Friday 23rd September – 6.30 p.m.
Over the undulating fields from the farmhouse, near the cliff edge, Rav was fiddling with the low-light settings on his camera that he was fixing to the wonky fence post. It was the only option to give the coverage he wanted of the clifftop field and the drama of the sheer cliffs and churning ocean.
The cliff face reminded Rav of a Schichttorte he’d seen on Bake Off with Nell, when she’d had a rare interest in cooking. The pancake-fine layers of mudstone, siltstone and limestone glowed bronze in the evening light. Automatically, he looked for a climbing route. It made him itch to have a go. There were a million things he ached to do, if only he could get out of this damn wheelchair. It was a daily struggle to not push his physical therapy too hard, and do more damage than good.
At least he had this new project to keep himself occupied: since Nell had asked him to be a partner on the ecological rewilding project back at Finchmere – her family home – he’d been buzzing with ideas. This week was a chance to test some, using his new kit.
Sylvia had been preparing to persuade Sean to let Rav set up cameras and try things out. Now that she was about to become the Marketing Director for Finchmere, she was as keen to see the results as Rav.
But Sean hadn’t needed any convincing to let Rav film. He’d been enthusiastic, suggesting this spot was good for hares and birds of prey. And Rav had set up a motion-activated thermal imaging camera near the farmhouse, knowing the farm lights wouldn’t bleach out any recordings. Sean was as eager to see the results as Rav was – though he was on the hunt to discover where a fox was getting into his chicken coop.
Rav knew these first attempts would probably be poor, but these few days were his chance to see the outcomes and refine the techniques – how easy it might or might not be to review the footage, how to set up the view, which camera was best for which situation. And he was excited to have something to contribute to the joint venture with Nell. He’d wasted enough time in hospital, fearing what rehabilitation from his injuries would involve. Now, he wanted to make up for that lost time.
With the camera secure on the post by the cliff, he turned his wheelchair, a tough manoeuvre on the tussocky field, over the few feet to the farm track, and wheeled rapidly towards the glow of the fire.
‘What’s this?’ Rav puffed as he reached Nell. It looked like celebrations had started, with the champagne flowing. ‘I haven’t missed the toast, have I?’
‘No, you’re grand, buddy.’ Sean waited for Rav to stop beside Nell’s hay bale, then handed him a glass.
Rav held it up. ‘Are we drinking to Conor and Sylvia?’
‘Oh, yeah. Of course!’ Sean tilted his glass at the bride and groom to be, then pulled a strikingly attractive dark-haired woman to his side. ‘And also, me and Maeve.’
‘Oh?’ Rav smiled at them. ‘Congratulations! And nice to meet you, Maeve. I’m Rav.’ He held out a hand and she leaned forward to shake it.
‘Rav is supposed to be a guest. But he’s trying out some new camera tech. So I instantly commissioned Dr Aravindan Kashyap, here, to do an ecological study of our habitat. Or, at least, to see if we can track down how that bloody fox is getting into our chicken coop. Be warned, my sweet, he’ll show off his equipment to anyone willing to admire it.’
Ignoring Sean’s teasing innuendo, Maeve smiled. ‘Good to meet you, Rav.’ Her eyes flicked to his legs, a hint of assessment, but no questions.
He tried to ignore it, but he was starting to hate the unspoken curiosity that preceded anything he said to a new acquaintance.
‘Did you get everything set up, then?’ Nell turned to Rav, leaning in to kiss him. ‘I’ve been trying to guess what you’re up to. I’m half expecting a drone camera to zoom overhead.’
He could never resist her impish curiosity, so he teased it out, attempting an air of mystery. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’ But the firelight made the amber flecks in her brown eyes dance, and he admitted, ‘I’ll have to wait and see. I’m testing a few things. I’m hoping for a few low-light images of hares. That would be pretty eerie and atmospheric, Autumnwatch-style. And some thermal images of the farm.’
‘Oh, I love it!’ Nell beamed. ‘I can’t wait to see how it turns out!’ She ran a hand through his dark wavy hair, pushing it out of his eyes, and kissed him again.
Inviting more attention, he added, ‘Yeah, I found a spot for the camera right on the cliff edge. Living dangerously in the name of ecology here.’
‘You’ll be living in a survival bag before you know it. Like Simon.’
The reference to their former colleague made him shake his head. ‘No fear. You can’t exactly snuggle up together in one of those.’
But his heart sang at her reply. ‘There’d be a way. And we’d find it.’
With a grin, he turned back to the company to ask Maeve, ‘So, when’s your big day?’
‘Next year.’ Sean jumped in, clearly overexcited about it. ‘Gotta let my big brother get in first. Don’t wanna steal his glory, do I? Going to be bad enough when I’m his best man in a minute. The two of us, side by side in our finery: your man there, all ancient and past it, me in me prime.’ Sean fake-punched his brother’s bicep, then pretended it hurt and shook his hand. ‘Oof, you haven’t let your training regime slide, have you?’
‘No, and don’t you forget it, little brother.’ Conor ruffled his hand in Sean’s hair, then pushed his head away. Sean played up to it, staggering backwards in slow motion.
Both men’s heads snapped up at the unexpected approach of a distant helicopter. The drone grew louder as the helicopter drew closer and started circling. ‘What the …? Is this one of yours?’ Sean had to yell over the juddering blades.
Conor shook his head, the lines on his brow deepening as the helicopter landed in the adjacent field. Both brothers set their drinks down and jogged over, leaping the drystone wall and instinctively but unnecessarily ducking under the blades as their whirring slowed.
As three people climbed out of the helicopter, Sean’s defensive body language changed instantly – his arms spread wide to embrace one of the arrivals. Conor shook the hand of another, then turned to the third, leaning in briefly as if kissing someone’s cheek.
‘Is that …?’ Sylvia was squinting in their direction. ‘James? Arriving in style? With his young lady? And someone else?’
‘Oh, of course, the helicopter would be Shannon.’ Nell rolled her eyes at Rav. ‘But I don’t know who the third person would be.’
Maeve squinted at the newcomers, then knocked her drink back. ‘Brace yerselves. That’ll be Finn. And I’d say that helicopter is typical of him. He’s all flash these days. So I’ve heard.’
‘Have you known the family long, Maeve?’ Nell asked.
‘We grew up together. Went our separate ways in the past few years, like. But you’d always find the Kennedy brothers hanging out with the Delaney girls—’ She stopped talking abruptly and stared at her glass, like she wished it was full again.
‘Girls? So are your sisters joining us?’ Nell asked.
Maeve gave a tight smile, but looked up at the arrival of Conor’s brother, her tense smile relaxing. ‘Finn Kennedy. Sean assured us the stock market would go up in flames if you stepped outside the Big Apple. How can they spare your talents for a full week?’
‘Maeve Delaney. As I live and breathe.’ Finn stared at her with a wide grin as he shook his head. ‘You’re the last person I expected to see. Well.’ Finn turned his hands up. ‘The second to last. The obvious being …’
‘Brandon,’ he and Maeve said in unison.
‘You haven’t aged a day,’ Finn said.
‘Wish I could say the same.’ Maeve winked. ‘But man, the years have been harsh. Who’d believe you were the smooth operator of these boys?’
‘Yeah, terrible hard life,’ Finn agreed. ‘The sleepless hours I have, wondering what to spend all my hard-earned money on. I just need a good woman to help me decide.’
‘Yeah, well, it won’t be Maeve,’ Sean interrupted as he strode over. ‘She had her pick of us brothers, and I’m the one making an honest woman of her.’
Sylvia’s curious gaze swept around the company at the remark, meeting Rav’s gaze with an alert twinkle. Rav sensed Sylvia was relishing the chance to delve into Conor’s past. With a rush of sympathetic kinship with Conor, Rav appreciated the distance he’d carefully maintained between Nell and his mother, his sisters and their incriminating photo albums.
‘Oh?’ Finn was saying, looking at Sean. ‘I thought it was just Conor giving up his bachelor life?’
‘This week, it is,’ Conor confirmed. ‘Finn, this is Sylvia Shawcross. My fiancée.’
Rav caught Conor’s face. His expression was totally at odds with his tough persona working as Nell’s family’s security detail after a shadowy life in the SAS. His smile was slightly shy, totally proud, utterly smitten.
Finn kissed Sylvia’s hand. ‘I can already tell you’re a million times too good for him. So if you want to trade up …’ He thumbed his own chest. ‘It’s not too late!’
Sylvia laughed. ‘I’m afraid it is – it’s far too late. My heart is thoroughly won.’
‘Well, look at that.’ Finn turned to Sean in mock disbelief. ‘Big brother’s irresistible. Who’d’ve guessed?’
DI James Clark had already got used to zoning out Finn’s endless chatter during the short flight. The flight! He still couldn’t believe it. When Shannon had said she’d arrange their travel, he’d expected a lengthy Uber ride, not soaring over the lush landscape dotted with farmsteads that glowed with lights.
He should’ve known better. Shannon Lanner was the only woman he’d met who travelled in linen and cashmere yet emerged crease-free, as rested as if the flight was a spa trip. She hadn’t checked her luggage once, yet somehow there was always someone to haul her Chanel cases so she didn’t have the imposition of tearing her eyes – behind their Dior shades – from her phone. On arrival, she’d known exactly how to find the discreet area for chartered flights, while James had scrabbled about at Luggage Reclaim for his battered case.
He’d gone to the wrong carousel to start with, which was where he’d spotted Finn, who’d noticed him gaping at him. When James explained that Finn looked uncannily like someone he knew, their small talk established they were heading to the same place – Finn suggested they share an Uber, and James had agreed.
Upon introducing Shannon, with her cashmere sweater slipped off one shoulder, her shades scooping her shimmering dark hair back, Finn’s eyes had widened. ‘Well, I’m having the worst day ever,’ he’d said. ‘Airline lost me cases. And now I’ve lost me heart.’
‘James has that effect.’ Shannon had deliberately misunderstood. ‘Luckily things don’t stay lost for long. Him being my very own detective inspector has its uses.’
She’d taken James’s hand, making it clear they were a couple, then held Finn’s gaze for a beat before beckoning them both to follow, her long-legged stride making the men scramble to keep up. Settling into the helicopter had been the only time Finn had been quiet, his gaze ping-ponging between them, assessing if this was usual or if they’d gone all out on a special trip – and who’d organised it. There was no doubt there: Shannon’s matter-of-fact expectation – of good service, of luxury, of the world falling at her feet – rolled off her like her oud perfume.
Over the past few months James had learned that, though Nell had a similar background, she didn’t have Shannon’s sense of entitlement. And Shannon was mystified at Nell’s need to earn her wealth rather than luxuriate in it. But he’d watched the two women – frenemies since childhood – recently reach an uneasy alliance. He knew only too well that a couple of brushes with murder had a habit of putting things in perspective.
Now, beside the bonfire, he introduced himself and Shannon to the group.
‘Delighted to meet you,’ Sylvia said between air kisses, to the sound of the departing helicopter. ‘And I’m so pleased you could make it, James.’ Her hug was heartfelt; they’d been close ever since James had secured the life sentence for the murderer who’d tried to kill her too. ‘You can be an honorary hen, James, or you can join Conor and his stags.’
‘Only if he’s up to it,’ Sean warned as she shook James’s hand. ‘We’re bred tough out here. We won’t be offended if you’re more suited to a manicure and a hot stone massage.’
‘I’ll take my chances with you bunch of reprobates,’ James grinned.
‘That’s no way to talk about my fiancée!’ Conor feigned shock before greeting James with a back-slapping hug. ‘You’ll be welcome, bud.’ He shot him a grin. ‘We’ll need someone to heckle.’
Weighing up his hosts, James noted the Kennedy resemblance – and their different characters: despite his jokes, Conor typically melted into the background, stoic and steady; Finn, with his groomed hair and trimmed beard, took the spotlight, beaming endless easy charm on the females; Sean dashed around, replenishing celebratory champagne and hot chocolate, tempting everyone with whiskey top-ups.
Nell pulled a hamper out from under the table in the courtyard and hauled it over. Shannon took her cue to waggle her phone at Sean. With a nod, he checked his messages, found her playlist, and began streaming it on the speakers he’d set up earlier, carefully concealed in the bushes … and the evening air filled with soaring classical music, timed to match the scarlet sunset.
‘Sylvia! Welcome to the start of your hen celebrations,’ Nell announced. ‘And of course, it’s you, so we have to do this in style. And I need to give Shannon credit. She has helped with a lot of this.’
Opening the hamper’s wicker lid with the black F&M initials, Nell drew out platters of canapés. ‘We have the classic caviar blinis, some autumnal woodland mushroom creations, plus something decadent with shaved truffle.’
Sean offered the exquisite morsels to Sylvia first, then served the company, before topping up their champagne flutes liberally.
‘Oh, this couldn’t be more romantic.’ Sylvia leaned against Conor, savouring the view of the setting sun that blazed through the sky and streaked fire through the ocean.
The brothers revelled in teasing Conor, complimenting Sylvia and sharing outlandish tales from their youth. Rolling her eyes, Maeve checked on the main course.
‘Ah!’ Sean joined her. ‘For those of us ready for something more hearty, we do have some modest camp fare.’
The steaks and chicken drumsticks he’d tended on the scorched iron grill over the open fire were simple but smelled mouthwateringly delicious. Potatoes, wrapped in charred foil, were baking in white-hot ashes around the fire’s edge, while Maeve ladled aromatic, bubbling Irish stew from a vast billy can into enamel mugs for Sylvia, then Shannon.
Perching on a hay bale, Shannon eyed Nell’s hiking boots and checked shirt collar above the chunky jumper. ‘Look at the state of you! You look like you’ve lived here forever.’
Nell grinned. ‘I could get used to this. I wish I could cook like Sean on an open fire.’
James silently agreed as he took a plate and unwrapped his red-hot potato with tentative jabs, knowing the perfectly seasoned, crispy-skinned, fluffy-centred prize was worth fingerprint-melting burns. He couldn’t help wondering about the potential for post-potato criminal sprees.
A murmuring of compliments to the cook rippled around the company as everyone ate. The food took on some magical flavour, cooked and eaten under the molten sunset, the fresh evening air tangy with sea salt, as they ate around the crackling flames.
Beside James, Rav was savouring the stew as Sean topped up drinks. The exertion of pushing himself everywhere was restoring Rav’s muscular arms and shoulders, so he knew Conor was wondering the same as him when his dark eyes assessed Rav’s physique like an army doctor.
‘How’s the PT going?’ Conor asked, piling stew onto his potato.
‘Good enough to be ready for whatever you throw at me this week.’ Rav spoke between mouthfuls of hot chicken, and his voice held a note of bravado.
‘Oh!’ Conor’s face cracked into a grin. ‘Don’t go giving us a challenge, now, buddy.’ He tilted his head towards Sean. ‘Not us ex-Forces boys. That never ends well!’
‘Noted,’ Rav laughed.
‘If you’ve no objection,’ Maeve murmured to Sylvia, ‘I’m to be your tour guide for your celebrations.’
‘Oh, I hoped you’d join us!’ Sylvia said. ‘I thought you might be busy, with the Gin Festival going on. Conor mentioned you were involved, so I—’
‘Well, I am. But I can turn that to our advantage. At least I can if cocktails and luxury hotels are your style?’ She appraised Sylvia with a grin. ‘And I think they might be.’
‘Sounds perfect.’ Sylvia beamed. ‘Thank you.’
At Maeve’s delighted grin, the bonhomie flowed with the never-ending champagne, as Sean popped another bottle, the cork sailing into the distance. The exquisite bubbles paired perfectly with Shannon’s elevated s’mores: delicately assembled honeycomb tuiles, decadently dark Valrhona chocolate and Italian meringue.
‘No plunging these into the bonfire,’ Shannon instructed. ‘You have to let the flames flicker close just enough to toast the meringue, no more!’
The challenge was accepted with enthusiasm and laughter; the desserts were dainty enough to invite repeat attempts as everyone competed for the perfect golden crunch, chewy meringue, oozing chocolate and crisp biscuit.
With a contented sigh, Sylvia settled back in Conor’s arms, just as the music swelled, sweeping to a crescendo while the fiery sun sank into the golden ocean.
At her gasp, everyone looked up to see the sky glitter alive with a drone light show. They mimicked the constellations above, before forming a pair of winged hearts. Then the sky was plunged into darkness – until a hare appeared, bounding across the horizon, ears pricked, alert and watchful.
‘Ah,’ Sean folded his arms and nudged Sylvia. ‘Bit of folklore. This was my idea.’
In stunningly coordinated slow motion, choreographed to the music, a man chased the hare through the sky. As the animal passed an oak tree, it emerged the other side as a woman. She blew one kiss at the man, which flitted across the sky to him. Immediately he transformed into an enormous soaring eagle, gliding over the waves. As he swooped back and looped around the woman, they both became hearts, then names: Sylvia and Conor.
Their names fused overhead in a giant glitterball, while other lights hovered low, slanting kaleidoscoping colour over the garden as the music shifted to irresistible disco.
Sylvia threw back her head and laughed. ‘How did you discover my secret?’
‘We all know you’re a total disco diva, Sylv,’ Nell teased. ‘Ever since the work Christmas party at the karaoke bar.’
Sylvia stared at her glass and gave a tipsy giggle. ‘Someone has judged the champagne intake suspiciously accurately. We seem to have had just enough to dance but not nearly enough to be disgraceful.’
‘Oh, then there’s more!’ Sean promised, laughing.
‘Yesss!’ Maeve leaped to her feet with Nell. ‘Bee Gees! This one’s an absolute banger!’
They dragged Sylvia to the other side of the fire and she needed no encouragement to dance, arms in the air, shimmying to the infectious beat as golden sparks flew up in the air around them.
James bit back a laugh when Shannon joined them, and Maeve threw a pink feather boa, produced from goodness knows where, around her neck. Styling it out, Shannon pretended to lasso him with it to the designated dancefloor. ‘You should be dancing!’
Knowing his cursed left feet, James knew he definitely shouldn’t, whatever the Bee Gees said. But not even a wheelchair was holding Rav back from some elaborate hand jiving while Nell echoed his moves and twirled around. The guy had disgusting rhythm, and no reasonable dancing inhibitions. Having sisters will do that to a bloke.
Maeve, however, had different ideas, beckoning them over, laughing at Sean trying to make Conor dance by doing his best comedic funky chicken. ‘Stop wasting your best moves on him!’
‘He never would dance with me,’ Sean lamented, taking the champagne bottle over to Maeve.
‘Ah, you just weren’t beautiful enough,’ Conor said, standing up. He grinned at Sylvia across the fire, then on the beat, pretended to fasten one cufflink, then the other, making Sylvia laugh as he John Travoltaed his way over and danced with her.
Of course Conor would have smooth moves … James turned to Finn, but this Kennedy brother did not share his inhibitions either as he strutted over to the women. Since Shannon wasn’t paired up, he began enthusiastically disco-pointing at her. Well, confidence doesn’t always match talent. Even I’m not that bad.
When Finn thrust his hips at Shannon, making her jump back, James didn’t hesitate, finding himself opposite her, inexplicably doing running-on-the-spot arms while his legs stayed absolutely still. At least Shannon’s relief at him displacing Finn made up for her amusement at his moves.
At the fading outro, a raised voice called across the fire in a heavy brogue. ‘Well, now. Doesn’t this look cosy?’
As everyone turned, Conor tore himself from Sylvia’s embrace. ‘B … Brandon? ’
Around James, the brothers froze. Sean’s wary gaze flicked between Brandon and Conor, like he expected the air between them to combust. Finn stood back, watching so intently that James almost expected popcorn to materialise. Brandon shambled over, ominous and dark against the light from the farmhouse. He seemed the same age as Conor, but weathered a hundred years more.
‘Couldn’t let a family wedding pass, could I? Question is, should I drink to your many long and happy years together? Or shall I return the favour that you all paid me, and steal them away from you?’