‘That sounds positively friendly.’
‘It is.’
‘I’ll keep the security lights in mind,’ she said as he stooped and picked up his trug.
‘Do that. They desecrate the night.’ He turned towards the door. ‘Right. I must go. You must introduce me to Mr Lloyd one of these days.’ And he had gone.
Zoë clenched her fists. There was no ghost. There could not be a ghost. Just a creaky house with a past as a farm building. She could live with that.
2
The huge barn doors were open to the afternoon sunlight. Several chickens were scratching at the dusty cobbles. They scattered at the approach of the horse.
‘Daniel!’ The woman leading the elegant mare towards him across the yard was slim and beautifully dressed in a burgundy riding habit with a black hat adorned with a veil. The horse was lame.
‘My lady!’ Releasing the pump handle with a start, Dan Smith straightened abruptly, letting the water sluice off his broad shoulders as he tossed his hair back out of his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, my lady! I didn’t hear you coming.’ He groped for his shirt, forcing it on over his wet skin.
Emily Crosby smiled. She let her eyes linger a few seconds more on his body as he wrestled with the damp material before turning to the horse beside her. It stood dejected, its head hanging almost to the ground. Her gloved hand touched the animal’s neck. ‘My mare has cast a shoe and it was easier to bring her straight here than walk her back to the Hall.’
Dan hesitated, then he approached the horse, running an expert hand down its leg and lifting it to inspect the hoof. ‘Where was your groom, my lady? Surely Sam or Zeph or one of the stable boys could have brought the horse in.’
‘I was riding alone.’ Her voice sharpened. ‘I am sure there is no harm done. She just needs a new shoe.’
He glanced over his shoulder towards the forge. The fire had died down and his tools were stowed away for the night. ‘If you’ll leave her here, my lady, I will shoe her in the morning and bring her up to the Hall for you.’
‘I don’t think that’s good enough, Daniel.’ Her face set in a petulant scowl. ‘How do you expect me to get back?’
He eyed the side saddle and her long-skirted habit. ‘Walk, why don’t you?’ The words hovered on his lips, but he bit them back. ‘I can put your saddle on the squire’s cob. He’s here in the yard.’
Emily stared round, her grey eyes widening. ‘The squire is here?’
‘No, my lady. His horse.’ Daniel suppressed a smile. He pushed his wet hair back from his eyes. ‘No one has come down to collect him from the Hall stables yet. It will only take me a minute to put the saddle over for you.’
‘Very well.’ She handed him the rein. ‘Be quick. I need to get back in time for dinner.’
Dan walked the mare across the yard and tied her bridle to a ring in the wall. It took him seconds to release the girth and hump the heavy saddle onto his shoulder.
The squire’s cob was not happy. It tossed its head angrily as he reached under its belly to cinch the first buckle tight. ‘It doesn’t fit him. It will rub. You will have to ride slowly, my lady.’
‘You can lead me. I can’t ride this great brute without an escort.’ She eyed the horse with disfavour. She watched for a moment as he led it towards the mounting block. ‘I can’t get on it on my own, Daniel,’ she said sharply. ‘You will have to lift me.’ The veil of her hat blew for a moment across her eyes as she looked round at him, her gloves and whip in one hand, the train of her habit in the other. Dan sighed.
‘She didn’t weigh much more than a child,’ he said later to his wife, Susan, when at last he was back home in the cottage behind the forge. ‘And she behaves like a child at that. One toy broken, so she needs must have another. That poor mare was drenched with sweat. It took me hours to rub her down and bed her for the night. And she’s that jumpy. I doubt I’ll get near her in the morning to shoe her.’
Susan was standing over the small black iron range, stirring rabbit stew. She straightened, her hands to her back. ‘She’s a spoiled madam. Just because she’s an earl’s daughter! She runs the squire ragged, so they say.’
‘They?’ Dan grinned. ‘You mean that blowbroth sister of yours?’
Susan laughed. Her sister Molly was lady’s maid at the Hall and there wasn’t much gossip around up there that hadn’t reached the home farm within the hour. She blew a strand of hair away from her face and wiped her hands on her apron. ‘I felt the baby move again today.’
He grinned. ‘That’s good.’
‘It was my turn on the churn. Betsy says it’s good luck to feel the baby move in the dairy. Means he’ll grow strong and tall.’
Dan nodded. ‘As
long as you don’t exert yourself too much.’
‘It’s my job, Daniel! If I can’t work in the dairy what will I do?’ She turned to the dresser and, picking up a jug of cider, poured him some. ‘You drink that down you and I’ll fetch you some more to have with your dinner. It won’t be long till it’s ready.’ She set down the jug again and stood watching him as he pulled up a stool and sat down at the table. ‘Where had she been, do you know?’