The Ghost Tree by Barbara Erskine
‘And if RuthieD asks why you kept it so secret?’ Ruth whispered.
‘It’s because it’s a private interest that has no relevance to your work,’ Max answered. ‘How many people know Mary Berry is a twitcher?’
‘Is she?’ Fin looked astounded.
‘Probably not, so don’t quote me or she might sue, but you get my point. It’s not the end of the world whether she is or she isn’t, it’s irrelevant to her day job, and the only person who looks an idiot in the end is the person who first spreads the gossip. Especially,’ he added, ‘if it turns out it’s someone who might be thought of as a professional rival.’
‘Poor Hattie,’ Ruth said sadly. ‘Why would she do it?’
‘She still hates me, and she’s even more cross because she thinks I fancy you,’ Malcolm put in softly.
Ruth blushed scarlet. ‘She’s being very silly. It’s not like her at all.’
‘She’s being protective of you. She sees me as a bounder.’ Malcolm grinned broadly. He stood up. ‘Now, let’s change the subject and leave Ruth alone. Max, are you staying the night? There is a sofa bed in my study if you would like it; we’ll need your input in the morning for a council of war. Fin can have the second spare room if he can climb that high and Ruth is where Ruth is, which is as far away as possible from me to keep her safe.’
Tim was hungry. Very hungry. His twenty pounds was long gone. He was too tired and cold to think. He didn’t know what to do.
You steal food, you fool.
The voice in his head was still there, mocking, persistent. He ignored it.
What would April do? Shoplift. Sell the stuff for cash and live the life of Riley. Except there weren’t any shops here and he would probably get caught. What did the rough sleepers do? He had seen them often enough. They went through bins and they queued for handouts from the do-gooders with their woolly hats and their cheery smiles and their steaming cauldrons of soup. His mouth watered at the thought.
Sheltering from the rain under a tree, he groped in his pockets in the desperate hope that he would find enough cash for a bus. All he found were the keys. He looked at them carefully, jingling them gently in the palm of his hand. The keys to Number 26. They had to be. All he had to do was hitch a lift into the city centre.
Ruth sat on the end of her bed for a long time that night. She had pulled her jacket round her shoulders to ward off the chill of the room, staring into space. So much had happened, her thoughts were a jumble. The exorcism had been a failure as far as it went, although Mal kept reassuring her that they had made good progress, and if they hadn’t tried it they wouldn’t have gone to the Old Mill House and they wouldn’t have rescued Fin. The thought of the loathsome Timothy Bradford threatening to kill him filled her with overwhelming horror. And now Hattie had turned on her. Her thoughts went back to Malcolm. He had more or less admitted in front of them all that he liked her, but she had known that and, she had to admit, she liked him. She smiled wistfully. She wasn’t ready for this. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. It would be better if she left. Now Fin was back, they could look after each other in Cramond, or perhaps she should go back to Number 26.
The two police officers, a man and a woman, arrived just after ten the next morning. They seemed to find it amusing that they had all taken refuge in what the senior officer described as a castle. ‘Not that it isn’t sensible,’ Detective Inspector Sue Grant added hastily. ‘This man, Bradford, appears to be extremely dangerous.’ She glanced from one to the other. No one disagreed with her.
‘I think,’ Fin reminded her gently, ‘that we have been flagging this man up for weeks now as being a stalker and basically off his rocker. He has been following Ruth ever since she evicted him from her late father’s house. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. My own home, granted, but it’s Ruth he’s after. The police have not been taking this seriously.’
‘I assure you we have, Mr Macdermott,’ DI Grant bristled. ‘We have been looking for Mr Bradford and his sister for some time now. As a matter of fact we are very concerned about his sister. The house in which they have been squatting has been burned to the ground.’
The group round the table were shocked into silence. ‘He told me she was dead. He mentioned the fire,’ Fin whispered. ‘But I don’t think he killed her. He seemed angry that she had left him.’
‘We’re not assuming anything at this point,’ DI Grant said crisply. ‘There were no human remains at the scene. Does he know about this place?’
Malcolm shook his head. ‘Not as far as we know. But, as long as we keep the front door locked we’re safe in here.’
‘You should have been safe at the Old Mill House,’ she commented reproachfully, ‘but on your own admission,’ she addressed Fin, ‘you let him in, sir.’
Fin bit his lip. ‘Touché!’
‘I think my colleague was just pointing out that it would be as well to be doubly careful,’ the younger police officer, Jack Jordan, put in tactfully. ‘I’m glad to see you have dogs here.’
Pol, who had made a huge fuss of the young man, was now leaning against his legs, though both dogs had barked loudly when the police car first drew up outside.
‘There’s another matter,’ he went on, ‘which would not normally concern the police – at least not at this stage. I don’t know if you are aware, sir,’ he turned to Malcolm, ‘but you appear to be the victim of some unpleasant trolling on social media and this has only occurred within the last twenty-four hours.’
Malcolm scowled. ‘We are aware of it, yes.’
‘Is it possible it could have been initiated by Mr Bradford?’
Malcolm stared at him. ‘It never occurred to us. We assumed it was started by someone known to us who has a professional grudge against me. I don’t honestly think it’s a police matter. Anyway, I somehow doubt that Bradford has the knowledge to do something like that.’
‘Never underestimate people’s computer literacy,’ DI Grant put in. ‘A two-year-old child can do it these days.’
‘Can you think of anywhere he or his sister would hide out now their latest squat has been destroyed?’ Jack Jordan put in.
‘He is obsessed with the Old Mill House,’ Ruth broke her silence. ‘He keeps on going back and there are quite a lot of places he could hide there. Sheds and garages and undergrowth.’
‘Undergrowth!’ Fin protested faintly. ‘Carefully curated shrubs and trees, if you please!’
Finally Sue Grant smiled. ‘We are watching the Old Mill House,’ she said, ‘and we’ll keep an eye on this place too. As I said, please keep your doors locked and don’t open them without checking who it is. Now, it would help obviously if we had photos of them. I have some blurred camera footage here from your doorstep.’ She glanced at Fin and then her colleague, who produced some A4 sheets of paper. ‘I would be grateful if you could take a look and see if we have the right people.’
Jordan pushed them towards Ruth. She glanced at the top one and sat forward. ‘Yes. That’s Tim.’
‘He was also caught on someone’s CCTV near your house in Morningside.’ She looked at Ruth. ‘You didn’t think to mention that you owned a house in the city? Is it possible he might seek refuge there?’
Ruth gave a weary sigh. ‘Our problems all go back to that house. He claimed that my father left it to him, but my solicitor has proof the will was a forgery. I suppose it’s possible he would go there but I would have thought it would be the first place he would expect us to look and he knows I’ve changed the locks.’
‘Make a note, Jack,’ DI Grant turned to her colleague. ‘We should step up routine security there. And this woman in the picture with him. Is that his sister?’ She pointed to a second printout which showed two people walking side by side down a pavement towards the camera.
‘I’ve only seen her once, and I didn’t get a good look,’ Ruth said, shaking her head. ‘I wouldn’t recognise her.’
‘No matter. At least we have him.’ Sue pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘We’ve put
out his description, and we’ll add this picture. It’s not too bad. Enough to identify him. We’d better not include the woman in case she’s an innocent bystander.’ She sighed. ‘Take care now, all of you.’ For the first time she seemed to soften. ‘I very much doubt if he would use his knife, but we don’t want to take any chances.’
Thomas
As my burns began to heal, it brought back all too vividly the pain and shock of the lightning strike all those years before, on the Tartar. I had been spared almost certain death then, and I had been spared it now. Both my horse and I recovered, in his case thanks to the care and warm mashes administered by his groom, and in mine, thanks largely to the attention lavished on me by my clever eldest daughter and my darling wife, who, as soon as she was able to leave her bed, brought me our latest child, a lusty boy whom we agreed we would name Thomas after me! ‘Just in case we need a replacement,’ Fanny quipped with a wicked gleam in her eye, ‘if you continue to act like a foolish boy instead of a senior member of the administration of this country.’ As soon as possible and with her usual tact and charm, she dispensed with my doctor and replaced his care with her own loving tenderness, augmented by Abi’s herbal potions.
As soon as I was able to walk I went down to the stables to visit the horses, including the faithful Invincible and Ebony, who made it clear he did not blame me for our mishap. Indeed, he had undoubtedly saved my life. As soon as I had the strength, he and I went for gentle hacks across the heath and round the ponds. Before long, apart from the scars upon my arm and shoulder, and apart from the occasional searing headache, I was as good as new.
My recovering strength meant I could resume my duties and I was summoned to Carlton House by HRH the Prince of Wales and informed that he was going to do me the honour of making me his Attorney General. My friend Fox was there to shake my hand and after the formalities had been completed the prince called for his favourite dry champagne to toast my position.
Fanny came from Hampstead to stay at 36 Lincoln’s Inn Fields so she could accompany me to the banquet at Carlton House and she made a beautiful and gracious consort, but later she confided she did not enjoy it. ‘Please, Tom. Let me stay at home with the children.’ I tried to argue. She was a brilliant and lively companion and could hold her own with the brightest minds there, but she was adamant. In future I was to make her excuses, if necessary, on the grounds of health. As if to reinforce her argument, she informed me only a few months later that she was expecting another child. In due course our fourth son and eighth child, Esmé Stuart, was born.
It was then, in the midst of all the excitement and when I was near to overwhelmed with the work of my office, that I saw Andrew Farquhar in the street. I had taken a chair from Lincoln’s Inn to Westminster and we were making our way along the Strand when something caused me to pull back the curtain and glance out at the bustling crowds. At that same moment a figure on the pavement stopped and fixed me with a stony gaze. I saw the street empty round him, passers-by gave him a wide berth, a horse shied and another pulling a chaise near overturned it in its panic to avoid him. It seemed to me the street had grown silent, all the usual sounds of wheels and hooves and shouting dying away. I rapped the roof of the chair with my cane and the bearers came to a halt and lowered it to the ground, but I did not try to descend. I had no intention of accosting him. Then I realised the figure had gone, the noise of London slowly came back and the space where he had stood filled and swirled again with the bustle of the street. I commanded the men to carry on and sat back in my seat, the curtains once again closed. My heart was hammering in my chest and I could feel my hands sweating with fright. I did not do myself justice that day, I own. I did not tell Fanny what had happened, although, observant as usual, she asked me what was wrong. I tried to convince myself it was my imagination or a dream, but in my soul I knew it was real. The chill I had felt could not have been caused by even the worst nightmare. Andrew Farquhar still did not rest in peace. As we had feared it would, his shade was drifting unfettered through the streets of London.
63
Ruth found Malcolm in his study. ‘Fin and Max have just left.’
Max had taken Fin to stay with him in his flat in Heriot Row in Edinburgh. For the time being there was no question of him returning to Cramond.
‘If ever,’ he had said shakily after climbing into Max’s car.
‘Oh, Fin. What have I done?’ Ruth was anguished.
‘You have done nothing,’ Max said firmly. ‘And Fin will be fine once this oaf is apprehended. We will have the most wonderful party at the Old Mill House and reclaim it for the side of righteousness.’
Ruth sat down near the fire and began to scratch Cas’s ears. ‘Have you looked at the tweets this morning?’
‘Of course. I’ve decided there was no point in trying to pretend it hasn’t happened. God, it’s amazing how vile people can be, even people I thought of as friends!’
‘You mean you know some of them?’
‘Some. Not many, I’m glad to say.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Take Max’s advice and make one single dignified response.’ He was staring thoughtfully at his screen. ‘You can help me compose it.’
‘Mal, I think maybe I should leave. Go back to London.’
‘Why?’
‘I am nothing but trouble, to you and to Fin. To everyone I talk to.’
‘Ruth, I think you would find the police might be worried if you left.’
‘Surely I’d be safer down there?’ She glanced up and caught his look of disapproval.
‘No. I want you where I can keep an eye on you.’
‘I beg your pardon!’ She was genuinely indignant.
‘I mean it, Ruth. I’m not talking about Bradford. I’m talking about Farquhar. We did not dispose of him. He knows we’re interested in him and he knows your research is going to expose him, if it hasn’t already, as the low-life scum he was.’
Ruth sat back with a sigh. ‘The crux of the problem – one the police haven’t even guessed at.’
‘Though they are sniffing round my reputation as a psychic fraud.’ He didn’t sound particularly worried.
She smiled. ‘Being rational twenty-first-century people, they don’t believe in psychics.’
‘Any more than you do.’
‘Oh, I have come to believe in something,’ she said. ‘I think my rationality balance is beginning to swing the other way. If not ghosts, who are these people who keep popping into my life? I desperately want to believe in Thomas and I’ve been forced to believe in Farquhar. So, you can chalk me up as a victory.’
She looked away, suddenly embarrassed that he might misunderstand.
The silence that ensued seemed interminable.
‘OK.’ Malcolm leaned towards her. ‘Shall we address the elephant in the room? To stop all this potential for saying the wrong thing.’ He hesitated. ‘I do seem to have grown very fond of you, Ruthie, and I’m so sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. As you must have realised by now, I’m not very good at this sort of thing. I shall in future shut up and concentrate on the matter in hand, which is Farquhar. As for anything else, I shall remain on my best behaviour. The last thing I want to do is add to your worries.’
She found her mouth had gone dry.
‘And I would like you to stay here, if you want to. But the one is not predicated on the other.’
She gave a snort of laughter. ‘Predicated! Oh, Mal. You clearly never had lessons on how to sweet-talk someone!’
He gave her a quizzical smile. ‘I think by now you must have realised that I am an inarticulate academic.’
‘Rubbish. You are extremely articulate.’
‘So, have I made myself understood?’
She hesitated. ‘I think so.’
‘And to assuage your friends’ anxious enquiries, I am not married. I had a partner,’ he hesitated, ‘a much-loved partner, but she died ten years ago, and since then I have been wedded to my work. Passing girlfr
iends. Nothing serious. As to the future, I leave that up to the gods.’
She laughed again. ‘I think I’m comfortable with that idea. I would like to stay very much, thank you.’ She bit her lip. ‘And I’d like to keep my room in the top of the tower.’ She was trying to work out how to explain. ‘I was enjoying my freedom after Rick and I were divorced; I had no plans to get hooked up again at any level. And besides,’ she hesitated, ‘you and I have barely got to know each other. We might have fallen in love slowly, given the chance, but we have been thrown at each other and people around us keep suggesting things that we’re not ready to deal with. At least, I’m not. Not yet.’
‘They’re suggesting things because to them they’re obvious.’ He paused. ‘Go with your instincts, Ruthie,’ he said gently. ‘You’re analysing everything again. But at least you haven’t freaked out and run for the hills. I will respectfully stand back and wait.’
‘And say nothing about this conversation to anyone.’
He saluted with crossed fingers. ‘Scout’s honour.’
April took the bus out to Cramond the next morning. As she got off, she ran her hand self-consciously through her hair. No one would recognise her even if they knew what she looked like.
There were very few people around as she walked down the lane. At the gate to the Old Mill House she hesitated, then she walked on down the drive. She mustn’t look suspicious. If anyone asked, she was looking for Mr Macdermott.
The place looked forlorn and deserted. There was one security camera over the front door that she could see. If she gave it a wide berth she could go round the back of the house unobserved. She crept round, past the padlocked garages, moving cautiously until she could see the whole of the back lawn, then tiptoed towards the rear windows of the house, which looked as dark and blank as the ones in the front. The dining room, when she peered in, was neat and tidy and deserted. The kitchen was dark and empty. The herbs on the windowsill were drooping. No one had watered them. There was no one there.
‘It’s because it’s a private interest that has no relevance to your work,’ Max answered. ‘How many people know Mary Berry is a twitcher?’
‘Is she?’ Fin looked astounded.
‘Probably not, so don’t quote me or she might sue, but you get my point. It’s not the end of the world whether she is or she isn’t, it’s irrelevant to her day job, and the only person who looks an idiot in the end is the person who first spreads the gossip. Especially,’ he added, ‘if it turns out it’s someone who might be thought of as a professional rival.’
‘Poor Hattie,’ Ruth said sadly. ‘Why would she do it?’
‘She still hates me, and she’s even more cross because she thinks I fancy you,’ Malcolm put in softly.
Ruth blushed scarlet. ‘She’s being very silly. It’s not like her at all.’
‘She’s being protective of you. She sees me as a bounder.’ Malcolm grinned broadly. He stood up. ‘Now, let’s change the subject and leave Ruth alone. Max, are you staying the night? There is a sofa bed in my study if you would like it; we’ll need your input in the morning for a council of war. Fin can have the second spare room if he can climb that high and Ruth is where Ruth is, which is as far away as possible from me to keep her safe.’
Tim was hungry. Very hungry. His twenty pounds was long gone. He was too tired and cold to think. He didn’t know what to do.
You steal food, you fool.
The voice in his head was still there, mocking, persistent. He ignored it.
What would April do? Shoplift. Sell the stuff for cash and live the life of Riley. Except there weren’t any shops here and he would probably get caught. What did the rough sleepers do? He had seen them often enough. They went through bins and they queued for handouts from the do-gooders with their woolly hats and their cheery smiles and their steaming cauldrons of soup. His mouth watered at the thought.
Sheltering from the rain under a tree, he groped in his pockets in the desperate hope that he would find enough cash for a bus. All he found were the keys. He looked at them carefully, jingling them gently in the palm of his hand. The keys to Number 26. They had to be. All he had to do was hitch a lift into the city centre.
Ruth sat on the end of her bed for a long time that night. She had pulled her jacket round her shoulders to ward off the chill of the room, staring into space. So much had happened, her thoughts were a jumble. The exorcism had been a failure as far as it went, although Mal kept reassuring her that they had made good progress, and if they hadn’t tried it they wouldn’t have gone to the Old Mill House and they wouldn’t have rescued Fin. The thought of the loathsome Timothy Bradford threatening to kill him filled her with overwhelming horror. And now Hattie had turned on her. Her thoughts went back to Malcolm. He had more or less admitted in front of them all that he liked her, but she had known that and, she had to admit, she liked him. She smiled wistfully. She wasn’t ready for this. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. It would be better if she left. Now Fin was back, they could look after each other in Cramond, or perhaps she should go back to Number 26.
The two police officers, a man and a woman, arrived just after ten the next morning. They seemed to find it amusing that they had all taken refuge in what the senior officer described as a castle. ‘Not that it isn’t sensible,’ Detective Inspector Sue Grant added hastily. ‘This man, Bradford, appears to be extremely dangerous.’ She glanced from one to the other. No one disagreed with her.
‘I think,’ Fin reminded her gently, ‘that we have been flagging this man up for weeks now as being a stalker and basically off his rocker. He has been following Ruth ever since she evicted him from her late father’s house. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. My own home, granted, but it’s Ruth he’s after. The police have not been taking this seriously.’
‘I assure you we have, Mr Macdermott,’ DI Grant bristled. ‘We have been looking for Mr Bradford and his sister for some time now. As a matter of fact we are very concerned about his sister. The house in which they have been squatting has been burned to the ground.’
The group round the table were shocked into silence. ‘He told me she was dead. He mentioned the fire,’ Fin whispered. ‘But I don’t think he killed her. He seemed angry that she had left him.’
‘We’re not assuming anything at this point,’ DI Grant said crisply. ‘There were no human remains at the scene. Does he know about this place?’
Malcolm shook his head. ‘Not as far as we know. But, as long as we keep the front door locked we’re safe in here.’
‘You should have been safe at the Old Mill House,’ she commented reproachfully, ‘but on your own admission,’ she addressed Fin, ‘you let him in, sir.’
Fin bit his lip. ‘Touché!’
‘I think my colleague was just pointing out that it would be as well to be doubly careful,’ the younger police officer, Jack Jordan, put in tactfully. ‘I’m glad to see you have dogs here.’
Pol, who had made a huge fuss of the young man, was now leaning against his legs, though both dogs had barked loudly when the police car first drew up outside.
‘There’s another matter,’ he went on, ‘which would not normally concern the police – at least not at this stage. I don’t know if you are aware, sir,’ he turned to Malcolm, ‘but you appear to be the victim of some unpleasant trolling on social media and this has only occurred within the last twenty-four hours.’
Malcolm scowled. ‘We are aware of it, yes.’
‘Is it possible it could have been initiated by Mr Bradford?’
Malcolm stared at him. ‘It never occurred to us. We assumed it was started by someone known to us who has a professional grudge against me. I don’t honestly think it’s a police matter. Anyway, I somehow doubt that Bradford has the knowledge to do something like that.’
‘Never underestimate people’s computer literacy,’ DI Grant put in. ‘A two-year-old child can do it these days.’
‘Can you think of anywhere he or his sister would hide out now their latest squat has been destroyed?’ Jack Jordan put in.
‘He is obsessed with the Old Mill House,’ Ruth broke her silence. ‘He keeps on going back and there are quite a lot of places he could hide there. Sheds and garages and undergrowth.’
‘Undergrowth!’ Fin protested faintly. ‘Carefully curated shrubs and trees, if you please!’
Finally Sue Grant smiled. ‘We are watching the Old Mill House,’ she said, ‘and we’ll keep an eye on this place too. As I said, please keep your doors locked and don’t open them without checking who it is. Now, it would help obviously if we had photos of them. I have some blurred camera footage here from your doorstep.’ She glanced at Fin and then her colleague, who produced some A4 sheets of paper. ‘I would be grateful if you could take a look and see if we have the right people.’
Jordan pushed them towards Ruth. She glanced at the top one and sat forward. ‘Yes. That’s Tim.’
‘He was also caught on someone’s CCTV near your house in Morningside.’ She looked at Ruth. ‘You didn’t think to mention that you owned a house in the city? Is it possible he might seek refuge there?’
Ruth gave a weary sigh. ‘Our problems all go back to that house. He claimed that my father left it to him, but my solicitor has proof the will was a forgery. I suppose it’s possible he would go there but I would have thought it would be the first place he would expect us to look and he knows I’ve changed the locks.’
‘Make a note, Jack,’ DI Grant turned to her colleague. ‘We should step up routine security there. And this woman in the picture with him. Is that his sister?’ She pointed to a second printout which showed two people walking side by side down a pavement towards the camera.
‘I’ve only seen her once, and I didn’t get a good look,’ Ruth said, shaking her head. ‘I wouldn’t recognise her.’
‘No matter. At least we have him.’ Sue pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘We’ve put
Thomas
As my burns began to heal, it brought back all too vividly the pain and shock of the lightning strike all those years before, on the Tartar. I had been spared almost certain death then, and I had been spared it now. Both my horse and I recovered, in his case thanks to the care and warm mashes administered by his groom, and in mine, thanks largely to the attention lavished on me by my clever eldest daughter and my darling wife, who, as soon as she was able to leave her bed, brought me our latest child, a lusty boy whom we agreed we would name Thomas after me! ‘Just in case we need a replacement,’ Fanny quipped with a wicked gleam in her eye, ‘if you continue to act like a foolish boy instead of a senior member of the administration of this country.’ As soon as possible and with her usual tact and charm, she dispensed with my doctor and replaced his care with her own loving tenderness, augmented by Abi’s herbal potions.
As soon as I was able to walk I went down to the stables to visit the horses, including the faithful Invincible and Ebony, who made it clear he did not blame me for our mishap. Indeed, he had undoubtedly saved my life. As soon as I had the strength, he and I went for gentle hacks across the heath and round the ponds. Before long, apart from the scars upon my arm and shoulder, and apart from the occasional searing headache, I was as good as new.
My recovering strength meant I could resume my duties and I was summoned to Carlton House by HRH the Prince of Wales and informed that he was going to do me the honour of making me his Attorney General. My friend Fox was there to shake my hand and after the formalities had been completed the prince called for his favourite dry champagne to toast my position.
Fanny came from Hampstead to stay at 36 Lincoln’s Inn Fields so she could accompany me to the banquet at Carlton House and she made a beautiful and gracious consort, but later she confided she did not enjoy it. ‘Please, Tom. Let me stay at home with the children.’ I tried to argue. She was a brilliant and lively companion and could hold her own with the brightest minds there, but she was adamant. In future I was to make her excuses, if necessary, on the grounds of health. As if to reinforce her argument, she informed me only a few months later that she was expecting another child. In due course our fourth son and eighth child, Esmé Stuart, was born.
It was then, in the midst of all the excitement and when I was near to overwhelmed with the work of my office, that I saw Andrew Farquhar in the street. I had taken a chair from Lincoln’s Inn to Westminster and we were making our way along the Strand when something caused me to pull back the curtain and glance out at the bustling crowds. At that same moment a figure on the pavement stopped and fixed me with a stony gaze. I saw the street empty round him, passers-by gave him a wide berth, a horse shied and another pulling a chaise near overturned it in its panic to avoid him. It seemed to me the street had grown silent, all the usual sounds of wheels and hooves and shouting dying away. I rapped the roof of the chair with my cane and the bearers came to a halt and lowered it to the ground, but I did not try to descend. I had no intention of accosting him. Then I realised the figure had gone, the noise of London slowly came back and the space where he had stood filled and swirled again with the bustle of the street. I commanded the men to carry on and sat back in my seat, the curtains once again closed. My heart was hammering in my chest and I could feel my hands sweating with fright. I did not do myself justice that day, I own. I did not tell Fanny what had happened, although, observant as usual, she asked me what was wrong. I tried to convince myself it was my imagination or a dream, but in my soul I knew it was real. The chill I had felt could not have been caused by even the worst nightmare. Andrew Farquhar still did not rest in peace. As we had feared it would, his shade was drifting unfettered through the streets of London.
63
Ruth found Malcolm in his study. ‘Fin and Max have just left.’
Max had taken Fin to stay with him in his flat in Heriot Row in Edinburgh. For the time being there was no question of him returning to Cramond.
‘If ever,’ he had said shakily after climbing into Max’s car.
‘Oh, Fin. What have I done?’ Ruth was anguished.
‘You have done nothing,’ Max said firmly. ‘And Fin will be fine once this oaf is apprehended. We will have the most wonderful party at the Old Mill House and reclaim it for the side of righteousness.’
Ruth sat down near the fire and began to scratch Cas’s ears. ‘Have you looked at the tweets this morning?’
‘Of course. I’ve decided there was no point in trying to pretend it hasn’t happened. God, it’s amazing how vile people can be, even people I thought of as friends!’
‘You mean you know some of them?’
‘Some. Not many, I’m glad to say.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Take Max’s advice and make one single dignified response.’ He was staring thoughtfully at his screen. ‘You can help me compose it.’
‘Mal, I think maybe I should leave. Go back to London.’
‘Why?’
‘I am nothing but trouble, to you and to Fin. To everyone I talk to.’
‘Ruth, I think you would find the police might be worried if you left.’
‘Surely I’d be safer down there?’ She glanced up and caught his look of disapproval.
‘No. I want you where I can keep an eye on you.’
‘I beg your pardon!’ She was genuinely indignant.
‘I mean it, Ruth. I’m not talking about Bradford. I’m talking about Farquhar. We did not dispose of him. He knows we’re interested in him and he knows your research is going to expose him, if it hasn’t already, as the low-life scum he was.’
Ruth sat back with a sigh. ‘The crux of the problem – one the police haven’t even guessed at.’
‘Though they are sniffing round my reputation as a psychic fraud.’ He didn’t sound particularly worried.
She smiled. ‘Being rational twenty-first-century people, they don’t believe in psychics.’
‘Any more than you do.’
‘Oh, I have come to believe in something,’ she said. ‘I think my rationality balance is beginning to swing the other way. If not ghosts, who are these people who keep popping into my life? I desperately want to believe in Thomas and I’ve been forced to believe in Farquhar. So, you can chalk me up as a victory.’
She looked away, suddenly embarrassed that he might misunderstand.
The silence that ensued seemed interminable.
‘OK.’ Malcolm leaned towards her. ‘Shall we address the elephant in the room? To stop all this potential for saying the wrong thing.’ He hesitated. ‘I do seem to have grown very fond of you, Ruthie, and I’m so sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. As you must have realised by now, I’m not very good at this sort of thing. I shall in future shut up and concentrate on the matter in hand, which is Farquhar. As for anything else, I shall remain on my best behaviour. The last thing I want to do is add to your worries.’
She found her mouth had gone dry.
‘And I would like you to stay here, if you want to. But the one is not predicated on the other.’
She gave a snort of laughter. ‘Predicated! Oh, Mal. You clearly never had lessons on how to sweet-talk someone!’
He gave her a quizzical smile. ‘I think by now you must have realised that I am an inarticulate academic.’
‘Rubbish. You are extremely articulate.’
‘So, have I made myself understood?’
She hesitated. ‘I think so.’
‘And to assuage your friends’ anxious enquiries, I am not married. I had a partner,’ he hesitated, ‘a much-loved partner, but she died ten years ago, and since then I have been wedded to my work. Passing girlfr
She laughed again. ‘I think I’m comfortable with that idea. I would like to stay very much, thank you.’ She bit her lip. ‘And I’d like to keep my room in the top of the tower.’ She was trying to work out how to explain. ‘I was enjoying my freedom after Rick and I were divorced; I had no plans to get hooked up again at any level. And besides,’ she hesitated, ‘you and I have barely got to know each other. We might have fallen in love slowly, given the chance, but we have been thrown at each other and people around us keep suggesting things that we’re not ready to deal with. At least, I’m not. Not yet.’
‘They’re suggesting things because to them they’re obvious.’ He paused. ‘Go with your instincts, Ruthie,’ he said gently. ‘You’re analysing everything again. But at least you haven’t freaked out and run for the hills. I will respectfully stand back and wait.’
‘And say nothing about this conversation to anyone.’
He saluted with crossed fingers. ‘Scout’s honour.’
April took the bus out to Cramond the next morning. As she got off, she ran her hand self-consciously through her hair. No one would recognise her even if they knew what she looked like.
There were very few people around as she walked down the lane. At the gate to the Old Mill House she hesitated, then she walked on down the drive. She mustn’t look suspicious. If anyone asked, she was looking for Mr Macdermott.
The place looked forlorn and deserted. There was one security camera over the front door that she could see. If she gave it a wide berth she could go round the back of the house unobserved. She crept round, past the padlocked garages, moving cautiously until she could see the whole of the back lawn, then tiptoed towards the rear windows of the house, which looked as dark and blank as the ones in the front. The dining room, when she peered in, was neat and tidy and deserted. The kitchen was dark and empty. The herbs on the windowsill were drooping. No one had watered them. There was no one there.