‘I’ve seen a police car drive past several times, and Emilia is already beginning to get her garden back to what it was.’ Will drank his tea. ‘I must say, I do admire that lady.’
‘She’s such a nice person,’ added Liz, ‘and very interesting to talk to.’
‘But still no clue as to who could have done all that damage?’ Will asked.
‘Not a thing,’ she murmured. ‘It’s really frustrating.’
Will left shortly afterwards. ‘I’ll let you know immediately I hear from Canada. I’m so grateful to you both, I can’t tell you what your offer means to me. But I’ll leave it until I know the date of the funeral before I tell Kate of our plans. I don’t want to give her time to start formulating excuses to keep Liz away.’
* * *
The call came on Friday. The bodies had been flown to Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, where Guy had worked at the Canadian Forces Flying Training School. The funeral was arranged for the following Thursday, and a representative of Guy’s squadron was to collect him early Tuesday evening. The official had sounded surprised to hear that there would be just two of them attending — they had been expecting a large family party. Will had explained that he and his wife were Eva’s only remaining close relatives, and that his wife wasn’t well enough to cope with the long flight, so his closest friend had volunteered to accompany him. He would return the following day.
The mere thought of Kate all alone in Holland House, and Whisper Fen on a dark night sent shivers of dread down his spine.
Guy’s family had requested that their son and his wife be buried in the family plot in Regina, his home town, rather than the military cemetery, and Will agreed. His nomad of a sibling had loved the coniferous forests and the plains of Saskatchewan.
Will wanted to take a present for Sophie but had no idea what to buy for an eight-year-old. He tried to ask Kate, but she seemed not to want to even think about it. Finally, he asked her if she had a fairy painting they could give the child. Eva had begged him to send her Angela’s next book as soon as it was published, saying Sophie adored them. An original painting by her aunt would be a special gift that he was sure his niece would love.
Kate had not been particularly interested in his idea. It took him a lot of coaxing until she was reluctantly persuaded to look through her old work. Eventually, she produced a watercolour of one of Angela’s early characters, a fairy called Snapdragon. ‘You can have this, if you like. It’s a painting they didn’t use in the book.’
It was perfect. The character’s impish face grinned cheekily from between some tall, brightly coloured flowers.
‘Seems a long time ago that I painted that.’
Indeed, when he compared it with the sinister and macabre work that she was making now, Snapdragon might have been painted by another artist altogether.
He still had not told Kate about Matt accompanying him, or about Liz being on call. The right moment had not yet presented itself. Trying to work out how best to go about telling her, he prowled around the kitchen, opening cupboard doors and peering hungrily into the fridge. Kate had forgotten about lunch again. No wonder the weight was falling off her.
He called up the stairs asking if she would like a sandwich, but she answered that she needed to finish something and would grab a bite when she was through. He wondered what malevolent figure was emerging from her dexterous fingers and began to wish he’d never sneaked a look at those awful paintings.
As he swallowed the last mouthful of his lunch, she came into the kitchen and stood before him, holding up a painting.
‘Well? What do you think?’
After a moment’s hesitation, he raised his eyes and beheld not some vile goblin but a magical landscape. Imaginary flowers surrounded a waterfall, all rendered in glorious colours. Mythical birds with vivid plumage flew among the blossom and in a pool at the base of the waterfall, a gathering of water sprites frolicked in sunlight. What on earth was she up to?
‘You keep saying I don’t show you my latest stuff, so here it is. Opinion, please?’
But when he looked closer, Will realised what she had done. The picture had seemed vaguely familiar, and it was. She had resurrected an old painting, adding more flowers and birds and the sprites. It was years old and she must have thought he’d have forgotten it by now. But Will remembered them all. Not one single brush stroke had ever escaped his attention.
What should he say? He stalled for time, taking it to the window and holding it under the light. She was going to extraordinary lengths to keep her new work hidden from him. He decided to go along with the charade. ‘Great, babe! I love it. But what about the new, powerful approach you told me you were using for your own book? This is more your original style.’
He detected a flicker of panic — or was it anger? ‘Oh, that. I’ve put it on hold for a while.’
Okay, two could play at that game. He smiled at her and asked if he could come and watch her paint, like he used to.
She suddenly found something of great interest on the toe of her trainer. Without looking up, she produced her habitual excuse. ‘I’d love you to, Will, but my concentration is shot at the moment. I’ve no idea why, it’s just the way I’m feeling right now. Give me a bit longer, can you?’ She raised her eyes to his, beseeching.
‘Of course. It’s just that I love to be near you — well, you know that.’
‘I do know, Bear.’ Her eyes stayed on him. ’And I love you. You know that too, don’t you?’
Will nodded. Despite everything, he had never doubted it. He held out his arms to her.
* * *
The following morning, Will rose at dawn and slid out of bed, leaving Kate asleep. Donning a sweatshirt and jeans, he went downstairs and pulled on his walking boots. Out in the garden the air carried the fresh chill that heralds an approaching change in the seasons.
It was time he discovered for himself just what it was that continued to draw his lovely Kate out on to that desolate marsh.
The ground leading up to the sea bank was soft underfoot. It had rained the night before, and the slender stems of the grass formed miniature arches to which clung countless droplets that shone like crystals. Mist hugged the trees, whose black trunks disappeared into an enveloping grey. Soon the trees gave way to scrubby, deformed shrubs, to be succeeded by coarse tussocks of reedy grass and sea lavender.
Aware of the danger of the rising tide, which swept in fast over this part of the marsh, Will kept to the path. Eventually, he sat on an old, broken gate and stared out over the flat, tide-washed landscape. It was a strange place, unlike any other he had seen. It seemed ancient, aeons old. Primeval.
He shook himself. This fanciful mood wasn’t like him. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be artistic and could see how this wild stretch of coastline might cast a spell over a creative mind. What did Kate see? The black water in the lagoons, slithery beings that moved through the reed beds, the brooding atmosphere of the darksome marsh. But there were breathtaking cloud formations in the endless sky, tiny snow-white fen violets and the song of the skylark that hovered far above.
Not so long ago, she had thrived on such small details, imbibed them and then sprinkled their beauty into her paintings. Fairy dust.
Will slid down off the decrepit old gate and slowly made his way home. So now he understood. He had felt what she must feel on her endless wanderings across the marsh. They had made a terrible mistake in moving to Whisper Fen.