He also recalled, with fondness, a quote from Margery Fish. Reputedly, at an East Lambrook Manor garden party—the now famous Somerset garden that she and her husband created in the late thirties—a visitor asked Margery’s husband when the garden would be finished. ‘Never,’was his reply. Kingston smiled. In years past, before her death, he had spent time with Margery at Lambrook, marvelling at the collection of hardy geraniums and other perennials that tumbled freely over the twisty paths and stone steps of her magical garden.
When he and Jamie had drawn up their contract, it was mutually agreed that it would be up to him to determine when he felt his services were no longer required on a full-time basis at Wickersham, at what point the day-to-day operation of the gardens could be turned over to a head gardener and staff of his choosing. Up until now, he’d never thought too much about the idea of leaving Wickersham. But when that time did come, he knew it was going to be a bittersweet farewell. The hardest part would be having to say goodbye to Jamie. More than once, the idea of staying on in Somerset longer than planned—even moving down permanently—had entered his mind, but each time better judgement had prevailed. He knew, damned well, that the idea was ill advised and impractical.
There was another thing that bothered him about leaving. After today’s meeting, it was beginning to look, more and more, as if the mysteries surrounding Wickersham were not likely to be solved in the near future. The meeting with Chadwick had revealed nothing he and Jamie didn’t know already. It came as no surprise, because he more or less knew that that would be the case. What was more frustrating was that all the threads of investigation, slender in the first place, had been played out. With no further developments or leads, it would simply become a waiting game until such time that new evidence came to light or someone blinked.
What infuriated Kingston was that he was convinced he was close to finding answers to the riddles—at least some of them. The link between Ryder and Girard and the distinct possibility that the two of them were dealing in looted art dovetailed with Ryder’s years in Paris: everything fell into place. It would have been easy to bring the paintings over from France one at a time. Canvases could be concealed or disguised. And what could be a more convenient and secure location for Ryder to store the paintings than Wickersham? Keeping them anywhere in the house would be considered too risky, no doubt. More likely, Ryder would have stored them in a place where nobody would find them, not even by accident. Ferguson, if he was right, had unwittingly located that place: underground, in the old catacombs of the priory. It was a perfect set-up. And the chapel held the last piece of the puzzle: the way into Wickersham’s subterranean chambers.
Under different circumstances, Kingston would have told Chadwick all of this but he wanted to buy a little more time to see if he was right. Besides, he knew that with Jamie present as well as his new DS—whom he was obviously trying to impress—Chadwick could rightfully come down hard on him for not having mentioned it all much earlier. The temptation to make Kingston look like a bumbling amateur might be too hard for Chadwick to resist. For a while he could delay the inevitable but not indefinitely. One thing was certain, though. He would never leave Wickersham knowing that Jamie’s life was still endangered.
Up early the next morning, he found Jamie in the kitchen. He was surprised to see her wearing a flour-dusted apron, in the midst of preparing what appeared to be dessert of some kind—a cake maybe? It also suggested that Dot had not made an appearance.
‘Any word from Dot?’
Jamie wiped her hands on the apron. ‘No. I phoned several more times yesterday evening. Nothing. I’m scared something might have happened to her, Lawrence—an accident. She lives on her own, you know.’
‘I didn’t. No.’
‘After I’ve cleaned up here, I’m driving over to her cottage. ’
‘I’ll come with you if you like. As a matter of fact, I’ve got to pick up some emitters and parts for the irrigation system at Water Savers. We can stop there on the way back from Dot’s. Where does she live?’
‘Over by Crowcombe, I looked it up on the map. It’s off the A road that goes up to Watchet.’
‘Shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. I’ll wait here till you’re ready, if that’s okay?’
‘Sure you don’t mind, Lawrence? I have to admit I would feel better having someone with me.’
‘No problem whatsoever, my dear. See how we do for time and I may treat you to lunch.’ He looked at the countertop, reached over and picked a strawberry from the bowl and popped it in his mouth.