The Cold Calling

‘God,’ Magda said. ‘You’ve really hit the spot, haven’t you? How long’ve you been looking into all this?’

‘Long enough.’ Sorry, Cindy.

Magda’s green eyes didn’t blink. ‘You’re right. It’s not his theory. He got it from Adrian. He gets everything from Adrian. It’s almost funny. I mean, have you met Adrian?’

‘No.’

‘He seems quite ludicrously harmless at first. Minor public-school idiot. Caricature. Sort of chap you see in old black and white films. I mean, you know, a hunk, for heaven’s sake, although he doesn’t realize it. Too engrossed. You can imagine him, as a child, collecting pictures of standing stones like other kids collected stamps.’

Magda uncrossed her legs, started to uncork the whisky then changed her mind and put the bottle on the floor.

‘He’s somehow not of this … not of this age. Very polite, very … courtly. He paid court to Ersula. In awe of her. Supervised her dreaming sessions. And when she became obsessed with all that, he mistakenly thought he was going to be part of the package.’

‘He was pursuing her and she was …?’

‘Pining for bloody Roger. I don’t know how Adrian didn’t realize that from the outset. But, as I say, he’s not of this age. Poor sod belongs in Jane Austen, you know what I mean?’

‘OK.’ Maiden thought they were wandering from the point. ‘What happened to Ersula?’

‘Vanished.’ Magda said. ‘Well, sort of. I mean … not unexpectedly is what I mean. One night, near the end of the summer course, she was closeted with Roger in his study for a long time, over two hours. I stayed out of the way, I could guess the kind of things being said. Fairly self-evident when she didn’t come down to breakfast next day. She was due to go with Roger and a group of students in a couple of minibuses. He sent me over to the stables to see what was wrong with her. Too professional, surely, to let a little emotional hiccup … etcetera, etcetera. Bastard. So I’m knocking on her door, she’s shouting, Go away, leave me alone, sob, sob, etcetera. So I had to go and shepherd the idiots around. When we got back, it was after dark. I didn’t see her, but the following morning she’d gone. Suitcases, everything.’

‘You didn’t try to find out where?’

‘How could we? Where would we start? She was American. She probably went back to America, to nurse her broken heart in the family’s Long Island beach house or wherever. Anyway, we had to see all the punters off the premises, and we were all pretty knackered.’

‘While you were away, where was …?’

‘Adrian?’ She pushed both hands through her dark, curly hair, exasperated at her lack of perception. ‘Good old Adrian was otherwise engaged that day. Taking delivery of a few truckloads of ready-mix concrete for Roger’s new helipad.’

‘Oh.’

‘Adrian’s terribly practical. Laid it all out, himself. You see, there’s a very significant ley line in that area. Goes through the woods, connects eventually with St Mary’s churchyard. Adrian said the helicopter shouldn’t come down on the ley because the Earth wouldn’t like it. So only one edge overlaps the line — don’t tell me how he worked out precisely where it goes, he just did. And he marked it with a row of crosses raked into the surface of the concrete, so we’d know where the ley went and Roger could avoid it when he landed.’

Magda stood up and walked to the biggest window, overlooking the courtyard.

‘So, naturally, that’s where I went to hack it up.’

‘Just like that?’

‘Listen, I know the guy. It’s what he’d do. The ritualistic side of him. He was besotted with her. He’d want to put her in a place where her spirit could fly.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘And how do you think she died?’

‘She obviously killed herself. Someone that serious, that single-minded … and he spurns her, he says, Sorry, old girl, but you’re really not my type, have a drink … I don’t know how she did it. Pills or something. That’s for you to find out: Jesus, the stupidity of men.’

He waited.

‘This is Roger. This is the way he is. I know this is what happened. Wasn’t going to have a silly, hysterical girl’s suicide destroying his enterprise. I mean, the scandal, the publicity. You see, he has big expansion plans. More land-Castle Farm, when he gets old Bacton out. Wants that castle so badly, he’s drooling. A real little university. So he needs every punter he can get now, especially rich Americans.’

She stopped for a moment, working it out. She was an intelligent woman, Maiden thought. But she was wrong.

‘And they just buried her? Without a thought for the relatives?’

‘This is Roger Falconer we’re talking about. Of course he wouldn’t think about the relatives. And Adrian would do as he was told. He needs this job.’

‘What about her possessions, her cases?’

‘There’s an old forge out at the back. Adrian restored it last winter. Likes to make himself useful. Perhaps they burned the cases there, I don’t know.’

Maiden stood up. ‘I use your phone?’

‘Table in the hall.’

Maiden called Castle Farm. Cindy answered. Maiden said, ‘Cindy, get over here. Wear trousers.’

XLII

Outside, the Morris Minor spluttered indignantly.

Marcus felt that way, too. He glared resentfully at the front door as the Morris chugged away.

The bastard hadn’t explained. Other than to say he’d been summoned to Cefn-y-bedd, suggesting Marcus hold the bloody fort. Which made Marcus furious, because if anyone was going to tackle Falconer it should have been him.

To make it worse, Lewis, the smug bastard, had buggered off upstairs, bracelets jangling, and come down five minutes later looking not entirely unlike a normal man. He was going to Cefn-y-bedd to play it straight.

And whatever was happening there, Marcus Bacton was being excluded. On grounds of age and infirmity … and the likelihood of his causing a scene, no doubt.

Bastards.

Irritable and unsettled, Macus slumped back to the study. Amid the clutter on the desk were the cup-stained maps with leys drawn in, the book displaying an illustration of the Green Man. And the Edwardian photo album.

He opened the album at the picture of Annie Davies, from which Grayle Underhill had identified her ghost. Annie’s eyes, in the sepia picture, looked aeons old. He tried to see in them the birdlike eyes of Mrs Willis and couldn’t.

If Underhill hadn’t reacted to that photo, he would have chanced his arm with another one. In colour. Girl in a deckchair, wearing her mother’s sunglasses and a very sad and knowing smile. Sally’s last summer. Marcus blinked away the tears as the phone rang.

‘Marcus,’ Andy Anderson said. ‘Listen to me. Don’t argue, all right?’

‘Haven’t the strength to argue with you, Anderson. Where are you?’

‘I’m … doesnae matter. Marcus, you take Bobby and the dog and get the hell out.’

‘… bloody hell …?’

‘Just do it. You may have visitors, know what I’m saying?’

‘Maiden’s not even here. I’ll simply tell them I’ve never heard of him.’