Blood Ties (2 page)

‘Well, you are going to give it a damn good go. Alec, we need this holiday, we really do.'

Leaning against him, she felt him nod reluctant agreement.

‘You'll feel better when we're miles away.'

‘I'm sure I will,' Alec agreed, but the doubt still tainted his voice. ‘I promise I'll give it my best shot.'

Morning found Alec trawling the Internet and finding a couple of likely places, one of which finally offered what they wanted. Not Chard, in the end, but a small hamlet closer to Glastonbury. Afternoon, the purchase of walking boots and wellingtons that Naomi had chosen largely on the grounds of Alec's reaction to them. Apparently they had stripes. Pink and green and blue.

‘You can't be serious,' Alec said.

‘Damn right I can. You want a pair?'

‘Only if they're drab green and even then I'm not sure I'm a wellington kind of guy.'

Evening and they were driving south, the B&B they had chosen confirming that they could, in fact, accommodate them from that night.

‘That's because no one is daft enough to go and stay there in November.'

Napoleon, Naomi's guide dog, snored softly on the back seat, and Naomi fiddled with the radio, finding a classical music channel and then, when the adverts annoyed her, a programme dedicated to folk and roots. She adjusted the volume so that the music lent ambience but still allowed for easy conversation, deciding that, if this holiday idea was to have any chance of success, Alec had to be made to talk, however reluctant he might be. He had tried hard to enjoy that afternoon, but had been only half there, despite the jokes and the amusement over her choice of footwear.

‘So,' she said finally. ‘You going to talk to me?'

‘Sorry. I thought we had been talking.'

‘Not talking. I mean
talking
. Alec, your mind is still back in Pinsent, back with the job. If we're really going to get away for a few days, I need to know it's here, with the rest of you, so talk.'

He sighed. ‘I'm not sure I know what to say. I guess, I suppose I'm just upset, pissed off with the whole world right now, present company excepted.'

‘I should hope so. You feel Mac let you down, don't you?'

He said nothing for a moment or two and Naomi knew she had struck a nerve. ‘I suppose I do,' he said at last. ‘I thought he'd trust me. I can understand him not trusting Wildman.' Wildman was the lead detective on the case they had just worked. ‘Wildman is a tick, an ass of the first order, but for Mac not to trust me. That hurts. Much more than I realized.'

Naomi nodded slowly. ‘Alec, if it had been the other way around. If I'd been the one Thomas Peel had taken and not Miriam. If Peel had called you and said you had to come alone or I'd be dead, would you have trusted anyone, even though you knew Peel might kill me anyway? Would you have confided in Mac?'

Alec tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. ‘I know all that,' he said, ‘and, no. No, I don't suppose I'd have acted any different, but you know, I didn't say I was being rational about this, did I? Just that I was pissed off.' He laughed. ‘OK, and I guess it's not just Mac – the whole affair was a mess, had been a mess from the start, and I know the flak will be flying for weeks to come yet; the local press are acting like a terrier with a rag and Wildman is looking for anyone he can push into the line of fire. I don't want to be there, don't want to be Wildman's sacrificial goat once Mac is finally cleared, and I feel guilty as hell for running away on holiday while everyone else is stuck in the firing line. I guess that's why my mind isn't exactly on flowery wellingtons and walking boots.'

‘Flowery? I thought they were striped.'

‘What? Oh, they are. Disgustingly well striped. Anyway, I'm on a guilt trip, not just a road trip, and I think it'll take a few days of . . . something, I don't really know what, just to get my mind off what I've left behind.'

‘OK.' Naomi nodded. ‘That, I can understand. But Alec, you staying to be Wildman's whipping boy wouldn't have helped you or anyone else and I think you know that.'

‘I know it; that's why I wanted out for a while. I know it's going to take me a while to settle, too, but don't fret, love, I am planning on enjoying this trip to the back of beyond. We'll just have to find plenty of ways to distract ourselves, won't we?'

Naomi grinned. ‘Oh, I have plans for you, Mr Friedman, make no mistake. All of which are going to be very distracting.'

Despite the use of the satnav and the very good directions the B&B owners had given them, they almost missed the entrance to White Gate Farm. Alec spotted the pub, The Lamb, that they had been told was next door and realized they must have overshot.

‘Damn. Looks like a tight turn into the yard.' He reversed cautiously in the narrow road, rather too aware of the stone wall that he could see in his rear-view mirror and the ditch that he could not. ‘OK, I've just got to open the gate, sit tight.'

He left the driver's door open and Naomi shivered in the sudden chill. She could smell the damp of recent rain, wet grass, cows, and a faint scent that reminded her of the ocean. Napoleon, excited by the sudden influx of unfamiliar scents, sat up on the back seat and grumbled, eager to get out.

‘Hang in there a minute or two,' Naomi told him. ‘How far from the sea are we here?' she asked as Alec got back into the car.

‘Oh, fifteen miles or so, I suppose. Why? If you want a moonlit walk on the beach you're out of luck. Thick cloud and drizzle is all you'll get tonight.'

‘No, I just thought I could smell the sea.'

Alec manoeuvred through the gate and turned sharply to tackle a stone arch that led through into the farmyard proper. He got out again to close the gate and Naomi heard voices calling out a welcome. She heard Alec chatting and then her door opened and a woman's voice told her to come along in and have a cuppa, that the kettle was already on.

‘Lovely,' Naomi said. ‘Thanks for staying up for us.'

‘Oh, no bother. Do you need a hand getting out? Oh, hello there,' she said to Napoleon who had thrust his head forward between the seats, curious about the new person.

‘Napoleon,' Naomi said.

‘I imagine he'll need to go out before he comes in, if you see what I mean. Let your man take him down near the cut and we'll go inside, shall we?' She took Naomi's arm and, with a confidence that Naomi found oddly reassuring, led her across what Naomi's feet told her was a cobbled yard and into the sudden warmth of a farmhouse kitchen. ‘Here, sit yourself down and I'll see to the tea. Jim, this is Naomi Friedman, her husband's just seeing to the dog. Give him a hand with the luggage in a minute, will you?'

‘Welcome. Did you have a good journey? We made you up some sandwiches in case you were hungry when you got here.'

‘Thank you.' Naomi was surprised by the thoughtfulness. ‘That's really nice of you.'

‘Oh, no bother. Good to have folk staying this end of the year.' He went out, the door closing quietly. This was a big room, Naomi thought, but very full of stuff, sounds muffled and softened as though by heavy curtains and soft furnishings. If the chair in which she sat was anything to go by, there were probably a lot of cushions and hand crocheted throws – her fingers identifying the peculiar patterns particular to crochet squares. A fire spat and crackled and gave off the scent of resinous wood. The door opened again and Napoleon pattered in, followed by Jim and Alec in conversation; Jim seemed to be explaining the layout of the farm to Alec and telling him about the food at the pub next door, which, it seemed, had something of a local reputation.

‘We'll give you a good breakfast, but we don't do the evening meals any more. Not worth it with the pub being next door, especially not at the back end of the year. Ah, tea, good. Sandwiches on the table, help yourselves now.'

Later, settled in the warm, lilac-scented bedroom, Naomi felt that this decision had definitely been the right one. Alec lay on the bed, flicking through channels on the television, and she could feel that he was already more relaxed. The room wasn't large, but the bed was comfortable, tea and coffee making facilities were to hand, and there was an en suite that could easily be found because the door lined up directly opposite the corner of the bed.

Alec had put their cases on the ottoman by the window, suggesting they leave the unpacking until morning.

‘How old is this place? It feels really old.'

‘I don't know. Old enough to have the original sash windows. Ones before they had the counterweights. Did you hear Bethan when she was telling me about them?'

‘No, I missed that.'

‘Ah, well, apparently these pre-date the ones with the box sides and counterweights. You open the window and then wedge a very special stick into a groove at the side to stop it falling back down.'

Naomi laughed. ‘Sounds very health and safety.'

‘Old buildings can get away with it. They have special dispensation,' Alec said. ‘If you only want the window open a crack then there are these fellows.' He slid from the bed and she heard him cross to the window. He placed something glazed and heavy in her hands. Naomi felt it, guided by Alec's fingers and explanatory words. ‘Look, there's a high bit at both ends and the window fits into that valley in the middle. It'll hold the window open a couple of inches and let the fresh air in. Bethan told me these are Victorian but she said the design is much older than that.'

‘It has a face on it,' Naomi said, feeling the unmistakable shape of a nose and what felt like elaborately coiffed hair.

‘It does,' Alec agreed. ‘There's a pair of them, that's the female half of the partnership. Her old man's lost his nose. But I don't think he was ever a looker.'

‘And is she?'

Alec took the window prop from her. ‘Only if you like bright green glaze and rather bulbous eyes. I like this place,' he added. ‘Not a straight wall anywhere but it's got that sort of feeling that it could be here forever, you know what I mean? I'd like something like this.'

She was taken aback by the announcement. Alec had never really been into old architecture. Their house, which had been his before they married, was standard nineteen thirties, with a bay window at the front and an extended kitchen at the back. He had never seemed to hanker after anything else. Recently, his uncle had willed his house to Alec. A large and rather beautiful Edwardian place that Alec had loved largely because of the happy memories it had held. He had thought briefly about keeping it, but in the end had sold it to a local antique dealer who had been his uncle's friend. It meant there was money sitting in the bank that they had yet to direct anywhere in particular.

‘You'd want to move somewhere this rural?'

She heard the clunk as he set the ceramic lady back on the windowsill and then he flopped down beside her on the bed. ‘I don't know,' he said. ‘I suppose I've been thinking lately it might be time for a change. Time to do something new.'

‘New? You mean, as in leaving the force?'

She felt him shrug. ‘I don't know. Maybe. I suppose something Mac said got to me.'

Ah, she thought, so he was finally going to talk about what was really bothering him. ‘And that was?'

‘He said he was tired of putting himself and those he loved at risk. Of not feeling settled. No, that's wrong. It was because he was settled, because he now had someone he cared about and people he felt at home with, and, well, I think Mac's like me. It's only after
we
got together that I started to feel I could ever settle down.' He laughed awkwardly. ‘Late starters, both of us, me and Mac.'

‘Alec, what's this leading to?'

He took a deep breath. ‘Kids, maybe,' he said. ‘You know we always talked about it, but . . . well, I'm not getting any younger and . . .' He paused, clearly waiting for a response. Pushed on. ‘But I want to be there for them, you know. Not have the job intruding every five minutes. Not have . . . Naomi, do you think you could say something? I'm feeling a bit out on a limb here.'

She took a deep, steadying breath. True, they'd talked in the abstract about having children, and both of them loved spending time with her sister's two boys, but this was the first time he had seemed to be trying to establish an actual concrete plan for a family.

‘So,' she said lightly, ‘you want to leave the force, move to a house like this and have kids?'

She felt him nod. ‘Yes,' he said, serious now. ‘I suppose I do.'

She reached for his hand and held it tight. ‘Sounds good,' she said softly, wondering how much she actually meant it.

Extract from
Roads to Ruin
by E Thame:

The night Catherine Kirkwood left her father's home, she knew, despite his assurances, that she'd never see him again. The last battle had been fought and the Kirkwoods had chosen the losing side
.

Catherine's brother, Thomas, had ridden out ten days before to join the forces of the Duke of Monmouth as he headed north. He had taken with him a dozen men from the estate and, more importantly, gold, especially struck for the occasion. More of the same – little medallions in silver and gold commemorating a victory they had been so certain of – remained at Kirkwood Hall and now they had to be disposed of
.

Henry Kirkwood knew he must stand his ground. He still had powerful friends at court, friends who might still be prevailed upon to protect him, to speak up for him. He must have known, anyway, that he was far too high profile a figure to get far should he try to run. Locally, everyone knew Henry Kirkwood; knew his face and his affiliations. He had nowhere left to hide. The best he could do was to limit the damage and retain as much of his wealth as he could before the King's men came to claim it, as he knew they would. Henry Kirkwood had committed something close to treason, backed the cause of James, Duke of Monmouth, in his play for the English throne. He knew it was an act not about to be forgiven. His friends might help him to stay alive, but he'd have nothing other than that: no land, no house, no wealth
.