‘Goodness knows. I’m not sure I did.’
‘You used to look after them in London, though,’ said Libby.
‘Of course, and I love them, but Lucy used to take advantage of me. She doesn’t now, and Jane said she didn’t want to rely on her mother, didn’t she?’
‘Have to wait and see, I suppose,’ said Libby. ‘Heard anything from Ian or Rosie?’
‘No. Have you?’
‘Well, in a way.’
‘Oh? What have you been up to?’
‘I went exploring.’ Libby took a deep breath, feeling guilty. ‘Yesterday. I went to Cherry Ashton.’
‘To White Lodge?’
‘Yes, but first I went to the village.’ Libby recounted her adventures of the previous day, including meeting Mr Vindari and Ian. ‘And I went to see George at The Red Lion on the way home.’ She told him what George had said.
‘None of that is any use, is it?’ said Fran. ‘And if Ian’s still investigating he won’t want us poking our noses in.’
‘No,’ said Libby slowly. ‘And there’s something else.’
‘What?’ Fran sounded resigned.
Reluctantly, Libby told her Harry’s theory about Rosie. ‘And I said if that was the case you’d have seen through her,’ she concluded.
There was silence at the other end. ‘Fran? You still there? Are you offended?’
‘No, I’m not offended, I’m thinking. Is Ben still away?’
‘He comes back this evening. I’ve put something in the slow cooker for him.’
‘Are you going to Harry’s for lunch?’
‘No, I told you, I went last night instead.’
‘Would you like to come here? Only for a snack. Or we could go to Mavis’s.’
‘You want a chat?’ Libby grinned to herself. ‘Yes, love to. What time?’
Having settled on half past one, Libby cleaned her brushes and left the conservatory to go and get changed. Despite herself, she felt happier, her interest in White Lodge rekindled, yet she knew it shouldn’t be.
At half past one, parked behind Mavis’s Blue Anchor cafe at the end of Harbour Street next to The Sloop inn, Libby wandered down to meet Fran, who appeared from her own front door.
‘I’ve just left some sandwiches for Sophie and Guy,’ she said. ‘We’ll have our roast this evening.’
Libby turned, and they made their way back to the Blue Anchor. Mavis appeared with a tin ashtray and nodded at them before returning inside the cafe. Bert and George weren’t there this morning, both being out on their boats, the
‘So,’ said Libby. ‘You’ve had some thoughts?’
‘Yes.’ Fran stared out to sea. ‘What you said about Rosie.’
‘Well, it was Harry who said it, really,’ said Libby hastily. ‘It just made me think a bit.’
‘Yes.’ Fran turned to look at her. ‘And I really wondered if I’d missed something. When you look at the facts it’s quite hard to escape them, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Libby, feeling uncomfortable, ‘but don’t forget we’ve already been back and challenged her about it once. And she admitted it.’
‘She admitted everything we challenged her with,’ said Fran. ‘What if we went back and challenged her again?’
Libby frowned. ‘But I really don’t know why she’s done it, if she has. And if she has, why? And would we be in danger?’
‘No idea. But I think we ought to.’ Fran’s mouth set in a hard line.
‘This has upset you, hasn’t it?’
‘Bloody right it has. I don’t like being taken for an idiot. And even if she doesn’t own it, she’s used us to a degree anyway.’ Fran looked at Libby. ‘And what about Andrew?’
‘What about him?’
‘I wonder if she really didn’t know him? Or if he’s been in on the scheme from the beginning?’
‘Oh, surely not,’ said Libby. ‘And we don’t know that there is a scheme, anyway. Or if there is, what it’s for.’
‘I wonder,’ said Fran slowly, ‘if it really is what you said at first? She’s using us to plot one of her novels?’
‘Bit bloody manipulative if so,’ said Libby, smiling up at Mavis who slammed a menu in front of her. ‘Just a bacon sandwich, please, Mavis.’
‘It was manipulative even if all she’s done is what she admitted to the second time we went to see her.’ Fran frowned. ‘Sorry, Mavis. Ham sandwich, please.’
‘Why don’t we just ignore what Rosie’s said or done,’ suggested Libby, ‘and take it from there? Ian’s interested in something, after all, and whoever’s doing it, someone’s using that music to scare people off.’
‘And yet it’s such a crude method of doing it,’ said Fran. ‘More suited to the fifties and sixties than the high tech noughties.’
‘I see what you mean. Yes, almost like the Victorians’ fake seances.’ Libby sighed. ‘Oh, bum. I wasn’t going to get involved any more.’
Fran laughed. ‘You can’t help it. And this is a proper mystery. With no nasty murders getting in the way.’
Chapter Sixteen
‘WHY DON’T WE,’ SAID Fran, after Mavis had cleared away their plates, ‘go and have another look at your weird building this afternoon?’
‘I thought you were helping in the shop?’
‘Guy and Sophie can cope on their own. I only get in the way, half the time. What do you say?’
‘I’m up for it,’ said Libby, ‘but why do you want to go?’
‘To get a feel of the place. It sounds – fascinating. I’ll take my camera. My phone isn’t good enough for photos.’
‘Oh, I didn’t think of photos,’ said Libby. ‘Mind you, my phone camera isn’t much cop, either.’
Fran went to tell Guy she was going to play hookey and collect her camera, while Libby sat in her car studying a map. It looked, she realised, as though the road to Cherry Ashton she’d followed yesterday petered out, as indeed it did, but just beyond it was another road which at one time would have joined it.
‘Look,’ she said as Fran got into the car. ‘We could go that way and walk through, I’m sure of it. If Mr Vindari sees me drive up again he’ll be after me like a ferret down a rabbit hole.’
‘I thought you said he was nice. Why do you want to avoid him?’
‘He was nice,’ said Libby, driving down Harbour Street. ‘I just don’t want him thinking I’m a nosy mare, and I don’t want him to think I’m poking my nose in.’
‘Same thing,’ said Fran. ‘And you are.’
They drove from Nethergate towards Creekmarsh, then on past White Lodge, where blue-and-white tape still fluttered. About half a mile further on Libby took a turning to the right, which plunged between high banks topped with wide fields. It seemed to be almost turning back on itself and they’d travelled several hundred yards when Libby slowed down.
‘Look,’ she said.
On their right was what had obviously once been a lane, across which, in the distance, was an old wooden gate.
‘That’s it,’ said Libby. ‘When I looked yesterday, all I could see was this field here,’ she waved a hand to the cornfield on their left, ‘and this road must have been hidden because it was so low. That’s the lane to Cherry Ashton. I wonder why it was closed off?’
‘Are we getting out?’ asked Fran. ‘If so, you’ll have to pull over into that gateway or nothing will get past.’
