Just inside the school gates in Dark, Headmistress Prynne was waiting, holding Tamsyn’s hand. She didn’t let go until Lee was two yards away. He crouched to intercept the little girl’s joy-fuelled missile flight, hoisted her up and tried to return her kiss for kiss. He was so pleased to see her. Clem had been the best of guests, had left his interior scrupulously intact, but still he wanted life—heaps and mounds of sacred, ordinary life. “Ugh. You are quite amazingly sticky. Were you making jam today?”
“No. Mash!”
“The children,” Miss Prynne clarified, “have been working with papier-mâché this afternoon, experimenting with form and feeling.”
“Oh,” said Lee, feeling chastened for having guessed something so domestic as jam. “I bet she enjoyed that.”
“She did. She also ate some of the glue.”
“Oh, Tamsyn.”
“It isn’t toxic, of course. But she objected to having all of it washed off.”
Uh-oh. Lee braced up. “When you say she objected, did she—”
“No, Lee. She didn’t make anything fly. She just cried, like a normal naughty little girl, and the assistant thought that, since it was so close to hometime, we wouldn’t insist on the point. We pick our battles here.”
“Yes, I’m sure... I’m sure you do.”
“Your husband needn’t have called me.”
“We both know that now. And thank you.”
“Here’s her backpack. Have a good evening, all of you.”
He carried his wriggling, chattering child to the car, and began to fasten her into her seat. “Form and feeling, eh? Bet you wouldn’t have got that at Uncle Dave’s school.”
She looked at him seriously. “No, Lee. Or to eat the glue.”
Before he could react, a warm, hairy weight banged against the back of his legs. “Isolde,” he said, startled, shifting to let her launch herself into the back beside her mistress. “Isn’t Sarah looking after you this afternoon?”
“Zold got away.”
“Oh, no.” Lee ruffled the dog’s ears. “You have not been running after that silky siren of a Saluki again, have you?”
“No. It’s because Dada’s coming.”
“Not for a few hours, sweetheart. Dada’s still at work.”
“Uncle David has a little girl.”
“Well—yes, he does. But he’s not really an uncle, you know, and he’s never coming to visit us again. You don’t have to worry about him.”
“Not about him. About Alice.”
Lee put one knee on the sill and eased back to examine his daughter’s face. “Now, how could you possibly know that? David was gone before you got home.”
“Alice is like me. Only sad, and very cross.”
“Why would she be...” Lee shook his head. Was he really about to discuss the feelings of an MI5 spook with a three year old? Tamsyn had picked the name out of the air, that was all—Lee knew how they could float—and assigned emotions to it, just as she did to her teddy bears and dolls. “Never mind. Let’s go home, then we can get you cleaned up and start making Dada’s tea.”
“Dada’s here, Lee. Alice is here!”
The rumble of an engine, familiar to Lee from hundreds of homecomings, snagged at his attention. He straightened up and looked down the street, shielding his eyes from the still-powerful afternoon sun. Yes—there was the police Rover, rounding the corner where Jim Teague had barely missed killing Isolde. Gideon had his cap on, his sunglasses in place. He looked every inch the copper, and Lee was suddenly more glad than usual to be on the right side of him. He pulled the truck to a halt beside Lee’s car. “Everything all right here?” he called through the open passenger window.
“Far as I know. A little weird. What are you doing home?”
“I just had the strongest feeling I should come.” He grinned. “I called Lawrence to clear it, and she didn’t half sound distracted. Anyway, here I am. What’s up?”
“Your demon-spawn child knew you were coming.”
“Well, she often does. So does Isolde. Maybe I should go easy on the cologne.”
“Or have a wash. She also says that Alice Rawle is here.”
“What?” Gideon switched off the engine. He climbed out into the road. “Where did she get that name from?”
“I don’t know, and that’s what’s bothering me.”
“Okay. You take her home, and I’ll have a look around the village, just make sure that...” He frowned, suddenly pulled off his sunglasses. “Look down there.”
“What is it?”
“There, just tucked around the corner by the gate into our lane. That car.”
Lee hadn’t seen it. The car was of a type designed not to be seen, although its lines were sleek and expensive. The paintwork was a dark and restful green, blending too easily with the leaves of the sycamores that shadowed the gate. “Who the hell is that?”
“There’s one easy way to find out.”
Gideon strode off down the road. On instinct, Lee released Tamsyn from the straps of her car seat, lifted her out and followed him, Isolde bringing up the rear, somehow formidable despite her waddle and her long, lolling tongue. “Gid,” he called out after a moment. “Wait.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be discreet. Just the village bobby asking a few questions.”
“There’s no need. Stop. You can do it from here.”
Force of nature though Gideon was, he’d still obey when it mattered. He pulled up sharp. “Do what, exactly?”
“Find out who’s in the car. Don’t get any closer.”
“It’ll be all right. I just... Oh, hang on. You’re right. Do you see the guy in the back seat?”
“White hair, distinguished—sticking out like a sore thumb around these parts, even if he is trying to hide behind his driver?”
“That’s the one. I know him. Bloody hell—he’s in mufti, but that’s General Bolton-Reeves, from the military base up near Dartmoor. Always used to turn up with the top brass to watch the Air Service open day at Hawke Lake. I thought he’d retired.”
“What’s he doing, hanging around Dark on a school-day afternoon?”
“I have no idea. I’m more interested in the woman getting out of the back on the driver’s side right now. I’m sure she’s changed a lot since you last saw her, love, but—is could that be Alice Rawle?”
Yes. Lee recognised her, but just barely. She’d been a tanned, sturdy teen, racing around her father’s grounds with the kids, organising games for them, calmly talking Elowen down from the occasional fit of temper-induced psychokinesis. Now she was no more than a skeleton in a grey suit. Her hair was scraped back from her face, marks of unendurable weariness and betrayal hollowing her eyes. Lee’s skin crawled, a spasm so sharp and deep that he wanted to leap away from it, recoil into the safety of his innermost headspace.
Instead, very deliberately, he remained unfolded, all six senses held open and wide. “Gideon,” he said. “Step back from her. Come away.”
“It’s okay. She doesn’t look well, poor woman. She may not be with this guy of her own free will, to judge by what Jenny Spargo’s informant said. Alice Rawle?” he called, raising his voice and holding out one hand. “I’m a sergeant with Devon and Cornwall. Do you need assistance?”
Perhaps she did. She raised a hand in her turn—waist high, palm out, fingers trembling.
The ground shook. A moan like thawing permafrost arose from nowhere and everywhere at once—the sky, the warm tarmac, the walls of the school buildings and the houses all around. Lee’s ears popped, and Gideon dabbed at his nose, half-turning to Lee in bewilderment at the sudden stain of crimson on his fingers. “What the hell is that?”
“I said... come away.” Lee reached out and grabbed his utility belt. He tried to haul him back—but scarlet fires had reached Gideon’s eyes, and another sound began to blend with the appalling subsonic vibe. The sound of a moonlit Beltane night, of a predator’s dash through the hawthorns... Lee’s perfect husband, the guardian of the haunted moor, beloved dad and pillar of the community, was standing outdoors in broad daylight, eyes glowing, beginning to growl.
Tamsyn burst into laughter. The sheer fresh joy in her voice cut through the ultrasound, the sense of mounting threat, like morning light through a thunderstorm. Lee, who’d been trying to shield her and cover her ears whilst at the same time hauling her dad out of harm’s way, let go all his efforts and stood still, staring at her in astonishment. She pointed at Alice Rawle.
The rumbling stopped. Alice’s mouth fell open. She stumbled against the car, as if something had knocked her off balance. Then she doubled up—a frail paper doll, neatly and precisely folded in a line across her midriff—and fell backwards into the car. The door closed behind her, gently and untouched, once her feet were clear.
Peace descended upon Dark. The only sounds now were the discreet roar of the green car’s engine, and Tamsyn’s laughter, fading now into chuckles and the purring hum she sometimes produced when all things were well in her world. The driver executed an unlikely three-point turn in the narrow road, and swept past Gideon and Lee. Alice had curled up in the back seat and hidden her face, but the general stared boldly through the window, gaze riveted upon the little girl.
***
Gideon and Lee sat for a long while after dinner. After such a long day, they’d succumbed to pizza and microwave chips, but had eaten these ceremoniously in Chy Lowen’s beautiful old dining room, with silver cutlery and good linen napkins. The early evening light was pure, the air warm. The old French windows were standing wide, the inner world in effortless touch with the outer, the breeze like an embrace. Tamsyn, who had protested an early bedtime, was blissfully napping with Isolde on the velvet chaise longue, her fingers clasped deep in the dog’s thick coat.
Nevertheless, somebody somewhere had to start the conversation. Not about Clem Atherton, or DI Lawrence’s sudden and delightful change of team: these things had been discussed at great length already, and the main work remained to be done. Lee drew a deep breath: Gideon was motionless, one arm draped over the back of his chair, handsome face as deeply still as if he were asleep and dreaming. Lee hated to disturb him. “Gid?”
“Yes. I... I’ve been thinking.”
“I thought I could hear the cogs whirring. Me too.”
“Oh. In that case, can I be a coward and let you go first?”
Lee topped off both their glasses with the red wine that had so nicely complemented their pizza and chips. “If I must. The thing is—you know that I know you’re right, don’t you? About this village, and the school, and how things are perfect for Tamsyn here, because all her friends and neighbours would do anything for us—and especially for her.”
“I do know that.” Absently Gideon broke the last piece of garlic bread and handed half across the table to Lee. “But at the same time, you do know that I know you’re right too—right?”
“Er... you might have to clarify.”
“Okay. They’d do anything for her. But they shouldn’t have to—not when sharks the size of General Bolton-Reeves come swimming through their waters.”
“He is not the shark I’m worried about.”
“No. I know. But Alice Rawle was more like some poor wired-up dolphin, trained to deliver limpet mines. Jesus Christ, Lee—she looked like a corpse. All right, we’d never send Tamsie away from us. But I think we need some kind of fallback plan, something we put in place now so that if ever she makes the water too hot for all of us here...”
“We can all go away together.”
Gideon laced his fingers together. He rested his elbows on the table and looked at Lee with absolute seriousness. “Yes.”
“What about your job?”
“Well, there’s yours to think about, too. But nothing’s as important as Tamsyn. We have to be able to run.”
“I know who could help us with that. But I doubt you’d want me to ask her.”
“I... I think I would. She’s been living in France for a while now—she and Michel might know of somewhere, a barn in the countryside we could fix up, or an apartment in some obscure little town.” He leaned forward, brown gaze tired and intense. “Look, sweetheart, neither of us needs to be packing in our work and buying plane tickets just yet. But this is something I would like to sort out, as soon as possible. Then we can forget about it and get on with our lives.”
Lee nodded. He pulled his mobile out of the back pocket of his jeans. “I’ll phone her now.”
He dialled, then put his head on one side, listening in confusion. Had he switched the speaker on? He could hear a ringtone, as well as the dialling purr down the line. A familiar ripple of Bach, a favourite of Lee’s because his mother had loved it too, including it in her cello practice on one of the last days when she’d been strong enough to sit up and hold the instrument.
Gideon was hearing it too. Their eyes met. Both stood up from the table, movements slow and cautious. Isolde rolled suddenly off the chaise longue, landing with a grunt and another tremendous fart. Recovering her dignity, she lurched onto her feet and trotted out into the garden, tail waving.
Lee and Gideon followed her. And there, clutching guiltily at the ropes of the swing beneath the sycamore tree, sat Lee’s child-napping sister, Elowen Tyack-Duroy.