The Secrets Of Ghosts
Sarah Painter
Step back into the magical world of Pendleford with Sarah Painter’s new book The Secrets of Ghosts. Don’t miss the magical, heart-warming story from the bestselling author of The Language of Spells!On her twenty-first birthday Katie Harper has only one wish: to become a real Harper woman. Mystical powers are passed down her family generation after generation – some even call them witches – yet every spell Katie attempts goes disastrously wrong.When her magic does appear, it’s in a form nobody expected and suddenly Katie is thrown into a dangerous new world with shadowy consequences. For the realm of the deceased is not as peaceful as she once thought. The dead are buried with their secrets and only Katie can help the ghosts of the past finally find peace.If that is what they are looking for…Praise for Sarah Painter'The magic, the romance, the right amount of humour and drama, made this a perfectly well-rounded novel. I greatly look forward to Sarah’s next novel.' - Laura's Little Book Blog'I would recommend this book as it is a real mix: it’s a love story and a thriller with a dash of magic thrown in for good measure.' - Laura's Book Review'I really loved this book – and it is not often I say this, really. An amazing début, I was sucked in so much I could hardly put it down and finished it in about a day I think. I also couldn’t stop talking about it! That is it’s charm and the skill of the writer, you can’t quite put your finger on what it is… I hope to read more in the future by this author.' - Beloved Eleanorutterly enchanting’ - The Madwoman in the Attic'an enjoyable, escapist read, light hearted romance and a bit of paranormal who dunnit.' - Jeannie Zelos'I thoroughly enjoyed The Secret of Ghosts. It was just as magical and just as enjoyable as The Language of Spells and I am soooooo glad Sarah Painter decided to go back to Pendleford. … I really do love magical fiction and I think SarahPainter is one of the best at giving you a realistic look at magic and all that comes with it.' - Chick Lit Reviews
Step back into the magical world of Pendleford with Sarah Painter’s new book The Secrets of Ghosts. Don’t miss the magical, heart-warming story from the bestselling author of The Language of Spells!
On her twenty-first birthday Katie Harper has only one wish: to become a real Harper woman. Mystical powers are passed down her family generation after generation — some even call them witches — yet every spell Katie attempts goes disastrously wrong.
When her magic does appear, it’s in a form nobody expected and suddenly Katie is thrown into a dangerous new world with shadowy consequences. For the realm of the deceased is not as peaceful as she once thought. The dead are buried with their secrets and only Katie can help the ghosts of the past finally find peace.
If that is what they are looking for…
The Secrets of Ghosts
Sarah Painter
Copyright (#ulink_b4daebbf-e5ef-5b8c-b6cd-2e7a287d1418)
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2014
Copyright © Sarah Painter 2014
Sarah Painter asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © February 2014 ISBN: 9781472054807
Version date: 2018-10-30
Sarah Painter has worked as a freelance journalist, editor and blogger for the last thirteen years, while juggling amateur child-wrangling (aka motherhood) with her demanding Internet-appreciation schedule (aka procrastination).
Born in Wales to a Scot and an Englishman (very nearly a ‘three men walked into a bar’ joke), she now lives in Scotland with her husband, two children and two cats. She loves the work of Joss Whedon, reading in bed, salt and vinegar crisps, and is the proud owner of a writing shed.
Sarah gives writing advice at www.novelicious.com (http://www.novelicious.com) and writes about craft, books and writing at www.sarah-painter.com (http://www.sarah-painter.com)
Acknowledgements (#ulink_fffad62d-c84f-54ee-bc39-5fd8793a75b1)
This book put up a bit of a fight and it truly wouldn’t exist without the encouragement and editorial support of Sally and Victoria at HQ Digital.
Thank you, also, to my wonderful agent, Sallyanne Sweeney, for her continuing enthusiasm and guidance.
I’m so grateful to all my friends and family for their understanding while I wrestled with this book, and to Holly and James for putting up with ‘Deadline Mum’ with love and good grace.
Finally, thank you to my brother, Matthew, for the pep talks and delicious beer.
For Dave, with love.
Contents
Cover (#u05b53ada-5e26-527c-bd21-599300ea2de6)
Blurb (#u7a25a6d7-fe12-5bdd-9d8c-5f9eba7fb930)
Title Page (#u258f805f-9f70-5e53-a9d9-142eeb317852)
Copyright (#u44d35332-79ef-5719-929c-5319b4dae47d)
Author Bio (#u706c2be8-cabe-5d59-bb85-efff84f4c03a)
Acknowledgements (#ulink_6a0ec3e9-be0e-5307-a5af-556f21d51a72)
Dedication (#uf81740ca-be5f-5479-9755-fe236c82159e)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_d82f4aff-0d18-51f0-a920-8e3874c4761d)
Chapter 2 (#ulink_310a5954-5de1-5801-a93f-995d1c59e6bf)
Chapter 3 (#ulink_cf22441c-0fbf-57ea-aa42-db84313dcd5e)
Chapter 4 (#ulink_3bbae6e9-593e-52c6-b49c-78722642ef37)
Chapter 5 (#ulink_97e2eb4d-2a41-5519-86b1-58aa2e9740ec)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_72d3874c-3d4b-59cf-b077-67158f3e7130)
Katie Harper closed her eyes as the last lines of ‘happy birthday’ finished and blew out the candles on her cake. She concentrated with every ounce of her being, and wished more fervently than she’d ever wished before. More fervently than when she’d been in the middle of her horse phase and been hoping for a pony. More strongly, even, than when she’d thought she’d been in love with Luke Taylor and had tried her first real spell. She squeezed her nails into her palms and bit the inside of her cheek to provide a spark of necessary pain, biting hard enough to draw blood. Wishes could come true. There was magic in thought and intention. Katie knew this and when she opened her eyes, she expected the world to have changed.
It hadn’t.
The disappointment thumped through her. She saw a flicker of concern on her aunt Gwen’s face and hastily slapped a smile in place.
She kept the smile while the cake was cut, while her uncle Cam gave her a hug and a cheque, and while she thanked everyone in the little group for coming.
Her face was beginning to ache by the time her mum and dad were saying goodbye. Her mum kissed her on both cheeks and apologised for the millionth time for rushing away. ‘It’s an early start tomorrow,’ she said. ‘And you know I get travel sick.’
‘I know, it’s fine.’ Ruby and David were going on a cruise, their third in two years. They were taking their duties as empty nesters seriously and, honestly, Katie couldn’t blame them. She hadn’t been the easiest teenager to live with. She hugged them both, inhaling the scent of Ruby’s perfume and moisturiser. ‘I’m not staying late, either. I’m working tomorrow.’
‘If you’re sure,’ Ruby said, but she was already halfway out of the door.
‘Positive.’ Katie was picking up every extra shift going at The Grange and, truthfully, didn’t really feel like celebrating her twenty-first at all. Coming into her power. Now, that would be a day worth shouting about.
Katie followed her parents to the door, waving as they walked down the garden path and got into their silver Audi. Gwen had lined the path with candles in jam jars and strung tiny lights through the trees and hedges in the garden.
‘You’re working too hard. I don’t like it,’ Gwen said, coming up behind Katie and handing her a plate.
Gwen’s tradition when it came to birthday cakes was to produce different flavour combinations and you had to guess what they were. Katie had caught a whiff of lime when she blew out the candles and she was expecting something sweet to counteract the acidity so the honey wasn’t a surprise. There was something spicy in there, too, but she wasn’t sure what. She took another bite and let it dissolve in her mouth.
Gwen was looking at her expectantly.
‘Cardamon?’ Katie said.
‘Close.’ Gwen shook her head. ‘Cumin.’
Katie struggled to keep her face neutral. She was rubbish at the herbal stuff. What kind of witch was rubbish with herbs? A crap one, that was what.
Gwen was still talking about her birthday plans. ‘You only turn twenty-one once. At least tell me you’re going out for a wild night with your friends later. Clubbing or something.’
‘It’s almost ten already,’ Katie said, then felt embarrassed. Lots of people went clubbing at ten o’clock at night. Maybe not in Pendleford, but still.
Later, picking her way through the candle-strewn path, she tried to rationalise. Her birthday was an arbitrary deadline, a day like any other. There was no real reason to expect her powers to come in on her twenty-first, any more than there had been on her sixteenth or eighteenth, either. She’d held real hope for her nineteenth — her final teenage year — but, truly, there was no reason to believe that it wouldn’t happen tomorrow or next month or on a random rainy Thursday in October. She sat on the wooden bench at the bottom of Gwen’s garden. There was no need to panic.
‘What are you doing?’ Anna had snuck up behind Katie. She was carrying a glass of sparkling wine and a concerned expression.
‘Panicking,’ Katie said. What if she didn’t take after Gwen after all? What if she was actually just like her mother, Ruby? While her grandmother could read fortunes and Gwen could find lost things, Ruby was about as magical as a bowl of cereal.
‘I’m having a mid-life crisis,’ Katie said, shifting over to make room for Anna.
‘You’re too young for that.’ Anna sat down. ‘Quarter-life, maybe. Although, personally, I’m planning to live to one hundred and fifty.’
Katie forced a smile. It was nice of Anna to try and cheer her up. ‘Have you tried the cake, yet?’
‘Twice. I still have no idea. So, what’s the crisis about?’ Anna said. ‘You don’t want to work at The Grange for the rest of your natural born life?’
‘God, no.’
Anna laughed. ‘Me, neither. I’m going to open my own place. One day.’
‘Are you?’ Katie was surprised. Anna was a brilliant waitress: competent and quick and always smiling. She never seemed dissatisfied but then, Katie knew, she didn’t know her all that well. And, of course, you never knew what was really going on inside people.
‘What?’ Anna looked at her sideways. ‘You think I can’t do it?’
‘You’d be brilliant. You’re so organised.’ Katie nudged her. ‘Unlike say, for instance, me.’
‘That’s true. I might not even hire you as a server. You’re a bit rubbish.’
‘Charming,’ Katie said, mock offended. ‘And on my birthday, too.’
Cam had followed Gwen into the garden and Katie watched as he put his arms around her. Gwen leaned back against him, twisting her neck so that they could kiss.
‘Your aunt and uncle are really loved up, aren’t they?’ Anna said, noticing the floor show.
‘Sorry,’ Katie said, although she didn’t know why she was apologising.
‘At least someone is getting some,’ Anna said. ‘I’m in my prime, here. It’s a crime not to be using this.’ She indicated her body.
‘I think women hit their prime really late. Like in their thirties or something.’
‘I’m not waiting that long to have sex.’
Katie laughed. Katie had been really touched when Anna had asked to come to her party. They worked together at The Grange, and had only known each other for a few months. Most of Katie’s friends had dispersed. They’d gone to university or London or on year-long round-the-world trips. A couple might still have been in Bath, but Katie had moved to Pendleford and, truthfully, not made all that much effort to keep up with anyone from school. As a result, Anna was probably her closest friend, but Katie assumed Anna had a battalion of other mates who, rightfully, came above Katie in ranking for time and energy.
Gwen said she had trust issues, but, as Katie liked to reply, she’d earned them.
She watched her party. Figures moved in the shadows at the edges of the garden, away from the lights. Gorillaz came on and Shari began dancing on her own in the middle of the lawn. She was the kind of person who could get away with things like that. The kind of person who got called a ‘free spirit’ and who always knew where the parties were happening and had exotic boyfriends who made films.
‘Is that your flatmate?’ Anna said, gesturing to Shari.
‘Ex-flatmate,’ Katie said. Shari was nice, but Katie had discovered that ‘free spirit’ translated to ‘no boundaries’ and she’d been relieved when Shari had decided to go and live with her latest boyfriend, Liam.
‘Oh, sorry,’ Anna said.
‘Don’t be,’ Katie said, deadpan. ‘If she hadn’t moved out, I might’ve killed her.’
Anna frowned and Katie wondered if her tone hadn’t been jokey enough. She opened her mouth to explain, but Anna had already moved on.
‘This place is amazing,’ Anna said. She gestured to Gwen’s enormous vegetable patch, which spanned the side of the house. ‘Have you seen what your aunt is growing? Aubergines, peppers, chillies. How does she—?’
‘It’s been really hot this year,’ Katie said. She believed in honesty and never tried to hide her family’s peculiarities, but, equally, sometimes it was nice not to endure a double take, a disbelieving look. She usually went with saying as little as possible. As long as it wasn’t an outright lie, she wasn’t breaking her vow of honesty.
‘Another of her special abilities?’ Anna said. ‘That is so cool.’
Of course, this was Pendleford. It was common knowledge that the Harper family had certain abilities. If you needed to find something that couldn’t be found, if you needed good advice, or a herbal remedy that would work when nothing from the GP had helped, you went to see Gwen. Katie wanted to follow in Gwen’s footsteps; she just needed to find her own power, her raison d’être. She put down the empty cake plate and tried to look happy for the party guests, for Anna, for Gwen. It wasn’t their fault she was a massive failure.
*
The next day, Katie still felt out of sorts and the flat was cold and empty. She almost wished Shari were still there, walking around in her underwear while talking full volume into her mobile. Or, maybe not. What the place really needed was a cat, but the lease didn’t allow pets. Not even when Katie had explained that it was vital for her work. Every witch needed a familiar.
She lay on the sofa and tried to relax, but she couldn’t stop thinking about her last failed spell and the way she couldn’t even identify cumin in her birthday cake. She was supposedly in training with Gwen, but she seemed to be getting worse, not better. And the harder she tried, the worse she seemed to get. This was supposed to be her purpose in life. Her role. She hadn’t gone to university or backpacking with her friends; she’d committed to training with Gwen. Gwen had run away, spent thirteen years denying her gifts and Katie wasn’t going to make the same mistake. So why did it feel as if she’d taken a wrong turning?
Katie heaved herself from the sofa, mustering just enough energy to get the biscuit tin from the kitchen and shove a DVD into the player. Back on the sofa she prepared to comfort watch His Girl Friday for the thousandth time and eat chocolate digestives.
The phone rang just as Rosalind Russell was kicking Cary Grant under the table. It was Anna, complaining about how Horrible Frank had been made Head Waiter. ‘It’s a travesty of justice,’ she said, ‘and he’s messed up the staff rota for the week. I need you to save me. Come in early?’
Katie stared at the paused image on the television screen while she deliberated. What would Hildy do? Hildy had a proper career, the answer came back. But she’d work. ‘Okay,’ she said into the phone. ‘Tell Frank that I’m keeping my tips this time.’
‘You make many of those?’ Anna said.
‘I’m an excellent waitress,’ Katie said, ignoring the pinch on her left ear that meant she was lying and that she knew it.
Anna laughed and hung up.
‘Rude,’ Katie said out loud and went to get ready.
She tied her hair into a high ponytail, smoothing back a stubborn wing of fringe. It fell into her face again, so she twisted it and used nail scissors to snip an inch away at an angle. When she let go the wing looked more asymmetrical and was now poking her in the eye. Fabulous. She put on her waitress uniform: — fitted black shirt, short black skirt, opaque black tights, and platform shoes — and tucked her revolver necklace inside the neck so that it was hidden. She was going to roast in tights, it was a warm day, but she knew from experience that a skirt meant better tips than trousers. It was icky, but true and, as Gwen would say; there was no such thing as a free lunch.
At The Grange Katie checked the staff rota and walked through the kitchen. ‘Here comes trouble,’ Jo said over her shoulder. She was frying what looked like ten different things at once, so Katie didn’t pause to chat. Jo was tiny, four foot something, and the head chef. She also had the loudest shouting voice Katie had ever heard, as if to compensate for her stature. She’d terrified Katie when she’d first started at the hotel, but now she knew that Jo played that role. As long as you weren’t completely inept. Katie cringed as she walked past a new kitchen assistant who appeared to be ladling coulis around an individual cheesecake with all the finesse of a Labrador. Sure enough, she heard Jo yelling before the door had swung shut.
Katie picked up a spare apron and tied it around her waist, slipped a pen and pad into the front pocket and headed into the restaurant. ‘What are you doing here?’ Frank, puffed up with his new position as Head Waiter, greeted her with his customary lack of charm. Katie was not in the mood so she just raised an eyebrow and said nothing.
‘You’re supposed to be in the function room. Wedding. Go. Go.’ Frank made little shooing gestures with his hands, as if Katie were a naughty puppy.
When I get my power, I’m never waitressing again, Katie promised herself. She plastered on her professional smile and pushed open the door to the private dining room. A thin man dressed in waiting-staff black zoomed up. ‘Are you Katie? Thank Christ. You’ve done silver service before, right? Brilliant.’ He practically dragged her to the side of the room where buffet tables were laid out. Platters of cold meat and bowls of salad gave way to gigantic metal trays of chicken wings and pork escalopes crusted with a topping that Katie feared would slide off the moment she tried to haul them onto a plate. She tried to manoeuvre herself to the cold end, thinking that if she threw some salad down a punter at least she wouldn’t give them third-degree burns.
The people who had been seated at round tables around the room decided, as one, that it was chow time and a queue formed. It was a polite queue; no pushing or shoving, just lots of chatter punctuated by braying laughter. Katie picked up the oversized serving tongs and prepared to fling food at the guests.
The waiter next to her smiled hello. ‘I hope the MOPs are hungry — they might not notice the food is lukewarm.’
Katie smiled back. MOP stood for member of public and had been one of the first bits of insider lingo she’d learned at The Grange. It was something she loved about the job, the feeling of belonging to a team, of knowing a secret language. Perhaps more so because of being an only child. Katie had always longed for a sibling — ideally a twin sister — who she could share secrets with.
‘Excuse me?’ A youngish guy was holding out a half-full plate of food. ‘Would you mind giving me some of that—’ he frowned momentarily at the tray of chicken parcels ‘—stuff?’
Katie glanced at the far end of the buffet where the first guests were just beginning to be served. ‘You’re supposed to queue that way.’ She waved her tongs.
He grinned at her and she thought: good looking and he knows it. ‘I’m a rule-breaker. A maverick. And what’s a MOP?’
‘You’ll be a hungry maverick if you don’t join that queue.’
‘Oh, go on, I know you’re not nearly that mean.’ He put a hand to his stomach and Katie tried not to notice how nice his torso looked, how well he was wearing his shirt and buttoned-up waistcoat.
‘You have no idea,’ Katie said, narrowing her eyes.
‘Fine, I shall simply have to fill up on carbs. But I’m blaming you when I feel all bloated and lethargic later.’ He grabbed a bread roll from the basket and stuffed it into his pocket, then piled two more onto the side of his plate.
By now one of the legitimately queuing people had reached Katie so she turned resolutely away from the cheeky good-looking guy and said: ‘Would you like a chicken and Parma ham parcel, madam?’ The woman at the front of the queue opened her mouth to answer but didn’t get a chance.
‘That sounds heavenly. You know, I’ve changed my mind and I will.’ Cheeky guy had his plate out again and was smiling at Katie, his dark eyes shining with barely suppressed humour. Katie wanted nothing more than to slap the plate out of his hands but Frank was hovering nearby, eyeballing her with an intensity that suggested guests ought to be walking away with chicken parcels, not engaging in a Mexican stand-off with the staff.
Katie knew when she was beaten. She successfully manoeuvred the chicken parcel onto the plate and gave him a fake smile. ‘Enjoy!’ Then she turned back to the woman who was waiting.
While Katie concentrated on her silver-service tongs, she couldn’t help watching the chicken thief. He looked quite boyish, but with a scruffy bit of stubble that contrasted rather pleasantly with his smart clothes. She wondered, for the thousandth time, why suit-wearing had gone out of fashion for men. Cary Grant, James Stewart, Henry Fonda, all bona fide hotties in their day, and all unlikely to look quite so delicious in hipster jeans and an over-sized knitted beanie.
There was something a bit off, though. Katie almost dropped a chicken parcel down a customer’s dress as she contemplated him. He had taken his plate of food and eaten standing up. He chatted to people, looked as if he was always on his way to a table, but never actually landed anywhere. It was almost as if he didn’t have a seat to go to.
The chicken thief had a slim build and light brown hair that was kind of curly and wild as if he’d just rolled out of a particularly enjoyable bed. He smiled easily whenever anybody looked his way, but in between he was watching the crowd with an unnerving purpose. After studying him for a while, Katie realised that he looked like a predator in a herd of gazelle. Something was telling her that he was up to no good, although God knew what she could do about it, when she was distracted by an over-excited pageboy having the sugar rush of his life. When she next looked for him, he’d disappeared. It was none of her concern, anyway. Wasn’t her wedding. Wasn’t her problem.
Later on, after the dining tables had been moved and the disco cranked up, Katie was pushing the last bits of buffet food around on the serving plates, trying to make them look a little less sad and leftover, when Frank hustled up and barked orders: ‘It’s winding down here. Go and help with room service.’
She fetched the tray from the kitchen and checked the room number. Mr Cole in The Yellow Room had ordered a late-night snack of cheese and biscuits and a glass of port. Katie had been upstairs in The Grange many times before but, in her depressed state of mind, the grand staircase seemed oppressive. There was too much oak panelling everywhere and the brass stair rods just made her wince in sympathy with whoever had to polish the damn things. She had a sudden, horrifying vision of that person being her. What if she never worked out what she wanted to do? What if she ended up working at The Grange for ever and ever?
The Yellow Room was on the top floor. Katie walked down one grand hallway to a narrower staircase and up two flights to a plainer corridor. The walls were papered in cream with a thick embossed damask pattern but the ceiling was lower and the decorative mouldings less fancy. The old servants’ quarters, most likely. The corridor was very clean and very quiet. The fire door whispered shut on the stairwell and, at once, the light seemed to dim.
Katie didn’t know why she suddenly felt so uneasy. She told herself she was tired and a bit miserable, but it didn’t help. She felt a blast of cold air on her back and turned to see who had opened the door. It was shut.
Katie readjusted her grip on her tray and forced herself to walk down the hallway. There were muffled voices from behind one of the closed doors, the muted sounds of a television from another. Katie willed her heart to stop beating quite so fast and tried to laugh at herself. She was being ridiculous. She was Katie Harper and a little cold breeze wasn’t going to make her twitchy.
The Yellow Room was the last door and she wedged the tray against her body so that she could hold it with one hand and knock with the other.
No answer.
She knocked again, and called out in a chirpy, ‘I’m here to help!’ voice: ‘Room service.’ The door wasn’t locked properly and it swung open.
Katie edged into the room, keeping her gaze lowered in case something private was happening. ‘Hello? Is everything all right? Shall I just leave the tray—?’
She caught sight of something in her peripheral vision. A man was lying on the polished hardwood floor. His tie askew.
‘Sir? Are you all right, sir? Mr Cole?’
There was something about the way the man was lying. His absolute stillness. Katie knew without touching him that his skin would be cold. In fact, cool air seemed to be spreading outwards so that Katie could feel it even where she was standing. She put the tray down on the floor with a clatter and stepped over it to kneel down next to the man. ‘Mr Cole? Can you hear me? Are you all right?’
She touched his arm then, remembering first-aid lessons at school, pressed two fingers to the side of his neck. He was cold. Really cold. Just-come-out-of-the-freezer cold. His eyes were wide open and his expression fixed in a way that Katie knew that she would never, ever forget.
The coolness travelled up her fingers from where she’d pressed them against the man’s skin and she just had time to think that he shouldn’t be that cold, that it wasn’t right, when she felt an icy stillness spread up her arm and across her chest, making her breathing suddenly slow. Soon, every part of her body was chilled and her scalp was prickling. She tried to move away, but her strength had gone. One moment she was kneeling upright next to the dead man, her hand at his neck, and the next instant she was slumped sideways and unable to move. Mr Cole’s head was uncomfortably close. Through the horrible numbing cold, she felt revulsion and fear. She wanted to move away, but couldn’t. She wanted to shut her eyes, to stop seeing his face, but she couldn’t do that either. She felt as if her eyelids were frozen in place. From her angle on the floor, Mr Cole’s face was in profile, and the terror and panic just as obvious. He looked as if his worst nightmare had risen up in front of him.
Katie felt a surge of panic. She still couldn’t move and the cold was bringing back terrible memories. Not again, she thought. Not again. There had been a time. One very bad time when she’d felt a similar draining of control. A time when she’d stumbled out in the snow, drunk and crying and something else besides. She had felt herself dissolve, her will liquid and useless, and she’d vowed never again. As the cold slowed her thoughts further, she fought against it. Imagined pinching herself, imagined the pain she’d feel, and willed it to keep her conscious and rational. She stared at the pores on Mr Cole’s face and tried to remember. She hadn’t done any magic; she was sure of that. Hadn’t tried any for months, now. The weakness was spreading. She wanted to sleep so badly, to stop thinking, and now her vision was fading. She heard a voice say, ‘Oh, Christ,’ and she thought, It’s okay, someone’s come, and the last of her strength disappeared and the world went black.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_03b9ccb9-3f54-5966-ad0c-e7db10108652)
Katie opened her eyes and light flooded in. A blurred circle of white gradually resolved into a face. Brown hair flopping forwards over unfamiliar features. After a moment, the nose stopped dancing, three eyes became two and the mouth pulled into a worried line. At once, she realised who was leaning over her: the good-looking wedding guest. The one she’d thought didn’t belong.
‘Oh, thank Christ,’ he said, sitting back on his heels. ‘You’re alive.’
Katie moved her head and saw that she was still lying next to the dead man. She struggled to sit up and the young guy lunged forwards. ‘You shouldn’t do that. You might have hurt your back or neck or something.’
‘I didn’t fall,’ Katie managed. Her voice hurt her head, which was already pounding. It made it difficult to think clearly. She could move, though. She stretched out an arm, flexed her fingers.
‘Look…’ he was standing up, now ‘…I’ve got to go. I’ll send someone up here.’
Katie was trying to unscramble her thoughts. She’d come in and seen the man and then she’d passed out. No, she’d knelt down and touched the man and then she’d felt very weak. She looked up, wincing as the pendant light shone too brightly into her eyes.
The good-looking man was at the door, hesitating. ‘You’re okay, now,’ he said, as if reassuring himself.
‘He isn’t,’ Katie said pointing at the man. They had to call an ambulance. He was past that, of course, but still. Suddenly, she realised she was going to be sick. She got to her feet and, the room spinning wildly, made it into the en suite to throw up in the sink.
When she came out the man had gone, but she heard footsteps in the corridor.
*
Later, she sat in the public lounge with a sweet cup of tea and a female police officer. Either an autopilot setting had kicked in, or she was still spaced from fainting, but she was calm and methodical as she told the officer what she’d seen. A second track of her mind was running its own commentary. Katie expected it to be shocked and sad and all the things she imagined to be normal human reactions, but instead it thought: Well, at least my birthday will be memorable for something.
Katie closed her eyes. She was a bad, bad person.
Jo came out of the kitchen, still in her chef’s whites, and gave her a hug. Jo nodded to the police officer, then looked into Katie’s face. ‘You okay?’
Katie nodded. ‘Just a bit of a shock. I’m fine.’
Jo squeezed her shoulder. ‘You should be at home.’ She glanced at the officer whose name Katie had already managed to forget. ‘Don’t keep her hanging about, will you? It’s not right.’
The female officer had a monotone voice, as if she were reading from an autocue and wasn’t very good at it. ‘There is a procedure that we have to follow.’
‘I’m fine,’ Katie said, before Jo could tell the police what she thought of their procedure. She rustled up a smile for Jo, who gave the officer one last long look before walking away.
‘So,’ the officer said, seemingly unaffected by Jo’s display of concern. ‘Do you remember seeing anything out of the ordinary tonight?’
‘No, nothing,’ Katie said. ‘I mean, apart from the man. Mr Cole.’
‘We’re talking to all the members of the wedding party and the staff, but is there anybody else who may have had contact with Mr or Mrs Cole this evening?’
The chicken thief. Oh, bugger. If her hunch was correct and he’d crashed the wedding, he wouldn’t be listed as a guest. Did that matter, though? She hadn’t seen him talking to Mr Cole, although he had been upstairs in the hotel, where he’d had no business to be. On the other hand, bringing him into the conversation would delay the interview and she really wanted to go home.
While she dithered, the police officer continued her list of questions. ‘Any loud disagreements, anybody acting strangely?’
‘It was a wedding,’ Katie said, wondering if her face had betrayed her. ‘Define “strange”.’
Patrick Allen strode into the room and straight up to the senior policeman who was conducting an interview at a nearby sofa. ‘I came as soon as I could. I own The Grange.’
The detective stood up and they shook hands. Katie had inherited a less-than-positive opinion of Patrick Allen from her aunt Gwen, but at that moment she felt sorry for the man. His hair was sticking up at the back as if he’d got out of bed to come to the hotel and he looked grey with concern. Maybe he wasn’t the heartless suit Gwen had always described him as.
‘We’re not a chain,’ Patrick was saying. ‘We can’t take this kind of publicity, and in this financial climate...’ He seemed under the impression that the detective was a journalist. ‘I don’t want a circus.’
‘There is no reason for alarm, sir,’ the detective said. He started to say something about it looking ‘very routine’ but they moved away as they were speaking and Katie didn’t catch it properly.
‘Miss Harper.’ The police lady opposite was leaning forward, her notebook balanced on one knee. ‘Can I ask you again to think if you saw the deceased argue with anybody this evening?’
Katie snapped back to the conversation. ‘Wasn’t it a heart attack or something? Why are you asking that?’
‘We don’t know the cause of death at this time and we need to get as complete a picture as possible of Mr Cole’s last few hours.’
Those words — ‘last few hours’ — flipped a switch inside Katie and, at once, she felt incredibly sad. That man, Oliver Cole, ate his salmon starter and drank the over-priced fizzy wine and chatted to people with no idea that he was enjoying the very last few hours of his existence. She reached into her shirt and touched her necklace as another thought hit her: with the Harper family intuition, would she be as clueless? Iris certainly seemed very prepared for her passing: she’d sorted out her journals, left notes for Gwen... But was that better? Preferable? How did it feel when you knew exactly how many more seconds there were to go on the clock? Suddenly, Katie really wanted to get out of the overly warm living room. She wanted to go back to her flat and sleep for a day. Maybe two. She focused on the policewoman, who was looking a bit irritated. ‘That’s everything I can tell you. It’s time to wrap this up.’
The woman’s eyes slid over Katie’s face as if searching for purchase. Then she said: ‘It’s probably about time to wrap this up. If you think of anything else, anything at all—’ She held out a business card.
‘I’ll call you,’ Katie said, getting up. She walked swiftly out of the room before the policewoman regained her senses and went to the staff room to collect her denim jacket and bag. Katie felt shaky. For a horrible moment she’d thought the policewoman had been going to ignore her suggestion. Light distraction or suggestion was one of the basic skills of the Harper women, as natural and easy as telling a white lie or reading cards to help a friend make a decision. It was one of the first hints that she was a Harper, turning up when she was just fourteen, and as much a part of her as the colour of her hair. What if each skill were stripped away until there was nothing left? What if, rather than coming into her true power, she was experiencing the disintegration of the abilities she already had?
The staff entrance was behind the kitchen so she said goodbye to Jo on her way through.
‘You sure you’re all right?’ Jo frowned at her, her pixie-cropped hair sticking up at odd angles where she’d had her hat pinned all evening. ‘Here.’ Jo disappeared inside her walk-in fridge and returned with half a cheesecake on a cling-filmed plate.
‘Thank you.’ Katie was touched by Jo’s kindness and it made her want to cry. She got out of the kitchen before Jo could see her eyes filling up, but it was a close-run thing.
The hot weather was holding and the night air was freakishly warm, even though it was past eleven o’clock. The curtains in the hotel were drawn and blocks of red-tinged light hit the gravel that circled the house, but the driveway was a pitch-black tunnel. She’d told Patrick last year that he needed to put more of the solar ground lights along it but he clearly hadn’t been listening. As soon as she stepped away from the lights of the main building the shape of the low garden walls and clipped hedges took on a grey and menacing appearance, becoming strange and other-worldly in the half-light.
As a result she didn’t notice the figure sitting on the steps that led from the upper lawn until the very last moment and she nearly kicked him in the back.
She recovered her balance without falling over him. ‘Jesus! You scared me.’
‘Sorry.’ The chicken thief stood up. He was too close for comfort. Especially in the dark, deserted garden. Katie took a step back.
He stepped away, too, as if aware of her discomfort, giving her more space. ‘I’m sorry I startled you.’
‘Why are you loitering out here?’ She didn’t mean to sound so abrupt, but it hadn’t been the best evening.
He held up an unlit cigarette. ‘I’m wrestling with my demon.’
‘Ah,’ Katie said. ‘I’ve heard it’s harder to give up nicotine than heroin. Or is it cocaine?’
He shrugged.
‘Why aren’t you in there?’ Katie gestured to the hotel. ‘The police want to speak to you.’
‘To everyone, surely. Not me specifically.’ He tilted his head back. ‘You look better. Are you feeling better?’
‘You did find the deceased,’ Katie said. ‘I think that makes you a key witness or something.’
‘You found him first.’
‘And I’ve spoken to them,’ Katie pointed out.
‘Good for you. Very public spirited.’
‘Seriously. A man is dead. You ought to—’
‘I prefer to keep a low profile.’
Katie’s mouth twisted. ‘I hardly think they’ll care about you crashing the wedding.’
‘You noticed that, huh?’ He pulled out a packet and stuck the unlit cigarette inside. ‘And I thought I was so stealthy.’
‘It wasn’t that obvious. I was watching you, though—’ Katie broke off. That was an embarrassing thing to say. He looked amused, which didn’t help.
‘That’s good to know.’
‘Because you seemed dodgy,’ Katie said. ‘Not for any other reason.’
He smirked. ‘I’m Max, by the way.’
‘Katie. So, big drama tonight.’ She indicated the looming building behind them.
‘Yep.’ Max sat down again, his elbows on his knees.
‘What were you doing in Mr Cole’s room?’
‘I was just passing, the door was open and I heard a noise.’
‘Did you know him? The one who—’
‘No.’ Max shook his head quickly.
He was lying. Katie felt sick. It was unlikely that he had anything to do with the poor guy having a heart attack, but still. He was a liar. And he crashed the wedding which made him a thief, too. She felt a crushing sensation of guilt. She ought to have told the police about him. Ought to go back inside and tell them right now. He’d just lie to them, of course. And he seemed to be awfully good at it.
Like it or not, he was her responsibility. She sat down on the step next to him, probably a little too close for comfort but she’d always found this particular trick easier if she was physically near to the person she was trying to read.
She took a deep breath, concentrating hard, and trying to ignore the fact that she was close enough to catch the scent coming from his skin. ‘Did you have something to do with his death?’
She watched him closely.
He frowned. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Just answer the question,’ Katie said. Her voice was calm.
‘No,’ Max said. He looked disgusted. ‘No, I didn’t have anything to do with his death.’
He was telling the truth. Thank God. It wasn’t his expression or the tone of his voice or the way his eyes met hers, it was something else. A certainty. Another of the Harper family intuitions but one that came in handy more often than most. ‘Sorry.’ She smiled, more at ease now. ‘I’m just a bit shaken up, I guess.’
‘Well, that’s understandable—’
‘It must have just happened when I found him. He’d called room service twenty minutes before. He was really cold, though.’ Which was odd. Maybe. How long did it take for a body to get cold? Katie swallowed, feeling suddenly sick again.
‘Oh, Christ. That can’t have been fun.’
‘Worse for him,’ Katie said.
‘No wonder you passed out. Are you sure you’re okay? You still look really pale.’
‘I’m always this colour,’ Katie said. She started to unwrap the cheesecake. Dessert would help. She needed some sugar to give herself the energy for the walk home. ‘So, how’d you know the guy, Mr Cole. Were you two close?’
‘I told you. I don’t — I didn’t — know him.’
Katie raised an eyebrow. ‘If you keep lying to me I won’t give you any cheesecake.’
‘What makes you think I’m lying?’
‘I know when people are telling the truth.’ She smiled. ‘It’s a gift.’
Max tilted his head back and regarded her for a moment. Then he said, ‘Remind me never to play poker with you.’
‘So?’ Katie used her fingers to break off a piece of cheesecake; it was messy. Messy and delicious. She closed her eyes to enjoy the creamy perfection and opened them to see Max looking at her with an odd expression. ‘What?’
Max shook his head slightly, then said, ‘He owed me money.’
‘A lot?’
‘Fair bit.’ Max reached for the plate.
Katie moved it away. ‘Why did he owe you money?’
‘Do you play poker, as a matter of interest?’
‘No,’ Katie said. The sugar was helping, making her feel less weak and fuzzy. ‘I used to play gin rummy with my dad all the time. I like whist but you need more than two and mum wasn’t a card player.’
Max snagged the plate while Katie was talking and dug in.
‘You know I’m not staying here, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Well, I’m just kind of passing through. When I’m moving around I incur expenses. Petrol. Accommodation.’
‘Food, when you’re not crashing weddings, presumably.’ Katie paused. ‘Don’t you get found out all the time?’
‘Not really. I prefer corporate events, but big weddings are pretty easy. No one ever knows everyone at those things. If someone chats, you make sure to ask them first whether they know the bride or the groom and then you say the opposite. As long as you avoid the happy couple, you’re golden.’
Katie shook her head. ‘All for a free lunch?’
‘I usually play poker in casinos or backroom games, but sometimes they’re hard to come by, so I check out places like this that hold functions, turn up and make friends and play a few games of cards. For money.’
‘You conned him?’
‘No. Not really.’ Max stared at the cheesecake. ‘Maybe a little. Light hustling, perhaps.’
‘And he croaked before you could collect your ill-gotten gains. Sucks to be you.’ Katie stood up. ‘Are you staying in town?’
‘Uh-huh. At the delightful Cosy Inn.’ He re-wrapped the cling film over the remaining cheesecake and got to his feet. ‘I’ll walk you home.’
Katie stifled the urge to laugh. ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’ She was Katie Harper. She was the latest in a long line of magical women. She was practically a witch, for goodness’ sake, the dark was not a problem.
‘Okay.’ Max shrugged. ‘You can walk me home.’
‘Nice try,’ Katie said, but, since they both had to walk down the driveway, there didn’t seem to be much point in resisting too much. She’d have to break into a ridiculous trot to get ahead of him and that wouldn’t be very dignified. Besides, the tall trees lining the driveway cut a lot of the moonlight and the driveway was incredibly dark. Katie didn’t want to admit it, but she felt a bit shaky after seeing Mr Cole. A distraction was kind of welcome.
‘So, you’re a con man. I don’t think I’ve met a real-life one of those before.’
‘That’s a bit harsh. I gamble a bit, sometimes I win, sometimes I lose.’
‘But you hustled Oliver Cole?’
‘You wouldn’t be up in arms if you’d met him. I know it’s not classy to speak ill of the dead, but the guy was a dick.’
‘You said you hardly knew him.’
Max looked sideways at her. ‘I’m a pretty good judge of character.’
The driveway curved down to the main road. Katie thought that she’d feel fine once she was out of the damn trees. The dark tunnel made her feel claustrophobic.
‘So,’ Max said after a moment. ‘What do you think happened? I heard someone say heart attack.’
The unwanted image of Mr Cole’s frozen face came back and Katie swallowed. He’d looked frightened. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. Nothing peaceful.
Katie blinked away the image and said, ‘So, why are you travelling around? Don’t people usually go around, like, Venice and Paris and stuff? Not Wiltshire.’
He laughed. ‘Not that kind of travelling. More of a road trip.’
They’d reached the end of the driveway and were on the steep hill into town. The lights of Pendleford shone in the dark like a constellation. The river was a velvet black ribbon. Soon they were on a street with lamps and Katie felt herself relax. ‘A road trip on your own. Don’t you have any friends?’
‘Plenty.’ Max gave her a twisted smile, but didn’t say anything else.
They’d reached the brightly lit streets of Pendleford. All was well and Katie felt silly for her moment of weakness. So, she’d seen a dead body and fainted. It was unsettling and more than a little embarrassing but no reason to go to pieces.
‘Well.’ Katie stuck out her hand. ‘It was nice to meet you.’
‘I’ll walk you home,’ Max said.
‘It’s not far,’ Katie said. ‘I’ll be fine. The Cosy Inn is down that way.’ She pointed in the opposite direction to her flat.
‘Are you sure? It doesn’t feel right to leave you on your own.’
‘Trust me, I’m perfectly safe in Pendleford.’ Everyone in town knew that she was Gwen Harper’s niece and half of them were terrified that she’d give them the evil eye. If she bumped into an idiot with a death wish or a clueless visitor, then she was covered with a home-made protection spell. Of course, she was bloody awful at spells, so she’d also armed herself with a practical option. Max was still hesitating, clearly torn over his misplaced ideas of chivalry. Katie pulled out her can of defence spray. ‘I have this. See?’
Max took a step back and put his hands in the air. ‘Is that legal? I thought—’
‘It’s not the good stuff,’ Katie said. It was sticky spray, which had made her American friend, Alison, laugh for ten minutes after she’d explained that it shot goo, rather than pepper spray, but it said ‘Mace’ on the side in big letters. Plus UV-coloured goo had to be better than nothing. Especially if you aimed for the eyes.
Max looked into the spray nozzle and took another step back. ‘I’m not going to win the “trustworthy” argument, am I?’
‘Not tonight,’ Katie said. She stuck out her hand again and he shook it. Katie tried not to notice how nice his hand was. Long fingers, knotty knuckles and the perfect size. It dwarfed her hand without seeming like a gorilla’s paw. ‘Nice to meet you, Max. Have a nice life.’
He tilted his head back, appraising her. ‘You’re kind of cold, you know that?’
The warm feelings she had been beginning to entertain fled. Why were the good-looking ones always such wankers? Katie sighed. ‘Why do men think women are being cold if they don’t fall at their feet?’
‘Okay, okay.’ Max turned away. ‘I’m going.’
Katie watched him walk down the street. She told herself that she was making sure he was walking away, not going to follow her, but there was a part of her that just wanted to look at him one last time.
Inside her flat, Katie kicked off her shoes and stripped off her tights with relief. She’d been planning to get into the shower, but the headache was pulsing behind her eyes now. She took a couple of paracetamol and stumbled to the bedroom. When she lay down, the room seemed to be spinning, which reminded her uncomfortably of the one and only time she’d got drunk. It wasn’t a good memory, but at least it pushed away the events of the evening. Katie closed her eyes and felt the adrenaline still running through her body, making her limbs tingle and her mind jump from one image to another. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_47dbdf7d-8edf-54bb-b962-9a17a3c92b65)
Katie kept on seeing Oliver Cole’s rigid face so, when she was finally dreaming and she found herself back in the upstairs corridor of The Grange, her hand reaching out to push open the door to The Yellow Room, she wasn’t particularly surprised. I can’t be entirely asleep. I’m dreaming, but I know I’m dreaming. Weird.
She moved into the room, knowing that she was going to see the body lying on the floor, half on the thick wool rug and half on the polished boards. But she didn’t. He wasn’t there. She turned, very slowly it felt, and looked around at the room. Everything looked normal. There was a suitcase open on the bed and she moved towards it. Men’s stuff. Smart-looking trousers and neatly folded shirts. There was a book on the bedside table and a glasses case, a smudged water glass and a crumpled tissue. The toilet flushed and Katie looked towards the en-suite, suddenly feeling alarmed. Instinctively she wanted to hide; she felt guilty for being in this man’s room. Even though it wasn’t her fault. Even though it was a dream.
She stepped to the wall, next to the en-suite door so that when it opened it swung close to her face. Oliver Cole, alive and well, walked towards the bed. He was a bulky man and taller than she remembered. Of course, she’d only really seen him lying down. He started to undo his shirt and Katie panicked. She didn’t want to watch this man get undressed. She willed the dream to change, but it didn’t, so she stepped out from behind the door, heading for the exit as fast as her dream-slow legs could carry her.
Oliver turned in surprise, his expression transforming into horror as he caught sight of her. Then his hands were going to his throat, he was gasping, his eyes bulging and filling with blood as the vessels burst. She knew that expression; she remembered seeing it. He was terrified. His mouth was open as if he was screaming but Katie couldn’t hear anything. Her own throat was hurting as if in sympathy and, suddenly, she was awake. In her flat. In her bed. Her hands clenched into fists and her breathing ragged as if she’d been running.
The sun was streaming through her curtains and it was already well past nine.
*
After several cups of coffee, Katie dragged herself up the hill to work. The Grange was Pendleford’s nicest hotel. It was set on the outskirts, high above the town as if looking down on it. As it was a seventeenth-century manor house, it probably was. It looked just the same as always in the bright sunlight; there was no sign that anything untoward had happened the night before. Katie went around the back of the hotel and found Anna propping open the kitchen door with a catering-sized tub of cooking oil.
‘Oh, my God, I heard about last night.’ Anna hugged Katie quickly. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine. I’m fine,’ Katie said.
‘Everyone’s talking about it,’ Anna said. ‘Although watch out for Patrick. He doesn’t want word getting out.’
Katie nodded and tried to step around Anna. She was staring into her eyes, as if waiting for something.
‘You sure you’re okay? I mean, finding Mr Cole like that—’
‘Course,’ Katie said, hating how stiff and formal she sounded.
Anna hesitated as if she was going to say something else, then she touched Katie’s arm briefly and turned back inside.
The shift went quickly enough. Chatter from the staff was that Mr Cole had definitely died of a heart attack, although Katie wasn’t sure if that was just gossip or whether it had been officially confirmed.
She marched through the downstairs rooms of the hotel, collecting stray glasses, straightening rugs and making sure all the flower arrangements had water. She loved how working at The Grange made her feel purposeful and efficient. She didn’t want to do it for ever, but she liked being good at something.
At a momentary loss, Katie decided to check the library. MOPs were forever leaving the complimentary newspapers in an untidy pile or taking them away. She pushed the door to the small library open and found her boss sitting on the gold brocade sofa with his head in his hands.
He had a laptop open on the coffee table and was obviously busy but Katie was too far into the room to back out again. He looked up, embarrassed, and straightened his spine. ‘Hello there. What can I do you for?’
‘Nothing, I was just—’
He stood up, running his hand over his head. ‘Just checking the accounts. Beth is due on Thursday but... You know.’
Katie did know. Her father ran his own business and accounting was the bane of his life. That or invoicing for work. Or getting paid. The money side, anyway. And her aunt Gwen was self-employed, too. She’d run a market stall, Curious Notions, for years, but was successful enough now that she sold her work through galleries and took the occasional commission. It had taught Katie one thing: she wanted to be employed. Or be instantly so successful that she had a team of accounts and admin people to deal with all of that stuff. She gave Patrick a sympathetic smile and backed out of the room.
‘Is the restaurant busy?’ Patrick asked suddenly. ‘I know occupancy rates are down but are we still getting drop-ins?’
‘Not bad. Fairly full.’ Katie didn’t want to say that she and other waiting staff had noticed that it was nowhere near as busy at lunchtimes as this time last year.
‘Good. Good.’ Patrick looked distracted so Katie continued for the door. She was almost at safety when he said, ‘Go and see Jo for me, will you? Check that the special offer menu is finalised for after the Greg Barton show.’
‘Okay,’ Katie said, not wanting to think about Greg Barton and his ridiculous stage act. She still couldn’t believe Patrick Allen had booked something so tacky for his beloved hotel.
‘I should’ve booked your aunt in.’ Patrick was still talking. ‘Would’ve been a damn sight cheaper, I bet.’
Katie didn’t answer. The idea of Gwen doing a psychic stage show was too ridiculous to contemplate and didn’t deserve a response.
Patrick closed the laptop and gathered the pile of papers next to it. ‘Actually, I think I’ll go and speak to Jo.’ He gave Katie another look. ‘Are you due a break?’
‘Not sure,’ Katie said. She was distracted by the feeling that an insect had just landed on her arm. She brushed it away.
Patrick was looking at her critically. ‘You should take five minutes. I don’t want people thinking I overwork my staff.’
Katie looked down. The hairs were standing up along her forearm but there wasn’t anything there.
Patrick left the room, still muttering something about the lunch menu. The light slanting through the small panes of glass in the bottom of the window was cold and hard, which was peculiar when Katie thought of the searing heat outside. Her head was still sore from her fainting fit the day before and she felt stupid, too.
She wanted to be a wise and capable woman, like Gwen. A healer. A maker of spells. A fixer. Not a victim. And definitely not a delicate Victorian flower, requiring smelling salts and the loosening of her corsets at the sight of a dead body.
Katie gazed at the oak panelling and wondered how many fainting fits, corsets and the like they had seen. Maybe none, Katie thought, looking at the tall bookcases. Perhaps women hadn’t been welcome in the library in those days. They used to think too much learning was bad for women, after all, and that novels rotted the mushy female brain. Katie wondered what the oak panelling would say about her shelves of giant books on herbalism and local history and then she caught herself wondering it and, instead, began to think that she had hit her head when she collapsed after all.
Maybe Patrick was right and she needed to take a small break. She leaned her head on the back of the armchair; the generous wings gave her something to rest her head against. It was gloriously comfortable and within seconds her eyes shut. She was having a hazy day dream, halfway between sleeping and waking, when a sudden rush of cool air woke her up. It was as if an external door had been opened and then closed on a cold day. The cold air dissipated quickly in the warmth of the room. Katie looked at the door and the window but they were both still shut. Besides, it was so muggy outside that you couldn’t get a cold draught without an air-conditioning unit. The smell of pipe smoke made her sit up and look around again. There was nobody there, but she would’ve sworn that someone had just lit a pipe. Her grandpa had smoked a pipe and she remembered the rich, almost-sweet tobacco smell, utterly distinct from cigarettes. No matter, Zofia would still go mad. She had a hatred, not for smoking especially, but for guests that didn’t obey the rules of the hotel. Was really funny about it, actually. Katie thought about going to find the perpetrator, but then sank back into the cushions. She was too tired.
Another blast of cold air forced her up and out of the chair. She was shivering, now, and every hair on her bare arms was standing up. The smell of smoke was stronger, the sweetness no longer comforting, but sickly. Katie felt as if someone were actually blowing pipe smoke directly into her face. She held her breath and looked wildly from side to side, narrowing her eyes as if that would help her to see.
Nothing. There was nothing in the room. Nothing and nobody. She was just tired. The door opened suddenly and a teenage boy and his father walked in, arguing loudly. The father stopped speaking abruptly when he saw Katie.
She plastered on her work smile and swept past them into the warmth of the reception hall. Katie stamped on the feeling that she’d just been rescued and went outside into the sunshine. She took several deep breaths, banishing the pipe smoke with the scent of freshly cut grass.
*
Katie had been visiting her aunt Gwen at End House on a Tuesday night since she was fourteen. They’d missed sessions, of course, for birthdays and holidays and when one of them was sick, but for seven years it had been a constant in her life. Pushing open the gate and hearing its familiar squeak and the thick scent of lavender as she walked up the path soothed her nerves. Things might not be perfect, but they weren’t terrible, either. She’d decided that she wouldn’t tell Gwen about passing out. It was probably because of the heat and the shock of finding Mr Cole and she was fine now. It would only worry Gwen and that was something she never wanted to do. Not again.
She could tell Gwen about her bad dream, though, and the weird feelings would go away; a problem shared and all that. And if not, Gwen might be able to give her a spell to make sure she didn’t dream about Mr Cole again.
Cat jumped down from the garden wall and began winding around her feet. Katie bent to pet him and heard raised voices from inside the house. Gwen and Cam were in the kitchen and the back door was open, probably to let air through.
‘It’s not my fault,’ Cam was saying.
‘Are you saying it’s me?’
Katie straightened up quickly. She shouldn’t be listening; this was private. She wanted to announce her presence but couldn’t make herself call out. She felt weirdly guilty even though she hadn’t done anything wrong. Cat ran on ahead, squeezing through the gap in the door, making it swing open.
‘I want this just as much—’ Cam broke off as the door moved.
‘Hello!’ Katie called in a cheery voice. ‘I’ve brought ice cream.’
Gwen was standing with her back to the sink, her face drawn and unhappy. Cam was at the opposite end of the kitchen. He smiled at Katie but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Mint?’
‘Yep. And dulce de leche.’ Katie unloaded her bag onto the table, not looking at Gwen or Cam. After he’d filled a bowl with mint choc chip, Cam kissed Katie on top of her head. ‘I’ll leave you two with your cauldron.’
‘Funny,’ Katie said.
After Cam had gone upstairs and Katie and Gwen had bowls of ice cream and spoons, the odd atmosphere dispersed enough for Katie to relax.
‘What do you want to do this week?’ Gwen already had a notebook open on the table. ‘Have you been practising the heart’s ease?’
Katie wrinkled her nose. No matter how hard she tried, she didn’t seem able to make the remedies. She didn’t seem to be cut out to be a healer like Gwen, which wouldn’t be so bad if only she knew she was cut out for something.
‘You’ve got to practise,’ Gwen said. ‘You can’t do this stuff halfway. All or nothing.’
‘I know,’ Katie said. She sat down and tried to follow the preparation for Mr Byres’s foot cream. The finished product was the right colour but it was runny where it should be gloopy. Gwen peered at it. ‘I have literally no idea why that didn’t work.’
‘I’m useless,’ Katie said, throwing herself backwards in her chair.
‘No, you’re not.’ Gwen stretched. ‘Maybe your heart isn’t really in it. Do you want to try something else or call it a night?’
Katie sat forward. Incensed. ‘But my heart is in it. I promise. I’m trying really hard.’
‘I know you’re trying, honeybunch,’ Gwen said. She scooped the failed remedy into a plastic bag and tied the top. ‘But sometimes trying isn’t enough.’
‘That’s depressing.’
‘Sorry,’ Gwen said. She threw the plastic bag into the bin. ‘It needn’t be. If you want this badly enough then you won’t give up, anyway, and if you don’t want it badly enough then you’ll stop trying and find the thing you really want to be doing and that can only be a good thing.’
‘You don’t think I should be doing this?’ There it was, the thought she’d been avoiding. If she wasn’t going to come into a power, a gift, and she was useless at the herbal stuff, then she had no place. No purpose. Katie saw the future closing down like a thick forest growing over a path.
‘I have no idea what you should be doing,’ Gwen said, her face a perfect blank.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Katie said. Being around a wise woman was hard work. You had the feeling that they knew more than they were saying, and it was hard not to resent that. Sometimes, just sometimes, Katie could see why people were wary of her family.
‘Look,’ Gwen put the kettle on, then turned to face Katie. ‘I had the weight of expectation from my mother. She trained me, she told me every day that my destiny was to be just like her and I ran away from that. I’m not going to make the same mistake and tell you what you should be doing with your life. You can’t fix things for other people. It doesn’t work that way.’
‘You fix things for people all the time,’ Katie said. ‘That’s why they come to you.’
‘That’s different. You can’t tell people what to do with their lives.’
‘But Gran was right, wasn’t she? You stopped running and came back and everything got better. You and Cam got together and you have a home and a life and you’re happy. I don’t want to run away.’
Gwen smiled but she looked sad. ‘It’s not a map. You can’t follow my footsteps, you have to make your own path, make your own decisions. Maybe you should leave town, travel a bit, see the world.’
Katie felt as if she was going to cry. ‘Why are you pushing me away?’
‘I’m not. I swear I’m not. I just want you to be happy.’
‘You don’t think I can do it.’ Katie knew that she sounded like a child and her voice wasn’t helping any, cracking like that and making her sound pitiful and teary, but she couldn’t help it.
‘It’s not that. I just think that you’ve been pushing on this particular door for a long time and that maybe it’s time to try another one.’
‘Fine, point taken,’ Katie said. She stood up and grabbed her bag.
‘Don’t go,’ Gwen said. ‘We can watch a film or something.’
‘No, I’m tired. I’ll see you later.’
‘Katie,’ Gwen said, crossing the room and standing in front of the back door. ‘Please don’t be angry. I’m only trying to help.’
‘I know.’ And that made it so much worse. She wasn’t a Harper woman; she was a client to be fixed.
‘Stay,’ Gwen said. ‘I’ll even let you choose the film.’
‘I’m not in the mood,’ Katie said. She gave Gwen a quick hug and stepped neatly around her to the door.
Gwen said her name again but Katie was halfway out of the door and she didn’t stop.
Once outside, Katie let the hurt propel her forwards. She walked at double-speed, not caring that the warm evening air was making her hot and sweaty, that every breath felt like a gulp of soup. Soon, she’d turned off the main road into town and was inside the maze of cobbled streets that made up the tiny town centre. She saw familiar faces of people whose names she didn’t know and several she did. Pendleford was that kind of place. Close-knit. Tiny.
She was a Harper. One day, she’d be living in a big house like Gwen’s, dispensing wisdom and spells. A man with a dog on a lead nodded to her and she nodded back. Of course, she was going to have to get better at the spells and remedies, first. A lot better. The thing was, she knew she was going to do something brilliant. She knew she was going to rule the world or something equally amazing, but she’d always assumed the route to her something amazing lay in witchcraft. Suddenly, that didn’t seem so likely.
At her front door, she paused to pet the cat that lived on the ground floor. It hissed and jumped onto a nearby wall. That wasn’t usual. Katie might not have been a brilliant witch, but she knew animals. Katie knocked on the door of the cat’s owner, Mr Davies, but there was no answer. She scribbled a note saying that she was worried the cat wasn’t itself and had it been wormed, de-fleaed and checked by the vet recently, and shoved it under the door.
Upstairs, it took Katie several attempts to unlock the door as her hand was shaking. She was shivering, too, so violently that her teeth bashed together almost painfully. By the time she’d cooked a pizza from the freezer, Katie no longer felt hungry. Katie had always liked living alone, but now the flat seemed too quiet. She found herself wishing there were someone else around. If Anna were here, she’d make Katie a cup of Lemsip and crack bad jokes to check if she was delirious or not.
Katie bundled herself in a blanket and lay on the sofa to watch The Lady Eve. There was one plus side to probably having flu. It would explain why she’d screwed up Fred Byres’s foot cream so badly. And why she’d fainted last night and was smelling pipe smoke that wasn’t there. It had been an olfactory hallucination caused by a fever. She’d Google it in the morning. Relieved, Katie fell asleep.
*
Gwen put away the glass jars and re-hung the bundle of comfrey and meadowsweet from the wooden drying rack Cam had rigged up in the kitchen. She hesitated over the bowl of foot cream, still unsure how Katie had managed to mess it up so badly. The cream had separated completely, the oil emulsion sitting on top of the other ingredients, as if repulsed by each other. It had never done that for her.
Gwen emptied the whole mess into the bin and washed up the bowl, trying to think of something else to try with Katie. Herbal remedies certainly weren’t her forte, but Gwen didn’t know how to teach any of the other stuff. Most of it was experience, instinct; the right words at the right time. A kind of magic that was part psychology, part common sense. How Katie expected to have it, Gwen couldn’t understand. At twenty-one, she’d hardly been able to find her own arse with both hands, let alone give sage advice. But there was no talking to Katie, no convincing her. She radiated need, thrummed with it. Gwen wanted Katie to relax, to enjoy her life, her youth, but she knew Katie didn’t want to hear that.
Gwen heard Cam open the door from the hallway and a moment later she felt his hands on her waist; he pulled her gently backwards, against his chest, and put his face to her neck, inhaling deeply. ‘What’s that smell?’
‘Foot cream,’ Gwen said. She watched Cam kiss her neck in the reflection in the window and urged her nerve endings to respond. The glass was still cracked in one corner, something else she hadn’t got around to fixing.
‘I don’t think so,’ Cam said, into her ear.
It tickled and Gwen twisted away, fired with the sudden need to move. She grabbed a tea towel and began drying up the bowl.
Cam stroked Cat, who was winding around his ankles. ‘Katie gone already?’
Gwen slumped against the counter, hugged the bowl to her stomach. ‘She was upset. She’s not getting better — she’s actually getting worse if anything.’
‘Why doesn’t she do something else? I wish she’d reconsider uni—’
Gwen interrupted him. ‘I know. Me too. Ruby and David would be over the moon, too, but there’s no budging her on it. She’s convinced she needs to train with me. She takes being a Harper really seriously and that’s good—’
‘It shouldn’t be everything, though,’ Cam said.
Gwen turned away, put the bowl on the side. Cam tried, but he couldn’t really understand what it felt like. Not really. He wasn’t a Harper. He’d never woken up and found his life changed by a power that was at once external and completely part of him. He’d never felt the spark of power ignite inside his skin and watch it burn. He accepted her magic, her ability to find lost things and to make herbal remedies that were uncannily effective; he accepted that the people in their town came to the back door of End House at all hours of the day and night and that Gwen couldn’t turn them away, had to help if she could with advice, a spell or some foot cream. He accepted, he supported, but it was never going to be a part of him. Gwen felt sick. No matter how close you were to another human being, you were never truly inside them. You were always alone.
Gwen realised that Cam had asked her something. ‘Sorry?’
‘Drink?’ Cam was holding up a bottle of red wine, already undoing the top. She heard the crack of the screw cap and did a calculation that had become a reflex. She’d only just had her period so there was no chance she was pregnant. She was safe to drink. Could drink herself into oblivion, if she wanted, in fact. ‘Make it a large one,’ she said and ignored Cam’s raised eyebrows, his filthy smile. She felt the press of a thousand worries pushing down on top of her head. She couldn’t even think about getting in the mood. She took the offered glass, thoroughly depressed. When had ‘getting in the mood’ become a chore?
*
Katie was still shivering the next morning, but she was certain it wasn’t flu. She just felt cold. As if there were an air blower right next to her at all times. That wasn’t right — it was more as if she were standing inside an air blower. If she could get used to the weird sensation, it might be quite nice. The man on the radio had already cheerfully assured her that today would be another ‘scorcher’ and she had an eight-hour shift at the hotel, starting with breakfast.
Katie avoided the main road out of Pendleford, which was choked with cars even at this God-awful hour of the morning. Commuters heading to Swindon or Bath or Bristol, sitting in their metal boxes and trying to pretend that the olde-world charm of Pendleford made their hellish drive every morning and night worth it. Katie took an old farm lane, instead, feeling more cheerful. Slinging cooked breakfasts at MOPs wasn’t scintillating work but at least she wasn’t stuck in an office cubicle.
The hedgerows were so lush and green that they were hanging over the narrow road. The cow parsley had been thick and white, making the rows look covered in snow, but now it was dying back, overtaken by red poppies.
After half a mile or so, Katie realised something. It was too quiet. The birds weren’t chattering. In fact, looking around, she noticed there didn’t seem to be any birds around. No wrens or blue tits, no swallows swooping. She looked up, expecting to see a buzzard hanging motionless in the sky, frightening the little birds away. Nothing.
Feeling spooked, Katie looked carefully around. That horrible feeling of vulnerability was back. She hated her lack of knowledge, her powerlessness. Gwen would know why the birds were silent. Maybe there was a natural reason and maybe there was a magical reason but Katie was lost no matter what. She was cast adrift, floating between the two worlds. Aware that the magical one existed, but not powerful enough or clever enough to be truly part of it. She knew enough to be frightened and not enough to feel safe.
Then she saw it. A magpie, sitting on the wire fence a few metres ahead. It was looking straight at her.
‘Good morning, Mr Magpie,’ Katie said. She felt faintly ridiculous but that was the problem with superstition. It was hard to know which ones were based in fact.
The magpie didn’t move. It continued to stare as she drew closer. Katie kept expecting it to get startled, to fly away, but it didn’t. It shifted from foot to foot, twitched a wing, but continued to watch her approach. Katie was just thinking how weird it was when she was distracted by the warmth of the morning sun flooding through her. The cloud of cold air had disappeared and Katie stopped walking from the shock of it. She’d got used to it and suddenly the heat of the day was there, on her skin. She could smell burning, too. Like a struck match. Then the magpie spoke to her. ‘Watch. My watch. My watch.’
Katie looked at the bird. Magpies could imitate sounds, Katie knew, but those hadn’t just been sounds. Those were words. Clear words.
Katie resisted the sudden urge to say ‘pardon?’ to the magpie. Perhaps she did have the flu after all. She put a hand on her forehead, tried to work out if she was running a temperature.
‘My watch. My watch,’ the bird said again. There was something urgent in its tone. Something pleading. It was staring at her as if willing her to understand something. And then she did.
‘Mr Cole?’
The bird cocked its head. ‘My watch.’
‘What about your watch?’ Katie said.
The magpie squawked and flew away.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_65c44f36-3644-53c5-b957-246167359819)
Katie slammed through the back door at End House. She’d phoned in sick to work and changed direction, heading to End House as fast as she could.
Her mobile buzzed as she half walked, half ran, and she slowed down to answer it.
‘Please tell me you’re not really sick,’ Anna said. ‘I wanted to go to the pub tonight.’
‘I’m not really sick,’ Katie said, out of breath. ‘Sorry to leave you short-staffed for breakfast.’
‘That’s okay. There’s hardly anyone here,’ Anna said. ‘Are you running?’
‘Going to Gwen’s.’
‘Secret family stuff?’
‘Kind of,’ Katie said, feeling bad. Whatever Anna said, however accepting and chilled out she appeared to be, Katie still found it difficult to talk to her. Gwen had painted such colourful portraits of the dangers of telling people about their magic, but it was more than that: Katie was always waiting for Anna to realise that she wasn’t such good friend material, after all. That the weirdness wasn’t worth it. Katie wanted to be honest, didn’t want to live a lie, so she ended up being cagey.
At End House she crashed through the back door and shouted, ‘Gwen!’
‘What’s wrong?’ Gwen was in a silk blue dressing gown, her hair up in a messy ponytail and a miniature rocking horse in one hand.
‘Sorry, you’re working.’ Katie tried to push down on her panic, squeeze it into something manageable.
‘Woke up with an idea,’ Gwen said, pulling the door to the hall shut. ‘Cam’s still asleep.’
Katie winced. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s fine,’ Gwen said. Then, ‘What’s wrong? You look pale.’
Katie laughed but the sound turned into a kind of hiccup. ‘I had a really bad dream. About the man who died.’
‘A man died?’ Gwen said, her face draining of colour. ‘Who?’
‘At the hotel. Just a guest.’ Katie shook her head, realising that she hadn’t told Gwen. She’d planned to and then had heard her and Cam arguing and the weirdness of that had shoved it right out of her mind. ‘I found him.’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ Gwen put down the rocking horse, her face softened in sympathy. ‘No wonder you had a nightmare.’
‘And something weird just happened. A bird spoke to me. With a man’s voice.’
Gwen put a hand on Katie’s forehead. ‘Do you feel sick?’
‘I’m not ill. I think it was Mr Cole’s voice. The guest. He had a heart attack.’
‘Sit down,’ Gwen said. ‘I’ll make some tea.’
Katie sat at the kitchen table, feeling comforted by the familiarity. Gwen’s kitchen. A mug of tea. In a moment, Gwen would explain it all. Maybe the Harper powers always began with a chat with a magpie. ‘Have you ever heard a magpie talk?’ Katie said, over the sound of the kettle boiling.
Gwen was getting milk out of the fridge and the bottle slipped from her hand. Smashed on the floor.
Katie got up to help but Gwen stepped through the spreading milk and grabbed her hands. ‘Are you sure it was a magpie?’
‘Yes.’ Katie would’ve felt insulted, they’d covered bird identification when she’d been fifteen, but Gwen sounded too freaked out. ‘It said something about a watch. I think Mr Cole wants me to find his watch. Or do something with his watch. Or watch something, perhaps—’
Gwen’s complexion had gone grey and her mouth was turned down. She suddenly looked much older than usual. ‘A man who recently died spoke to you through a crow?’
‘A magpie.’
Gwen shook her head as if she could erase Katie’s words. ‘No, no, no.’
Katie felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Gwen was usually so calm. This had to be bad.
‘Gwen?’
She was staring to the left of Katie, her expression grim. ‘I knew there would be consequences,’ Gwen said, her voice bleak. ‘This is my fault.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Blood magic.’ Gwen seemed to be forcing the words out. ‘I used blood magic. It’s serious stuff. Dark. I knew there’d be a price.’
Katie frowned. Why did Gwen have to be so negative? And when was she going to be able to stop paying for that one little mistake? ‘You don’t think this is my Harper family thing? Maybe—’
Gwen shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t—’ She broke off and reached for the nearest notebook, began leafing through it. ‘I mean, I think there was something like this a long time ago, but—’
‘That’s it, then. I just inherited the crappest power. That’s it.’
‘None of them are simple,’ Gwen said, still looking as if she was about to throw up. ‘Lost things don’t always want to be found.’
‘I know that.’
‘And giving people what they need isn’t always fun.’ Gwen looked angry now. ‘Did you even read Iris’s journals?’
‘Of course,’ Katie said.
‘What about the stuff I wrote down for you? Did you read it? Did you take it in?’
‘Yes! Of course I did. You know I did. I’ve been training with you every week for the last seven years. You know.’
‘Well, it’s a shame you didn’t pay more attention.’ Gwen snapped the notebook shut and frowned at Katie. ‘Talking to a magpie? What were you thinking?’
‘Charming,’ Katie said, her anger matching Gwen’s. ‘What else was I supposed to do?’
‘You need to be more careful.’
‘I’m always careful,’ Katie said.
‘I’ll look into it.’ Gwen passed a hand over her eyes. ‘There might be someone who’ll know.’
‘Not Gloria.’
Gwen shook her head. ‘I won’t tell her, yet. I need to figure this out, first. Figure out what this means.’ She grabbed Katie’s hand. ‘Don’t tell anybody else.’
‘So, do I look for his watch? I feel like he’s asking for my help.’
‘No. Don’t do anything.’
‘But—’
‘It’s probably not him. It’s probably a curse or a hex or a rebalancing. This is not your power,’ Gwen said. ‘It can’t be.’
Katie felt the disappointment. She was a victim again. Cursed. Or whatever. She was so careful, she trained hard, she’d read Culpeper’s Herbal and The Modern Herbalist and everything else Gwen told her to read. She took notes in an A4 binder and never tried any magic unsupervised. She followed every rule Gwen gave her and now, when something had finally happened, Gwen was telling her to ignore it.
‘Sit tight and don’t do anything. I’ll sort it out.’ Gwen pulled her in for a quick hug. ‘And if you see a magpie, put your fingers in your ears.’
‘Are you being serious?’ Katie’s disappointment was rapidly growing into irritation. Gwen was dismissing her. It was like talking to her mother all over again.
‘I’m completely serious. If this is a side effect of some kind, you’ve got to resist it.’
‘Fine,’ Katie said. ‘I’ve got to go to work. I’m late.’ She headed for the back door.
‘I think you should stay away from that place. Just until things settle down.’
‘It’s where I work,’ Katie said. She kissed Gwen’s cheek and headed for the back door. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t do anything stupid.’
*
Katie crept along the upstairs passageway. She knew there weren’t any guests in the rooms and she’d checked the time sheet for housekeeping and they should’ve completed the rooms on this floor. She flipped all the lights on and headed straight for The Yellow Room. The yellow police tape had been removed as per Patrick’s instructions. Not letting herself hesitate, or think about what she was doing too much, she unlocked the door and slipped inside.
The room had been thoroughly cleaned since the incident. Housekeeping had done a bang-up job and the room looked just as it had on the day before Oliver Cole checked in, although someone had obviously knocked the thermostat as the room was freezing. She checked the en suite, not really sure of what she was doing, what she expected to find. The toiletries had been replaced, the loo roll was folded to a point, and the sink sparkled. Katie caught sight of herself in the over-sink mirror and grimaced. Pale skin, dark circles around her eyes and cracked lips. A frightening sight.
A sound from the bedroom made Katie’s heart rate kick up. The door had been pushed open and there were footsteps, muffled on the carpet. Katie looked around wildly. She picked up the only portable item that wasn’t a travel-size bottle of shampoo and edged to the doorway. A slice of the room was visible and she saw a male shape.
‘Argh!’ Katie sprang out of the bathroom, brandishing the toilet brush.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Max spun round.
‘What are you doing in here?’ Katie felt ridiculous, which made her furious.
‘What were you going to do with that?’ Max pointed at the brush. He stepped forward, frowning. ‘Is that a—?’
Katie turned around smartly and stashed the toilet brush back in its rightful place. She washed her hands to give herself a moment to regroup, then ventured out to find Max on the floor, peering underneath the bed.
‘What are you doing?’
He shuffled backwards. ‘They’ve cleared out this place, then.’
‘Apparently,’ Katie said. ‘What’s it got to do with you?’ Then realisation dawned. ‘You wanted to look through his stuff.’
‘Don’t you?’ Max stood up, brushing down his jeans.
‘No!’ Katie said. The window was draped with heavy velvet curtains and they weren’t fully shut. There was a section of sheer voile visible in the gap and it was rippling, distracting Katie. She crossed the room to shut the window but it was firmly closed. Up close the voile stopped moving and she wondered if it had been a trick of the light. She turned to find Max disturbingly close. ‘You can’t be in here. You’re a MOP.’
‘I just want to check a couple of things.’ He shook the velvet curtains and then began searching the furniture — the bedside cabinet, the wardrobe, the chest of drawers.
‘It’s been cleared. His stuff is gone. It’ll be with the police. Or his family.’
‘Damn it.’ Max had pulled the bottom drawer of the chest completely out and was up to his shoulder as he searched the space. ‘Sometimes things slip down.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Or, paranoid types tape their cash in unlikely places.’
‘If you find anything, you’ll have to hand it in. It’s stealing.’
Max looked over his shoulder, affronted. ‘I’m no thief. It’s my money I’m after.’
‘But he’s dead. He can’t pay you now.’
Max shook his head. ‘It’s my money. It’s a point of honour to pay your debts in poker. It’s the worst thing not to. I’m saving him from ignominy.’
Katie ignored the shiver that a good-looking guy using words like ‘ignominy’ gave her. She was going to keep her head. He was dodgy. And arrogant. And annoying. ‘It’s not right,’ she said.
‘Neither is not paying your gambling debt,’ Max said. ‘You play, you pay.’
‘But the man has passed away.’ Katie felt she was dangerously close to sounding like a Monty Python sketch, but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘He can’t give you the money because he is no longer with us. He’s dead.’ She managed not to add that he was an ‘ex-person’.
Max shrugged. ‘Some things transcend death.’
‘I can’t believe you,’ Katie said, revelling in the moral high ground. ‘A man has died.’
He was on tiptoe, now, running his hands along the picture rail. His T-shirt rode up and there was a glimpse of bare skin.
Katie looked away.
I didn’t say I didn’t care. I hardly knew the guy but I’m sorry and all that. I just want to conclude my business with him and be on my way.’
‘Well, you can’t.’ Katie was suddenly very glad of Patrick’s efficiency. ‘You’ll have to speak to his family or something. Maybe they’ll honour his debt. You never know.’
Max finished with the picture rail but was still looking around in a distracted manner. Katie thought that he’d zoned out of their conversation and was about to say something when he looked at her in a disconcertingly direct way. ‘I didn’t get the impression that his wife was all that forgiving of his gambling habit. I’m not sure she even knew.’
‘And you’re squeamish about that? Rifle through a dead man’s things, fine. Talk to his wife, no thanks.’
‘Widow. And, no, I don’t see the point in upsetting her. Upsetting her more, I mean. And it was his secret to keep or reveal, not mine.’
‘I think your moral compass is a bit off.’
‘I think you’re money-obsessed.’
‘What?’
‘You’re the one putting a man’s money over his feelings.’
‘How d’you know he didn’t have very strong feelings about his money?’ Katie shot back.
Max grinned. ‘Fun as this is, I’ve got to go. Don’t suppose you know of any poker games going on around here? Or blackjack?’
‘In Pendleford? Not likely.’
‘Oh, well. Something will turn up.’
‘What will you do?’
Max shrugged. ‘I have no idea. That’s half the fun, though.’
‘Funny kind of holiday.’
A strange expression crossed his face. At the door, he stopped and turned around. ‘What are you doing in here, anyway? Don’t tell me he owed you money too?’
Katie wasn’t about to explain that she’d seen Mr Cole in her dreams last night and then a magpie had asked her to find his watch. ‘Just checking that the room’s ready,’ Katie said, not able to meet his eyes. She’d always had a policy of being as honest as possible, partly because she was completely useless at lying. She felt a blush begin on her neck, travelling up towards her cheeks.
‘Right.’ Max was looking at her intently, as if he knew full well that she wasn’t telling the truth. Which he probably did.
He took a step towards her. ‘Did you know Oliver? Mr Cole?’
‘I didn’t even know his name was Oliver,’ Katie said, glad to be back on honest ground.
‘You were at the wedding. Did you see him give anybody anything?’
‘Like what?’
Max was still staring at her in an unnervingly calculating manner. Then his face cleared and he gave her a charming smile. ‘Never mind. Don’t worry about it.’
‘I won’t,’ Katie said, irritated. The voile was moving again. Then the mustard velvet twitched. It billowed outwards as if there was something behind it, a figure hiding. Which was daft. Her eyes were playing tricks. Perhaps her blood sugar was low or something.
‘Okay, then,’ Max said. ‘See you around.’
He left the room but Katie was distracted by the change in temperature. The room had been cool but now it was freezing cold, the skin on her arms goose-pimpling. She walked to the window but there was no breeze. The fabric of the curtain was moulding, funnelling into a solid column. There was definitely somebody hiding inside. Somebody moving.
‘Hello?’ Katie forced herself to speak, her voice coming out reedy and thin. Her insides went liquid with fear, but she stamped down on the urge to run. She certainly didn’t mean to scream, but the curtains had billowed inwards, all towering thick cloth, which had suddenly seemed full of malicious intent.
Now, with Max back in the room and saying, ‘What?’ they were lying flat. Playing dead. She backed away from the window.
‘I think there’s someone in here, but I can’t see them.’
Max didn’t laugh, as she expected. He stepped up to the curtains and, before Katie could stop him, pulled them away from the window. Then he checked the bathroom, inside the wardrobe and under the bed. ‘You’re just a bit freaked out. After finding Cole like that.’
‘No.’ Katie shook her head. ‘Look at the curtains.’ The floor-length curtains had gone lumpy again, in the shape of a column or a person. She blinked and they fell slack.
‘Did you see that?’ Katie moved closer to Max. She looked around the room. ‘Where’d they go?’
‘Just some air or something,’ Max said. ‘I’ll close the window.’ He stepped forwards but Katie grabbed his arm.
‘Don’t!’ Katie sounded properly panicked. ‘Stop mucking about,’ she said to the curtains. ‘It’s not funny.’
‘It’s okay,’ Max said soothingly. ‘There’s nobody here.’
‘I think there is. And it’s really cold.’ She was shivering and now her teeth clattered together. She felt Max’s arm go around her shoulder and she wanted to lean into his warmth. But he was a stranger and a thief, so she stepped away.
‘Let’s go outside,’ Max said. ‘You’ll feel better in the sunshine. Warm up a bit.’
‘Something’s wrong,’ Katie said quietly. She turned her head, sniffed the air. ‘Can you smell burning? And—’ She broke off. Shook her head.
‘There’s nothing in here,’ he began. Then a chair tipped over. ‘Fuck!’ He swore in surprise and moved to the door, Katie already a step ahead of him.
Max pushed Katie into the corridor and slammed the door shut behind them.
‘Oh, my God,’ Katie said. She took a ragged breath and leaned against the wall.
‘That was odd,’ Max said. His voice was level but he looked pale and his eyes were wide. ‘Shall we go out for that sunshine now?’
Outside the air tasted good and the afternoon sunshine warmed the skin on Katie’s face and arms, chasing away the chill. They walked around to the front of the hotel and down stone steps to the lower lawn.
Katie flopped down on the grass near to an enormous rectangular pond, the surface choked with lily pads.
Max sat carefully next to her. ‘You okay?’
‘Not really,’ Katie said, but she smiled, to reassure him.
‘Do you know anyone who would do this? To frighten you?’
Katie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I’m pretty popular.’ She stopped, realising how arrogant that sounded. ‘I mean. My aunt, Gwen, is something of a local celebrity. People either like her or they want something from her and I’m just kind of known by association. But people are nice to me.’
‘You haven’t fallen out with anyone? No big arguments?’
‘Not my kind of thing.’
‘Did you steal someone’s boyfriend? Something like that?’
Katie snorted. ‘No.’
Max looked as if he were trying to work out an algebraic equation. ‘Anyone you know likely to play a joke like that? For fun?’
‘That wasn’t a joke.’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe we’ve got heatstroke. Or we’re drunk.’
‘I haven’t been drinking,’ Katie said. ‘Have you?’
‘Not that I remember.’
Katie stood up, brushing grass off her skirt. ‘I’m going to look for a watch.’
‘What?’ Max shaded his eyes and looked up at Katie.
She shrugged, looking embarrassed. ‘Mr Cole’s watch. I just need to find it. I’m going to check Lost Property.’
‘Hang on,’ he said, getting up. ‘How do you know about the watch? Did he give it to you? I wouldn’t put it past the old letch—’
Katie’s eyes widened slightly. ‘What do you know about his watch?’
Max put his hands on his hips and they stared at each other in silence for a moment or two. Max broke first. ‘I need to find it.’
‘Well, so do I,’ Katie said. She turned and walked towards the hotel.
‘It belongs to me. I won it,’ Max said. He followed her across the grass.
‘I don’t know anything about that,’ Katie said.
‘What’s your claim to it?’ Max said.
Katie didn’t answer.
‘If you find it, you need to give it to me. It’s mine.’
This wasn’t good. Was Mr Cole’s spirit asking her to get his watch off Max, because that seemed dangerous. Max seemed like the kind of person who wasn’t going to give up in a hurry. Unless Mr Cole’s spirit really did feel bad about not paying his gambling debt. Maybe he did want Katie to find the watch and hand it over to Max. If only the magpie had been a bit clearer. That was so often the problem with magic. It was so bloody cryptic.
Inside the hotel felt blessedly cool after the scorching garden. Anna was behind the reception desk, fanning herself with a brochure.
‘Hello,’ Max said, bypassing Katie and smiling at Anna. ‘I’ve lost something and I was hoping you could help me?’
‘Of course,’ Anna said, putting the brochure down.
‘I’ve lost a handkerchief,’ Max said, leaning on the desk and gazing into Anna’s eyes. He smiled a little. ‘It’s not worth anything, but it’s of sentimental value.’
‘You could look in Lost Property,’ Anna said, dimpling back at him. ‘I could show you—’
‘A handkerchief,’ Katie said. ‘Really?’
‘Katie was just on her way there. I’ll tag along,’ Max said. ‘But thank you. Everyone has been so helpful.’
‘We aim to please,’ Anna said automatically, looking from Katie to Max.
‘No chance,’ Katie said, her hand on the door. ‘Staff only. No MOPs.’
‘What is this MOP business?’ Max said.
Katie opened her mouth to tell him not to change the subject but Anna answered him: ‘Member Of Public. MOP.’
‘What about “lifer”?’
Anna frowned. ‘Have you worked in a hotel?’
Max shook his head. ‘I heard Katie say it.’
‘Permanent resident,’ Katie said. ‘Like Hemingway or Fellini.’
‘Yeah,’ Anna said. ‘Patrick would love a couple of those but I keep telling him this isn’t London or New York. We don’t get people with that kind of money.’
‘Really? This place is pretty swanky.’
‘Okay, say you were a millionaire with a yen to live in a hotel, with all the choices you’d have, would you choose this one? In Wiltshire?’
‘Fair point but some people want the quiet life.’
‘If you want it quiet, you don’t live in a hotel. You live on an island or on your own private estate or something.’
‘But there’s quiet and then there’s silent. If you live in a hotel you get to be around people, but not have to interact with them — at least, only on your own terms. You get to be alone but not lonely.’
‘You sounded almost wistful then,’ Katie said. She pushed open a door marked ‘private’, then turned to Anna. ‘If I’m not back in five minutes, send out a search party.’
Anna gave her a thumbs up.
Katie stepped aside so that Max went in front of her down the short flight of stairs. If you walked in front of people on steps they could push you down them.
‘You know, we don’t keep any cash in Lost Property,’ she said, wanting to distract herself from the fact that she was entering an enclosed space with a strange man.
Max shot a charming smile over his shoulder. ‘Handkerchief, remember?’
‘Of great sentimental value,’ Katie said, her voice heavy with sarcasm.
He nodded. ‘I’m distraught.’
‘I can see that,’ Katie said.
Downstairs, underneath the kitchen and next to the wine rack, was a short, wide corridor.
One side was completely filled with shelving and boxes.
Max pulled one out a little way and put his hand inside.
‘I wouldn’t do that.’ Katie pointed to the handwritten label on the outside of the box, faded from time and barely legible.
‘Teeth? You’re serious?’
‘You’d be amazed at the number of people who leave their dentures in their room.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘And then there’s the knickers.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Look.’ Katie pulled out a bigger box from further along the row and produced a handful of silk and lace from inside. ‘Women bring their best undies when they visit a hotel. Then they have a night of passion and leave them at the bottom of the bed. Totally forget about them and — bam — they end up in our knicker box.’
‘Please tell me you’ve washed those?’
Katie dropped the crotchless pink thong back into the box. ‘Of course. Well, Housekeeping did. Not me personally.’
‘Why do you keep them?’
‘In case their owners come to reclaim them. We’re custodians of the lost pants, the dentures, the vibrators—’
‘No. Really?’
Katie nodded.
‘Any jewellery?’
‘Sure.’ Katie stepped closer and stretched her arm to reach for a shoe box on a high shelf. It was filled with watches. Leather straps, plastic straps, a red Swatch and a huge diver’s watch.
‘Why don’t you send these on to the guests? You must have their details.’
‘Anything really valuable — like a diamond ring — we do break the pact and contact the MOP, but for everything else...’
‘What pact?’
‘The pact of “see nothing, hear nothing”. Very important in the hotel trade.’
‘Okay,’ Max said, looking confused.
‘It breaks the illusion of invisible service if your knickers turn up in the post three days after your holiday. It’s like slapping them in the face with them.’
‘Right. Fair enough. But this is worth about three hundred quid.’ He picked up the diver’s watch.
‘Really?’ Katie peered at it. ‘It’s fugly.’
‘It’s waterproof to two hundred metres, measures depth up to one hundred metres and is made of titanium.’
‘Woo-hoo,’ Katie said.
‘Ah, come on. It’s shiny.’
‘And being more evolved than a kitten that isn’t enough to excite me. Sorry.’
There was a pause that lengthened past the point of comfort.
‘Okay, then. Moving on,’ Katie said, hating the fact that she knew she was blushing.
Max was standing close. He leaned towards her and, just for a moment, Katie leaned towards him.
Then she regained her senses and took a step back. ‘You want to look for your handkerchief?’
‘My what?’ Max’s voice had gone a bit husky. He cleared his throat.
‘Your hankie,’ Katie said. ‘The deeply sentimental one.’
‘Right. Is there a box for those?’
Katie pointed further down the corridor.
‘Oh, bugger,’ Katie said, sorting through the shoe box of watches. ‘How am I supposed to know which one is his?’
‘You didn’t see him wearing it?’
‘I wasn’t looking closely at him, no.’ Katie felt cross. She hadn’t known she was going to be quizzed on Oliver Cole’s accessories. Culpeper’s Herbal had never warned her about that.
‘May I?’ Max held out his hand.
‘I’m not letting you take Mr Cole’s watch,’ Katie said, gripping the box tightly. ‘I don’t care if you won it.’
He shook his head. ‘I doubt we’re after the same thing, that’s all. The watch I won was a woman’s one. Diamonds around the outside. Flashy in a mobster’s moll kind of way.’
‘So he was gambling with his wife’s watch?’ Maybe that explained why he wanted Katie to find it. Maybe his spirit felt bad about losing his wife’s property.
‘You didn’t tell me why you need to find it. You don’t even know what it looks like?’
‘No.’ She raked through the box, holding up the Swatch then dropping it back in. ‘I’m an idiot. I’ll just ask his wife. I’ll say he mentioned it was missing — I don’t need to tell her when he told me. Then I’m not lying. Perfect.’
‘Perfect if you trust his wife not to pick the Breitling watch and sell it for a tidy profit.’
‘Just because that’s what you’d do.’
‘In a past life, perhaps,’ Max said. ‘I’m turning over a new leaf.’
‘Is that a fact?’ Katie had the box held against her hip. ‘You done, here?’
‘Yeah,’ Max said and they walked back upstairs, into the light.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_7ed73185-2101-5b65-973d-055645160da4)
Cam was working late at the office and Gwen had taken the opportunity to go through all of Iris’s journals. Back when she’d first inherited the house and had been reading the journals for the first time, it had often felt as if they fell open at exactly the place she needed. These days, she practically knew them by heart, but had to go through them in the normal way. Since there wasn’t any kind of index system, that meant the slow way. After hours, in which the heat of the day made her want to put her head on the table and sleep, she wasn’t at all sure the effort had been worth it.
When Katie arrived, Gwen delayed talking by making smoothies in the blender. As the fruit and ice whizzed noisily and Katie fetched tall glasses and straws, Gwen tried to think of a gentle way of explaining what she’d just read. Katie reached across and switched off the KitchenAid. ‘What?’
‘It’s not good.’
‘Tell me,’ Katie said. ‘I’d rather know.’
‘Okay.’ Gwen poured out the smoothies. She added a shot of vodka to her own and offered the bottle to Katie who, as always, shook her head. Outside in the garden, Cat was stalking something in the undergrowth and the scent of lavender hung thickly in the air. The evening sun still had plenty of warmth, but it was gentler than earlier in the day. Gwen sat on her wooden bench, passing one of the cushions to Katie and rearranging another behind her own back.
Katie was gripping her glass and ignoring her smoothie. Gwen wanted to take away her tension, wanted to comfort her, but when she put her hand on Katie’s arm, she shrugged it off. ‘Please tell me you found something?’
‘There was some information on haunting. Apparently, spirits do get trapped sometimes. They’re either attached to a place, or an object, or a person.’
Katie sat back. ‘Okay. So, Mr Cole is attached to me. I mean, he spoke to me through the magpie, so he’s not stuck at the hotel.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Gwen said.
‘So, how do I get rid of him? Not get rid, I mean, help him.’
‘There isn’t really anything about that. Iris is very cagey about speaking to the dead. She refers to it twice and both times she says it’s a really bad idea.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Apparently her grandmother could speak to the dead. Sort of.’
‘What does “sort of” mean?’
‘She touched corpses and knew how they’d died.’
‘Like in CSI?’
Gwen nodded.
‘Gruesome power,’ Katie said, but she didn’t look especially shocked. More intrigued. Gwen kept forgetting how strong she was, how motivated. She had to stop thinking of her as a frightened fourteen-year-old. ‘So. What do I do about Mr Cole? Is there any way I can try to talk to him? Instigate contact, kind of thing. I mean, he’s obviously trying to talk to me and if I want the nightmares to stop, maybe I should try harder to listen.’
That made perfect sense. Gwen felt uneasy about it, but she couldn’t think of any way out of it. Katie was asking for her help. And since she was probably the one who had cursed her with this, she had to get rid of it. Cure Katie. ‘There’s a spell we can try. Like a sort of summoning.’
‘Like a séance?’
‘I suppose. Iris has put down the bare details but with so little description, it’s clear she didn’t approve.’
‘Good thing she’s not here, then,’ Katie said. ‘Can we get on with it?’ She drained her smoothie, making sucking sounds with the straw.
‘I thought you’d say that.’ Gwen went back into the house and picked up the first candle to hand. It was a bergamot pillar candle she used in the kitchen to get rid of the smell after cooking curry. Back outside, she put it on the floor in front of the bench and sat cross-legged on the grass. Katie abandoned the bench and sat opposite.
Gwen lit the candle and reached for Katie’s hands. They were cold and she squeezed them gently.
Katie looked excited, as if they were having an adventure. ‘What should I be doing?’
‘I think we just listen,’ Gwen said. She stared at the candle flame and willed herself to relax.
‘Focused or meditative?’ Katie said, after a moment. That girl really had been reading her books.
‘Meditative. We need to open a space for Oliver Cole to enter.’
‘He’s not entering me, thank you very much,’ Katie said, but then she closed her eyes and went quiet.
Gwen did the same and, after a while, she felt herself slip into the dream space between waking and sleeping. Instead of a man who might be Katie’s Mr Cole, she saw Katie lying in the hospital bed, aged fourteen and close to death. Gwen opened her eyes. Katie was in front of her. Twenty-one years old. Healthy. Alive.
Gwen was covered in goose bumps and she squeezed Katie’s hands. ‘Sorry. I can’t.’
Katie opened her eyes. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, evidently seeing something alarming in Gwen’s expression. ‘I’ll find his watch. I don’t need his help.’ She smiled. ‘I actually met someone else who is looking for it. He seems like the kind of person who gets what he wants. If I stick with him, I bet he’ll lead me to it.’
‘He?’ Gwen said. She’d seen the kind of smile Katie was wearing before and knew exactly what it meant. ‘Would this be an attractive kind of “he”, by any chance?’
‘Maybe,’ Katie said. ‘But don’t worry, I’m being very sensible.’
‘That’s not what worries me.’ Katie was always so cautious. She didn’t trust people easily and was careful of every possible danger. While part of Gwen had welcomed that, knowing that Katie was never going to drink too much or take drugs or get into a car with a drunk driver, another part of her worried that she was never going to live either. That her safe world was going to get smaller and smaller until it comprised her own flat, End House, and that mausoleum of a hotel on the hill. Maybe not even the last one if Mr Cole continued to harass her from beyond the grave.
Katie drank some smoothie and laid her head on the back of the bench. She stretched into an enormous yawn, one that could rival Cat, and wiped her face. ‘Sorry. Not sleeping well.’
‘Take a nap, here,’ Gwen said, taking Katie’s glass and putting it on the ground. She might not be able to solve the restless spirit or possible black magic, but she could feed Katie blitzed fruit and give her a safe place to rest. Sometimes that was all you could do and, sometimes, that was enough.
*
Gwen was deep in thought as she walked along the canal path from Pendleford towards Bath. She’d set off early, before six, so that it would be quiet, but there were more dog walkers than she’d anticipated. A man was on top of his canal boat, smoking a cigarette in the dewy morning, and he said ‘good morning’ as she passed.
After a couple of miles, the rhythm of walking had quietened her mind and she felt as if she might be able to work when she got home. Gwen wasn’t looking at the scenery, her mind was turned firmly inwards, so she didn’t notice the woman until she was right in front of her. She jumped nimbly from the side of her boat onto the path. ‘Gwen Harper, I presume?’
The woman had silvery grey hair, and a yellow headscarf tied halfway back on her head, peasant-style. She was wearing dark blue jeans and a padded gilet over a checked shirt. She looked healthy and outdoorsy and looked oddly familiar. ‘Have we met?’ Gwen said, trying to keep her tone polite rather than worried.
The woman shook her head, holding out a hand. ‘I’m Hannah.’
Gwen took the proffered hand. It was dry and the skin was a little bit rough, the nails cut square and short. Practical hands. ‘Did you want something?’ It was going to be slightly tiresome if people were going to start accosting her out in the open as well as coming to the back door at all hours of the day. No escape.
Hannah smiled. ‘Not really. I just thought we should meet. Maybe we can help each other one day.’ She shrugged. ‘You know how these things work. Tea?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Would you like to come in for tea?’ Hannah gestured to the canal boat. It had the word ‘Freedom’ painted on the side in curling blue letters.
Gwen was torn between a desire to see inside the pretty canal boat and the feeling that getting into a confined space with a complete stranger was the kind of thing she’d warn Katie not to do.
Hannah narrowed her eyes. ‘I knew Iris, if that helps at all.’
Gwen thought of Lily, her snake eyes and tiny teeth and the hard glint of insanity. She’d known Iris, too.
‘I’m not surprised you don’t trust people, after Lily Thomas.’ Hannah appeared to be a mind reader.
‘How do you—?’
‘Oh, come on. Did you think the Harpers are the only gifted family in the world? I’m Hannah Ash.’ She waited, as if expecting Gwen to do something. Gasp, maybe.
Gwen shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t—’
Hannah whistled. ‘Wow, Iris wasn’t joking when she said she was the loner type. She really never told you about us?’
Gwen shook her head. ‘I didn’t actually know Iris. My mum and her had a falling out and we moved around a lot and—’
Hannah held up a hand. ‘None of my business. I just wanted to meet you, to say “hello”.’
‘Hello,’ Gwen said. She realised that she’d folded her arms across her body. Not very friendly. She forced them to unknot, put them by her sides.
‘There are a few old families still around. My lot, the Ash family, are Avon way, the Irons are Somerset, I don’t know the Willows very well but they’re in Dorset. You know what it’s like, can’t live too close. That just causes problems.’
‘Right,’ Gwen said. She felt a little faint.
‘I pass through this way at least once a month, usually around this time. Or you can ask one of the other river folk — they’ll pass a message on. Just if you ever need anything.’ Hannah gave Gwen a final look, raised a hand in a half-wave and jumped back onto the boat. She ducked through a low doorway and was gone.
*
Katie had arrived at The Grange for her afternoon shift. Anna was in the staff room, tying her hair into plaits and looking hot and bothered. ‘Can you believe we’ve got to work in this weather? It’s inhumane.’
‘Agreed,’ Katie said. Her back was damp with sweat just from walking through the grounds. She hung her bag on a peg and sat down to change her sandals for shoes. It was like forcing mini ovens onto her feet.
‘I feel sorry for the bride,’ Anna said. ‘I mean, everyone wants sunshine on their big day, but this…’ She waved one hand as if the heat had overcome her ability to finish sentences.
‘Agreed,’ Katie said again. She was trying not to think about Max, and failing. Raking through the lost property with him had been about the most exciting thing that had happened to her all year. ‘What? Sorry.’
‘Heatstroke,’ Anna said, as if that finished the matter. Then she slugged back some water from a bottle and pushed through the door into the kitchen.
Katie was working the main function room, ferrying plate after plate of melon and prosciutto and dodging Frank’s wrath. The sun was beating through the tall glass windows and everyone from the waiting staff to the groom was sweating.
As soon as she’d served the last of the starters, Katie went to find Anna. ‘We need more fans.’
She set up three more electric fans around the edges of the room and a woman with silver-grey bobbed hair smiled and said, ‘Bless you.’ The air movement helped, but the temperature was still very high. Katie wondered how many guests would nod off during the speeches and she hoped the family would keep them snappy.
Katie had just finished serving sparkling wine to every table and making sure the kids had lemonade or orange juice when the best man rose and tapped his glass. The room fell quiet, apart from the drone of the oscillating fans.
Katie retreated behind the serving tables and carried on working as unobtrusively as possible. She knew from bitter experience that if you waited respectfully while the toasts were being made, you ended up in a mad rush afterwards. Fascinators bobbed gently in the breeze from the fans and the best man’s voice, soporific in the best of circumstances, droned on.
‘He’s a bore, isn’t he?’
Katie had been quietly boxing up slices of cake and hadn’t noticed the woman approach. She had brown bobbed hair and a peach satin dress. Instead of the ubiquitous fascinator, she had a silver and black Alice band with a geometric design. She smiled widely at Katie’s appraisal and lifted a hand to her head. ‘Do you like it? It’s the latest thing. Du mode.’
The woman was younger than Katie had first thought. Younger than her, in fact. Katie smiled politely. She didn’t want to be rude, but carrying out a conversation, even quietly, was bad manners during the wedding speeches.
‘What kind of cake is that?’
Of course, ignoring guests was probably worse. ‘The bottom tier is chocolate cake, the middle tier is pineapple passion cake and the top tier is vanilla sponge. The boxes are labelled.’ Katie indicated the pile she’d already filled. ‘The bride wanted people to have a choice.’
The girl wrinkled her nose. ‘Fruit cake is traditional. You’re meant to keep the top tier and have it on your first wedding anniversary. Sponge will spoil.’
Katie looked around, anxiously, but no one seemed to have noticed their conversation. They were all watching the father of the bride and swigging table water, fanning themselves with wedding programmes.
‘I don’t understand the way people do things nowadays.’
Katie repressed the urge to laugh. The girl was seventeen or eighteen tops.
‘And look at that.’ The girl nodded towards the top table. ‘The bride is making a speech.’
‘And why not?’ Katie shrugged.
The girl pursed her lips. ‘It’s not traditional.’
Katie wanted to tell her that wedding traditions like wearing white and taking your husband’s name were throwbacks to a more sexist time but she didn’t want to argue with a MOP. Plus, she had the sneaking suspicion that, given the opportunity, she’d be wearing one of those elegant ivory gowns, too.
‘I’m Violet, by the way.’ The girl trailed her hand lightly across the surface of the table. ‘Is this real linen?’
‘I don’t know,’ Katie said. She added ‘sorry’ to make it sound more subservient. Truth was, the girl was starting to make her a little bit uncomfortable. She had a very intense gaze.
‘Would you like some cake?’ Katie asked, holding out a slice.
‘Oh, no.’ The girl’s hair didn’t move as she shook her head; it made Katie’s eyes feel funny. Maybe she really did have heatstroke. ‘I don’t eat cake,’ Violet said. ‘It’s bad for the figure, you know.’
Fuck that, Katie thought. Out loud, she said, ‘Oh, come on. You only live once.’
The best man pulled down a projector screen with a loud clatter and began showing photographs from the groom’s life. Smiling pictures of the groom as a kid, groom as gawky teenager, and many, many pictures of him with groups of friends, red and grinning, drinks in hand. His life before meeting his beloved, of course. Back when he belonged to the best man and hadn’t been bewitched by a female. Katie had only been half listening, but the best man’s bitterness was seeping through.
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