consultancy.’
‘And you?’
‘Nothing at the moment.’
‘A lady who lunches, eh?’ Was there a touch of scorn in his voice?
The colour flared into her face. ‘No,’ she said defensively. ‘Hardly. I don’t know anyone round here to have lunch with. And anyway, I shall be looking for a job.’
‘Which would be?’
‘I worked in an art gallery.’
‘I’ll bet it was a posh one. Bond Street?’ There was no touch of humour in his voice.
She didn’t dare look at his face. ‘Yes, if you must know.’
His laugh was soft and, she realised, sympathetic. ‘Some friends of mine have an antique shop in Woodbridge. I can ask them if you like. They might know of something which would suit you.’
‘That would be great.’ She risked another glance at him. The scars, now she knew they were there, weren’t so bad. There was an area of red, puckered skin and tight silvery marks from his temple down across his left cheek almost to his chin. His eyes, she realised, were blue, not the bright almost harsh blue of Rosemary’s, but a deep misty colour. ‘Leo –’ She paused for a second, then took the plunge. ‘Our other neighbours. In The Summer Barn. Do you know them?’
‘Indeed.’
‘They don’t seem to be here much.’
‘No, thank God!’
‘What happens in the summer?’
‘Usually they go to Marbella or somewhere like that. Suffolk is too quiet.’ Leo gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Don’t worry. We don’t have to contend with that. And if they come down for Christmas at least they keep the doors shut.’
‘Is it possible,’ again a moment’s silence, ‘is it possible that one of the children might come in here, and somehow hide, move things around?’
He smiled. The scars affected his smile, gave a strangely quirky twist to his mouth. ‘Anything is possible with them. But I think it unlikely. They live somewhere down near Basildon and the kids seem to think coming up here is the next best thing to parental-inspired torture. The youngest, Jade, is almost bearable, she’s about eleven, but she would be at school. And there would be all hell to pay if she wasn’t, so we can rule her out. One thing Sharon and Jeff are fanatical about is that the girl should get her education. The boys are, I fear, beyond hope.’ He put the empty trug down by the door. ‘I take it you have had the feeling there has been someone in the house?’
She nodded. ‘Stupid. It’s just taking time to get used to the place. It’s so big after the flat and it’s so quiet here.’
He glanced round. ‘There’s no need to be worried about it. This place has always had a strong feeling that there are things going on. Not the kids next door, not real people. Just echoes.’
For a moment she said nothing. ‘Is that why the people before us left?’ She walked over to the window, fighting the tightening in her chest. He was going to tell her it was haunted. That was all she needed. ‘It’s a new conversion,’ she went on. ‘Hardly anyone has lived here. No one has died here, have they? It can’t be ghosts.’
He frowned. ‘This building is hundreds of years old. Surely you realise that.’
‘But it’s a barn. Nobody lived here,’ she repeated firmly.
‘No. Nobody lived here.’ Whatever he had been going to say, he changed his mind. ‘Don’t worry about it. These old buildings creak and groan with every change of wind or temperature. You’ll get used to it. In the end you won’t hear it any more, or if you do you will feel it’s like a conversation. My place is the same. I can tell what the weather is like and which way the wind is blowing just by which beam creaks in the morning when I wake up.’
She smiled. ‘That sounds positively friendly.’
‘It is.’
‘I’ll keep the security lights in mind,’ she said as he stooped and picked up his trug.
‘Do that. They desecrate the night.’ He turned towards the door. ‘Right. I must go. You must introduce me to Mr Lloyd one of these days.’ And he had gone.
Zoë clenched her fists. There was no ghost. There could not be a ghost. Just a creaky house with a past as a farm building. She could live with that.
The huge barn doors were open to the afternoon sunlight. Several chickens were scratching at the dusty cobbles. They scattered at the approach of the horse.
‘Daniel!’ The woman leading the elegant mare towards him across the yard was slim and beautifully dressed in a burgundy riding habit with a black hat adorned with a veil. The horse was lame.
‘My lady!’ Releasing the pump handle with a start, Dan Smith straightened abruptly, letting the water sluice off his broad shoulders as he tossed his hair back out of his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, my lady! I didn’t hear you coming.’ He groped for his shirt, forcing it on over his wet skin.
Emily Crosby smiled. She let her eyes linger a few seconds more on his body as he wrestled with the damp material before turning to the horse beside her. It stood dejected, its head hanging almost to the ground. Her gloved hand touched the animal’s neck. ‘My mare has cast a shoe and it was easier to bring her straight here than walk her back to the Hall.’
Dan hesitated, then he approached the horse, running an expert hand down its leg and lifting it to inspect the hoof. ‘Where was your groom, my lady? Surely Sam or Zeph or one of the stable boys could have brought the horse in.’
‘I was riding alone.’ Her voice sharpened. ‘I am sure there is no harm done. She just needs a new shoe.’
He glanced over his shoulder towards the forge. The fire had died down and his tools were stowed away for the night. ‘If you’ll leave her here, my lady, I will shoe her in the morning and bring her up to the Hall for you.’
‘I don’t think that’s good enough, Daniel.’ Her face set in a petulant scowl. ‘How do you expect me to get back?’
He eyed the side saddle and her long-skirted habit. ‘Walk, why don’t you?’ The words hovered on his lips, but he bit them back. ‘I can put your saddle on the squire’s cob. He’s here in the yard.’
Emily stared round, her grey eyes widening. ‘The squire is here?’
‘No, my lady. His horse.’ Daniel suppressed a smile. He pushed his wet hair back from his eyes. ‘No one has come down to collect him from the Hall stables yet. It will only take me a minute to put the saddle over for you.’
‘Very well.’ She handed him the rein. ‘Be quick. I need to get back in time for dinner.’
Dan walked the mare across the yard and tied her bridle to a ring in the wall. It took him seconds to release the girth and hump the heavy saddle onto his shoulder.
The squire’s cob was not happy. It tossed its head angrily as he reached under its belly to cinch the first buckle tight. ‘It doesn’t fit him. It will rub. You will have to ride slowly, my lady.’
‘You can lead me. I can’t ride this great brute without an escort.’ She eyed the horse with disfavour. She watched for a moment as he led it towards the mounting block. ‘I can’t get on it on my own, Daniel,’ she said sharply. ‘You will have to lift me.’ The veil of her hat blew for a moment across her eyes as she looked round at him, her gloves and whip in one hand, the train of her habit in