‘So what changed?’
‘No single thing, that I can see. Just attitudes hardening, the state of the house getting to the point when it’s going to fall down if something isn’t done soon. Next time the rent’s assessed, we’re going to have to put in a proper report, and push for some serious repairs. Or we would have had to. That’s all changed now, as well, of course.’
‘Probably for the worse.’
‘That remains to be seen,’ said Digby, looking at the floor, as if searching for some sign of the future.
‘I don’t think you’ve got out of that chair more than four times in three days,’ said Ant suddenly losing patience. ‘You’ve even stayed there to eat. You’ll get old before your time if you go on like that.’
‘Can’t see there’s much to get up for. Time enough for action when the police come bothering us again. I’ve got all I need right here.’ Digby had one of his massive American Civil War histories on the floor beside him, as well as two smaller ones. He dipped into them in some sort of rotation that Ant found incomprehensible.
‘Don’t you think we ought to be trying to work out what it’ll mean for us, that Blackwood’s dead? Carla’s going to be the owner of the estate now, presumably. She’ll pull every string she can to get us thrown out. I wouldn’t put it past her to set us on fire one dark night. For a start, I bet she’ll try and poison poor old Percy.’ He was thinking aloud, letting himself get more and more agitated as the implications got darker. ‘She’s got to be the one who killed Rufus, don’t you think?’ he went on, visualising Carla’s volatile behaviour, not just that day but ever since she’d come to live at Crossfield. ‘She seems completely unhinged to me.’
Digby merely nodded slowly and said, ‘Could be. If they lock her up, the place’ll most likely be sold.’
This was such a leap into the unknown that Ant shuddered. ‘Are we sure Rufus hasn’t got some offspring somewhere? Would they inherit if Carla was in gaol?’
Digby roused himself slightly. ‘He was married before Carla, wasn’t he?’
‘Don’t ask me. You’re the one who spends half his time on the Internet.’
‘I never saw a sign of any other Blackwoods. But I wasn’t looking very hard. I’m more interested in where his money comes from. Mind you, if there were sons or daughters, they’d probably be shareholders or directors or something, and their names would pop up automatically. Which they didn’t.’
‘The police’ll be having a rummage for all that. They always think the family’s top of the suspect list when there’s a murder.’
‘Except when there’s a tenant family who clearly hates the landlord’s guts,’ said Digby.
‘And who’ve got some mystery of their own, concerning their missing wife and mother.’
‘Could be,’ said Digby again.
‘Don’t you care?’ his son burst out angrily. ‘Why are you being so limp about it? Lethargic, even. It’s not like you.’
‘Just keeping my head down, son, same as you should be doing. Don’t rock any boats or attract any attention. It’s generally the best way when things get a bit unnecessary.’
‘But I haven’t played a single game all Christmas,’ Timmy was whining. ‘Why can’t we do it now? It says it only takes an hour and a bit. There’ll be time to do other things as well.’
So the train game was finally being set up, and everybody but Thea was valiantly trying to follow the convoluted rules. Timmy was winning, and Jessica was finding the whole thing exasperating. ‘This tunnel business is insane,’ she grumbled. ‘And I don’t see how anybody could ever get to Scotland or Ireland.’
‘It probably gets clearer after a few times,’ said Drew. ‘It’s always confusing the first time you play something new.’
‘Don’t tell me I’ve got to go through this again,’ Jessica pleaded.
‘Not if you don’t want to. It’s not compulsory.’ This was a line Drew used quite often, and it always made Stephanie smile. There was something so elegantly reproachful in it, putting the emphasis on the other person’s unreasonable objections to doing something. In recent months she had come to appreciate nuances in the English language that gave her real pleasure. At the same time, it made her realise how near impossible it would be to properly master another language. The classes they had been given in French in their first term were so basic as to be infantile. But, as the teacher insisted, you had to start somewhere.
‘No, it’s not compulsory,’ she repeated, catching her father’s eye and grinning.
‘Oh, you two,’ sighed Jessica, significantly increasing Stephanie’s delight.
Thea was wandering in and out, showing no signs of being gainfully employed. She had paused to watch the game for a moment, and heard this exchange. ‘They read each other’s minds,’ she said. ‘You get used to it.’
Timmy was shaking his dice and plotting his next move, but he did not miss what was going on around him. He looked from sister to father and back, and gave a little shake of his head. ‘You don’t really,’ he told his stepmother.
By an obvious lucky fluke, Timmy won the game, and the grown-ups suddenly got all hyperactive. Timmy was contentedly sifting through his box of new things on the big chair by the fireplace. Stephanie was cuddled with Hepzie on the sofa, also assessing her acquisitions. Then Thea spoke. ‘Did I mention that I had a card from Lucy Sinclair? The woman I house-sat for in Hampnett two years ago?’
Drew and Jessica both looked at her in confusion. ‘So?’ said Jessica.
‘She’s moved to Northleach, which is hardly any distance from where she was before. It was a converted barn and she had some land as well. Now she’s in a small house in a street.’
‘This card – it must have had a letter
