Edward stepped out of the sunlight andcrouched down beside her, placing his hand on her wild red hair. ‘Whydidn’t you go home? It’s your afternoon off.’
The softness of his touch and thesentiment in his voice sent a fresh torrent of emotion flooding out. Shefell, like a weak child, into his arms.
Edward carefully placed his hands underher elbows and pulled her towards him.
Mary allowed Edward’s gentle hands toguide her up. As she stood, any pretences of grandeur fell away and shereturned to being Mary Mercer, a bashful seventeen-year-old girl. Shelooked into Edward’s dark eyes and saw a fragment of what she knew he could seeemanating from hers. She stood, frozen to the spot by a burgeoningfeeling inside which set her heart beating faster, his eyes exerting totalcontrol over her.
Edward leant in and kissed Mary lightly onthe lips. The spell was broken.
‘Don’t,’ Mary said, taking a stepbackwards. ‘We can’t.’
Edward’s brow furrowed and his grip on herarms tightened. ‘What’s the matter?’
Mary turned, freeing herself from hishold. ‘It’s Edie.’
‘What about Edie?’ A few seconds ofsilence passed between them before Edward repositioned himself in front ofher. ‘What about Edie?’ he repeated.
Mary’s eyes returned to his. ‘Shelikes you and she thinks you like her back.’
‘What? Where has that come from?’
Mary shrugged.
‘Well, I don’t like her like that,’he said. ‘But you…’ His voice trailed off into the quiet of the ruins,then he leant in and kissed her again.
Mary allowed his warm lips to rest onhers. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved.
Edward gently lay her down in the grass,his lips moving from her mouth to her neck, his hands exploring increasinglyintimate areas of her body.
Mary exhaled, closed her eyes and gaveherself to him, as reveries of Cecil and realities of Edward collided in hermind.
Chapter Six
Ittook Morton less than thirty seconds to close his front door and arrive at the MermaidInn, almost dead opposite his house. Without a shadow of a doubt, itwas the shortest distance that he had ever had to travel to work on acase. In ten minutes’ time he was due to meet with Douglas Catt, son ofVictor Reginald, grandson of Caroline, great-nephew of the illusive Mary Mercer. Morton and Douglas had exchanged a small flurry of emails which had resulted inDouglas and his wife, Susan’s impromptu visit to Rye for a short break. Morton bounced up the brick steps past a sign which announced ‘The Mermaid,rebuilt 1420’ and entered the Virginia-creeper-smothered building. It wasanother big draw for the tourists, coming as it did with the medieval exposedblack beams and white wattle and daub walls, crooked floors and a plethora ofghost and smuggler stories. Inside, Morton headed to the lounge bar andtook a cursory glance around. The occupants—two men, whose outfitssuggested that they were builders, and a young couple with a baby—did not fitthe bill for Douglas and Susan. He headed to the bar and received awelcoming smile from a petite brunette with excessive eye make-up. Shelooked like she should either be on stage or on the streets.
‘Hi,’ Morton said. ‘I’m due to meetDouglas and Susan Catt; they’re guests here. Is it okay if I wait forthem to arrive?’
‘By all means, please take a seat,’ shesaid.
Morton thanked her, chose a seat by thewindow and produced his notepad and pen. While he waited, he reviewed thenotes that he had made on the case so far. Starting at the beginning ofthe pad at his meeting with Ray Mercer and working his way forward, Mortonfamiliarised himself with each step of the Mercer case. It was theprinted equivalent of an animated flipbook: each page adding or changing thestory slightly. He reached the last page with writing on it, where he hadscribbled the response from the National Archives that he had received thismorning, concerning a legal name-change: rather predictably, Mary Mercer had notlegally changed her name. It still didn’t rule out an unofficial namechange, however. Morton had also noted the bones of a phone conversationwith the Blackfriars archivist, Sidney Mersham, who had called yesterday todiscuss Morton’s interest. He had sounded affable enough and agreed toallow Morton access to the archives this afternoon.
Behind him, Morton heard themutterings of a conversation between a woman and a man. He turned to seea middle-aged couple tentatively looking his way. They fitted the profilefor the Catts. Morton stood. ‘Hi. Douglas and Susan, by anychance?’ he ventured with a polite smile.
Douglas marched over and thrust his handinto Morton’s. He was of average build but with a rather large pot bellywhich pushed and stretched the front of his navy-blue t-shirt. His hairwas dyed a peculiar shade of brown, swept dramatically over in aside-parting. He was definitely a golf-playing, football-watching man’sman. ‘Guilty as charged! This is my better half, Susan.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Susan said, placingher hand delicately into Morton’s, as though it were made of fine porcelain. The hands of a fine artist or a pianist, Morton thought. She was athin, fragile creature who looked to Morton like she needed a good meal insideher.
‘Lovely to meet you,’ Morton agreed.
‘Right, drinks. Is it too early fora Scotch, dear?’ Douglas asked with a grin, which revealed gleaming white,cosmetically enhanced, perfect teeth.
‘Doug!’ Susan said in a quiet voice. ‘It’s barely mid-morning—coffee time. Honestly. Sorry, Morton.’
Douglas pulled a mock-incredulous face atMorton, then smiled at Susan. ‘Yes, dear. Whatever you say,dear. What about you, Morton?’
‘Just a coffee will be fine. Latte,if they have it.’
‘Right-o.’
Douglas turned to the brunette barmaid andordered the drinks.
‘Take a seat,’ Morton said to Susan. ‘How’s the hotel?’
‘Oh, it’s just beautiful. Ourbedroom is magnificent. Four-poster bed, beautifully carvedfurniture. Amazing,’ Susan said. ‘I suppose, since you live nearby,you’ve never had the need to stay?’
‘No, maybe one day we’ll take a holidayover here,’ Morton said with a grin. ‘It would certainly keep the travelcosts down.’
‘It really would,’ Susan agreed.
Douglas arrived back at thetable. ‘Three lattes coming right up! Maybe if the good lady wifepermits it, we can follow it with a Scotch or two later,’ he said, playfullynudging his elbow at Morton.
‘Bit too early for me, I’m afraid.’ Morton smiled and reached down for his notepad and pen. Pleasantriesover, it was time to
