“I thought of another thing to add to my growing list,” said Gus. “It’s time to upgrade our television. I might not have much chance to take advantage of any added benefits in the short term, but it could come in handy for you next year.”
“If you think I’ll have time to sit watching TV, you’ve got plenty to learn,” scoffed Suzie. “What do you want me to do to help?”
“I can harvest many of my vegetables in August,” said Gus. “I’ve got my carrots in that box by the shed. If you check through my runner beans, beetroots, and courgettes to see what’s ready to pick, then I’ll tackle my second early potatoes before sorting out my onions.”
“What about the other rows of potatoes next door?” asked Suzie.
“That’s my main crop. I’ll take a look at what’s underneath the foliage in the first week in September.”
“How do you know when to do everything?” asked Suzie.
“I thought you’d know, being a farmer’s daughter,” said Gus. “I didn’t have a clue when I came to Urchfont with Tess. Bert Penman dispensed his wisdom, and I scribbled it in an unused police notebook I had at home. If I lost that book, I’d be in trouble. It’s in a safe place in the shed.”
“My older brothers were the ones who learned the basics of animal husbandry and the like at their father’s knee,” said Suzie. “Dad always wanted me to stick with the Pony Club and perhaps ride point-to-point the same as he and Mum did when I grew older. He didn’t want me driving tractors and combine harvesters. He was happiest when we could ride out together, even if it were just to exercise the horses in my teens and early twenties.”
“You weren’t into the competitive side of things like John and Jackie, then?”
“I had a crack at it for a few years, but once I joined the police, I didn’t have the time. I’ve kept up my weekly hack around the countryside in all winds and weathers. I’ll be back in the saddle as soon as possible after next February. That’s what’s important to me, not trophies and rosettes.”
The conversation and gardening continued throughout the afternoon. Time flies when you’re having fun; or when you’re working alongside someone you love. It came as a surprise to both of them when the church clock struck six o’clock.
“Right,” said Gus. “Straight home. Take a shower and ease those aching joints. A change of clothes and we can be back in the Lamb before the church clock has chimed the half-hour.”
“You get no argument from me,” said Suzie.
While she popped into the pub to book a table, Gus collected the tools and returned them to the shed. He took a long appreciative look at the improvements they’d made and the wooden box full of produce he had to carry back to the bungalow.
“Divya says she’ll meet you in the foyer of the main building, guv.”
Gus returned to the here and now at the sound of Blessing Umeh’s voice.
“Thanks, Blessing,” he said. The clock on the wall opposite read eleven twenty-two—time to go.
“Do we have everything ready for the Chief Constable?” Gus asked.
The chorus of voices suggested they had been waiting for him to stop daydreaming for a while.
Gus collected their files together and headed for the lift.
What delights lay in store for him at London Road, he wondered.
CHAPTER 2
Gus eased the Focus into the late-morning traffic on the High Street and trundled out of town. As long as there wasn’t a glut of farm vehicles between here and Caen Hill, he should make London Road with a few minutes to spare. That gave him long enough to grab the metadata on those photos from Divya and slip it into his folder.
While Gus was en route to London Road, the rest of the team was either clearing the decks in anticipation of their next cold case or catching up on the weekend’s gossip.
“Come on, Blessing,” urged Lydia. “I can tell something happened that’s concerning you. What’s the matter?”
“My mother reminded me on Wednesday evening that my father was keen for me to get to Englishcombe in the morning. He wanted me to go with them to church. I persuaded her that Mrs Ferris needed my help first thing and my washing and ironing needed doing. I couldn’t leave the farm until one o’clock at the earliest.”
“Did you get lost?” asked Lydia.
“No, Dave Smith’s directions were perfect. He sent me on less busy roads. I went through places with charming names, such as Farleigh Hungerford and Hinton Charterhouse.”
“They sound like 1930s matinee idols,” said Lydia. “Is Englishcombe as pretty a village as the name suggests?”
“If you can imagine a village at the end of a narrow, winding lane, hidden in the fold of the hills,” said Blessing. “It’s pretty, of that there is no doubt, but they don’t have a shop, a school, or a pub. They’re all long gone. It’s easy to imagine nothing has ever happened there throughout its history. Yet, Mrs Ferris told me to check out the ruins. A Norman castle got demolished after the authorities implicated its owner in the murder of Edward the Second.”
“It hasn’t always been the quiet, idyllic group of houses where your parents live today then,” said Lydia. “How long did it take you to drive there?”
“Fifty minutes,” said Blessing. “I arrived at a few minutes to two, just in time for Sunday dinner. My father came out of the house as soon as I parked the car. He asked if I had a pleasant journey. I told him that since my car had returned from the garage, I hadn’t had one bit of trouble. My father said he was glad I arrived safely. He hoped I
