Wiltshire
Saffron Lane was bathed in sunshine for most of the morning but during the early afternoon the brightness faded and clouds started to drift across the sky. There were only two houses occupied in the short street. The six 1930s houses had been left untouched for decades because the War Office had commandeered them during the Second World War.
The government had held on to them for a few decades after the fighting ended and the cold war began. When it eventually returned them to the owner, she was so old and frail she hadn’t bothered to do anything with them.
Angus Denning had inherited the family property from her, but he’d had enough on his plate renovating the small stately home on two acres tucked away on the edge of the town centre at the top end of Peppercorn Street. Apart from checking that the houses were weatherproof and no danger to anyone, he’d left them alone.
Recently, however, he’d turned his attention to Saffron Lane again and had renovated the houses in the hopes of generating some ongoing income to help with the maintenance of the big house.
He and his new wife had decided to set up an artists’ colony here, offering free start-up residencies to suitable tenants. They were also planning to set up a café/gallery on the ground floor of Number 1 to display the artists’ wares. They would, of course, take a percentage of the sales money as well as the profits from the café, and later on rents would be charged for the houses.
The first two artists were now in residence.
At Number 2, Stacy Walsh put down her small electric welder and eased her shoulders as she studied her latest creation. The long-legged, two-foot-high metal bird wasn’t finished yet, but it already seemed to be eyeing her cheekily, head on one side. She smiled back at it involuntarily.
It had definitely begun to acquire a personality of its own, as most of her small animal sculptures did. They might be made from odd pieces of scrap metal but somehow she had a gift for seeing what she could bring to life by putting them together. To her delight she had now started to sell the finished pieces.
She also liked to make steam-punk-style installations, the sort of thing her parents called Heath Robinson creations. She loved Heath Robinson’s cartoons and valued this compliment, but the installations took a lot longer to make than the little animals. She’d sold the last one to the owner, Angus Denning, when she moved here.
The tenancy of this house was allowing her to work full-time on her art, which was bliss, especially after the hassles, financial and otherwise, involved in the recent break-up of her marriage.
She’d had enough working for the moment and wondered if Elise next door would fancy a coffee break. On the off chance, she put the kettle on and went out into the long, narrow rear garden that the first four houses shared, peering unashamedly into the next house. She could see her friend sitting at the table in the back room with a sketchbook open in front of her. Elise was staring into space, not working, which usually meant she’d be happy to take a break.
When Stacy rapped on the window, Elise jerked in shock, then smiled and beckoned her inside.
‘Do join me. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Mine’s about to boil and I’ve got some chocolate cake left.’
Elise stood up. ‘In that case, I’ll be happy to help you eat it.’
They left the house the front way, because at nearly seventy-six, Elise preferred the more stable footing of the paved paths to the uneven grass. Strange, Stacy thought, how well the two of them got on, in spite of the fifty or so years between them. And it wasn’t as if Elise felt like a grandmother figure – on the contrary, she had a lively enquiring mind and seemed young at heart.
As Stacy was about to open her front door, a car drew up at Number 1 and a man got out. He gave them a cursory nod and frowned as he checked his watch. He must be expecting to meet someone.
When they went inside, Elise gestured towards the street. ‘I’m unashamedly nosey. I’ll keep an eye on him while you brew a pot of tea, shall I?’
‘Yes, please. I’m not ashamed of being nosey when it comes to possible neighbours.’
The older woman went over to the window and kept up a running commentary. ‘He’s pacing up and down. Now he’s peering into the front window of Number 1. He’s looking at his watch again. Oh, bother! He’s gone round the back. Can you see him?’
Stacy peered out of the kitchen window. ‘Yes. He’s trying the back door. I think we ought to call Angus. A burglar wouldn’t usually try to break in at this time of day, especially when he knows we’ve seen him, but still, better safe than sorry.’
She picked up the phone and rang their landlord at the big house.
‘I’ll be down straight away,’ Angus said. ‘Can’t be too careful.’
Stacy put the phone back in its cradle. ‘Shall we have our tea in the front room for a change? I’m sure you’re as curious as I am to see what’s going on.’
‘Good idea.’ For all her silver hair and wrinkles, Elise had a cheeky urchin’s grin, which in some weird way rather reminded Stacy of her bird sculpture.
The stranger was back to pacing up and down in front of the end house by the time Angus arrived. He swung round at the sound of a car then looked disappointed.
‘Can I help you?’ Angus asked. ‘I’m the owner of this estate.’
‘Ah, yes. Angus Denning, isn’t it? I’m Emil Kinnaird, Jason’s son.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’
The two men shook hands.
‘You and my father have spoken on the phone and emailed, I gather. He was tied up today so he sent me in his place. I’m going to take some photographs for him, at least I am if the local heritage officer turns up as arranged.’
‘Who?’
‘Charlene Brody.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘I was expecting her to be here. Do you know her?’
He saw his companion’s expression lose its warmth and raised one eyebrow. ‘Not a friend of yours from the look on your face, I’d guess?’
‘Not exactly. She’s employed by the council and she isn’t really a heritage officer. There’s a regional heritage group that I’m dealing with, who are the real experts, but she’s not part of it.’
‘That’s strange.’
‘She’s rather annoying, like a wasp that’s got into the kitchen and won’t be shooed out. She’s only supposed to liaise and keep an eye on such matters for the council, but she’s overkeen and keeps trying to manage things. As we haven’t played her game, she’s inundated me and my wife with paperwork about Dennings. I think she’s out to make her name and gain a promotion. Her former manager was arrested recently, you see, and she’s acting in the job.’
‘Ah. I must say, she was very emphatic that I deal only with her.’
‘Actually, since I own this property, any visits should have been referred to me before they were arranged. As far as I know, Ms Brody doesn’t even have a key.’
‘But she mentioned letting me in, so she must have, surely?’
‘If she does have one, I’ll be changing the locks.’ Angus’s mobile rang just then. ‘Excuse me a minute. It’s my wife and she doesn’t ring unless it’s important.’ He took out his phone and had a brief conversation. ‘Send her down, love.’
He turned back to the stranger. ‘Ms Brody has turned up at the big house, demanding a key to this place, apparently.’
‘Demanding?’
‘That’s how she usually makes requests. She’s been trying to get hold of a key ever since we found the secret communications centre from WWII hidden in the roof space.’
‘Yes. Dad told me about all that and the secret passages from it underneath the street. He’s very excited because he’s really into WWII memorabilia. I must say it sounds quite exciting to me, too.’
Angus pointed to a fenced area to the right of the house, where heavy metal sheets were bolted into place across the ground. ‘That’s where the underground passage was damaged by a lorry and exposed. We had to make sure there was no way anyone could get in, so the barrier is a bit rough and ready, but safety first, eh? We’ll make everything look better before the gallery and your father’s little museum open. There’s a lot of conservation work and cataloguing still to be done by the heritage people inside the building, so there’s also the need to protect our history from being tampered with.’
‘Well, I’m sorry Ms Brody misled us. I’ve driven down from Leeds today to look round before I take over the area office in town here. Any chance you could let me in just for a quick peep and a few more photos for Dad to gloat over?’
Before Angus could answer, a small red car suddenly turned into the street, going much too fast. It had to brake hard to park next to them without running on to the narrow pavement.
The driver got out quickly, frowning as she approached them and not wasting time on greetings. ‘Your wife has once again refused to give the council a key, Mr Denning. I really must protest at the way you’re keeping our officials away from this property.’
‘It’s still not been made safe. And even when it has, I shan’t be giving out keys to all and sundry.’
‘As I deal with heritage matters on behalf of the town council, I have a right to be involved.’
He shrugged. ‘I haven’t changed my mind from last time we discussed this. The regional heritage people are handling it. They have the necessary expertise and resources.’
Emil noticed she was tapping her foot impatiently and watched with interest to see what she’d do next. He didn’t like the sharp tone of her voice or her attitude.
When Angus didn’t make any other comment, she said even more sharply, ‘Surely you can let us in for a quick inspection now that Mr Kinnaird has come all this way to see the place?’
‘Sorry, but I can’t. It’s not open to the public, hasn’t been passed as safe by the heritage people.’
‘I just told you: I am not the public!’
‘You are as far as I’m concerned.’
‘I shall complain to a higher authority.’
He shrugged. ‘Complain away.’
She turned to Emil. ‘I’m sorry to have brought you here today to no purpose, Mr Kinnaird. I hadn’t expected Mr Denning to be so intransigent.’
She turned back to Angus and her voice grew even sharper. ‘You will definitely be hearing from the council, Mr Denning. This place is of public interest and you have no right to deny local people entry. And what’s more, it’s definitely in my remit to ensure that it’s safe and no one can get into it.’
After glaring at him for a moment or two longer, as if expecting a reply, she muttered something and got into her car.
The two men watched her drive away.
‘Phew! You’re right. She is rather wasp-like,’ Emil commented when the car had disappeared from sight. ‘An angry wasp at that.’
‘Yes. Um, look, I’m happy to give you a quick informal tour if you’ll promise not to tell on me to Ms Brody.’
Emil chuckled. He liked this guy’s style. ‘I promise.’
‘But you must promise not to touch anything, not the objects still lying around nor the furnishings. We’ve left everything exactly as it was, you see, as did the heritage people in their preliminary inspections. I had the structure of the house checked by experts because the outer wall at that side was damaged by the lorry ramming it, but they think it’s safe, because it was heavily reinforced when built. Only, as you can see, the side of the house still looks a mess as well as the ground nearby.’
‘Thanks. I’d appreciate a quick tour. Can I ask what made you offer to do that when you’ve just refused to let Ms Brody in?’
‘You seem a reasonable chap, and your father is going to fund a small museum here, so that gives your family a genuine interest in getting this development right. That woman has no reason to get involved and she doesn’t give a toss about the history of the place. I do, the real heritage people do and, of course, your father does. Presumably you share his interest?’
‘Not to the same extent but I do think what the British people did to hold off an invasion during the war was incredible. Dad says the terrorists are underestimating them today, as well.’
‘Yes. The more I learn about World War II, the more proud I am to be British.’
‘My father has been looking to do something to honour his father’s memory for a while. He’s very proud of my grandfather’s secret contribution to the war effort, and now that the authorities are releasing information about Bletchley Park and other formerly hush-hush war projects, the time seems ripe and this is the perfect opportunity to do it in a small way, because he’s not a billionaire.’
‘There were a lot of unsung heroes at Bletchley Park whose deeds are only just coming to light.’
Both men were silent for a moment or two in respect to those who’d worked without glory or fanfares to protect their country. Then Angus opened the front door of the first house, ushering Emil inside and locking the door behind them.
‘Just in case she comes back.’ His smile faded as they walked through the ground floor and saw Ms Brody standing outside the rear French windows peering in. ‘Talk of the devil. Look at that!’
‘You’ve got to give her marks for persistence,’ Emil commented.
‘I don’t give her marks for anything!’
The heritage officer rapped on the windows and when Angus made no move to let her in, she rapped again.
He went closer to the window and yelled, ‘Go away! You’re trespassing.’
She folded her arms and glared at him. ‘I’m not going anywhere till I’ve checked the inside of this house.’
Angus turned away. ‘She can stand there like patience on a monument, then. If she’d been a reasonable person I’d have let her in as a matter of courtesy. Now, forget about her. Let’s get on with our tour. There’s nothing to see downstairs. They kept it like a normal house. We’re going to turn it into an art gallery and café.’
He gestured to one side of the room. ‘The communications room is accessed via a concealed door in the hall. You can also get to it from the cellar via a secret passage, as your father no doubt told you, but we’re keeping the entrance closed for the moment so that it doesn’t show.’
‘Amazing.’
‘Yes. If Hitler had managed to invade Britain, certain people would have worked here and in other hidden places to resist them.’ He demonstrated the concealed door on the first floor. ‘Come in.’
‘Wow!’ Emil stared round the communications room, which covered one half of the roof space, with a rather low ceiling at one side. There were big sheets of transparent plastic sheeting over the surfaces now. ‘I didn’t realise it was so well equipped.’
‘Yes, and every single piece of paper is as they left it. Incredible, isn’t it? I feel honoured to be able to keep it safe. The heritage people have done a preliminary assessment and are now working out how best to display everything so that the public can see but not touch.’
‘Yes, they’ve been in touch with Dad about it. May I take photos, Angus?’
‘As long as you promise not to give copies to anyone except your father.’
‘I promise.’
When Emil had finished, Angus opened a concealed door in the wood panelling that covered all the walls and revealed a narrow staircase that was hardly more than a ladder. ‘Watch how you go.’
They backed down it into the tunnels.
At the bottom Angus said, ‘Turn right. The other direction is open now underground at the place where the lorry caused the cave-in, but that passage leads to an electricity substation and that’s got a metal grille across it now. I have no right to go into it and someone at the council, probably Madam Wasp, has the key. There isn’t anything to see in the tunnels, really, but you’ll get a feel for the cellar and passages, at least.’
He switched on some lights. ‘Those who built it had to use torches but we put in lights using the electricity supply from Number 6, which is the largest house in Saffron Lane.’
Emil followed him along the tunnel, shivering in the chill air. The ceiling and walls of the passage were shored up with sheets of corrugated iron, held in place by rough wooden posts and joists. As Angus had said, there was nothing to see except a locked door at the other end. But he felt a tension in the air, as if something might happen at any moment.
It was probably his imagination, but it made him glance over his shoulder a couple of times.
Angus grinned. ‘Makes me feel like that too, sometimes. I won’t take you into Number 6. We’d only tramp in dirt and, actually, the door is so well hidden I don’t want to disturb it, because we’re going to have artists living there.’
As they started back, he said, ‘I wouldn’t put it past the Brody woman to be prowling up and down the road and peering through the windows of all the empty houses. I’ll check afterwards that she really has left the street, then perhaps you’d like to come up to the big house for a cuppa before you set off back to Leeds?’
Emil smiled. ‘Actually, I’m staying in town from now on. Dad has a regional branch office here. Not everyone likes to buy their insurance online and there are claims to deal with, too. I’ll take a rain check on the cuppa, if you don’t mind. I’m supposed to be meeting the guy who’s been running the branch for a briefing. He’s taking early retirement and I’m going to pick his brains before he goes, because there isn’t a detail he doesn’t understand about the insurance industry.’
‘Do you have somewhere to stay? We aren’t well supplied with hotels and B & Bs here, I’m afraid.’
‘I shall be moving into the flat above the office till I see how things stand. It’s been empty for years but apparently all the domestic equipment in it is still functional.’
‘Welcome to Sexton Bassett, then. We’ll maybe get together another time.’
‘I’d like that. I’ve been working frenetically in Australia and am intending to slow down and smell the roses now I’m back, as they say. I’m really looking forward to exploring Wiltshire. It’s such a beautiful county. You’ll have to tell me the best places to go. I wish it’d warm up a bit, though. I’m still getting used to a cooler climate.’
‘Well, it’ll be summer soon.’
Emil chuckled. ‘The UK summer is quite similar to the West Australian winter.’
Angus locked up Number 1 and waved the visitor goodbye. Ms Brody’s small red car might no longer be parked in Saffron Lane, but he could see it in the street outside the entrance to Dennings. She wasn’t sitting in it and there was no sign of her anywhere that he could see. What the hell was the devious idiot up to now? He hoped she wasn’t going to keep trespassing. He had better things to do than keep an eye out for her.
He went to knock on Stacy’s door. He’d better warn her and Elise about Charlene Brody’s attempts to interfere and reassure them that she had no authority over Saffron Lane, whatever she said.
When Angus got back to the big house, Nell was working on preparations for the interviews to select artists for Numbers 4 and 5. She’d printed out the emailed photos of the various artists’ work and was studying one so intently it took her a minute to realise her husband was back.
She put the papers down. ‘How did it go? Did you find a burglar casing the joint?’
He joined her at the table and explained about Emil Kinnaird, then indicated the scatter of folders and paperwork. ‘Got any favourites among this new lot of applicants for residencies?’
‘These are my favourites and they all look quite good. What I’m trying to figure out is how commercial their work is. Look at this embroidery. It’s gorgeous, a modern take on seventeenth-century raised stump work. If I have any favourite, it’s this artist.’
He let out a low whistle. ‘It’s lovely, got a rather quirky charm to it.’
‘Yes, but how commercial can such work be? We have to be practical about who we allow to set up here. It must take ages to do a piece of embroidery as exquisite as this, so how many will she have available to sell? Even if she has some stored away, I doubt her output will be enough for her to make a living from after those are sold, and therefore not enough to give us a good profit.’
‘I see what you mean.’
‘We’re not setting up an artistic charity, but trying to find a way to turn that row of houses into an asset. An art gallery and café will complement visits to the big house on open day quite nicely, too.’
‘If you don’t think this work is commercial, why did you ask her to come for an interview?’
‘Because it’s gorgeous. Her scenes are so lively. Some of the figures and set-ups make me smile every time I look at them. I wanted her to at least have the satisfaction of having gained an interview. And besides—’ She broke off and frowned.
‘Besides what?’ he prompted.
‘I’m not sure about this guy who does woodcarvings. He sounds, well, a bit arrogant. Maybe I’m reading that into his emails unfairly, but his work isn’t charming; it seems distinctly spiteful to me. His carvings aren’t enjoying or celebrating human and animal frailties; they’re caricatures twisting a nasty screw into them. And yet he’s a brilliant carver. So I can’t make up my mind.’
After a thoughtful pause, she added, ‘What I really wanted was to find a potter, and I even found a small kiln that hires out firing time. Pottery would give us lots of smaller pieces to sell, don’t you think? But I’m still not sure. It might just add complications, and none of the potters who’ve applied so far seem special enough. I’ve got one coming and have asked him to bring a couple of ideas for pieces that aren’t just tourist trash.’
She grinned at him. ‘I didn’t call it “trash” of course, but I think he’ll get the idea.’
‘Well, you’ll not only have me but Elise at the interviews. She’s a shrewd old bird. I doubt anyone will be able to pull the wool over her eyes.’
Nell nodded and stretched. ‘Let’s adjourn to the sitting room and open a bottle of wine.’
‘I’m going to be working on a project tonight. It came in just before Stacy rang. So no alcohol for me, I’m afraid. But I’ll pour you a glass, if you like.’
‘No, don’t bother. It’s much nicer to share a drink. Do you have to start work straight away?’
‘I’ve time for a coffee.’
‘You’re on.’
They walked into the kitchen arm in arm, chatted for a few minutes, then he vanished into his office. His IT troubleshooting was in demand and he was charging much more for his time these days, thanks to her business input. But she missed him when they didn’t sleep together.