The Fall Girl (5 page)

“Didn’t know there was a cottage,” Edward frowned, still staring across the countryside.

Peter and Lexy sat down and sipped their wine.

“Er... either of you guys heard of Old Shuck?” Lexy asked casually.

“Old who?” Peter dabbed with a napkin at a small drip on the table.

“What, the legendary Black Dog of Suffolk?” Edward made a grisly face. “If you see it, it means you’re about to die? That Old Shuck?”

“Yeah. That Old Shuck.”

“Why?”

“I’ve seen it.”

“Oh, god. What did it look like?”

“It looked like a big black dog, Edward.”

“With red eyes?”

“Well... no. It had yellow eyes.”

“Wasn’t Old Shuck then. He’s got red eyes. What you saw was probably the Clopwolde Hound of Death.”

“The what?”

Peter threw a sausage roll at Edward. “Shut up with your nonsense. He’s extracting the Michael, Lexy.”

“Well – you don’t seriously believe in any of that supernatural hoo-hah, do you, sweetie?” Edward passed the sausage roll to Kinky.

“No. I just saw a... big black dog-thing.”

“Well, never mind, dear. Finish lunch then come and see a small cream cat-thing.”

Leaving Kinky stretched out on a sun lounger on the balcony, they went into the cool interior.

Edward and Peter led the way, like proud parents, to a lavishly decorated bedroom. But as soon as they were in, they heard the sound of a cat in distress.

The din was coming from a large walnut wardrobe. The door was half closed. Edward rushed over, pulled it wide, and dropped to his knees in front of it, Lexy and Peter peering over his shoulder.
An odd-looking feline, thin and angular despite her condition, with a cream coat as short and curly as a newborn lamb’s, was walking around in circles on a soft, now damp blanket, yowling
vociferously.

“Quick – call the vet,” gasped Edward. “Emergency number’s by the bedside phone.”

Peter hurled himself, commando-style, across the immaculate silk quilt and grabbed up the phone.

“It’s OK.” Lexy squashed in beside Edward. “I think it’s just that her waters have broken. The kittens are on their way – aren’t they, Princess?”
And each one was going to be worth several thousand pounds. She mentally rubbed her hands.

The cat flopped on her side, displaying a neat set of teats, and with her audience in place, she heaved.

A watery pink parcel appeared. She regarded it in surprise for a few seconds, then leant round and began to clean it.

“Ooh, bless,” said Edward. “It’s like a little mouse.”

“Looks like she knows what she’s doing. Let’s leave her to it.” Lexy straightened up.

Peter touched Edward’s arm. “What are you blubbing for, you big Jessie?”

“And you’re not? It is our first-born.”

The following half hour brought two kittens, further tears, and an efficient-looking female vet.

“Three. That’s the lot,” she proclaimed. “Still – she is very young, isn’t she?”

“Yes. There was an unfortunate incident with a farm cat,” Peter explained.

And that was only the half of it, thought Lexy, exchanging a glance with Edward as they recalled the events of three months earlier.

“I’m going to have to go.” Lexy glanced at her watch. “But I’ll be back later with twelve knitted bootees, or whatever it is the well-dressed kitten wears
nowadays.”

She collected Kinky, who had slept through the drama, and left Edward and Peter gazing through misty eyes at the single-parent family.

Lexy sighed. They obviously hadn’t noticed yet.

Lexy glanced at her watch. Half past three. She was bowling along a narrow country lane towards Freshing Hill, which was visible in the distance across acres of farmland.

When she’d left Edward’s place, Lexy had briefly returned home, where she’d crept in like a thief, one eye on the big marquee across the river.

She was now trying to ignore the packed rucksack on the back seat. It was there just in case, although she wasn’t seriously thinking about spending the next few days at Four Winds Cottage.
Of course not.

At the verge a kestrel hovered, then swooped. Bad moment to be a vole.

Lexy slowed, map propped on the steering wheel, and turned awkwardly into an even narrower lane. A road sign informed her that a place called Nodmore lay one mile ahead.

Overhead, the sky had swelled to a threatening black, and fat drops of rain began hurling themselves against the windscreen. Lexy turned the wipers on, frowning as they set up their customary
screech.

“Nearly there now,” she said through gritted teeth.

Not for the first time, Lexy wondered exactly what Rowana expected her to find at Four Winds Cottage. Perhaps the Goddess Helandra had dropped an amulet when she was shoving Elizabeth over the
balcony. Or left a set of sandaled footprints on the stripped pine floorboards.

She shook her head at the madness of it all. Still, the money was going to come in handy. Especially now the kitten dosh had fallen through.

Because Lexy couldn’t but notice, even in their newborn state, that each of those little dark-haired bundles was going to be the spitting image of its father. Which meant they would all
grow into dirty great black farm moggies that Lexy would have trouble giving away, let alone selling for thousands. Princess Noo Noo had kept her very rare Suffolk Rex, curly-haired gene to
herself. How typical was that?

The rain was falling so hard that Lexy nearly missed the small winding lane, set deep between unkempt hedges, that led towards Freshing Hill. Halfway along she slowed, crashing through the
gears, squinting at the map again as the Panda came to a ragged halt in front of a single track tarmac road protected by a cattle grid and a five-barred gate. It bore a sign:

PILGRIM’S FARM (RARE BREEDS)

Silhouettes of various misshapen farm animals laboured this point.

Lexy rolled down the window. The smell of cow pats and wet countryside filled the car. Must be close – Pilgrim’s Farm was right at the bottom of Freshing Hill. But should she follow
this track? There was no indication that...

Then she saw it, half hidden among the bedraggled hogweed in the hedge. A weathered sign with three words roughly daubed on it in black paint:

FOUR WINDS COTTAGE

An arrow pointed up the tarmac track.

Lexy’s heart began to hammer gently.

Annoyed with herself, she jumped out of the car, unfastened and pushed open the gate, getting drenched in the process, then got back in and juddered over the cattle grid. The farm owners
weren’t making it easy for visitors. By the time she’d shut the gate again she was shivering with cold.

She drove slowly along the road. On one side was a wooden post-and-rail fence painted white. The enclosed field was divided into paddocks with small stables. A handful of odd-looking sheep
nonchalantly grazed the soft grass near the fence, looking like they’d been born in a downpour. One had sharp twisted horns, another elaborate cream dreadlocks, and a third was thickly banded
in black and white like a giant humbug. They looked up, still chewing, their bland, insolent eyes following Lexy as she drove past.

Next to her, Kinky stood precariously with his paws against the dashboard. He gave a blood-curdling growl.

“You wish,” muttered Lexy.

Through the vertical rain she could just make out a farmhouse and a huddle of out-buildings, and beyond them, the grey smudge of the North Sea.

On the other side of the track, a tangled meadow merged into woodland.

They drew to a halt at another five-barred gate, bearing the Pilgrim’s Farm sign.

To the left, a dark, rutted track led up a tree-covered hillside.

“That’ll be us, then,” Lexy guessed.

Kinky’s eyes tightened.

Lexy turned the wheel and the Panda jolted up the track, spraying mud as it lurched through deep puddles. The dripping tree canopy overhead conspired with the rain to make it unnaturally
dark.

Halfway up, it petered out to a levelled area. Lexy pulled up in front of a building that sat in the very centre of the clearing.

Four Winds Cottage. Rowana Paterson’s inheritance.

It was a square grey pile with white gables, set in a walled garden. Lexy could see why the original builder of the place took the trouble to lug all the materials up there. On a clear day the
views across the countryside would be spectacular. But this was not a clear day.

The front elevation of the cottage had four blank-looking windows. Two on the ground floor, either side of the front door. Two on the first floor, directly above the ground floor ones. The
latter were both full length, with a little balcony in front. More of a window guard, really. Except that in Elizabeth’s case, it hadn’t worked.

Lexy’s eyes were drawn to the rockery below the left-hand window. Not exactly a soft landing. If she’d been expecting dark stains on the decorative stones, she was – well,
disappointed wasn’t exactly the word. More relieved. Anyway, if there’d been any in the first place, they’d have been washed away by the rain long before now.

Lexy switched the engine off, and unclipped her seat belt. “Ready?” With a glance at the chihuahua, she grabbed her shoulder bag and popped the car door, and they dashed through the
downpour, arriving, dripping, on the doorstep.

Lexy fumbled for the key. The lock turned with unexpected ease.

She pushed open the door and they entered a musty-smelling hallway. A worn striped rug lay on the wooden floorboards, and a series of prints lined the wall. Kinky sniffed the air suspiciously,
then tucked himself next to her leg, hindquarters shivering like a namby-pamby poodle’s. Lexy frowned. Wasn’t like him. Did he know something she didn’t?

Trying to quell her rising trepidation, Lexy slowly pushed open a door to her left. It led into a kitchen, with a blind pulled three-quarters down at the window, making it almost dark in there.
She groped for a switch and a fluorescent strip light flickered into life.

The kitchen was a fitted one, inexpensive but serviceable. A row of cooking implements hung from a stainless steel bar, with a set of saucepans above. The fridge had been unplugged and emptied
out, and the beech effect worktops wiped down – Lexy surmised that someone must have come in and set things straight.

Kinky usually liked kitchens – he had a nose for dropped scraps – but he didn’t like this one. He made straight for the back door and whined.

“You want to go out in the rain?” Lexy unlocked the back door, bemused by his behaviour. Outside was a storm porch, with a worn stone step leading down to the garden. The dog stood
in the shelter of the porch, quivering.

“You wait there, then,” Lexy told him. “I’ll be back in a sec.” It was odd to see him like this. He certainly hadn’t been such a wuss when he’d caught
scent of the thing that Lonny had called Old Shuck. Lexy gave a mirthless smile. At least that particular beast wouldn’t be bothering her here.

She went back through the kitchen into the hall, and glanced up the stairs. The stairs that would lead to the room where Elizabeth had made her final descent. Lexy turned away quickly.

Next to the kitchen was what must originally have been a dining room. It had been converted into an art studio. An easel stood on a paint-spattered sheet, and brushes and pots lay on a table
covered in newspaper. The smell of linseed oil lingered in the air. A few completed oils were stacked against a wall, all local landscapes. Not bad either.

Still reluctant to climb the stairs, Lexy pushed open the door opposite the studio and found herself in a large living room, furnished with a squashy dark blue sofa and two easy chairs arranged
in front of an open fireplace. A tall wooden bookcase against one wall was full of neatly arranged volumes, mainly classics, together with art and gardening books.

On the mantelpiece a clock ticked hypnotically.

Lexy’s eyes were drawn to a curtained alcove, to one side of which stood a small piano. A flowered silk wrap lay across the piano stool, looking eerily as if someone had only just left it
there.

Beyond this, a set of double doors led to a patio.

She peered through the glass into the grey gloom. Terracotta tiles, a few large plant pots containing sprawling geraniums, overblown petunias and some late tumbler tomatoes. No one to tend them
since mid July. A big rhododendron bush intruded across the side of the patio from the garden beyond, its shiny, rain-washed leaves pressed up against the window.

Lexy moved around the room, methodically opening cupboards and drawers, looking for clues as to why Elizabeth took the quick way down to the rockery six weeks ago. There were a few utility bills
in a desk drawer, all seemingly paid. A neat pile of bank statements in another confirmed the healthy state of her savings account – the money that had now passed to Rowana.

No obvious indication that Elizabeth had been in any kind of financial trouble – the sort to make a person want to end it all – or any other trouble, for that matter.

She might have been, it was just that there was nothing, no papers or letters, to give any hint of something amiss. There weren’t even any personal letters, cards, or photographs anywhere.
It was almost as if someone had come through and cleared the lot out.

A plaintive whine came from beyond the kitchen.

She’d forgotten Kinky. She retraced her steps. He was still hovering in the storm porch.

“You might as well come in,” Lexy told him. “We’re going to be here for a while.”

Kinky didn’t look pleased at this news. He slunk back in and adhered himself to her leg again.

Shrugging, Lexy turned back to the living room, then checked herself. She hadn’t been upstairs yet. To the front bedroom.

She peered up the hall. What had made that creak? Hell, why was she so jumpy?

“You’ve put the wind right up me,” she scolded Kinky. “It’s just an ordinary cottage. A nice cottage. The fact that its owner has recently died is neither here nor
there. We’re doing a job, right? Need to stay professional.”

The chihuahua didn’t look convinced.

They trod slowly up the stairs.