Crybbe aka Curfew

know what I mean? And just once – it was that night the poor man crashed his car – just once, it was later, about half-tennish. Just that once.'

Powys said, 'It's a dog, isn't it? A big, black dog.'

'Yes, dear,' said Mrs Seagrove very' quietly. 'Yes, it is.'

'How often have you…?'

'Seven or eight times, I've seen it. It always goes the same way. Coming from the… the mound thing.'

'Down from the mound, or out of the mound?'

'I couldn't honestly say, dear. One second it's not there, the next it is, kind of thing. I'm psychic, I suppose. I never wanted to be psychic, not like this.'

'Is it – I'm sorry to ask all these questions – but is it obviously a dog? It couldn't be anything else?'

'You ask as many questions as you like, dear. I've been finding out about you, I rang a friend of mine at the library in Dudley. No, that's an interesting point you make there – is it really a dog? Well, I like dogs. I wouldn't be frightened of a dog, would I? Even a ghost dog. Naturally, it'd be a shock, the first time you saw it, kind of thing, but no, I don't think I'd be frightened. Oh dear, I wish you hadn't asked me that now, it's disturbed me, that has, Joe.'

'I'm sorry.'

'I don't want to stay here. I'd be off tomorrow, but how much would I get for this, even if I managed to sell it?'

if you really wanted to go quickly,' Powys said, 'I think I could find you a buyer. You'd get a good price, too.'

'Not you?'

'Good God, no, not me. I couldn't afford it, even if… Look, leave it with me for a day or two.'

'I don't know what to say, dear.' Mrs Seagrove's eyes were shining, in a way, I'd feel bad about somebody having this place. But they might not be psychic, mightn't they?'

'Or they might be quite interested.'

'Oh no,' she said. 'Nobody's interested in evil, are they?'

CHAPTER II

Guy dropped by.

She opened the back door, thinking it was the milkman come for his money, as was usual on a Saturday.

'Fay. Hi.'

'Oh, my God.'

She wouldn't have chosen to say that, but Guy seemed pleased at the reaction. Perhaps he saw it as an urgent suppression of instinctive desire.

'Thought I'd drop by, as I had some time on my hands.' Incandescent smile. 'Spending the weekend here, getting acclimatized.'

New crowns, Fay spotted. Good ones, of course.

'Crew's gone back, but I've been invited to open some shitty art exhibition tomorrow night. Must be a bit short on celebrities in these parts if they want me.' Guy laughed.

Still a master of double-edged false modesty, Fay thought, wishing she'd changed, combed her hair, applied some rudimentary make-up.

And then despising herself utterly for wishing all that.

'Come in, Guy. Dad's gone for a walk; he'll be devastated to have missed you.'

'How is he?' Guy stepped into the hall and looked closely at everything, simulating enormous interest in the chipped cream paintwork, the wallpaper with its faded autumn leaves, the nylon carpet beneath his hand-stitched, buffed, brown shoes.

He wore a short, olive, leather jacket, soft as a very expensive wallet.

'We used to have some fascinating chats, your father and I, when I was in Religious Programmes.'

'I expect he learned quite a lot,' Fay said, going through to the kitchen.

'That was how I swung the Crybbe thing, you know. It cut plenty of ice with Max Goff, me being an ex- religious-affairs producer. Indicated a certain sensitivity of touch and an essentially serious outlook. Nothing crude, no juvenile piss-taking.'

'Tea or coffee?' Fay said. 'Why did you leave Religious Programmes, anyway? Seemed like a good, safe earner to me. Just about the only situation where you can work in television and still get to heaven.'

'Well, you know, Fay, there came a time when it was clear that Guy Morrison had said all he needed to say about religion. Is it ground coffee or instant?'

'Would I offer you instant coffee, Guy?'

'I don't like to make presumptions about people's financial positions,' Guy said sensitively.

'We're fine.'

'I did tell you, didn't I, that I'd probably have brought you in as researcher, except for this J.M. Powys problem?'

'Thanks, but I doubt I'd've had time, anyway. Pretty busy, really.' The handle came off the cup she was holding – that'd teach her to lie twice.

'He was foisted on me, Fay. Nothing I could do.'

'I met him last night. Seemed a nice bloke.'

Just before lunch, J. M. Powys had phoned to ask how Arnold was. Comfortable, Fay had said, having been on the phone to the vet as early as was reasonable. Stable. As well as can be expected.

Guy crinkled his mouth. 'One-book wonder, J. M. Powys. A spent force.'

Must be a nice bloke if Guy despises him, Fay thought. She began to filter the coffee in silence.

Eventually, Guy, sitting at the kitchen table, said, 'Long time since we met face to face, Fay. Three years? Four?'

'At least.' Physically, he'd hardly changed at all. Perhaps the odd characterful crease, like the superb-quality leather of his jacket. Pretty soon, she thought in dismay, he'll be looking too comparatively young ever to have been married to me.

Guy said, 'You're looking… er, good. Fay.'

What a bastard. She made a point of net replying in kind.

Guy said, 'Quite often, you know – increasingly, in fact – I find myself wondering why we ever split up.'

'Didn't it have something to do with you screwing your production assistant?'

Guy dismissed it. 'Trivial, trivial stuff. I was young, she threw herself at me. You know that. I'm essentially a pretty faithful sort of person. No, what we had…' He pushed Grace's G-plan dining chair away from the table and leaned back, throwing his left ankle over his right knee and catching it deftly with his right hand. He obviously couldn't quite remember what they'd had.

'I often wish we'd had children, Fay.'

Oh hell.

Guy's intermittent live-in girlfriend had apparently proved to be barren. Fay remembered him moaning about this to her one night on the phone. She remembered thinking at the time that infertility was a very useful attribute for an intermittent live-in girlfriend to have. But Guy was at the age when he wanted there to be little Morrisons.

'I'm at the Cock.'

'What?'

'The Cock Hotel,' Guy said, it's an appalling place.'

'Dreadful,' Fay said, pouring his coffee,

'I think I'm going to have to make other arrangements when we start shooting in earnest.'

'I should.'

'Can you think of anywhere?'