‘Of course youcan,’ Soraya said, without so much as a nanosecond’s consideration. ‘Gofor it. What do you need; blood?’
‘Not quite -just a cheek swab will do. Are you sure you don’t object? You’llhave to sign a consent form.’
‘No, not atall. I take it from all of this you’re more sure that Fin’s related tothem, then?’
‘At this stageit’s no more than conjecture and coincidence,’ Morton replied rathernebulously, contradicting his lack of belief in coincidence. ‘Can I bringa test kit down tomorrow?’
‘Yes, that’sfine. One thing, though,’ Soraya said. ‘How do you plan on gettingDNA from the Windsor-Sackvilles? I can’t imagine any of them beingcompliant somehow.’
‘Yeah, thatmight be an issue. I’m still thinking about that one. Which bringsme to my next point: Sir David and Lady Maria Windsor-Sackville are opening thevillage fete in Sedlescombe today and I wondered if you wanted to come along?’
‘Meet theenemy, you mean?’
‘Something likethat,’ Morton said. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think I’llpass, I’m not sure I want to come face-to-face with them. Besides, I’vegot a lot to do here and there’s still a lot of Peter’s things to sortout. Let me know how you get on, though.’
‘Okay, I’ll seeyou tomorrow.’
‘Good luck.’
Morton thankedher and ended the call.
It was a hot, airless afternoon whenJuliette parked up in the makeshift parking area of an unsuitable, deeplyrutted field being used for the Sedlescombe Village Fete. ‘This hadbetter not mess my car up,’ she remarked to no-one in particular.
Morton, beltedinto the passenger seat beside her, was busy running his eyes across theagricultural fields in the distance to where he had cut through the Charingsbyperimeter fence yesterday. ‘Maybe we could go over and get my backpack?’Morton suggested, knowing the chances of it waiting patiently for him to returnwere somewhat less than slim. ‘Safety in numbers and all that.’
‘Good idea,’Jeremy said, casually sipping from a can of Coke in the back of the car. Having nothing better to do with his day, he decided to join them at thevillage fete. ‘It’s the last thing they’d expect. You’ve got tothink tactically.’
‘If you so muchas step foot near that place, I swear to God that bump on the side ofyour head will become a football,’ Juliette threatened. She wasn’t jokingeither. ‘Please, can we just have a normal day today, Morton; noexplosions, muggings or stalkings?’
Morton plumpedfor Juliette’s advice and quietly dropped the idea.
The three ofthem stepped from the car and followed the throng of crowds making their wayacross the field. It was already a good turnout by anyone’s standards atsuch provincial gatherings.
A glum-lookingpensioner in an over-sized, yellow hi-vis jacket that stretched down to hiscalves silently directed them into the ‘Welcome Tent’, where Morton handed overfifteen pounds for their entrance.
‘Sir David andLady Windsor-Sackville will be opening the fete in just under half-an-hour’stime and there’ll be a demonstration of Tractors Through the Ages at twoo’clock and a falconry display at three,’ a short, sun-wrinkled lady told them.
The three ofthem sauntered down the field, following a steady stream of people headed inthe general direction of several large white marquees and a mass of assortedtrestle tables.
‘What exactlyare we doing here?’ Jeremy asked, taking a casual glance over a run of tattypaperbacks, as if he had only just realised where they were.
‘That’s whatI’m wondering,’ Juliette said, turning to face Morton.
‘You two are sosceptical,’ Morton said. ‘I just wanted to actually see these people,that’s all.’
Juliette gavehim a doubtful look. ‘That’s what the internet’s for.’ She stoppedto study the blurb of a well-worn Maeve Binchy novel. He knew that hermind was working overtime trying to establish an ulterior motive. She putthe book down and the three of them walked on, passing motley tables of plants,ornaments, homemade jams and preserves, antique furniture and secondhandtoys. A swarm of wasps besieged an open-sided gazebo where traditionalapple-pressing was taking place. The hive of industry, of which the waspsseemed an integral part, resulted in a copious quantity of cloudy amber liquidoozing from a thick wooden press before being sold to a queuing public for onepound per plastic cup.
‘Fancy some?’Morton asked.
‘Maybe later,’Jeremy said, scrunching his nose up.
Morton led thempast a long line of cakes and biscuits that might have looked remotely temptingif they weren’t slowly wilting under the high heat of the day, much to thechagrin of their creators behind the tables. They moved further down thefield, past a bouncy castle and face-painting tent towards a temporary stage onwhat was the only flat part of the field. An empty podium and microphonestood in the centre of the stage in anticipation of Sir David and LadyWindsor-Sackville. In front of the staging was a long thick red ribbontied off between two wooden stakes at either side of the stage. Mortonguessed that this was the symbolic ribbon that would be ceremonially cut inorder to declare the fete open. It seemed to him like closing the gateafter the horse had bolted, since the field was already heaving withvisitors. In just a few minutes Morton would come face to face with hisadversaries standing on that very stage. He wondered if they would knowwho he was. Probably not, the problem was much more likely being dealtwith by the lower ranks of the family and staff.
Running hiseyes over the crowds, Morton’s attention was taken by something movingstrangely in the distance. It was some kind of customised golfing buggy,speeding down the hill far too fast, scattering people left and right from itspath. Heads, too many than can have fitted comfortably inside, bobbedabout like Muppets, as the buggy jutted over ruts and fissures in the ground.
‘If only I’dbrought my speed trap radar,’ Juliette commented, her attention having beendrawn by the commotion of disgruntled families, heaving themselves out of thebuggy’s way.
It came
