‘If there are ghosts, then there are two of them.’ Kate was enjoying herself. ‘And they are Roman,’ she added as Diana laid a dish of pate on the table in front of her. ‘One would be your Marcus Severus Secundus, and the other, the one I think I saw, might have been – perhaps – his wife, Augusta.’
Roger laughed. He dug his knife into the butter and carved himself off an unfashionably large corner. ‘Good lord! How on earth have you come to that conclusion?’
Kate turned to Greg. ‘You said Marcus haunted Redall Cottage,’ she said. ‘I went to the museum and saw the exhibits about him and his wife. That is how I know her name.’
Greg grinned. He reached for the butter himself. ‘I think there must have been a beautiful villa here in their day. It’s strange. You make him sound almost approachable. I can’t say I’ve ever been on first name terms with him. I don’t think he was at all a pleasant character.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Kate hadn’t taken her eyes off Greg’s face, trying to read his expression.
‘Greg.’ Diana reproved her son from the end of the table.
‘I’m sorry, Ma, but I think Kate should be warned. She is, in a way, Marcus’s guest, after all. And if he and his wife have introduced themselves, it would seem that they are going to seek a closer acquaintance with her.’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘The dagger belonged to him,’ Alison put in softly. ‘He used it to kill people.’
Kate glanced at her, in spite of herself giving a little shiver of apprehension. Alison was staring down at her plate. Her headache had come back.
‘I’m glad to be rid of it then,’ Kate said. She forced herself to sound cheerful. ‘It will be safer here out of his reach with you looking after it. I was talking to a friend in the States on the phone this evening and telling him about it,’ she went on, determined to show that she was in no way upset by the sudden atmosphere in the room. ‘They don’t have Roman ghosts in America. He was quite jealous.’ Were they in it together, Greg and Alison? Were they all having a good laugh at her expense? ‘In what way is he unpleasant?’ she pressed Greg. She watched him closely. If he told her at least she would know what to expect.
He shrugged. ‘They say that on certain nights, when the tide is high and the moon is full, you can hear the screams of his victims – ’
‘Greg, that is enough!’ his father put in abruptly. ‘You are frightening your sister.’
‘Rubbish. Allie’s as tough as old boots. It would take more than that to frighten her,’ Greg retorted. He turned to Kate. ‘And I’m sure our lady historian is not frightened by ghosts. They are, after all, her stock in trade. She should be very pleased to be able to rent a couple so reasonably.’
So there you had it. The barb which had betrayed him. Kate smiled. Suddenly she felt more cheerful. She could handle Greg Lindsey. Taking another mouthful of Diana’s delectable home made pate she turned back to him. ‘Why should they haunt the grave on the beach? They weren’t buried there, and I’m fairly certain that it’s not a Roman burial.’
‘How do you know it’s a burial at all?’ Patrick put in another of his rare remarks. ‘Allie hasn’t found a body has she?’
‘No, I haven’t!’ Again the panic. Unexplained. Sudden. Overwhelming. Alison clenched her fists against the sudden pounding behind her eyes.
‘And she probably won’t. The sand dissolves bodies,’ Kate put in. She hadn’t looked at Alison. ‘Like at Sutton Hoo. Although that is a Saxon burial and therefore probably much later, it must be the same principle. The salts in the sand dissolve everything except the shadow. And archaeologists can only find that if the site has been undisturbed.’ She caught site of Alison’s strained look and hastened to add: ‘The trouble with Redall beach is that now it is right on the edge of the sea. The tide and the wind have already damaged the site beyond any hope of finding that kind of evidence.’
The peat. The peat strata in the dune. The words floated into her mind as she stared down at the pate on her plate. The peat was newly exposed, only the edge was crumbling, smelling of sweet garden earth…
She dropped her fork. The others were looking at her. ‘I’m sorry.’ She smiled, scrabbling for it. ‘It’s all this talk of ghosts. I think you are at last making me nervous.’
‘And that is unforgivable,’ Diana put in firmly. ‘I’ll have no more of this nonsense. I have known that cottage for most of my life. It is not haunted. It has never been haunted and we will not discuss it any more.’
Kate stole a glance at Greg. He had meekly turned his attention to his plate.
At the end of the meal as the others made their way back to the fire Diana put a hand on Kate’s arm. ‘Stay and help me make the coffee. I haven’t had the chance to talk to you properly yet.’ She smiled as she lifted the kettle from the hob and carried it to the sink. Neither woman spoke as the water ran into the kettle, then with a glance over her shoulder Diana beckoned Kate nearer to the stove. There was a hiss of steam as she put the dripping kettle onto the hot plate. ‘I think you have gathered that Greg is trying to scare you away from Redall Cottage, she said quietly. ‘I am so sorry he has decided to be childish like this. He can’t forgive me for making him move out. It’s got nothing to do with you. It is me he is angry with.’
Kate turned to the table and began to stack the plates. She glanced at the far end of the room where Roger was choosing a CD from the pile on the stereo. Greg was bending over the fire, coaxing some fresh logs into a blaze.
‘I had guessed that was what was going on,’ she said after a moment. ‘He and Alison are both in it, I think. Don’t worry, I can handle it.’
‘You’re sure?’ Diana frowned. ‘It seems so feeble to say I can’t do anything about it, but whatever I say to them, they will go on if they think it’s working.’ She banged two of her dishes together crossly and carried them over to the sink. ‘I hate to think of you out there on your own. It’s so far from anywhere.’
‘You don’t think they would harm me?’ Kate looked at her in astonishment.
‘No. No. Of course I don’t think that. Neither of them would hurt a fly. But they might think it amusing to frighten you.’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. I feel dreadful about this. Greg is not an easy person…’ Her voice trailed away helplessly.
Kate felt a surge of anger. Impulsively she put her hand on Diana’s arm. ‘Please, don’t upset yourself. I told you, I can cope.’ She grinned. ‘It was real ghosts I wasn’t sure about. I can deal with imposters. I expect I can play them at their own game.’ Diana looked at her gratefully and Kate smiled again. ‘Just so long as I know it’s them. And just so long as I know you and Roger are there – a touch of sanity at the end of the phone.’
‘You can be sure of that.’
‘Then there’s no problem.’ She picked up the coffee jug and carrying it to the sink ran some hot water into it to warm it. Greg and his father were sitting down now, one of either side of the inglenook. The two younger Lindseys had vanished. Quietly, the sound of music floated through the long, low-ceilinged room.
It was nearly midnight when reluctantly Kate climbed to her feet and announced that she ought to go home. Roger had been asleep in his chair for the last twenty minutes and Diana, for all her animated conversation, looked exhausted.
Greg stood up immediately. ‘I’ll drive you back. You don’t want to walk up through those woods on your own at this time of night.’ He grinned.
Kate glanced at Diana and she smiled. The implication was clear. More ghosts. ‘Thanks. I wouldn’t say no to a lift. It’s surprising how long that path can be when you’re tired.’
The sky had cleared. It blazed with stars and there was a fine layer of frost on the windscreen. Greg opened the door for her then he fumbled about under the driver’s seat for a scraper. ‘It won’t take a moment. Did you leave the stove banked up?’
She smiled. ‘I think I’m getting the hang of that beast at last. It’s voracious in its appetite for attention, isn’t it?’
‘It is indeed.’ A small circle cleared in the frost – apparently all he required to see the narrow track – he climbed in beside her and slammed the door. The engine started reluctantly, revving deafeningly in the silent darkness. Shoving the gearstick forward Greg turned the vehicle around and headed for the trees. A sheen of frost lay on the damp ground and the spinning wheels shattered crazy patterns into the thin veneer of ice on the puddles between the ruts.
Kate hung on grimly as the Land Rover slithered around.
‘The friend you mentioned in the States,’ Greg said suddenly, out of the silence. ‘Your boyfriend?’
‘He was.’
‘What happened?’ He hauled at the gear lever as the tyres spun.
