The Assassin King

Fifteen years or so ago, long before Anna had first arrived in this part of the world, the King John Hotel had been a working farm and equestrian centre run by a formidable woman called Helen Roth, who Uncle Dun had liked and much admired. But her children had had no interest in running it after her death, so they’d sold it to Gregory and Penny Scott, an investment banker and PR executive looking to downshift from their London lives.

The Scotts had duly leased the fields to one of the farming conglomerates who managed much of the land around here, while converting the barn into a home for themselves, screened off behind a line of trees. Then they’d turned the house and stables into a boutique hotel that had done excellent business over the years, thanks to its timbered charm and well-tended gardens, its all-weather tennis courts and swimming pool.

Uncle Dun had taken against the Scotts from the start, as much for their high-handed ways as for the noise and disruption they’d caused. But his initial irritation would no doubt have passed had they and their guests not treated Warne Farm as an extension of their own property, clomping across his fields and treading down his crops until in exasperation he’d planted a hawthorn hedge alongside the drainage ditch.

Anna had naturally sided with her uncle in all this, to the extent that she’d never even set foot in the hotel before, despite it being the only place within miles for a drink or a bite to eat. Yet in truth she had nothing personal against the Scotts themselves. Whenever they bumped into each other, at the shops or out on walks, they treated each other with a kind of reserved cordiality. But there was nothing reserved about the way Penny reacted when she saw Anna arrive in reception. She cried out and hurried over to hug her and kiss her on both cheeks. ‘My poor dear!’ she said. ‘Your lovely uncle! I’m so terribly sorry. We’re all devastated. Devastated and heartbroken.’

‘Thank you,’ said Anna.

‘Priya tells me you’ll be staying here tonight.’ She gestured at her receptionist, a plump, forty-something Indian woman with a sweet smile and ropes of long black hair done up in an elaborate knot. ‘I told her you’re to have our best free room. Our very best. As our guest, of course. Our honoured guest. We wouldn’t dream of charging you a thing.’

‘That’s so kind,’ said Anna, taken aback.

‘Nonsense. Nonsense. What are neighbours for, if not for times like these?’ She put her hand on Anna’s arm. ‘You must be shattered, absolutely shattered.’ Her teeth were amazingly white, like from a toothpaste commercial. ‘I mean they’re saying that something else happened last night. They’re saying there was a break in. By the same monsters who murdered your poor uncle.’

‘They don’t know that. Not for sure.’

‘But there was a break in?’

‘I knew it! I knew it!’ She turned away a moment and closed her eyes in what looked so like relief that Anna and Oliver exchanged puzzled glances. ‘Sirens blaring at that ridiculous hour, waking the entire neighbourhood.’ Her habit of stressing so many words meant that she barely stressed them at all. ‘Not that I needed waking, of course, not with all these dreadful smugglers running loose. But you must have been there at the time! You poor thing! How ghastly for you! How terrifying!’

‘It wasn’t much fun,’ admitted Anna. ‘But I’m really not supposed to talk about it.’

‘Of course. Of course. Then I’ll leave you in Priya’s capable hands. But if there’s anything we can do… anything at all. I remember from when my own dear father passed how gruelling it can be. All that paperwork and bureaucracy when you only want to curl up and cry. And the farm too. I can’t imagine you’ll want that headache. You’re far too young and pretty for such a life. You’d not believe the sheer drudgery involved! It never stops. You’d be well out of it, believe me.’

Ah, thought Anna. So that was it. The Scotts had done very nicely out of this place, and were forever on the hunt for new projects. ‘I did live here for nearly three years,’ she pointed out. ‘I do have some idea of what’s involved.’

‘Yes. Yes. Of course. But the world moves on. Farming too. It’s such a battle to keep ones head above water these days, especially after all these bad harvests. Even your poor uncle was having second thoughts.’

Anna frowned. ‘Uncle Dun? Second thoughts?’

Penny nodded vigorously. ‘He came to see us a month or so ago. He was terribly down. All that work for such little return. I know he loved the life, but small farms simply can’t compete with the conglomerates anymore. It’s crazy even trying. But he hated the thought of selling to them. It felt too like defeat. So he wondered if we’d be interested in a field or two. Of course we would! He was our neighbour! Anything to help.’

‘How kind,’ said Anna doubtfully.

There was a basket on the counter filled with brochures and pamphlets touting local attractions. Anna and Oliver browsed idly through them once Penny had left and Priya was checking them in. A stack of photocopied leaflets beside the basket bore the hotel’s address and contact details, breakfast times, Wi-Fi password and the code for the front door, locked after eleven. A crude, hand-drawn map on its back showed the seawall, the local roads and the hotel grounds, with her uncle’s farm marked clearly as out of bounds. His complaints had finally paid off, it seemed. It also offered a short list of items for rent, including bicycles, field glasses, metal detectors, even a dinghy. ‘Fancy going for a sail?’ asked Oliver, when she showed it to him.

‘Sorry. Way too much to do.’

‘Probably wise. My navigation skills, we’d likely end up in Belgium.’

Priya completed their check-in and opened the hotel guest book to its ribboned page for them to sign. Then, with another of her charming smiles, she selected two keys from the rack behind her and came around the desk to show them to their rooms.