40

Vaughn’s place was the grandest house on Ashdown Forest, sitting in several hundred acres of private woodland surrounded by thousands more of heathland, all preserved for the exclusive use of one family. It was built in the same style as the Houses of Parliament – gothic, black stone dripping with damp even in summer.

Margaret parked her wreck of a car, an Alvis F series that seemed to burn a pint of oil for every gallon of petrol, in a glade of redwoods in front of the house. Each tree was larger at its base than her car, and I felt the bark of the nearest one as Margaret messed about with the car, topping up the oil, anticipating a quick departure. The redwood was soft and fibrous, unlike any native tree I’d ever felt. I looked up into its canopy, several hundred feet above.

The front door was open. There was a delivery van outside and large displays of fresh-cut flowers were being carried in. It looked like the place was being prepared for a function.

We were intercepted by a butler dressed in formal wear. He looked familiar. My age. I tried to place him and got an image of him running at me, red-faced, aiming to do me an injury. He bowled every now and then for Fairwarp cricket club. Deadly on occasion with a well-placed yorker. If I remembered right, I’d hit him for a couple of sixes the last time we’d met, before he’d got my middle wicket. William Washington, distantly related to the American President, or so everyone always said.

‘We want a word with Vaughn,’ Margaret said. Washington didn’t blink, presumably it was part of his job not to look surprised.

‘I’ll let Lord Matheson know you’re here,’ Washington said, turning to leave.

‘No,’ I said.

Washington froze.

‘It’s a surprise,’ Margaret said. ‘Where is he?’

Washington glanced through a set of double doors. In the distance we could see patio doors leading out to sunlight, thin curtains fluttering in the slight breeze.

We found Vaughn on the tennis court, alone, hitting a ball against a wooden wall painted green with a white line at net height. He was in his whites. The way he was hitting the ball made me wonder what was on his mind. It looked like he was trying to destroy the wall, or the ball, or both.

He saw us out of the corner of his eye, but kept at it. -Perhaps he was on track for a personal best. But he was off his rhythm, knowing he was being watched, trying too hard. He wound up for a backhand that would have sent the ball to France if he’d connected, but he missed, with a whiff of air through the strings.

He smiled. A good approximation of a man happy to see his friends.

‘Mags!’ he said.

‘What happened with the Leckies?’ I asked him. Better to be upfront than beat about the bush.

He didn’t answer. He pulled his shirt off, over his head like a child, picking up a towel from a chair.

‘You had some tenants on Palehouse Lane,’ I said. ‘They were killed.’

He didn’t seem self-conscious, drying off the sweat from his torso in front of a lady and a relative stranger.

‘What’s this all about, Cook?’

‘You’ve been playing Monopoly all over the Forest,’ I said. ‘The Leckies were killed so you could repossess their property. Gives you the full set, every house with a view over the high ground.’

‘Look, it’s no secret I’ve been buying up a few places—’

‘Actually, it is,’ I said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘All the records have been removed,’ I said. ‘Someone’s trying to hide something.’

Vaughn looked to Margaret as if she were the referee. She kept her face blank.

‘No,’ he said. ‘This is backwards. I’m the one being threatened. The Leckies were a warning to me. And then my land agent.’

‘You don’t deny you’ve been buying the properties?’ I asked.

‘Why should I? Last time I checked, the law allowed a man to buy a house or two.’

He looked at Margaret, then me. Back and forth. He realised we weren’t there to be fobbed off with a few pleasantries.

‘If anyone treated any of my tenants badly, I can assure you it wasn’t on my instructions.’

‘Why are you emptying your properties?’

We both knew the answer. There was only one reason to move out the only people who had a view over the massive expanse of the Forest, right in the middle of the invasion zone, halfway between the coast and London. I expected him to be evasive, but he wasn’t. His face lit up, as if he’d been dying for me to ask.

‘I’ll show you!’ he said. ‘Come on!’