‘Rea—?’ began Hogarth.
‘Oh, good grief!’ she exclaimed. An enraged shriek had erupted in the garden, followed by a kukk-kukk-kukk. Amanda got up and swiftly headed for the kitchen door to the garden, calling, ‘Tempest! Leave the squirrels alone .... No ... stop it!’
‘Dear me, perhaps Amanda would like some help,’ commented Elodie kindly, rising and following her.
Trelawney looked at Hogarth. ‘You think it is significant?’
‘I do. Please don’t say anything to Amanda, at least not yet. But… haven’t you noticed when she goes into the past when there was a storm, then a storm brews up in the present, too?’
‘Well … I don’t know about every instance when she’s gone back in the past.’
‘But the ones you do know?’
Thomas thought.
‘Could it be a coincidence?’
‘She has Flamgoyne genes,’ Hogarth pointed out.
‘Yes, but it was their forebears, the Polgoynes, who were said to be able to control the weather. That’s a long way back. I don’t know; it sounds so far-fetched.’
‘I’m not sure if she can control the weather. Not that ... but she could be a storm-caller.’
‘A storm-caller. Hm, first time I’ve heard of such a thing.’
‘Just be aware of the possibility, Thomas. You’re going to be looking for links between the deaths in Sunken Madley. Look for links to do with Amanda too.’
‘Yes, I had thought of that but ... you really think Miss Cadabra can summon a storm?’
‘I think it’s a possibility.’
‘What’s a possibility?’ asked Zoe, as they returned to the room. Amanda was bearing an unrepentant cat on one shoulder appearing to be riding home in triumph.
‘No harm done,’ confirmed Elodie.
‘Oh no, he doesn’t want to harm them,’ Amanda insisted. ‘Not physically. He just likes to annoy them.’
‘No casualties: good,’ responded Hogarth, looking on the bright side.
‘We really must be off now,’ pronounced Trelawney, putting down his tea mug.
‘Well, I hope all goes well with setting up the new establishment in Sunken Madley.’
‘Thank you, Mike.’
‘Take it slowly now,’ Hogarth advised. ‘No need to hit the ground running, you two.’
‘Noted.’
‘All right, Uncle Mike.’ Amanda was then silent, her cogitation betrayed by the slight frown. Hogarth asked,
‘What is it?’
‘Uncle Mike, I was wondering: whatever happened to Department 14. Is it still running?’ He shook his head resignedly,
‘Squeezed out of Whitehall. Declared voodoo, a word used by politicians and scientists for “something that makes us feel uncomfortable”.’
‘Yes, Grandpa always says if people really believe something is nonsense they just ignore it, they don’t feel the need to attack it.’
‘How right he is, my dear.’
‘And what about your parents, Uncle Mike? What happened to them when the department was closed?’
‘Oh, what happens to the elderly,’ Hogarth replied airily.
‘Ah.’ Amanda hesitated to enquire further as what they had perished from. It seemed indelicate.
‘We carry on regardless, that’s the point,’ he continued in his cheery manner.
‘Yes,’ she agreed.
‘Let’s drink to that.’ He raised his mug.
They said their goodbyes to the Lucy family, who was called indoors by the oven alarm, and got into the car. Hogarth stood on the pavement to wave them off. Trelawney put the car in gear and was about to pull away, when Amanda suddenly asked him to stop. She leaned out of the window.
‘Uncle Mike, in the department, who was the equivalent of James Bond’s M or was it your father who was at the top? Won’t you tell me?’
‘Oh ... well ....’
At that moment a delivery lorry approached from behind, needing to get through the too-narrow gap between the Ford and the hedge opposite.
‘Sorry,’ apologised Trelawney and moved the car off. Amanda heard a jumbled reply on the wind over the noise of the two engines. She waved and put up her window. ‘Whatever did that mean?’
‘What?’ he asked. ‘I couldn’t hear.’
‘It sounded like “Emmy quells jeans”,’ she answered in perplexity.
‘How odd,’ he agreed.
‘Perhaps he meant Ammy. Although, I don’t think he’s ever called me that before. Oh well, affectionate, I suppose, and that’s nice. But still … “Ammy quells jeans”?’
‘Maybe he was praising your sartorial choices,’ Trelawney speculated, proceeding watchfully along the narrow lane.
‘Oh, like “rocking” those jeans or “crushing”?’
‘Is that what they’re saying these days?’ asked Trelawney with amused curiosity.
‘I’m not sure,’ Amanda confessed frankly. ‘It does seem to change with alarming frequency. I’d probably embarrass myself if I tried that on any of the teenagers in the village.’
‘Almost certainly. Best not,’ he advised.
Amanda was still confused.
‘All the same, it doesn’t seem apropos of what I was asking.’
‘Probably being evasive. He does that,’ Trelawney pointed out unnecessarily.
‘I’d noticed,’ Amanda replied with feeling. ‘Oh well. I dare say one day I’ll find out.’
‘Very possibly.’
‘Where shall we stop for breakfast?’
Finally, thought Tempest on the back seat, raising his chin off his paws. A subject of importance.
Chapter 52
Sunken Madley
Amanda woke up as they joined the M25 London orbital road. She looked over her shoulder. Tempest was snoring at a moderate volume for once.
‘Good sleep?’ asked Trelawney, glancing at her.
She stretched her shoulders.
‘Hmm, yes, thank you.’
‘Not far to go now.’
‘No. Not far.’
And here they were, driving down the A1000, joining The Great North Road, following the ancient tracks linking the villages on the way up out of London. Chestnuts, maple, hornbeam, oak, and pine flashed past. Now the sharp turn-off to the left when you’d least expect it, between two fine lime trees. The scent of the first early apple blossom wafted all the way over
