Читать книгу The House of Birds and Butterflies - Cressida McLaughlin, Cressida McLaughlin - Страница 13

Contrary to some beliefs, pheasants are not known for damaging cars – unless they fly into them, which sadly happens quite often. They are beautifully coloured game birds, with shiny orange and green feathers, and they have a mechanical walk, as if the floor is cold and they want to make as little contact with it as possible. Their loud call is, perhaps, a bit like a hooting rooster.

— Note from Abby’s notebook

Abby had to admit that Destiny, the face painter she’d hired for the Halloween event, was top-notch. A little boy was running around with his features covered in an intricate web, a sinister spider crouching, poised, at his hairline. The pumpkin faces were terrifying or friendly, depending on the age of the child, and now she was creating a kestrel’s elegant face on a small girl who was sitting impeccably still.

The drawing table was full, the café had been taken over by mask-makers when the sequins and feathers started blowing away in the wind gusting through the picnic area, and there was an air of happy chaos throughout the visitor centre. Abby wondered how the real wildlife was coping, but a quick glance showed her that the coal tits and chaffinches decorating the feeders weren’t remotely bothered by the noise and hubbub.

She waved at Rosa as she hurried back to the picnic area, the wind not disrupting a competitive game of apple bobbing, currently being overseen by Gavin. She gave him a grin as he handed a goody bag to a successful bobber, and went to stand next to him.

‘Going well, Gavin?’

‘Never better, Abby. Bloody cold out here, though.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I was planning on dunking your head in the bucket in celebration of all your hard work, but I don’t think even I can be that cruel.’

‘Thanks!’ Abby laughed. ‘I think. It is November in a couple of days, we can’t expect balmy weather.’

‘Yeah, don’t I know it. The girls have already written out their bloody Christmas lists. I’ve told them to talk to Santa, because I’m not interested.’

‘Gavin! You can’t—’

‘They said they wanted them from Santa anyway, so we’re on the same page.’

‘Except Santa’s not real, so you will actually have to go and get the toys.’

Gavin shrugged. ‘There’s loads of time yet. Loads.’

Abby held her hands up in submission. ‘Fair enough. And thanks for the no-dunking thing. I’m leading the night-time walk later, so I could do without getting soaked beforehand.’

‘Yes, boss.’ He saluted, and then stepped forward when two boys got over-exuberant in their attempts to win the prize. ‘You two, stop it, now. We don’t stand for drowning each other at this nature reserve, whatever you might have heard.’

When Abby made it back inside, Rosa was showing Jonny a pair of high-end binoculars. They had a 20 per cent sale on all their birdwatching equipment, and this was the closest she’d seen Jonny come to actually buying something. Everything was going to plan; she just had the night walk to contend with.

When a packet of felt tips was discovered to be dud, and Abby realized they weren’t going to make it through the afternoon with only two orange pens, she took the opportunity to escape the madness and walk to the village shop to pick up some more. She resisted the urge to take the longer route past Swallowtail House. It looked simultaneously regal and slightly spooky at the best of times, but would it seem particularly sinister today? A large, abandoned house was the perfect location for a Halloween investigation, but the padlocks and thick chains would put paid to that, even if there had been anyone brave enough.

Peacock Cottage was quiet as she passed, none of the windows showing signs of life, and she hurried on. On Meadowgreen’s main road, she headed towards the shop, the wind whipping her hair against her face. Her pace slowed as she noticed two people standing next to the postbox, chatting.

Abby felt the familiar yet unwanted flicker of emotion as she saw Jack, his hands shoved into the pockets of his expensive jacket. And then she focused on the person he was with, the long blonde hair falling over the shoulders of a smart black coat, and knee-high, tan leather boots over skinny jeans. It took Abby a moment to place her, to realize she had seen her on the television but not in real life.

Flick Hunter was in Meadowgreen. She was even more beautiful in the flesh, the comfortable intimacy between her and Jack clear even from a distance.

Abby hesitated, wondering whether to keep going or turn quickly around. She didn’t know why she felt so strange seeing them together, or so reluctant to simply walk past them. Jack leaned closer to Flick, his lips twitching into a smile. Abby scrunched her fingers into fists, hovering uselessly on the side of the road, but then Flick put her hand on Jack’s shoulder and steered him to a black Land Rover parked close by.

Abby breathed a sigh of relief, waiting until they were next to the car before she crossed over. But as she reached the shop she noticed a glimmer of movement out of the corner of her eye and turned instinctively towards it. Jack was looking at her, his hand raised in recognition. Her stomach fizzed and she gave him a quick, nervous wave, their eyes meeting briefly, then he climbed in alongside Flick Hunter, the sound of the door closing a heavy clunk that reached her despite the wind.

She decided that she wouldn’t tell anyone what she’d seen. She didn’t want to fuel a fresh wave of gossip about Flick Hunter and Jack Westcoat, and acknowledging that she had spotted them together made her uneasy, as if she was about to come down with an unpleasant bug. There was no reason for her to feel like that. She hadn’t exactly hit it off with Jack, and what business was it of hers if they were good friends or, perhaps, even more than that? Returning to Meadowsweet with felt pens aplenty, Abby went back to the drawing competition. Once it was over, she would have a couple of hours to tidy up the visitor centre before the night walk began.

They set off as dusk was falling, and Abby could hear the usual excited whispers behind her as they made their way along the meadow trail. She stopped everyone at the end of the path, where a fence looked out across a field. It was part of Penelope’s estate, and until a few months ago had been let out to a local farmer for cattle grazing. Abby wasn’t sure what had happened to the cows, but now it was empty and, at this time of day when it was in different degrees of shadow, a good spotting place for one of their best nocturnal creatures.

‘Now,’ she said quietly, ‘if we’re very lucky, we might just see—’

‘There!’ someone whispered loudly. ‘Oh my God!’

As if on cue, a large, pale bird swooped gracefully over the field, its heart-shaped face clearly visible in the gloom. It was mesmerizing, and almost luminous against the twilight backdrop.

‘A barn owl,’ Abby said. ‘There she is. She roosts over in those trees and is seen frequently by visitors and our reserve wardens. She hunts mainly at dawn and dusk, but she’s sometimes out mid-afternoon. The weather can set their hunting patterns off – her feathers aren’t very water resistant, so if it’s raining she avoids flying.’

‘She’s magnificent.’

‘Stunning.’

‘She’s like a phantom,’ said one, younger-sounding visitor. Abby couldn’t disagree.

She immersed herself in the wildlife and her guests’ interest in it. This was where she was happiest, and a night walk on a cold October evening was somehow easier than one on a summer’s afternoon, because she knew the people who had booked onto it would be a more hardcore breed of nature lover. She wanted to inspire more people, of course, but sometimes it was nice to know that she wouldn’t have to work hard at their enthusiasm, that it was already ingrained. The woodland yielded bats, visible coming out of their bat boxes, flying round in wide circles. Abby had brought her monitor, so she could make their weirdly regular clicks audible, and explain how they used echolocation to navigate and find food in the dark.

Everyone was fascinated, the questions kept coming and, as they turned back towards the visitor centre, the darkness almost complete, a Chinese water deer bounded across their path, its large ears and white-rimmed nose so distinctive.

‘Thank you, wildlife,’ Abby whispered under her breath, as there were low murmurings of delight from those around her.

In the café, Stephan had produced a batch of zombie brownies, with white and pink marshmallow pieces that looked like flesh oozing through the chocolate. He was poised to make hot drinks, and Abby hovered while everyone tucked in, on hand to answer any more queries.

One of the youngest visitors on the walk, a girl of about twelve, came up to her.

‘All those things tonight, the owl and the bats and the deer, they’re a bit creepy in the dark, aren’t they? You can see why people believe in ghosts. If you didn’t know what a barn owl was, you might think it was something scarier.’

‘That’s a very good point,’ Abby said. ‘I bet our native wildlife could explain away lots of spooky sightings.’

‘Is there anything else you see that we missed out on?’

‘Not really. We were particularly lucky tonight, though we do occasionally see badgers. It’s not that they aren’t there, but they’re so elusive it’s much harder to spot them. I’ve only seen one once, and I’ve been here nearly two years.’ The girl stared at her, her eyes wide with interest, and so she kept going. ‘I was on my way home, and it really made me jump. This huge thing was lumbering through the trees towards me, and suddenly there was this white, striped nose, which was a bit ghostly. We looked at each other for a second, then it changed course, going back into the woods. But I can’t remember the last time any guests or other staff reported seeing one – we’re not usually around in the dead of night.’

‘It’s been a brilliant walk, though. Thank you!’ The girl held out her hand and, surprised and touched, Abby shook it.

‘Thanks for staying with me,’ Abby said to Stephan as they pulled on their coats. ‘Are you cycling home?’

Stephan nodded. ‘I’d offer you a lift, except space is quite limited on the saddle.’

Abby laughed. ‘I’ll be fine. I know the route like the back of my hand, and I’ve got my torch.’

‘Still a bit late for you to be heading home alone. I could walk you back, get on my bike from there?’

‘Honestly, Stephan, I’m fine.’ She patted his shoulder. ‘It’ll take more than a few ghoulish masks to scare me.’

They switched off the lights and locked the doors, then wished each other goodnight. Abby listened to the sound of Stephan’s bike wheels whirring down the car park, his headlight bright in the darkness.

She started walking, taking her usual shortcut through the trees. She wasn’t scared of the dark – she was a night owl herself, only the need to walk Raffle twice a day forcing her out of bed with the sunrise, and she often pottered or watched television until the early hours of the morning. But tonight, after the young girl’s comments, and recalling her own encounter with the badger – a moment that had truly scared her – she found that she was on edge.

The wind was rustling through the trees, the woodland was never quiet at night, and she couldn’t help picturing Swallowtail House, its dark, hulking shape looming over the village. Her hands shaking slightly, she twisted the back of her torch, checking the beam was on full, pointing it directly ahead, her steps slow and deliberate so she didn’t upend herself over a rock or tree root. It was fine, she told herself; she’d done this so often before. But she wished she had Raffle with her, or even Gavin making ridiculous wisecracks, or Stephan – why hadn’t she taken him up on his offer? It would only have been a few minutes out of his way.

Something screeched to her left and she copied it, clamping her hand over her mouth at the ridiculous outburst, knowing the instant she’d screamed that it was one tree branch rubbing against another in the wind.

‘Come on, Abby, get a grip.’ She surged forwards, seeing the smooth concrete of the road up ahead, and then the glowing, beckoning light of Peacock Cottage. It was just in one downstairs window, but it looked so inviting, so safe, away from the murmuring trees and the darkness creeping in around her. She tried to think of the robins, greenfinches and blackbirds all safe on woody perches, little balls of puffed-up feathers, unconcerned by the wind raging around them. She tried to take strength from her feathered friends, but the pull of the cottage was so strong, her legs automatically turned towards the front door, its bold blue hue hidden in shadow.

And then she thought of Jack’s smirk as she’d ranted about his car, the way that, despite complaining to her about ridiculous things, he’d been entirely confident and unashamed in his self-centred opinions. She felt again the disquiet of seeing him and Flick Hunter together. Her anger returning, Abby’s train of thought led swiftly and predictably to the fantasy she had conjured up, his strong arms grabbing hold of her, his lips, when they met hers, tender but with clear intent, tasting of lemon-scented Earl Grey tea.

She disliked Jack, what little she knew of him. Her mind had no right to be gallivanting off in these wayward directions. Angry at herself now as well as him, she was distracted, and as she stepped with relief out of the trees and onto the road she missed the biggest, most obvious tree root and got her foot caught, her momentum propelling her forward, the torch clattering to the ground as she put her hands in front of her to stop herself landing on her face.

The light went out. It sounded loud, probably fatal for the torch, and she could feel the sting of her grazed palms, a painful tug in her ankle where her foot had been wrenched out of the root as she fell. She swore and scrabbled in her bag for her phone, switching the light app on and casting around for the bits of torch. She didn’t want to risk causing anyone a puncture in the morning.

She worked quickly, finding the black metal casing, the batteries and the spring. She was nearly there, so close to being able to leave the darkness and run home to safety and warmth, when the meagre light from her iPhone was joined by a much bigger, softer, glow. She looked up to find that the front door of Peacock Cottage was open, light spilling across the road, a tall figure silhouetted against it.

‘Hello?’ Jack said. ‘Is anyone there?’

Abby stayed still. Chances were he wouldn’t see her – she was just out of the reach of the pooling light – would dismiss it as any one of a number of irritating creatures, and go back inside.

‘Hello?’ he said again. ‘Who’s there?’ Was his voice wobbling? Abby couldn’t tell over the blood pounding in her head.

She spotted the torch bulb and reached inchingly towards it, and then a third, almost blinding light had her in its grasp. Of course he had his own, powerful torch. Of course he did. It was probably MI5 issue.

‘Abby! Shit, are you OK?’ He was at her side in moments, kneeling in the dirt. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘I’m fine. I tripped, broke my torch. Nothing to worry about.’

‘OK, but can I …?’ He placed his torch on the ground.

‘What?’ she asked, but he’d started running his hands down her arms, his touch feather-light, pausing as he turned over her hands and saw the grazes on her palms. She didn’t want him to touch her, it reminded her too much of her daydream. She tried to pull away but he’d let go of her hands anyway, was patting his hands gently down her legs, from her knees to her feet. She winced as he got to her right ankle.

‘I’m fine, thank you, Jack. I should get home.’

‘You have no light – that doesn’t count,’ he added, when she waggled her phone. ‘And you’ve hurt your ankle.’

‘I haven’t. It got stuck, that’s all.’

‘Come inside, let me check you over properly.’

‘No, I—’ she sighed as he gripped her elbows and pulled her to standing. ‘I’m fine to get home.’ She put her foot gingerly on the floor, relief spiking as she realized it wasn’t that sore, that walking wouldn’t be a problem. ‘Thank you for looking out for me.’ She started putting the bits of broken torch in her bag.

When she’d finished, Jack hadn’t moved.

‘I’m not letting you walk home on your own with only that ridiculous phone light to guide you.’

‘Well, I’m not letting you force me into your house so you can do God knows what to me. Are you a qualified doctor as well as a novelist? It seems unlikely! Your pat-down just then was more like you were searching for hidden weapons at an airport than seeing if I was injured.’

He stared, aghast, and for some reason, Abby kept going.

‘Perhaps you want to experiment on me, to work out all the gruesome ways the victims in your next book will get murdered. How do I know I can trust you?’

‘If I practised my murders before I wrote about them, don’t you think the police would have put two and two together before now?’ Jack shot back. ‘Discovered victims who had reached similarly bizarre ends, and done a bit of digging? I’m not clever enough to commit the perfect murder, and even if I was, right now I’m too cold to even entertain the prospect, and I’m just offering to look at those cuts on your hand for you, check your ankle’s OK. I’m sure your parents told you never to talk to strangers, but I’m really not an ogre, whatever our last two encounters may have led you to believe. Come on, I’m not wearing a coat.’ He bounced up and down on the spot, and Abby bit back the urge to laugh.

‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said, ‘but I have to be at work early in the morning, so I need to get home.’

‘At least let me drive you.’

‘It’s a ten-minute walk! Do you have any idea how much fuel you’ll use up in that huge thing doing a completely pointless journey?’

In the light from the door, she saw Jack roll his eyes. ‘I am not going back inside and leaving you out here,’ he said. ‘Either you come in with me, or you let me drive you home.’

She wondered briefly whether, if she was to take him up on his offer, she’d find Flick Hunter sitting on his sofa. She almost said that he could walk her home if he was that bothered, and then she realized that would involve spending more time with him, and also that she would worry about him getting back safely when he was such a city boy and couldn’t even cope with a few pheasants.

‘Fine,’ she said, sighing heavily. ‘You can drop me at home. Thank you.’

‘Good. Arm?’ He held his hand out, and she reluctantly let him take her arm. It was a few short steps to the Range Rover, and her ankle was barely bruised, and yet she found herself leaning into him, feeling the solid weight of his support. He pointed his fob at the car to unlock it, opened the passenger door and waited while she climbed into the seat. It was even more luxurious than it had looked, and she sank into the soft leather, smelt its creaminess, felt sleep tugging at her instantly so she had to pinch her arm to stay awake.

Jack hopped into the driver’s seat, started the engine, which was much quieter than she had expected, and reversed expertly out of the driveway. She held her breath, waiting for the telltale crunch that meant there was a stray piece of torch she’d failed to pick up, then relaxed when none came. Jack drove slowly, turning left as she instructed when they reached the junction with the main village road, and then round, past the darkened walls enclosing Swallowtail House, the silent building and whatever ghosts inhabited it beyond, then turned right into Warbler Cottages.

It took no more than three minutes, but Abby spent that time studying Jack’s profile, the straight, proud nose, the high forehead partly obscured by his thick, untidy hair. His fingers on the wheel were long and slender, he wore no jewellery, no rings, but a plain, white-faced wristwatch with a gold surround and tan leather strap. It looked classic, expensive.

‘This one?’ he asked, cutting the engine.

‘Yes, this is it.’ Abby looked at her terraced house. It wasn’t remotely cottagey, not in the way Peacock Cottage was, but it was snug, it was her home, and she could see Raffle, his nose pressed up to the glass of the downstairs window, waiting for her as if he could sense when she was on her way back to him.

‘Is that a husky?’ Jack asked, peering over her shoulder.

‘That’s Raffle. He’s my rescue husky. Do you want to come in and meet him?’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She looked back at Jack, frozen mid-breath, hoping with equal measure that he would say yes, and also no.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘I’d love to, but perhaps not now. It’s late, as you say, and I … sure you’ll be OK?’ He gestured towards her hands.

‘They’re just grazes, fine once I give them a good clean. Thank you for the lift, and for … coming to look for me. It was brave.’

Jack frowned and ran a hand over his jaw. ‘Brave?’

‘Your cottage is in the middle of the woods,’ she clarified. ‘I’m a fan of nature, as you know, but if I lived somewhere like that, there is no way I’d step outside after dark in response to a noise, not unless I had a weapon with me, not even if it sounded like there was a fairground starting up right outside the front door. I was only there because I had no choice. If we were in opposite places, I wouldn’t have come to your rescue, I would have left you to get eaten by bears, or make your own way home, whatever.’

‘Which, I seem to recall, is pretty much what you wanted me to do when I found you.’

Abby felt the flush creep up her neck and was glad of the darkness. ‘Sorry about that. I was flustered, annoyed with myself for getting scared, and—’

‘I was the last person you hoped to see?’

‘You were inevitable, considering where I tripped.’

Jack laughed, the sound loud inside the confines of the car. ‘I was inevitable?’

‘God, that came out wrong! I just meant nobody else would be around, only you.’ The words somehow had more weight than she had intended, and she scrabbled to change the subject. ‘I saw you venturing out into the village today.’

He nodded, not quite meeting her eye. ‘I know Flick Hunter from a charity event we did a couple of years ago,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realize she was here, but it was good to see her. A friendly face amongst, well—’ he gestured around him. ‘I’m new here, as you know.’

‘She’s anchoring the television show at the nature reserve on the other side of the marsh,’ Abby said quietly.

‘She was telling me about it. Has it affected things at Meadowsweet?’

‘Not really,’ Abby admitted. ‘Not that noticeably, anyway. We need to be more proactive about drawing in visitors regardless, so in some ways the push has been good.’

Jack stared out of the windscreen. ‘That’s often the way, getting forced in a direction you never intended, finding out that it was the right move all along.’ He faced her again. ‘Let’s hope it works out for both of us.’

Abby wanted to ask more, to connect the dots between his words and what Rosa and Octavia had told her about him, but she didn’t want to seem nosy, and now, with Raffle waiting inside and her bed calling to her weary bones, wasn’t the time. ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed,’ she said. ‘Thanks again for rescuing me. Your car’s comfortable, by the way.’

‘Noted.’ He nodded, suppressing a smile, his lips lifting at the corners. Abby wondered if she’d conjured them up right in her fantasy, how the lips she was staring at would feel if they were pressed against hers.

‘Right then,’ she said, her voice paper-thin. ‘Night.’

‘Goodnight, Abby.’ He waited until she’d closed the door, walked up the front path and put her key in the lock. She stepped into her warm, vanilla-scented hallway and turned. He made a gesture that was half wave, half salute, and pulled away from the kerb.

When she fell into a fitful, broken sleep that night, the memory of her fall enhanced by the smarting of her palms, all she could think about was Jack running his hands up her arms, and the concern in his eyes when he’d knelt beside her in the mud.

When she woke the following morning, Abby felt like she hadn’t had any sleep at all. She took a longer route to work, walking along the brick wall around Swallowtail House, getting that extra peek of the building that intrigued and calmed her. The wind was still raging, low clouds racing across the sky so the sun had no chance to break through, but it never stopped the wildlife, and Abby paused to watch a pair of goldfinches, their regally coloured feathers flashes of bright in the grey. They bobbed along the high wall then disappeared over it, into a place she longed to explore.

She wasn’t the only one who wondered why, if the reserve was in trouble, and Penelope no longer wanted to live in the grand mansion, she didn’t sell it. Did she really hold onto it simply because it was a reminder of her and Al’s life together? And if that was the case, then why wasn’t she looking after it? The longer it was left, the less likely it was to survive at all. If Penelope wanted to preserve it then handing it over to someone else, and making a profit in the process, would surely be for the best.

But she couldn’t suggest it. The older woman would have considered it, would have her own reasons for handling things the way she did, and wouldn’t have listened to Abby in any case. Perhaps selling the house had some implications for the reserve, as it was all part of the same estate. She turned away from it and fought her way through the fallen elder to get back onto Meadowsweet’s woodland track.

She didn’t know why she wanted to avoid the sight of last night’s fall, but she felt off kilter, uncomfortable despite the success of the previous day’s event. She was gratified that the only disaster had come at her own hands, had harmed nobody but herself, but still she wished that, if there had to have been a witness, it could have been anyone but Jack. And yet, in some ways, she was glad it had happened. She couldn’t help but replay their encounter, the softening between them in his car a reconciliation of sorts. There had been no sign of Flick Hunter at Peacock Cottage, and he’d offered up the information about her freely, as if Abby deserved an explanation. She felt as if she was at the edge of a tunnel, knowing she should turn back but desperate to see where it led.

When she arrived at the visitor centre, she had a welcoming committee.

Penelope was standing at the reception desk, her arms folded accusingly, and Rosa and Stephan were in the shop, pretending to rearrange the display of Halloween chocolates but obviously waiting for whatever dressing-down was about to be handed out. Gavin, never one for subtlety, was leaning against the wall, a piece of grass in his mouth in place of a cigarette. When she caught his eye, he winced sympathetically.

Abby slowed, putting her hands behind her back, suddenly conscious of the grazes on her palms even though, now they were clean, they were hardly visible.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘Is there – did something happen, yesterday?’

‘I don’t know,’ Penelope said. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’

She put the emphasis on the last word, glaring at Stephan, Rosa and then Gavin, reminding them this wasn’t a spectacle, but none of them budged and Abby was thankful. She knew that, as embarrassing as it was to be reprimanded in front of her friends, they would also back her up if they could. The only thing was, Abby couldn’t think what this could possibly be about. The event had gone smoothly. Unless Gavin had let those boys go too far with the apple bobbing and failed to tell her about it.

‘I’m not sure what there is to say,’ she said slowly, casting around for anything that might help her understand what had happened.

‘Well, would you like to explain this?’ Penelope put something down on the desk. It was an envelope. White, pristine and, when Abby looked closely, sealed.

‘You haven’t opened it?’

‘Of course not,’ Penelope said. ‘It’s addressed to you. But I doubt whatever is inside will be particularly complimentary, going by the last one we received.’

Her insides suddenly churning, Abby turned the envelope over. In the slanting, elegant script she now recognized as Jack’s, was her name. Abby Field. They had come a long way from bee Post-it Notes, at least. A hundred things went through her mind – was he going to complain about the event after all, the swathes of people it had brought to the reserve? Had he meant to do it all along, and only failed to say anything last night because Abby was there alone, and he’d seen her as vulnerable? Or was this because she’d insulted him by saying he was inevitable? She had been encouraged by the thaw between them, but maybe she’d misinterpreted it.

They were all looking at her now, even Stephan and Rosa abandoning their pretence of display reorganization. Penelope’s politeness at not opening other people’s mail didn’t extend to letting them read it in peace, she noticed. She didn’t want to open it in front of anyone; she wanted to take the blow in private because, she realized with startling clarity, it would be a blow, to see harsh words from Jack aimed at the reserve, aimed at her.

‘Come on then,’ Gavin said. ‘We’re all dying of curiosity here. What has Mr Snooty got to say for himself now?’

She took a deep breath and ripped open the envelope, sliding out the folded piece of A4 paper and laying it out flat on the table before she lost her nerve. She skimmed over the words, then read them again more slowly, clamping her jaw together to stop her emotion from showing.

Dear Abby,

How are your hands this morning, and your ankle? I hope they’re suitably recovered and not suffering too much from passing up the chance of being tended to by me. When is your next guided walk? I’ve been wondering if I should take you up on the kind offer you spat at me several weeks ago.

Yours, JW

PS. Glad the squashed frog met with your approval.

‘What is this?’ Penelope asked, her brows furrowing. ‘What does this mean? Squashed frog? Has he been hurting the wildlife?’ She levelled Abby with a piercing, unsympathetic gaze, waiting for full disclosure.

‘No no,’ Abby said quickly. ‘It’s a conversation we had, a little while ago. He hasn’t harmed anything. But he’s not angry, see – he’s even considering coming on one of our walks. We’ve turned things around.’

‘What is this business with your hands and ankle? Just what have you been doing with my tenant?’

‘Nothing,’ Abby said. ‘Nothing at all, Penelope. There’s really no reason to worry; everything’s good.’

She folded the note and put it back in the envelope, then in her handbag, and hurried to the storeroom to take off her coat. She should be mad with Jack – there was no way she wanted Penelope, Gavin or Stephan to know about her ridiculous accident the previous evening, and as much as she would have been happy to tell Rosa, and Rosa, by her keen look, would be more than happy to find out, she didn’t want to risk it spreading.

Her feelings for Jack Westcoat, as conflicted as they were, were her business alone, a tempting fantasy to fill her idle moments. They would come to nothing, would fade out as quickly as they had arrived. It was good he was no longer against her or the reserve, and hadn’t once mentioned the extra traffic passing by his cottage during the Halloween event, but that was as far as it went. He was a writer, a disgraced one, and obviously as keen on his privacy as she was. She wondered if he would have written the note at all if he’d known that Penelope would force her to open it in front of everyone. They were destined to bump into each other occasionally, but so what? It didn’t mean anything.

As she hung her coat up and slipped the note into the inner, zipped compartment of her bag, she found that she was smiling, almost tempted to take it out and reread it, study the slopes and curves that his long fingers, pen held between them, had produced. But that would be taking it too far. She hadn’t delved into the background behind the scandalous events Octavia had taken much delight in telling them about, and she didn’t want to, even though she knew they would be readily available online. She didn’t want to know what had happened, discover something that would damage her view of him, just as, conversely, she didn’t want to make him a bigger part of her life than he was.

Jack Westcoat was a mirage in her mind, almost as much a work of fiction as the books he wrote, and that was where he needed to stay. The spark between them couldn’t be healthy; she knew that from personal experience, could easily replay the memories of verbal arguments between her mum and dad that had started on the right side of cheeky and ended with slammed doors, thrown crockery, and then, towards the end of their relationship, the abuse her mother had faced at her father’s hands. Her own escape, as a child, had been the fields behind her house, the calm and quiet, the colourful flutter of the butterflies and the high, unconcerned trill of warblers.

And yet, in her adult life, she had begun to repeat the pattern, drawn towards men whose passion started out as attractive but became dangerous. Jack was obviously next on her list of hopeless decisions, and she needed to stay away from him, even if the pull to see him got stronger.

There was just the small matter of his proximity to the reserve and her journey home, and the fact that now, it seemed, he wanted to come on one of her guided walks, was actively showing an interest in the nature reserve and the wildlife he’d been so against. She couldn’t allow that opportunity to pass by, however complicated it made things. Getting people inspired by nature was her job, after all.

She took up her post behind the reception desk and busied herself straightening the already neat maps, spotter books and day passes, ignoring the curious, almost knowing look Rosa was giving her.