The back garden was as traditional as the front. A vegetable patch appeared to be tucked away behind a ceonothus hedge and yes – here was the cat. A black and white monster who rolled on his back as soon as they appeared.
‘Oh, ignore Talbot,’ said Rosie. ‘He’s shameless.’
‘My Sidney’s just grumpy,’ said Libby, squatting to rub Talbot’s stomach. He stretched his back legs to their full extent and purred a little.
‘Can I do anything to help, Rosie?’ asked Fran.
‘No, nothing. I’m going to boil the kettle. Do you prefer tea or coffee?’
‘Tea, please,’ they said together.
‘Nice,’ said Libby, as they sat down on the cushioned chairs. ‘Lovely garden.’
‘A lot of work,’ said Fran.
‘Too much for me,’ said Libby. ‘I expect she’s got a gardener. All right for some.’
‘You’re letting your prejudice show again,’ said Fran. ‘I don’t know what you’ve got against her.’
‘I haven’t got anything against her,’ said Libby uncomfortably. ‘She actually seems quite nice.’
Fran snorted, and Rosie came out carrying a tray with teapot, milk jug and mugs.
‘I’ve got sugar if you want it, and I’ve put my sweeteners on there,’ she said. ‘We’ll just wait for it to draw.’
‘I do like tea from a teapot,’ said Libby. ‘I’m fighting a rearguard action against teabags in mugs.’
‘I so agree,’ said Rosie, and Libby suddenly knew what people meant when they said somebody “twinkled”. ‘Mind you, it’s handy on occasions, when you haven’t got much time.’
‘So, what’s the mystery?’ asked Fran, leaning forward with her arms on the table.
‘Straight to the point, eh, Fran?’ Rosie laughed. ‘Reminds me of my writing advice “get straight into the story”. Don’t fanny around with the back story.’
‘But that’s what we want to know, isn’t it?’ said Libby. ‘The back story?’
Rosie leant forward and picked up the teapot. ‘Of course it is. I’ll just pour this out and then we can get on with it.’
When they all had their cups, Rosie leant back in her chair and looked at Libby.
‘Not that I didn’t want to meet you anyway,’ she said, ‘having read about you in the newspaper and knowing you were a friend of Fran’s.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘But it did seem to be a heaven sent opportunity.’
Libby looked across at Fran and raised her eyebrows. Fran shook her head.
‘An opportunity for what?’ she prompted.
‘Well.’ Rosie sighed. ‘There’s this house, you see. I know where it is, and I know it’s been boarded up. But I need to find out more about it.’
‘For a book?’ asked Libby.
‘No, although I suppose I might turn it into a book one day. No. You see, I dream about it, and it feels as though I lived there.’ Rosie looked from Libby to Fran and made a face. ‘Sounds mad, doesn’t it?’
Fran shook her head. ‘Not to me, it doesn’t,’ she said. ‘You know about my experiences.’ Fran was writing her account of how she came to be living in Coastguard Cottage.
‘That’s what made me think of asking you.’ Rosie turned to Libby and smiled. ‘You know Fran’s writing about Coastguard Cottage?’
Libby nodded, although she knew little about the creative writing classes Rosie taught and Fran attended.
‘When we talked about it, she told me how you had stayed there as a child, too, and about the picture. She said you painted similar pictures.’
‘Yes. She could have shown you a postcard. Her husband makes postcards of some of the paintings.’ Libby glanced at Fran, who was looking at the cat.
‘Oh, she has. I’ve now got several.’ Rosie was twinkling again, and Libby warmed to her. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘it gave me the idea of trying to find out about the house and why I dream about it. I’m sure I’ve never been inside it.’
Libby frowned. ‘But surely you must do research for the books you write? Couldn’t you find out about it?’
‘I could, but I think I might get sidetracked and start researching that instead of writing the next book. I don’t suppose you’ve got any more free time than I have, but you might be less likely to let it take over your life.’
‘I doubt that,’ said Fran. ‘You don’t know Libby when she’s got her teeth into something. Nothing else matters.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Rosie looked back at Libby. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t be asking.’
Libby laughed. ‘Fran’s exaggerating,’ she said. ‘And she’s as bad anyway.’
Fran smiled ruefully. ‘She’s right.’
‘So what do you think, then?’ said Rosie. ‘Would you like to look into it?’
Fran and Libby looked at each other and nodded.
‘Oh, I think so,’ said Libby. ‘After all, it’s not a murder or anything like that. It would be good to look into something just for interest’s sake.’
Rosie sighed. ‘Thank you.’ She looked down at the table and straightened a spoon. ‘It’s been bothering me slightly. There’s such a strange atmosphere about the dreams.’
‘Where is the house?’ asked Fran after a pause. ‘Is it local?’
Rosie looked up. ‘Oh, yes. Just on the outskirts of Cherry Ashton.’
Fran raised her eyebrows at Libby.
‘Towards the coast the other way from Nethergate,’ said Libby.
‘Near Creekmarsh?’
‘Further over than that. Quite lonely.’
Rosie nodded. ‘The house is on one of the lanes in from the main road. On its own.’
‘Has it got a name?’
‘White Lodge,’ said Rosie. ‘And I think it may once have been the lodge for a bigger house.’
‘Who lives there, now? Do you know?’ said Fran.
‘No one,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s boarded up.’
‘Oh.’ Libby looked at Fran. ‘It’ll be difficult to find anything out about it then, won’t it?’
‘We’ll find a way,’ said Fran. ‘You know we will.’
‘And you will let me know if you start incurring any expenses, won’t you?’ said Rosie.
‘I don’t suppose we’ll have any of those,’ said Libby with a grin. ‘But if we suddenly get a fine for trespassing, you can pay it.’
‘Trespassing?’ said Fran. ‘Are we going to?’
‘Well, we’ll have to go and look at it, won’t we? And up close. So I expect we’ll trespass. Not inside, though. It’ll be all locked up, and I’ve never been good at breaking and entering.’
Fran sighed and shook her head. ‘See what I’m up against, Rosie?’
Rosie laughed. ‘And why she’s the perfect person to investigate. More tea?’
‘Not for me, thanks,’ said Libby. ‘Could you just tell us about the dreams?’
‘Yes.’ Rosie leant back in her chair. ‘I thought you’d want to know about those.’
‘Well, that’s why you want us to look into it,’ said Fran. ‘Where are you in the dream? Inside or out?’
‘Both. Sometimes I’m in a garden – coming through a gate in a wall. It has a sort of old wooden lintel,’ she frowned, ‘which seems odd in an outdoor wall. And it’s a bit overgrown. There are stones, there, a bit like grave stones.’
Fran looked at Libby. ‘And where else?’
‘Inside. There’s one particular place which has very long windows but no furniture. Although I can hear a piano. And you know how it is in dreams, sometimes I just look round and the whole scene has changed to something else. There’s a kitchen, but it seems to be upstairs and rather shabby. Sometimes it has a bath in the same room.’ She shivered. ‘And this atmosphere. Yet I feel almost certain it’s – or it was – a happy place.’
‘And you have some kind of connection to it?’ said Fran.
Rosie nodded. ‘It won’t let me alone, you see. I seem to dream about it almost every night, and I can’t shake it off during the day. That’s why I need to find out, to lay it to rest.’ She turned to Libby. ‘And why I can’t do it myself, or it would completely take me over. Do you see?’
‘Yes.’ Libby smiled. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll find out. Won’t we Fran?’
