that mountain, not strolling through the foothills. How are your walks going?’
‘They’re quite successful. I’ve got one next Tuesday that’s fully booked.’
‘Keep it up. Well done. Good work.’ She addressed them each in turn, Rosa’s eyes widening at the unexpected encouragement.
‘Dear God,’ Stephan whispered once Penelope had retreated. ‘What’s got into her?’
‘Maybe she’s been on a social skills course,’ Rosa said. ‘What about Monday, when she was in London? What was that about?’
‘Who knows?’ Abby shrugged. ‘It’s not like she’s going to come back with goody bags for us all and share her escapades over a hot chocolate.’ The image made them laugh, Penelope’s good mood infecting them.
‘Seen any more of our literary antihero recently?’ Stephan asked as he wheeled the mop back towards the café.
‘Nope,’ Rosa said. ‘Not a peep. He’s backed down easily.’ She raised an eyebrow at Abby.
She was wearing a denim shirt that would have looked outdated on anyone else, but Rosa, with her beautiful colouring, her bold Jamaican hair and dark eyes, was always stylish. Sometimes Abby wished she had her friend’s elegance, but as lots of her time was spent out on the reserve, helping the wardens, running walks and messy activities, jeans or cargo trousers paired with a reserve-brand T-shirt or fleece were ideal for her, if not exactly eye-catching.
‘I’ve not heard from him either,’ Abby said, though she’d heard enough from everyone else about their new neighbour.
That was the other talking point adding to the buzz on the reserve. The fact that Octavia had been here when Rosa returned from her trip to establish Jack’s identity was the undoing of everything. Abby had noticed more familiar faces at Meadowsweet than she ever had before, people who she said hello to in the Skylark in the evenings, or bumped into at the chapel store, and who wouldn’t be able to tell a blackbird from a bullfinch. She just hoped the buzz stayed within Meadowgreen, and no journalists got hold of the news. She’d had to rub The lesser-spotted Jack Westcoat off the sightings blackboard on two occasions over the past couple of weeks.
She didn’t know how she felt about her encounter with Jack. He had been stubborn, certainly, and unreasonable to begin with, and finding out about his recent fall from grace should have been enough to cement her dislike of him.
But the truth was, her mind had returned to those few minutes on the pathway of Peacock Cottage more often than she would have liked, though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone. She had enough to deal with – her booked-out walk for one thing. It was only a few days away now and the weather looked like it would be dry but cold. The thing she hadn’t told Penelope was that there were a couple of names on the list of attendees that she recognized.
The local councillor, Helen Savoury, and her husband, had booked places. She didn’t know if there were any council grants available, but she thought that if she did a good job, they would at least see how beautiful, and valuable, the reserve was to the local area.
The forecast, inevitably, had lied. Tuesday turned out to be warmer than planned, but with a constant drizzle that penetrated almost all types of clothing within minutes. Bob the robin was perched on the top of the feeder station as Abby set off with her group of visitors, serenading them as they passed.
‘Good morning, everyone,’ she said, facing the expectant crowd and clapping her hands together to get their attention. ‘Welcome to Meadowsweet Nature Reserve on this glorious October day.’ There was a smattering of laughter. ‘I’m Abby Field, and I’m your lead on today’s walk. I’m going to start by taking you through the woods, and then we’ll angle left, down towards the coastal lagoons to look at the waterfowl and migratory birds, and then back along the meadow trail which, while without its butterflies at this time of year, has beautiful views across the water and some autumn wildlife all of its own.
‘Please ask questions as we go, and if you spot anything and can point it out without disturbing it, I – and I’m sure some of you – should be able to help identify it. Is everyone covered up well enough? Luckily not many of our bird or animal species are put off by a bit of rain, though some of the birds of prey will wait until it’s dry to go hunting. Still, I’m hopeful we’ll see a lot today.’
She took a breath, realizing that her introduction was too long, hoping she hadn’t lost everyone’s attention completely. Mr and Councillor Savoury were hovering at the back of the group but, she was relieved to notice, looked interested. Helen Savoury was a solid, imposing woman who dressed impeccably and had a kindness to her dark eyes. Today she was wearing a light-grey, fitted waterproof jacket, the hood pulled up over her bobbed brown hair.
There were also the two women – sisters, she remembered – who always came together, one with a white stick, the other leading her. Abby had seen them several times over the last few weeks but had never got their names. They always wore bright colours, today waterproof jackets in lemon yellow and coral pink, so different from the camouflage browns and greens that people often donned to visit the reserve.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s get going.’
Two hours later, things were looking up. The rain had abated, though after the first half an hour Abby was sure everyone was too wet to care anyway, and they’d spotted a marsh harrier, a reed warbler, two herons and a cluster of bearded tits, which were always popular with their dusky gold-and-grey colouring, bouncy, toy-like movements and ping-pong song. As they reached the beginning of the meadow trail, however, Abby’s plan faltered. It was far too muddy for any of them to pass easily, even with sturdy walking boots on.
A woman in her forties with spiky red hair, who Abby had decided was the world’s most enthusiastic visitor, walked ahead of her.
‘I don’t think we’re going to be able to go that way,’ Abby called. ‘The mud is deeper than it looks.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ the woman said, waving her away.
‘I’m not sure all of us are as intrepid as you are,’ Abby replied. ‘Our warden, Gavin, tried to walk through a similar patch a couple of days ago, and came back to the visitor centre looking like a golem. The best thing to do is probably head straight to the café for coffee and cake.’
There was a low muttering as the group discussed the options.
‘What happens in that direction?’ Helen Savoury asked, pointing at a smaller, less worn track through the trees. ‘That looks like it could go around in a loop to the visitor centre, but in the opposite direction to the meadow trail. It doesn’t look too muddy, either.’
‘Oh, that way,’ Abby said. ‘It does, it comes out at the top of the car park, but—’
‘Sounds perfect then,’ the red-haired woman said. ‘We’ve got thirty minutes left, so why don’t we follow that path and see what we can see?’
Abby paused. She didn’t want to curtail the walk unnecessarily, and she should listen to what her visitors wanted, but that route would involve going past Peacock Cottage. She would be directly responsible for the behaviour that Jack had complained about, and it seemed like the problem had gone away. The last thing she wanted was to resurrect it. Still, if she stopped the walk now, she wouldn’t get perfect feedback from her visitors – Councillor Savoury included – and word would get back to Penelope. Jack might not even be at home, anyway. It seemed the lesser risk.
‘OK then,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
At first, the gamble paid off, and within minutes one of the visitors had picked up on the loud rat-tat-tat of a great spotted woodpecker. After creeping through the trees – a movement Abby was practised at, but which always made her feel like she was in a slow-motion film – they found the culprit, high up in a beech tree, his red, white and black plumage startling in the gloom.
With a sense of satisfaction, Abby led the group out of the woods and along a small section of the approach