by Jave Kavfi
"Of course. No time like the present." She gets up from the table. "I'll take this with me. You're such a good man, Jonny. I can't believe how lucky I am to have met you. You remember that first day we met in the art gallery, both looking at the same painting? How we just fell into conversation? It was ... as if I'd always known you. Even then, I felt we should be together. Does that sound silly?"
He kisses his wife's cheek. "Not in the least bit silly. It is how it should be, us together in this house. Fate."
"Ha – I sometimes think you admired me from afar and staged that meeting."
He's laughing. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"I'm joking. See you later. Don't worry about the business. It will pick up and even if it doesn't, we still have each other and the children. That's all that really matters, isn't it?"
"Yes, of course."
"Mitty's not in the box," Pip is saying to Jonny. "I looked and looked."
"Did you really? Oh dear. Would you like some cola? Not really allowed at this time in the morning, but Lucinda doesn't need to know, does she?" Jonny pours his son the drink and the boy sits down.
"I did see Grandmother," Pip says, sipping the drink. "On that film."
"Your grandmother has been dead for two years – how can you possibly remember her?"
"Her face." He has another sip of the cola. "In the pictures we had of her that got losted."
"Lost. Can't you even speak properly?"
"It was her, Daddy."
"So you keep saying, and I suppose you won't stop. You and your little eagle eyes, always watching. That little mouth that never stops talking..." He stands up and looks down at his son. The boy looks back at him, blinking.
He begins to clear the table. "Yes, so very like your mother. You know what? I think a gull may have taken Mitty. They do that. Pick things up in their big beaks and fly off with them."
"They do?"
"Yes. They find things lying around – things careless people have dropped or lost – and take them to Gull Island. You know that one out on the lake? There – that's where Mitty might be." He fills the dishwasher.
Pip has leapt out of his seat. "Mitty's on the island?"
"Could be – but I don't have time to take the boat out and look, because I'm too busy with the business. I was going to, and have the boat all ready at the side of the water. The oars are set-up and it just need the loop of rope lifted from the wooden peg. But I've no time just now. If he's there, he might be washed out to sea by the time I get around to it. A pity. Your mummy bought you Mitty, didn't she?"
The little boy's eyes are wide. "We could get him tomorrow." He looks towards the rain-lashed window. "When the storm goes away."
"Oh, I don't think so – the storm might have blown him away by then and you won't ever see him again."
Chapter 37
She's on the swing, looking to the darkening sky. "You again. I told you to get lost and Daddy will too. You're such an idiot, even thinking it." She throws her head back and laughs, pushes with her feet and swings harder.
The boy has his hands in fists. "He'll want to know – I'm his son, I know it. I've as much right to be here as you. More – the only male heir."
Evangeline skids to a halt and puts a hand out to catch the first drops of rain. "You're a fool, because even if you are his, he won't care one bit. You'd just be one of many. Daddy does it with all the tarts and has children all over. Even Ruby might be his – he still does it with her mother. In the tower. He doesn't look at them. Not their faces. He has them bend over the desk, face down with their skirts up – so he doesn't have to look at them. That's probably the way he had your mother. We can see them through the mirror, only it's not a mirror but a window on one side. Of course, we've not to giggle, though it's difficult not too, and we did when we were younger. I nearly threw up when he was doing it to old Patterson, but I was only five then.
"Why are you still standing there? He doesn't care about any of you – he loved only my mother and now me and Lucinda. Especially me, because I'm the best. Go away and leave me alone. Go back to your ugly old bitch mother." She jumps from the swing. The rain is heavier. She flicks her fingers at the boy. "I'm telling Daddy to sack her. Deserves it for having a big mouth. The main thing about life is to keep your mouth shut – I'm only telling you this because you don't matter. You're the type no-one notices or even listens to."
She turns to go. The boy leaps forward and pushes her. She falls against the tree. He's shouting and shaking her. She's not moving. The skies have opened and the rain is torrential. The boy is dragging her across the wet grass. A groan from her – alive. She's picked up and thrown with force, landing in the water of the lake. The boy walks to the rowboat, unties the rope, and overturns the boat. He uses an oar to push Evangeline and then the boat further into the lake. Movement in the trees. A smaller boy is watching.
He wakes with a start. "Caden – you all right? You were having one of your dreams?" Ana is saying.
"Yes ... I... A dream, yes." He swings his legs off the sofa and sits up, rubbing his eyes. Finally, Evangeline with a voice – he knows what happened.
"Sorry to disturb you, but one of the men phoned. Wants to know if you can pick him up on your way to Ryden. Something about the truck being used for another job."
"What time is it?"
She tells him. "I know you've overslept, but I didn't want to wake you. Could hear you up and about last night and knew you hadn't had much sleep. The shower's free, if you want it."
"No, I'm not going to bother. Is Gideon awake?"
"He's finally emerged. Holly was up early – had to go do some work at the office."
Caden is putting his boots on. "Could you do me a favour? Go get that last bunch of pictures we were looking at – I want to show them to Gertie before I go to work."
"Sure – I'll get them. I left them in the office. Oh, and Sarah was in for a quick coffee. Was telling me she thinks she was being followed by a man yesterday, as she was walking down a quiet lane. Luckily, a group of tourists came along from another direction. Scary, though. And I think she's as obsessed with Ryden as we are now. She remembered the name of the boy."
"What boy? Right – Lucinda's husband. Go on then."
"Argent. His name was Jonathan Argent. So, I don't know where the 'Thompson' came from, if it's him. Not sure if that helps. I'll get those pictures."
He waits until she goes, and runs upstairs to the living accommodation. Gideon is in the kitchen, eating cornflakes.
"Some nourishment before I go on my trek to search for Hetty," Gideon tells him.
"Could you wait? Just for a few hours. There's something I have to do and I don't want Ana left on her own."
"I will. And I shall guard her with my life, such as it is."
"Gideon, I hate to bring it up, but you're dead."
"Yes, there is that..."
Caden laughs and puts a hand on Gideon's shoulder. "I'm kidding, man – I get what you mean. I trust you. We'll work out a way to find Hetty when I get back, okay?"
"Yes, poor Hetty. Even psychopaths need help sometimes."
Chapter 38
"There seems to be a workman leaning against your car," Gertie is saying as she peers out of the window.
"One of the guys I'm working with at Ryden," Caden tells her. "There's something going on there and this is a bit of an emergency. I need you to look at the photographs and let me know if you recognise anyone in them. I don't know how well you knew that crowd, but any information you can give me might help."
"Will do, just as soon as I locate my reading glasses. I had the misfortune of a rhino taking a liking to my best pair on the last day of my trek. I shall dig out my spares." She's searching through drawers and cupboards. "Ryden, you say. I take it this is related to your psychic investigations? You'll have a good deal to work on at that place. Is it to do with the drowning some twenty years ago?"
"Yes, but more. I think a child's life may be in danger. I've no evi
dence – just a feeling. Well, a feeling backed-up by a dream."
"Hmm, then we must hurry. Where are those darn specs... Yes, the Mortimer family were a very peculiar lot, though I had very little to do with them and did not attend the fateful picnic, as I was away at the time. I was rather a friend with the cook there, and visited her on a fairly regular basis. She did like to gossip. Curtis Mortimer was a charismatic figure – eccentric, but with movie-star looks which made him a hit with women. It was well-known he was rather a degenerate, in terms of his 'romantic' liaisons. He reminded me somewhat of a predatory satyr and from what little conversation I had with him, I got the impression he was an extremely arrogant man. You think he had something to do with his daughter's death?"
"Not him – though he was probably some type of pervert. It was a child. A boy. I don't have his identity yet, but I'm hoping you might be able to help me with that."
"A child? How tragic. And Evangeline's death was dismissed as an accident. She was known to take the boat out alone and was wilful enough to do it in a storm, and with a fracture. But there was something off about the whole thing and I did think the drowning might warrant further investigation. Unfortunately, I did nothing – my thoughts where elsewhere. I was, at the time, in the middle of quite a fraught affair of the heart. Clandestine and sadly doomed." She delves into a bag. "Ah – the errand specs. Now let me have a good look – at the very least, I might be able to identify some individuals from the town." She picks up the first photograph.
"These are copies of the originals," Caden tells her, as he leans in over her shoulder. "I've identified most of the people, but circled a few I haven't. Two young boys and a woman are the main ones I want to identify. One of the kids is very young. In this one you can just catch him on the edge of that picture – I don't think he's meant to be in it. It's like he's observing what's happening. It might be that he witnessed the killing. The other boy's a bit older, but he's not in any of the pictures – that one I saw in one of my freaky dreams. He's the murderer, and the one I really want to identify. Don't have time to explain just now. There's also some guy in his teens I haven't been able to put a name to. He's in another picture ... if I can find it." He's rifling through the pile.
Gertie removes her glasses and hits them off the photograph. "I can tell you right away about a couple of them. The small boy and the woman. I'm not certain, but I believe the boy might be the son of Norman Watson, who worked as a gardener at Ryden and still has a cottage on the land. I'm afraid I don't recall the name of the child. He was a poor little fellow. Quiet, weedy and somewhat cowed. The sort who was always hanging around the edge of things and went unnoticed. A bit of a lurker, if I remember correctly. Watson is a very odd fellow, no time for anyone, but especially the boy. The mother was a bolter and took him with her when she left, then he was dropped off back with his father at her convenience. As far as I know, the boy left at some point and did not return. You said the child you believe to be the murderer is not in any of these photographs?"
"That's right – only in the dream."
"I'm afraid I've no knowledge of who he could be, but I recognise the woman. She was an artist, who helped Mortimer with the stone maze. They had a long-term relationship, I believe, going back many years."
"Do you recall her name?"
"Let me think..."
"Does the name 'Argent' ring any bells?"
"Ah, yes, Victoria Argent, that's it."
"Gertie – you're a sweetheart! I could kiss you..."
"Please don't."
"She had a son, didn't she? Mortimer was possibly his father. I think that boy was the one who murdered Evangeline."
"She did have a child, now you mention it. Though I never set eyes on him. My friend, the cook, did tell me the boy would occasionally make an appearance. He could have been at Ryden that summer."
"Well, he's there now. Jonny Thompson. Formerly Jonathan Argent, and married to Lucinda Mortimer."
"Ye Gods..."
"Exactly. I need to go. I'll leave the rest of the pictures with you for now."
Gertie has picked up another photograph. "Yes ... of course. Glad to be of help," she says absentmindedly, moving towards her phone.
"Aunt G – are you ill?"
"No, of course not. I'm never ill. But I need to speak to you urgently. Drop everything and come here at once – this is of the upmost importance. It has to do with the tragic past events at Ryden. Make haste."
Chapter 39
"Come in, Mark," Gertie says as she opens the door. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting morning surgery. It won't take more than ten minutes, but you must tell me the truth."
"The truth – about what?"
"As I said on the phone – about what happened at Ryden twenty years ago." She goes to the table and points to a photograph. "This is you, is it not? On the steps of the house."
"Yes. What–"
"Madeline Mortimer's expression drew my attention. It is, I would say, somewhat amorous."
"Really, I can't see what you're getting at..."
"Can't you? I would say it cannot be denied she is looking at someone with what one might call the 'look of love', or it could be lust."
"I really don't have time for this ... nonsense. Perhaps she was admiring the sunset, flowers, a pet. This is ridiculous."
"You think so? And do you think I'm so old I do not recognise such a look and could mistake it as being non-sexual? Furthermore, it may be difficult to tell from this side view, but it would appear you are looking at someone in that group with rapt attention, perhaps even some degree of devotion."
"For goodness sake, Aunt G, tell me what this is about."
"There is an ongoing investigation over the cause of Evangeline Mortimer's death. It could be your admiring glance would be misconstrued."
"Investigation? Whatever for? She drowned. It was an accident."
"Can you be certain of that?"
"I know you fancy yourself as an amateur sleuth, but this is absurd. I don't mean to be rude, but I would suggest you stick to writing fiction and not become involved with these 'cases'."
"It is not my investigation – I was only informed of this today. The person looking into the girl's death has reason to believe it was not accidental."
"That she was murdered? And – what – you cannot think I had something to do with it?"
"No, I do not – not for an instant. But if the results of this investigation necessitates official involvement, it may be best that you are prepared to be questioned. Enquiries thus far suggest the murderer was a child or perhaps a teen, as you were at that time."
"A child?" He sits and picks up the photograph. "And you think I was looking at Evangeline, do you?"
"It could look that way."
He throws down the photograph, gets up and walks across the room. "I wasn't in any way involved with Evangeline. I came to dislike her, if you must know. The Mortimer girls were – yes, they were children – but a pretty despicable pair. My visits to Ryden as a child were mainly related to my father's friendship with Curtis Mortimer. An unlikely pair, but, as you know, my father had some interest in vintage cars, as did the girls' father. Lucinda and I were nearer in age and became friends of sorts for a time, but I avoided Evangeline, due to the fact I was repelled by her nastiness of character. Not that Lucinda was much better. And I'd like to point out I wasn't even at that damned picnic."
"I see. So you disliked the girls, but yet you continued to visit Ryden until your teens?"
"Yes, I did, with my father, but not on a regular basis. They were part of our social network, if you like." He picks up another photograph, sighs and places it back on the table. "I knew all this would be dragged up again once Lucinda returned. Look, you might as well know, my admiring glance that day was directed at Madeline."
"Ah, I see. Well, that explains it. Madeline was a very beautiful woman and it's clear she would draw admiration from a teen boy. This photograph must have been taken shortly before her death."<
br />
"Less than three months before."
"Hmm... You remember that detail so clearly. Why did you not attend the picnic that year? Your father was in attendance and most of the village population were there. It was quite an event in Dashbury in those days."
"Oh, you mean the picnic they went ahead with mere weeks after Madeline's death? As if she was a matter of no importance. As if she had never existed."
"Mark, who was Madeline giving that loving glance to? It surely cannot have been you."
He goes to the window, looks out and is silent.
"It might be better if you tell me, you know," Gertie says softly.
He turns to her. "I suppose I might as well. If there is to be an investigation, all the past will be dug up and our personal business and mistakes will be dragged through the gutter. Is there any such thing as privacy these days? I was having an affair with Madeline."
"No – an affair? An illicit flirtation, perhaps. But an affair? Impossible."
"Why would that be impossible?"
"You were a mere child when she died."
"I was sixteen."
"Barely."
"At that point I was thinking like a man. It only lasted a matter of weeks. The actual affair. I had admired her for a good deal longer than that."
"Sixteen is still a child in many ways. For a grown woman to have a relationship with–"
"She was twenty years old, and married to an old man. There was only four years between us. And I was the pursuer, not her."
"Nevertheless, it was despicable behaviour on her part. Perhaps not technically criminal, but morally reprehensible all the same."
"Well, she paid the price, didn't she?"
"That is why she took her own life – because of her relationship with you?"
He rubs his hand across his face before answering. "She was being blackmailed. Several letters. I saw them – vile. It was suggested the relationship had started earlier, which it most certainly had not, or not in the fullest sense. There were a number of photographs of Madeline and myself enclosed. These had, of course, been taken without our knowledge.