‘Understood, sir.’
‘From Liverpool, you will travel by train to Plymouth. From there, you will travel west to your accommodation. You will be lodging with Mamm James. She’ll look after you.’ He handed the envelope to Cal. ‘Plane and train tickets and the contact details for Mamm James. Among other things.’
‘Thank you.’ Controlling his excitement as best he could, Cal held the envelope on his lap.’
‘Well?’ asked Sir Philip. ‘Don’t you want to know who you’re going to be? It’s in there.’
Cal pulled out a passport. He opened it to the most important page, frowned for a moment, then laughed. ‘Very clever, Dad.’
‘Thought you’d appreciate that.’
‘Best to keep your given name,’ said Lady Rayke. ‘Easier.’
‘Still resolved?’ enquired Sir Philip, one last time.
‘Still resolved,’ Cal confirmed.
His father nodded, stood up and came around the desk to his son’s side.
‘Then …,’ Sir Philip said and held out his hand, ‘welcome to the show … Michael Hogarth.’
***
‘Oh!’ cried Amanda, awakening Tempest with a grunt, ‘Cal was you! Yes, yes, the series of eighteenth-century paintings: The Rake’s Progress. By Hogarth! How clever.’
‘And Cal was short for Michael?’ asked Trelawney.
‘That’s right. I had an uncle called Michael, so I got Mikey or Mickey or Little Michael, none of which I cared for. Instead, I insisted on “Cal.”’
‘Makes perfect sense,’ approved Amanda.
‘Indeed,’ Trelawney agreed appreciatively. ‘So, next ... university?
Hogarth grinned. ‘That’s enough for one evening. Ah, and by the way, Amanda, we should go over your new work contracts while you’re here. Once you sign it, you will be Thomas’s official consultant for all things arcane!’ he dragged out the final word dramatically, which provoked the mirthful response he had intended.
‘Thank you, Uncle Mike, I would like that.’
On the way home, Amanda commented to Trelawney,
‘I see now why we had the impression that the story was personal for Uncle Mike.’
‘It could hardly be more so,’ agreed the inspector.
‘Only I still don’t see where Lucy comes in.’
Trelawney smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. ‘I think that’s Mike’s intention. But I’m content to hear the tale at this pace. I have learned more about my best friend in these evenings than in all of the years I’ve known him.’
‘And has what you’ve learned surprised you, Inspector?’
‘Hm ... yes, yes it has.’
She looked at him.
‘In what way?’
‘A good way. Mike — well, Chief Inspector Hogarth, then, of course — was always thought a dark horse at the station, but yes, he’s more than I imagined.’
‘Perhaps you are too.’
‘More than you imagine?’ he asked in amusement.
Amanda laughed.
‘No. More than you imagine!’
‘Perhaps we all are,’ he speculated.
‘Even Tempest?’ she asked roguishly, looking over her shoulder at the back seat occupant.
Trelawney chuckled. ‘Let’s not go there.’
Chapter 8
Vision on The Moor
Amanda awoke to a stunningly beautiful day. Cornwall was doing April in blue and gold: an almost indigo wash sky above and all about was gilded in sunshine. She readily accepted a text invitation to a day out from Kyt. He arrived at 10.30 with a suggestion.
‘I thought I might take advantage of the weather and take you to see a surprising sight.’
‘Sounds intriguing. May I know what it is?’
‘Well, I was thinking that you’ve only seen the Moor when it’s bleak and overcast and connected to things you’d rather not recall. I’d like you to witness it in its true glory, and for you to carry that image with you back to Sunken Madley.’
‘Yes, Kyt, I would love that. Very therapeutic too!’
‘I hope so. We shan’t be walking far but are you ok, getting mud on those shoes.’
‘Absolutely,’ Amanda confirmed.
‘Then, off we go!’
They took the same route as the inspector had, the day they’d arrived in Parhayle. But this was a vastly different journey. On the low hedges, built of granite with earth infills, pink campion gleamed in the sunshine. The marshy land to the right was flying yellow flag iris. The dots of colour flashed by as they made the climb up onto Bodmin Moor. In places their way ran close to the River Fowey, flowing clear over the gravel, south to the sea. Amanda pointed in delight at the blue blaze of a kingfisher and at the “Caution – Otter” signs along the road.
At length, Kyt drew up near the north shore of Dozmary Pool, and they got out of the car.
‘Just look at that,’ he said, blissfully. ‘Although the Trelawneys are sea folk, the Moor is in my blood even as it is in yours, Amanda. And for me, earth has few sights to show more fair than this place on a day such as this one.’ The Pool was a sky-blue mirror set with diamonds of sunlight, flickering as the wind caressed its surface into dancing light.
Amanda clasped her hands ecstatically. Today a mistle thrush sang from a rare nearby treetop, its silver wings and white tail glinting.
‘How right you are, Kyt. Thank you so much for bringing me here today. It’s magical.’
‘I’m glad you like it. In Cornish, Dozmary Pool is Bolla Meri: usually translated “a drop of sea”. It even has a mermaid.’ That got Amanda’s attention but there was something she wanted to know about even more.
