The Magus of Hay(40)
‘I saw them. A roomful. A big roomful.’
‘No, I mean, his books. Rector’s. The ones he wrote.’
‘He wrote books? I never even thought to look. Bookwise, it was all a bit overwhelming.’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ Huw said, ‘while I get my head round this, why don’t you look him up on the Internet? I’ll call you back.’
‘All right, but I’ll just tell you one more thing. He’s left his house and contents – which, depending on how much land goes with it, could be worth the best part of a million – to Anthea White.’ She paused. ‘Get your head round that.’
‘Athena?’
‘The Witch of Hardwicke. Frannie Bliss is trying to persuade me to talk to her with a view to finding out why. The kind of people he was mixing with. What was happening at Cusop. And yes, I have told him I’d prefer root-canal surgery without the anaesthetic.’
‘Intriguing, though, lass. Give us an hour, and I’ll try and equip you for the ordeal.’
Five minutes later, with Peter Rector entered into Google, Lol called.
He was in a motel outside Carlisle. He didn’t sound gloomy, exactly, but he did sound tired. He was expressing dismay at how much had changed since he was last on the road. Merrily was resisting the urge to ask if he was getting regular meals.
Regular meals – she should talk.
‘So much more music in pubs now,’ Lol was saying. ‘Bigger towns, where they get lots of gigs, they carry on talking and drinking. You’re just a distant soundtrack to their night out. It’s the more remote places where they actually listen. They’ve travelled further, so they listen.’
‘So you’re doing OK?’
‘More than OK, I suppose. Doesn’t seem right.’
Merrily said nothing. How could a man who’d been so comprehensively crapped on over the years be so pathetically grateful?
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I’m bored with me. Seeing too much of me. You and Jane, how’s, uh… how’s that going?’
‘Erm…’
Merrily transferred the phone from one hand to the other. She hadn’t wanted to but, under the circumstances, there was no way of avoiding spelling it out.
‘Not a problem, though, it really isn’t. I can try and beg some time off when you get back.’
‘Except that you’re on your own. On holiday in an empty house.’
‘Well, it’s never totally—’
‘How about you don’t mention the presence of God. It’ll just make me want to ask you to marry me, again, put the old bugger’s nose out of joint. Abandon the rest of the gigs, square things with Danny, hit the long road home.’
‘Through the darkness and the rain.’ She felt her voice floating away. ‘Like in some old movie.’
In the tradition of which, about twenty miles from home, in blinding rain, he’d be involved in a shattering collision with an exhausted lorry driver who didn’t know the road and…
Oh Christ, stop it. She gripped the phone with both hands. Rationalize.
‘OK, you’re right. It feels a bit odd. There is that rattling around feeling. Until Saturday. When Martin Longbeach arrives.’
Short silence.
‘Forgot about that. You and Martin.’
‘Who is…’
‘Gay. I realize that.’
‘And not in a good state, losing his partner. Everybody says it’s easily controlled these days, but that’s not always the case.’
‘Martin’s not got it, has he?’
‘Don’t think so. So why was he spared, all this self-laceration. And I…’ Hard to stop her voice speeding up ‘… don’t want him thinking he’s being supervised, or on suicide watch, so, bottom line, can I live in your house?’
‘What?’
‘Your cottage. Can I live in it?’
‘Blimey.’
‘Not if you don’t want me to.’
‘Drink out of my cups? Light my stove if it gets cold?’
‘I’d bring my own logs.’
‘Bathe in my bathroom?’
‘Bring my own soap.’
‘Um… sleep in my bed?’
‘And eat your porridge, yeah.’
‘Well, that… that should be… that would be OK.’
‘Good.’
‘OK… well, you’ve got the key. Just one thing…’
She waited.
‘You have to promise not to wash the duvet cover afterwards,’ Lol said.
Emerging from the scullery, she felt feather-headed. Couldn’t be sure how he’d phrased the bit about asking her to marry him, convinced that even though he’d said again it was actually the first time the M word had ever passed between them.