35

‘Meryn!' Cadi knocked on his bedroom door. ‘Are you busy?'

‘Come in.' He was sitting at the small table, his laptop in front of him. She saw he had moved the oval dressing--table mirror to the floor to make room for a slew of books and papers.

‘You needn't come and work up here. You can always use the kitchen table.' For a moment she forgot why she had come up to speak to him so urgently.

He sat back with a sigh. ‘I know. But we both need quiet to work. It's easier up here.' He swivelled round to face her. ‘In fact, I'm going to have to go home again, Cadi. I'm sorry. I thought I could stay longer, and I hoped I could, but I really have a lot of work to catch up with. My book is nearing completion and I must concentrate; and I need access to libraries in London and Aberystwyth and possibly even Paris. Most I can get online, but some sources aren't there yet. Just now I was contemplating a trip to Dublin as well.'

Cadi sat down on the end of his bed. ‘I'm sorry. I was so wrapped up in the meadow and Ifan, I forgot how busy you are.' She knew she sounded crestfallen, but she couldn't help it.

‘I'll be back.' He smiled. ‘I will miss being here, but for now I do need to go. I'm worried about abandoning you, but I know I can trust Charles to keep an eye on you.'

She stood up. ‘No one needs to keep an eye on me! Anyway, Ifan's gone back to London. Don't you worry about me. Chris and Mel are on the case, and even Arwel seems less than enchanted by his son. And if by any chance Ifan does come back, there are always the police. If I'm worried I will get in touch with them. That young sergeant said I could contact them at any time.' She gave a rueful grin. ‘I will keep you posted about what's going on, I promise.' She sighed. ‘If you go to Paris will you call in on Dad?'

‘Your dad does not live in Paris, Cadi. And I doubt if he would want anyone dropping in, as you well know.'

She shook her head. ‘You're right, as always.' She gave a rueful smile.

He nodded. ‘As always. But for now, Cadi love, it's late and you came in full of urgency. What did you want to ask me about?'

‘Not ask. Tell. Ironically, Branwen thinks you're spying. On her. She doesn't like it.' She had run upstairs, her notebook in her hand. She folded it back and passed it to him. ‘Can you read what I've written? It's my transcription of a letter Branwen sent to Elen.'

Taking it over to the bed he held it under the bedside light. He read it and then read it again, then he looked up. ‘I am sorry I'm scaring her. She sees me as a stalker. I'll stop. I was so anxious to make contact I didn't think what her reaction would be.' He frowned. ‘There is something else here. She names the man who died, whose body was never found. If that was our man, our poor dead Roman, shot as he came through the wormhole, then he needs to be given his name. We should tell someone.'

Meryn left next morning after breakfast, just as the cars of the various archaeology team members were arriving, parked along the lane, their offside wheels up on the bank. Cadi waved him away then stood leaning on her gate watching as the various arrivals walked towards the meadow. There was still no sign of Charles and for a moment she considered ringing him, but she thought better of it and turned back into the house. She did not want to seem too needy, but he was the one she should talk to about Marius. He would know how to tell Steve. The living room did seem very quiet, though. With a sigh she gathered up the breakfast dishes and put them in the sink, then she went over to the desk and began to sort through her papers, trying to bring some kind of order to the heaps of notebooks and sketch pads. Not only was the house empty without Meryn but she was very aware of the silence from next door. Sally had left in the early hours with an excited Gemma uttering one short bark as they drove off, heading for the south coast and the ferry to France.

By mid-morning Cadi was beginning to worry. There was still no word from Charles and his phone had gone to voicemail. She had typed up her latest session, editing it as she went to make it more readable and noting the places where she felt she could check facts and dates as a way to make it more authentic. Adding the printed pages to her pile, she stood up and went to the door.

There seemed to be no control over who came into the meadow and she walked across the grass unchallenged. Steve was there with two people she didn't recognise, one of them on their knees beside the grave, trowel in hand. Steve greeted her cheerfully. ‘On your own today?'

‘Looks like it.' She smiled at him. ‘Have you been looking for our mosaic pavement?'

He shook his head. ‘One thing at a time. I'm afraid it will have to wait its turn. We need to be systematic.'

‘So, have you found anything exciting this morning?'

‘Indeed. More bodies. Several bodies, I suspect, and some the victims of a fire.'

Cadi shivered. Poor people. ‘Did Charles happen to say where he was going today?' she asked. It was silly to be worried, but she couldn't help it. The last time she had seen Charles, he was setting off up the road about twenty minutes after Ifan had stormed out.

Steve's only response was a shake of his head.

* * *

It was two hours later that Cadi had a visit from Mel Chatto. A tall, slim, elegant figure, most often seen in the background behind the counter at the mill when she would be swathed in a floury apron, Mel followed Cadi into her living room and perched on the edge of the sofa. ‘We knew you would be worried. Charles is OK. He said he'd come and see you this afternoon. Someone vandalised his car in the night. Properly trashed it, then while he was outside early this morning with his landlady looking at what had happened, someone nipped into the house through the open kitchen door at the back, ransacked his bedroom and smashed up his laptop, phone, phone charger, camera, everything. The police have been there all morning.'

Cadi sat down opposite her. She felt sick. ‘Was it Ifan?'

Mel gave a non-committal shrug. ‘I gather when they asked if anyone had a grudge against him, Ifan was the only one he could think of. But apparently Ifan had told everyone in his team he was driving back to London last night. There's a crime scene investigator fingerprinting the car and the doors to -Annabel's house and Charles's bedroom, and Chris suggested they go and talk to Arwel. Poor Charles. He's devastated. Whoever did it was out of there so fast. There was absolutely no sign of anyone around.'

‘Shall I come and talk to him?'

Mel shook her head. ‘I should wait. I told him I'd pop in and tell you what's happening. He's going to come and see you once the police have gone. The village is heaving with cops.' She gave a wry smile. ‘Annabel is a friend of mine. She rang and asked me if I'd take over a couple of coffees for her and Charles because she can't use her kitchen until the police have finished in there.' She stood up. ‘Typical Annabel. She always thinks about her guests' stomachs, bless her! The whole thing is a nightmare! I must go.'

Cadi stood in her doorway staring down the street after Mel left. This end of the village seemed deserted and the quiet digging in the meadow seemed to be continuing undisturbed.

It was nearly three o'clock when Charles finally appeared. He looked exhausted.

‘I am so sorry. This is all my fault!' Cadi led him in and sat him down at the kitchen table. ‘It was Ifan, wasn't it.'

‘They don't know. Maybe not. He was seen driving out of the village last night. I gather the police are going to consult their ANPR to check if and when it shows his car was on the road to London. The trouble is if he doubled back on little country lanes, they won't know. Thanks.' He reached out for the mug of tea she offered him. ‘Everyone has been so kind.'

‘Mel said he destroyed your laptop and your phone as well as the car.'

He gave a grimace. ‘He did a really good job on me, that's for sure.' He sighed. ‘Whoever it was made it clear it was -personal. Annabel's laptop was in the kitchen, albeit half buried under cookery books, but he ignored that. It was me he was after.' He took a sip of tea. The colour was returning to his cheeks. ‘The police were asking about my relationship with you. I am afraid, as far as the village is concerned, you and I are an item.' He grinned.

Embarrassed, Cadi gave a nervous laugh. ‘I'm sorry. You must wish you'd never met me!'

‘Not at all. I'm very pleased I met you. You know, if I hadn't dropped in that day to ask you about the ghosts in your -meadow, and we had never met, I would have spent this summer holidays pottering around, maybe doing a bit of hill--walking, maybe visit-ing my mother for a few days by the sea in Devon and working on next year's syllabus. And instead...' He gestured round the room.

‘Instead, you're knee-deep in crime, have had your laptop destroyed, your car is a write-off, you have spent hours digging human bones out of a field and everything you ever knew about the space-time continuum has been thrown up in the air!'

He laughed. ‘And I've made some wonderful new friends.' He held her gaze and she felt herself blushing. ‘Please don't blame yourself for any of this, Cadi. I'm fully insured and I haven't lost any work as it was all backed up. But what I'm worried about is you. If Ifan is that vindictive, perhaps you're in danger.'

Cadi sat down opposite him. ‘Did you mention his visit yesterday to the police?'

Charles nodded. ‘I had to. I'm sorry.'

‘No, don't be. I'm glad they know. I don't think he would hurt me. It's you and Meryn I'm worried about. After all, he had no idea who you were and at once leapt to conclusions about our relationship, which was enough to whip him into a frenzy. He didn't target me. At least I don't think he did. I -haven't checked my car. It's parked a bit further up the road. He would have known which one is mine; it's the same old thing I had when he and I were together. I'd be far more worried about Meryn. He sounded as though he really hates Meryn. I don't remember Meryn interfering in our lives. I don't think I remember them even meeting, but I suppose they must have done.'

‘Where is Meryn?' Charles glanced towards the stairs.

‘He left this morning before we knew what had happened. He had to go home.'

‘You'd better warn him to keep his door locked. In fact, do you think we ought to tell the police we think he might be atrisk?'

They did. It was only an hour later that a young detective constable came to take Cadi's statement about her relationship with Ifan and his visit to her house the day before. ‘Do you think he's the one who vandalised Charles' stuff?' Cadi asked as the three of them sat at the kitchen table.

The young man shrugged his shoulders. ‘We're just trying to get a picture of all the individuals involved in the case.'

‘And how did he know where I was staying?' Charles putin.

‘Everyone in the village would have known,' Cadi said. ‘Everyone knows everything round here.'

‘Or I suppose he might have been lying in wait for me to see where I went. I only left about half an hour after him yesterday. He was in a pretty foul mood.' Charles shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I can't think of anyone else I might have offended, but if it was a passing thief, he would have stolen my phone and my laptop, not smashed them with a hammer.'

‘We can't be sure it was a hammer,' the policeman said cautiously.

‘Well, it was something heavy and hard. Your colleagues couldn't find anything that had been moved that he might have used, so he must've brought it with him.'

‘Fingerprinting will tell us if anything else was touched,' the young man said, ‘but Mrs Roach looked in the drawers in her kitchen and all her cooking equipment seemed to be in place. And her late husband's tools were all still in the garage which was locked.'

‘Have you been up to the excavation site?' Charles asked. ‘I doubt if they leave any spades and things lying around, but it might be worth checking.'

‘They've already been warned about leaving anything up there,' the policeman went on. ‘The archaeologists confirmed they take everything away with them each time they finish. And I gather the landowner's agent has organised security guards to patrol the site at night in case of nighthawks. Apparently it's very common for people to try to dig up archaeological sites if anything interesting has been found, in case there's treasure there.' The young constable stood up. ‘Ironic that the landowner is the same man you suspect.' He gave a cheery smile. ‘I'll let you know if there are any developments, and in the meantime, I'm sure I don't have to remind you to keep your doors locked, Miss Jones. And if you see or hear anyone in the meadow at night it will be the guard doing a patrol– but if you are at all worried, call us.'

The moment he had gone, Cadi reached for her phone. ‘I'll ring Meryn and warn him.'

Meryn had arrived home by ten o'clock that morning. He drove the car around the back of his cottage and climbed out stiffly, drawing in lungfuls of the glorious mountain air. Much as he loved Cadi, he was used to being on his own and the events of the last few days had worn him out. The sun was beating down, barely shrouded now and then by fair--weather cloud, and he stood squinting up to see if his birds were around. A pair of buzzards nested in the high woods on the far slopes of the next valley and he was used to seeing them riding the thermals overhead. At this time of year they were usually joined by their new family. They had reared three young this season and the parents spent hours teaching their kids to revel in the soaring air currents that spiralled over the high tops.

He heard the croak of a raven nearby and frowned. The ravens and the buzzards were age-old enemies, sparring in dramatic stand-offs overhead, but this one was sitting in one of the thorn trees in the paddock behind the cottage. That was unusual. ‘Do you have a message for me, old friend?' He was glad there was no one around to hear him talk to the bird. None of his human friends would be surprised, but in a village like Cadi's it would have been easy to be caught out. He wandered over to the gate and leaned on it. The great black bird preened itself for a few seconds then hopped onto a closer branch and croaked again, the raucous sound somehow deeper and more anxious than usual. Meryn frowned as the bird took off, circled once then went to sit on the cottage roof. He glanced round. The garden was silent. Even the wind seemed to have dropped and he could hear no birds at all. Where were the skylarks, the stonechats out on the hillside, the pipits, his wheatear?

He groped in his pocket for his keys and walked slowly over to the back door, every sense alert. The cottage was very iso-lated in spite of its prominent position on the hillside.

He pushed the back door open and peered in. The house felt normal. No one had been in. He went back to the car and collected his bag and his laptop. He raised his hand in acknow-ledgement to the great bird still sitting on the roof. The raven cocked its head down at him, almost seeming to check that he had got the message, before taking off, circling once and setting off down towards the distant Wye Valley.

Meryn locked his kitchen door after himself. Something he very seldom did. He frowned. The bird had made him uncomfortable and he was aware of it now, a tenseness in the air as he walked into the kitchen. There was a dead mouse lying curled on the worktop by the kettle. Round its neck someone had loosely wound a strand of honeysuckle, interwoven with vervain, the enchanter's herb.

* * *

Branwen smiled. She could see him in the water reflections now. An elderly man with short white hair, a man who knew how to talk to the birds. She watched him pick up the tiny corpse, gently stroking the soft fur with his little finger and carefully unwinding the plant stems. He had such a sad expression on his face she almost warmed to him. It was a warning. Did he understand that? A warning to keep his nose out of her business. She glanced round the room in which he was standing. It was full of jars and pans, there were cups and plates on the shelves, a table in the centre of the room on which there were sheets of script and the stylus with which presumably he wrote. She tensed. Her eyes were growing tired, focusing so intently on him, but she had become aware of danger. Danger to him. She drew back, still watching from the shadows. She could see him listening. He could feel it. He was an adept, of course he could feel it. She saw him put down the little body, with careful respect. Then he walked over to the door and -bolted it before he crossed the room to the window and, his back to the wall so he was out of sight, he carefully peered round the curtain and looked out. There was someone there he couldn't see. Nor could Branwen, but she could feel the presence of a malign force out there, in the sunlight.

She stood back thoughtfully. This man interested her. There was more to him than she had realised. He had treated the small creature as a fellow soul. He too should be treated with respect. She bent over the bowl again, sweeping her long hair back with her arm so it didn't dangle in the water, and studied the blue sky, the trees, the carefully tended herbs in his garden. And then she saw him, another man, tall with short hair, wearing a shirt and trousers as all these men seemed to, creeping up the path, close to the house wall. There was a dagger in his hand. Her eyes narrowed. She watched him reach the corner and peer round.

The flash of protective fury she felt surprised even her. She felt the lightning bolt leave her as the water bowl shattered, showering the ground with pottery shards.

* * *

Meryn heard the bang. It was as if a shotgun had gone off close at hand. He waited several seconds then cautiously he opened the back door and looked out. Ifan was lying on the ground, obviously unconscious. There was a vicious-looking burn running down his face into his shoulder. Gazing up at the sky, Meryn frowned. He hadn't noticed the thundercloud earlier, but there it was, hovering over the top of the mountain.

When the air ambulance arrived, he was able to tell them the man's name. He had met Ifan in South Wales the night before, he told them, but hadn't realised he was planning on calling in. He was able to give them the name of the man's next of kin: Arwel Davies.

Lightning strikes in the mountains, especially in sudden summer storms, were not unknown.

When Harry Smith, one of the local policemen from Hay, came up to take a statement from him about the incident, it was almost no surprise to hear that there was a warning out about Meryn's safety. Turning his phone back on at last he listened to Cadi's message with care, then turned back to the table and, rummaging amongst his books, produced the corroded dagger. ‘I found this after the paramedics took him away,' he said as he handed it over. ‘I wouldn't be surprised if it was Roman.'

‘You mean he was the nighthawk they were talking about all along?' Constable Smith stared at him and then at the dagger.

Meryn shook his head. ‘No idea. It would hardly have been worth stealing.'

‘But it is possible he was planning to use it on you?' Smith stared at him. ‘I suppose I could take it for fingerprinting. This is a weapon, so we're not talking about stalking or threatening behaviour here, we're talking about possibly planning to -commit murder.'

Meryn shook his head. ‘I don't think we can possibly know what he was planning, Constable.' He sighed. ‘Just keep him in hospital for as long as you can.'

When at last he was alone again he walked back into the kitchen. The room felt different somehow. The dagger was still lying on the table. He and the constable had agreed there was no point in fingerprinting it if Meryn had tried to wipe off the rust and then handled it himself. He went over to the kettle and, remembering, looked round for the body of the little mouse. There was no sign of it. He walked over to the back door and pulled it open, staring up at the sky. The buzzards were back. He looked up for several minutes watching them, then at last he smiled. ‘Thank you, Branwen,' he whispered. ‘I owe you my life. Take care of the little one.'

The only answer came from a rustling of leaves in the trees.

He was sufficiently worried to ring Dai Vaughan. Dai was the son of one of his neighbours and a policeman. He left a message, asking him to pop in when he could. ‘It's not urgent,' he added as he switched off his phone.

Dai ‘popped in' that evening.

‘I was coming up to see Dad anyway,' he said as they sat on the terrace in front of the cottage. The entire vista of mountains was bathed in evening light, with the Wye Valley laid out as a vast patchwork of fields and hedges, a carpet of shifting -shadows, and beyond that the further ranges of the Radnor -Forest; in the far distance the mountains were slowly being shrouded by mist. ‘So, I haven't heard anything from "the mad wizard on the hill" for a long time.' It was the nickname, according to Dai, by which Meryn was known down in Hay. ‘Word was you were in the States,' he went on comfortably. He gave a deep sigh. ‘God, I miss this place!'

Meryn cocked an eyebrow. ‘Don't you live in Hay anymore?'

Dai shook his head. ‘Promotion. I'm DCI Vaughan now and based far away.'

‘Ah.' Meryn nodded. ‘Congratulations; that means my little chat may not be of interest.'

Dai grinned at him. ‘Oh, I think it will. If I remember right, your last consultation with me was fairly spectacular.'

‘That's one way of putting it.' Meryn grimaced. ‘This is something that worries me, and I need your advice. My niece, Cadi, lives down in rural South Wales. She has a particularly unpleasant ex-boyfriend. They split up years ago and he married someone else and that was that. But recently he reappeared on the scene, engaged in what appears to be a strangely complicated plot to upset and frighten her. He's some sort of developer and has bought the field next to her cottage with plans to put a housing estate on it. The way he went about that in itself seemed vindictive and personal, but since then he's been spying on her and behaving in a threatening manner. She rang me this morning to tell me that someone, no one knows who'– Meryn glanced across at Dai– ‘had vandalised the car of the nice chap she's been seeing. They broke into the B&B where he's staying, ransacked his room and smashed up his laptop. The local bobbies have looked for fingerprints, but without success, I gather. Ifan Davies's alibi will be that he is supposed to have left the village the evening before to go back to London and so wasn't around.'

Dai frowned. ‘So this is a South Wales Police matter?'

Meryn nodded. ‘It was. Until today. Did you hear about the freak thunderstorm up here this afternoon? A man was struck by lightning.'

Dai tried to suppress a smile. ‘No, I hadn't heard.'

‘It happened outside my cottage.' Meryn sighed. ‘The air ambulance came and took him away. He'll live,' he added as an afterthought. ‘It was him.'

‘Ah.' Dai finally reached for the bottle of beer Meryn had dug out for him from his fridge.

‘He was very threatening to me when we met briefly -yesterday. It appears he blames me for his and Cadi's -break-up four years ago, even though neither of us recall my ever -meeting him, and I was almost certainly in the States when they splitup.'

‘Sounds nasty. I don't like stalkers, especially when they think they've got a grudge. Does your niece know what's caused him to rekindle this war of attrition?'

Meryn shook his head. ‘Although we've heard he has recently separated from his wife.'

‘That could be important.'

‘There is something else.' Meryn stood up. ‘Let me showyou.'

He went indoors and reappeared a few moments later holding the dagger. ‘I found this after they took him away. I assume he meant to stab me with it.'

Dai reached out for the knife and examined it with a frown. ‘Not exactly new, is it?'

Meryn grinned. ‘My bet is it's Roman. It might be evidence. I offered it to your local bobby but we decided it wasn't worth fingerprinting as I'd wiped the dirt off it to try to work out how old it was.' He sat down again and gave Dai a quizzical glance. ‘This knife probably came from the excavation in the field he wants to develop next to my niece's house. A purely vindictive choice of site, I think it's fair to say. The archaeologists have dug up a grave there.'

Dai looked at him hard. ‘A body?'

Meryn shrugged. He reached for his own drink at last. ‘Bones. A skeleton. A twentieth-century chap, shot by a gamekeeper just before the last war. The local police have dealt with that, as far as it goes. But there were other bones.' He paused. ‘And artefacts. And shoes.'

‘And?'

‘You're not going to like my theory about it, but I may as well tell you. No one else is going to believe me.' Meryn shrugged his shoulders.

‘Go on.' Dai took another swig from his bottle.

‘We think he was a ghost, or at least not a ghost as such but a traveller from a distant time.'

‘You're right, no one is going to believe you.' Dai grinned. ‘So, let's concentrate on our villain. Name and address?' He reached into his pocket for his notebook.

‘I'm afraid I don't know his address. I don't think Cadi does either. They separated years ago. He's based in London.'

‘How badly hurt was he, do you know?'

‘He was unconscious when they took him away. I rang the hospital to ask, but they wouldn't tell me anything.'

Far away in the valley, car headlights were beginning to appear as little strings of bright beads, following a winding road in and out of the shadows.

Dai sighed. ‘If he lives in London I expect the Met are already involved in this. And I'll contact South Wales and see what they've got on him so far. What you're saying is that he was threatening to kill you? I think we can ignore the exact provenance of the knife for now. The point is that he had one. I'll take it with me, if you don't mind. And, Meryn old friend, I know you may well be right about there being ghostly involvement, and I remember only too well how much you know about all this sort of stuff, but keep it under your hat for now, OK? For your own sake.'