Midnight is a Lonely Place

to check on the cottage and see about poor Mr Norcross.’

‘Yes. You must get us out of here!’ Cissy clutched at Larkin’s sleeve. ‘You’ve got to get us out of here. He’s after my daughter – ’ Her voice slid up the scale hysterically. ‘You’ve got to save us!’

‘It’s all right, Cissy. We said we’ll take you,’ Jamieson put in comfortably. ‘And Diana and the girls. And Greg. That foot is not all that good.’

‘And Joe,’ Cissy put in, sobbing wildly. Her voice rose dangerously again. ‘You have to take Joe – ’

‘I’m not going,’ Greg interrupted her. ‘You said my foot was OK, Hal. It can wait. I’m not leaving Redall. But take Joe. That’s fine by me.’

‘I’m afraid that’s all we can manage,’ Mat put in, worried. ‘The doctor has to come back with us. He’s needed elsewhere, and that makes eight of us already – ’

‘Don’t worry.’ Kate caught Anne’s eye and saw her sister grimace. ‘We’ll be all right. I think it is the two girls who are most at risk. We’ll hold him off.’

There was an uncomfortable silence then Bob Garth grinned. ‘I’ll look after you all, Miss Kennedy, don’t fret.’ He would not allow himself to feel afraid.

They watched as the large police vehicle turned and churned its way up the path into the trees. ‘You must have been sorry there wasn’t room for you.’ Greg looked curiously at Pete who had watched them from the window.

Pete shook his head. ‘I reckon I’ll hang around until this is all over. If you and the constable are going out to the cottage I think it would be a good thing if someone stayed here to keep an eye on the boy and the ladies.’

Greg gave a half-hearted humourless laugh. ‘I think they would consider that remark patronising at the least and sexist more than likely.’ He led the way back into the farm house.

‘I doubt it, sir.’ Bob Garth put in. ‘Don’t forget. We have a murderer on the loose somewhere – ’

‘Haven’t you taken anything in!’ Greg swung round on him. ‘We are not looking for a man – ’

‘Greg.’ Kate put her hand on his arm.

He shook it off angrily. ‘No! We are not looking for some escaped lunatic or a robber or a psychopath. We are trying to stop a man who died nearly two thousand years ago – ’

‘Quite, sir.’ Bob managed to keep his face impassive. ‘But whoever we are looking for, dead or alive, he is still a real threat. I think this gentleman is right. Someone should remain here.’

‘Well, I’m going with you.’ Kate stepped forward. ‘I was a close friend of Bill’s, and I am the tenant of the cottage. It’s right I should be there.’

‘And I’m coming too.’ Jon put his arm around her once more. ‘I’m not letting you out of my sight again, Kate.’

She looked up at him startled. Then she smiled. Quietly she reached for his hand. She did not see the anger on Greg’s face.

LXXII

Anne and Pete watched them from the window as the four figures disappeared into the trees. The house was suddenly very still. Anne bit her lip. ‘Hot drink for us?’

Pete nodded. On the sofa, Paddy, tucked up in rugs, was fast asleep. He had cried when Diana told him about his father, as had Kate, but his weariness had been too much for him. As the doctor sat, stethoscope in hand, talking to him, the boy fell soundly asleep. ‘Let him be.’ Jamieson had stood up, folding the tubing into his pocket. ‘Sleep is the best healer of all. He’s exhausted and he’s sad, but he’s a strong chap. He’ll be all right.’

Pete and Anne sat facing each other across the kitchen table. ‘Rum do.’ Pete grinned. His face, weatherchapped and ruddy, broke into a mass of creases when he smiled.

She smiled. ‘I keep asking myself what I am doing here.’

He nodded cheerfully. ‘Me too. That’ll teach us to get involved. All I wanted was to make a few honest bob; one last fare before I knocked off for the night.’ He buried his face in his mug and blew off the steam.

‘What do you think is going to happen?’ she asked after a long silence.

‘The police said they’d send a van for Mr Lindsey and the poor chap at the cottage.’

‘I meant Marcus.’

He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Marcus has to be dealt with.’

‘You can’t arrest ghosts.’

Pete gave a slow chuckle. ‘I couldn’t somehow see that young chap arresting anyone. He looked as though he was still collecting plastic toys from a cornflakes packet.’

‘Nice, though.’

‘Oh, yes, if you like that sort of thing. Uniforms turn you on, do they?’ It was a half-hearted attempt but he was rewarded with a token cuff on the shoulder. As Anne lowered her hand she froze. ‘What was that?’

They both listened. ‘Shit! I didn’t expect him to come back. Not so soon.’ Pete stood up. The colour had drained from his face.

They could both hear it clearly now. Footsteps upstairs. Slow, ponderous footsteps.

Quietly, Pete picked up the breadknife from the table. On tiptoe he crossed to the door with a quick glance at Patrick who was still fast asleep.

Anne followed him as, slowly, he crept up the stairs, and peered along the corridor. There was nothing there. Carefully he moved onto the polished boards and pushed open the first bedroom door. Room by room they searched the whole top floor. There was no one there at all. In Patrick’s room they stopped and looked at each other. ‘Can you smell it?’ she said at last. ‘Cigarettes.’ She bit her lip.

‘Not Roman.’ Pete gave a short barking laugh. ‘Perhaps the lad smokes on the quiet. Or perhaps it’s Mr Lindsey,’ he went on tentatively. ‘Patrolling.’

Anne shivered. ‘I’m not sure that that idea comforts me.’

‘It should. Come on. Let’s go down. This house is bloody cold.’ Pete led the way back downstairs. At Patrick’s side they stopped, and were both secretly relieved to see that he appeared to be sleeping as soundly as before, his breathing deep and regular, his colour normal.

‘“Man never perceives anything fully or comprehends anything completely,”’ Anne quoted softly. ‘Jung said that. It’s something I try to remember when I find my brain getting stressed because I can’t make sense of something. It is comforting.’ She flung herself down on a chair and closed her eyes. Then she opened them wide.

‘I can smell her scent again.’ It had been several minutes before it had been strong enough to register.

‘Yes.’ He had smelt the jasmine too. The tobacco had gone.

‘What shall we do?’

He turned, dusting ash and dried lichen from his hands. ‘What can we do? We wait.’

LXXIII

All the time it felt less strange. He floated up the beach above the water; he could no longer see the grave where he had lain so long. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now that his strength was growing. It was the man on the shore, the tall, dark-haired man, the poet, who had given him the energy. Silently, secretly he had drawn it from him as he stooped over the girl, and the man had not even noticed, preoccupied as he was with his own love and his own loss. His beautiful Claudia was here too. Near at hand. Always with him. Her hatred and her curse had given her strength and between them they were going to find justice at last.

Kate was clinging to Jon’s arm. Strong, independent, clever Kate, his sparring partner, Lady Muck, was clinging to the effete poet like a stupid bimbo. Greg, limping in front beside Constable Garth, glanced over his shoulder again, amazed by the sudden churning in his stomach. Why had she said it was all over between her and this man if she hadn’t meant it? He felt a sudden surge of white hot anger. She was beautiful. Beautiful like Claudia whom he had drawn over and over again without realising it when he was alone at the cottage.

He hunched forward again over his walking stick, trying to control his fury. The wind had dropped completely now, the storm gone as swiftly as it had come. He could feel a new softness in the air. It soothed him a little.