27

‘So, how do you feel that went?' Charles and Cadi had visited the police station the next morning and spent a good half hour in consultation with a young detective constable. Afterwards, they headed into a coffee shop and sat down with something like relief. ‘Do you think he understood anything we said?'

Cadi shook her head slowly. ‘Poor lamb. He had no concept of ages past. He couldn't get his head round the dates of the -Second World War, never mind three generations of a -family and a murder that had happened deep in the countryside eightyor so years ago, which no one had even noticed.'

‘You think he will follow it up?'

‘I expect he'll run it past someone a bit more senior. They will at least liaise with the council archaeologists; perhaps Steve. Do you think you should warn him?'

Charles nodded. ‘I tried ringing him this morning but he was out of the office and I didn't want to leave a message.' He grinned. ‘I'll certainly keep him updated. After all, it explains how the shotgun pellets got into the grave and solves his dating problem.'

‘Not if the bones test as Roman it won't.'

They looked at each other and both smiled. ‘What an interesting conundrum we've set ourselves,' Charles said at last.

It became even more interesting the following afternoon when Cadi was sitting at her desk copying out some rough verses. Charles had to prepare for a Zoom call with one of his students to discuss next term's curriculum and had elected to do both preparation and call in the quiet of the room his landlady called her visitors' parlour. Cadi was, if she was honest, quite relieved. They had spent a lot of time together in the last couple of days and she enjoyed his company. But did she enjoy it too much? They had fallen into an easy friendship, facilitated by the strange circumstances in which they found themselves, but she didn't want to risk letting it develop further.

She knew why. She had had enough time to think about it. Her relationship with Ifan had deteriorated so fast and so -disastrously that her life had been left in shreds. To find -herself the target of such venom in the wake of his departure had destroyed her trust in men. Destroyed it so completely she hadresisted even the most tentative approaches from anyone else since. She replayed Sally's humorous comment in her head. ‘The virgin poetess' more or less covered it! And it had all been brought back by the horrific suspicion she kept on trying so hard to dismiss that Ifan might be John Davies, the man who now owned Camp Meadow. The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed.

The knock at her door made her start. She dropped her pencil and spun round in her chair to stare at it, half expecting Ifan to be there on her doorstep. Forcing herself to stand up, she went towards the door and put her hand on the latch, then she stopped.

‘Who is it?' She couldn't believe she was asking.

‘Detective Sergeant Idris James. I wonder if I could have a quick word with you, Mrs Caradoc. I'll put my ID through the letterbox.'

She pulled open the door. ‘No need. Sorry, I was half expecting someone I wasn't too keen to see again.' She tried to soften the words with a smile. ‘I'm Cadi Jones now. My husband and I were divorced and I've gone back to my maiden name. What can I do for you?'

‘I understand it was you who spoke to my colleague yesterday about your conversation with Mrs Joyce Blackdon?' He was a tall young man and had to stoop to come in through the cottage doorway. She led him over to the kitchen table so they could sit down. ‘I've just spoken to her and taken a statement,' he went on. ‘I very much doubt there will be any comeback on the old lady. She was very nervous that she would be penalised for keeping her mother's secret so long.' He paused to take out his notebook. ‘I understand from her that this is the house where her family lived at the time of the incident but that it actually belonged to your– or your former husband's– family?'

Cadi nodded. ‘The Caradocs owned a lot of land round here before the war, but afterwards they sold most of it. In the end this cottage was the only thing left. My husband inherited it as a holiday home, and he gave it to me as part of our divorce settlement. Joyce's grandfather, I think it was, appears to have been a gamekeeper on the estate and Joyce said his son George was training to succeed him. I'm not sure of the actual dates, but I gather George had been called up at the beginning of the war. The shooting occurred the day before he left and he never came home.'

‘No, he was killed in action. We checked.' Sergeant James opened his notebook. ‘There is just one thing I need to clear up. The murder weapon. Mrs Blackdon doesn't recall ever seeing or hearing of a shotgun. She has no idea what would have happened to it. Presumably as the men were keepers on the estate, the guns were tools of their trade and that was why they had one or more on the premises.' He glanced up at her. ‘I would assume the guns might have been requisitioned by the home guard and that Mrs Blackdon's family might have claimed them back at some stage, or perhaps technically they belonged to their employer and were returned to him. I just need to check whether you or your husband— your ex-husband'– he corrected himself quickly– ‘found any guns on the premises when you inherited the cottage? Perhaps in an old gun cabinet, or in the garage or shed or somewhere? People often keep them as antiques or mementoes of the war.' He glanced at the fireplace which was, she realised, just the sort of place where an old gun might have been hung as decoration.

She shook her head. ‘The place was pretty much derelict when we took it over. There is no garage and we put in the shed ourselves for gardening tools.'

‘Are you and your husband on good terms?' He looked up from his notebook again.

She nodded and then, catching his expression, laughed. ‘Oh, my unwelcome visitor? No, that's not David. A rather unpleasant ex-boyfriend who, please God, will never darken my doors again. I've only just heard he might be back in the area.' She realised she was clenching her fists and forced herself to relax them.

‘Well, remember there is action you can take if he's stalking you.' Sergeant James stood up. ‘And if you are talking to your former husband, perhaps you can ask him if he can remember any stories from the family that might help. I won't take any more of your time, Mrs– Miss– Jones, but please let me know if you hear anything that might help with our investigation. We can't find any record of anyone missing in the area at that time, and it is more difficult, keeping in mind that there was a war on, so we might never be able to identify the victim; he could have been a poacher, a member of a travelling community, just some itinerant passing through, but villages have long memories. People might start to remember things.' He pocketed his notebook. ‘And if you're worried about that unpleasant ex, feel free to let me know.' He smiled.

He had extraordinarily blue eyes, she realised.

To Charles's surprise the gate into the meadow was open. His Zoom call finished, he had decided to walk up to the hill fort again. There was a car outside Cadi's cottage. He had wondered anyway if he might have overstayed his welcome there for a bit. He hoped not, but he was getting mixed signals from her. Friendly, even warm, but then a reservation would appear. Perhaps that wasn't surprising, after what she had told him about Ifan Davies. Whatever the reason, perhaps they both needed a breather from one another's company.

There were two cars parked inside the meadow, close to the hedge, and he could see a couple of men in the distance walking across the grass. They had clipboards and didn't seem to him much like archaeologists. They looked up as he approached. ‘Can I help you?' The shorter of the two men was younger, obviously aggressive, and glanced at him impatiently. Why was it when people asked if they can help they so often meant the reverse? Charles grinned at him amiably.

‘I presume you're part of Steve's team? I was wondering how things were going with the forensic tests.'

The man frowned. It was his colleague who said, ‘He's talking about the bones, Tim.'

Charles nodded. ‘Sorry. Aren't you from the council archaeology team?'

The man addressed as Tim shook his head. ‘We work for the owner of the field. All this archaeology is a damned nuisance, if you ask me. Hopefully it will be resolved within the next week. My boss has been putting pressure on them. It was all supposed to go through seamlessly. A word in the right ear, and all that.' He tapped the end of his nose. ‘Once planning gets involved with council red tape the whole schedule becomes a nightmare.'

Charles nodded understandingly. ‘Tell me about it. So, you work for John Davies?'

They both nodded.

‘Of course he used to live round here, didn't he.' Charles thought it was worth a guess. ‘Has he been up to look at the site since they found the bones?'

Tim nodded. ‘A couple of times. He's pretty livid about it. But I suppose one can't blame some poor sod for getting murdered and buried in the middle of our building site.'

Charles gave a wry grin. ‘I don't suppose the poor guy was too pleased about ending up here himself. I saw the bones. I know Steve, the archaeologist, that's why I was interested.'

‘John reckons someone's stalling,' the second man put in.

Charles shook his head. ‘I don't think so. Tests like that take a while to come through. I believe you have to pay extra to speed up the results and the council isn't going to cough up extra, if I know anything about councils. And of course the police are involved as it was obviously a murder. They'll take their time as well.'

‘Surely not,' Tim said with a smirk. ‘I heard it happened a thousand years ago.'

‘Hardly. The man was shot.' Charles was enjoying himself and intrigued to see that the two men had obviously not heard that particular detail. They both looked shocked.

‘Does John know about that?' Tim asked his colleague.

‘It's pretty common knowledge in the village,' Charles went on comfortably. ‘You know, obviously, how unpopular the idea of the development is. No skin off my nose. I don't live round here, but it does seem a shame to build here, doesn't it. Such a pretty spot.'

‘They're all pretty spots.' Tim gave a cynical laugh. ‘Otherwise we wouldn't be interested and nor would our punters.'

Charles managed a wise nod. ‘John coming back any time soon?'

‘He's staying here now. In the village.' Tim's colleague scowled. ‘Wants to keep an eye on things in person.'

Charles kept his face as bland as he could. ‘Moved in with his dad, has he?'

Tim shook his head. ‘Na, I understand they don't get on.' He didn't seem curious as to how Charles knew so much about his employer. ‘He's staying with some former girlfriend right here in the village. I think she's got shares in the company so he knows she's on board. Ear to the ground and all that. Crafty operator, our John.'

Charles was astonished and for a moment he was afraid he had given himself away. To his relief neither man seemed to have noticed his change of expression. But it was time to go. He had all the information he needed. A couple of further cheery comments and he set off back across the field and headed on towards the hill. No way did he want the men seeing him going back towards the village.

* * *

‘They were unbelievably indiscreet,' he said to Cadi as he threw himself down on the sofa. ‘I wouldn't want business partners like that. You won't believe what they told me.'

She listened without comment. ‘So, it is Ifan. Who on earth is he staying with?' Her mouth had gone dry.

‘I didn't dare ask any more questions. They were bloody na?ve giving so much away to a stranger, but I couldn't push my luck. It's a small village. Surely it can't be hard to find out where he is. I'll ask my landlady. She knows everyone.'

‘I thought I knew everyone,' Cadi whispered. ‘I've lived here a long time and no one has said anything. You would think I of all people would know if he had another girlfriend around here. Anyway, I thought he was married.' She was feeling sick; this was her worst nightmare come true. She swallowed hard. ‘I wonder if Arwel even knows he's here. If those men knew he and Ifan don't get on, that implies they never made up.'

‘You can't ask him?'

She had gone pale, he noticed. He wondered if he should havetold her what he'd discovered. But surely it was better she knew.

‘No. I can't.' She shuddered. ‘I don't want to have anything to do with Arwel. I can't bear the idea that Ifan is actually here, so close. This is deliberate. He knows how much it will hurt me to develop the meadow. He might be watching this house at this very moment. And who the hell is this girlfriend?'

It didn't take long to find out. It was only an hour later that Chris Chatto knocked at the door. ‘Do you know who the developer is?' He had a bottle of wine in his hand and he was bursting with the news. ‘One of his men came into the mill. My God! It's only Arwel's son. He's a multimillionaire now and a property developer and he's back, staying in the village. I can't believe it.'

The only thing he hadn't been aware of was that Cadi and Ifan had once had an affair. John as he was now known, at least professionally, was, it appeared, staying with Madelaine Bristow; her beautiful Georgian house on the edge of the village was in effect her second home, based as she was in London where she ran a globally acclaimed fashion business. As far as Chris knew she was away on one of her regular trips to Italy and had lent Ifan the use of her house.

‘Jesus Christ!' Cadi stared at Chis in shock. ‘He's gone up in the world since he and I were together!'

Charles had found some glasses. He opened the bottle and poured what he described as a restorative dose each. ‘So, Cadi,' he asked gently, ‘do you know her?'

‘I've met her but we move in different circles.'

‘Sounds just as well.' Chris felt in his pocket for his phone. He chewed his lip as he scrolled through a clutch of photographs. ‘You need to see this.' He passed Cadi the phone.

She stared at it for several seconds, enlarging a corner of what looked like a plan. ‘What is this?'

‘The latest outline planning application.'

‘But it's—' She turned the phone upside down.

‘Much larger than the original one. The houses are more tightly packed and one street is right up against your hedge and overlooks your garden. Don't worry. Even if they allowed the development, I doubt they would accept that bit, but it does rather prove how personal this is.'

Cadi leaned back in her chair. She was as white as a sheet. ‘I can't believe it. Where did you get this from, Chris?'

‘It was your friend Steve, Charles. He sent it to us at the anti-development committee. I didn't ask how he got hold of it. He seems a far better source of information than my own contact at the council.' Chris retrieved the phone from Cadi and passed it to Charles. He grabbed the bottle off the table and refilled her glass. ‘Ifan Davies is obviously an A-grade bastard. If this is about you, Cadi, what on earth did you do to him to deserve such an extraordinary revenge?'

Cadi grimaced. ‘I dumped him. That was enough. He persecuted me for a long time after we split up, but I thought, I hoped, he had forgotten all about me. But this has his signature all over it. Complicated, subtle, and vicious. He must have been planning this for months, if not years.' She bit back a sob. Charles and Chris glanced at each other uncomfortably. ‘I think I can guess why he's homed in on the meadow.' She took a deep breath and steadied her voice. ‘When we -finally fell out properly it was because he wanted us to move to -London. He said he hated the village and the countryside. He had been brought up here of course. He wanted me to sell Sarnelen Cottage. Naturally I refused and, thinking back, it did rather become an "either the house goes or I do" sort of duel. If I had really loved him there might not have been a problem, but I had realised by then that our relationship was not going to work. I had seen so many signs that he wasn't the nice person I thought he was. He had a vicious streak even then and once I said I wanted to end it, he went ballistic. I was really scared of him for a while. I did wonder if he might burn the house down. He blamed it for our break-up. Thought I loved it more than I loved him. Which was true.' She gave a shaky grin. ‘But eventually he went away and his threats faded out. At some point he'd got married. You told me that Chris. I thought he had forgotten about me. So why now? Why, after all this time?'

Chris and Charles exchanged glances again. ‘I think the only possible upside of this is that if he's planned such an intricate revenge, maybe he won't want to spoil it by knocking on the door and threatening you in person,' Chris said thoughtfully. ‘He wants to ruin Sarnelen Cottage for you; he doesn't want to hurt you physically.'

‘I wish I had your confidence.' Cadi shuddered again. The palms of her hands were sweating. ‘I'm not going to feel safe here anymore, am I.'

‘But you wouldn't go away?'

‘No, of course I wouldn't.' She gritted her teeth. ‘That would be letting the bastard win.'

‘You need someone staying here with you,' Chris went on.

‘My uncle Meryn,' Cadi put in hastily, afraid Charles was going to volunteer. ‘It's already arranged. He's coming for a while to help with the historical side of all this.' She gave Charles a quick glance.

‘Good.' Chris seemed satisfied. ‘I have no idea where we go from here. I suppose we have to see who makes the next move. If the council refuse permission because of the archaeology, no doubt he will be very angry and presumably he will appeal. And if they allow it, we will be absolutely furious and we will appeal.'

They sat in silence for a while after Chris left. Eventually Charles sighed. ‘Oh, Cadi. I'm so sorry.'

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I'm glad you found out. I'd been suspicious for a while. The meadow was where I escaped from him. I've always loved it out there. It's my special place.' She sighed. ‘Charles, would you mind very much if I asked you to go. I need to be alone for a bit. I need to think. Sorry.' She was terrified she was going to cry.

‘Of course.' He stood up. ‘I ought to go back to the B&B anyway. I need to make some notes on the call I made this afternoon.' He waited, but when she made no response he continued, ‘And I'll have a better chance of running into my hostess if I go back early. I can quiz her about our friend and the exotic Madelaine Bristow.' He hesitated. ‘You will be OK on your own until Meryn comes?'

She nodded silently.

‘Ring me if you want me to come back.' He waited for her to say something, but she didn't reply.

As he walked up the narrow street into the heart of the village he thought he could feel eyes boring into his back. He did not look round.