Chapter One
It was strange, Aleksey reflected, as he strode over the dry, yellowed turf with Ben, what could be contagious. He’d always thought it was things like the flu or smallpox or the plague that you caught. But no. Apparently the concept of sleepovers could be spread as well. Once Molly began them, appearing in her pyjamas once a week with fixed determination, earlier and earlier each appointed day, now here they were, he and Ben, going on a…sleepover.
They’d been invited.
The professor, shy, anxious, proud, and stuttering, had invited them over—dinner—and stay the night of course…house warming…not that it was his house, obviously. But nice summer walk across Dartmoor…probably too late to walk back. Spare room all finished now…
So, here he was, going to spend the night in the cottage. A place that held mixed memories for him. He glanced slyly sideward, wondering just how intuitive Ben was. Apparently, a lot. Ben stirred out of his reverie, swished his stick against some bracken and observed a little gloomily, ‘I hope this night is better than our last one there.’
Aleksey laughed and messed up his dark hair, pleased with this connection they shared. Bodies and now thoughts. Well, some of them. It wouldn’t do for Ben Rider-Mikkelsen to know all his secrets, even now.
‘On the floor, I seem to recall. And cold.’
‘And…not loving me very much.’
‘Huh. Yes, that’s why I was on the floor and cold, Ben—because I didnotlove you.’
Ben poked his ribs then offered more cheerfully, ‘I hope Tim’s not gone to too much trouble, but I kinda think he has.’
‘Trouble? How do you mean?’
Ben glanced at him disbelievingly. They were climbing some rocks around the base of a tor, wading through the summer-withered bracken. ‘You do know he’s…totally in awe of you, yeah? Everything he does revolves around what you’ll think or say or do.’
‘I thought that was you.’
Ben made a small scoffing noise, quite audible, and continued, ‘He’ll have cooked and…well, gone to a lot of trouble—as I said. So be nice.’
‘Me? I am always nice, am I not?’ He grinned. ‘I have even brought a little gift. A house-warming present.’
Ben gave him a swift, suspicious eye flick. ‘What? Where? It’s not something weird, is it?’
Aleksey only smiled to himself and waited for Radulf to catch up. PB was keeping close to his heels already. He sometimes did that these days on their Dartmoor walks—the level of his anxiety seeming to depend on which direction they took.
‘How’s the leg? And don’t ask what leg. It’s annoying.’
‘It’s fine. Honestly. In case you haven’t noticed,youhave my stick.’
‘It’s my bracken sword.’ Ben demonstrated this concept with a particularly accurate and vicious swipe, beheading an innocently curled fern. It did clear the path nicely though.
‘Do not make a sour face and say oh God, but I have been thinking. That face is unnecessary too. I have been thinking that we should maybe get a caretaker for the island. A fulltime job for someone who would like the opportunity to live there and, well, take care of it, I suppose.’
‘Where would they stay? In Guillemot?’
‘No. That’s ours. Maybe the cottage? I could have a new place built? What do you think?’
‘I think it would be better with just us there.’
‘I agree, but we can’t be there enough to tend the grass, look after the garden and glasshouse plants.’
‘Maybe someone would be willing to travel over from St Mary’s once a week or something?’
Aleksey nodded. ‘Maybe.’Maybe not. If you wanted to keep something secret, the fewer people who knew about it the better.
They came in sight of the cottage sitting bathed in sunshine on the southern slope of the tor. In winter, as he’d only just recalled, the place had been nightmarish, a situation not helped by the ruinous state of the old farm buildings at the time. Now it was unrecognisable. Not only had he built a large extension of oak and glass which formed the kitchen and main living area, he’d had a granite wing added which housed the bedrooms and bathrooms, the roof of which had huge skylights that let the sunshine stream in. What had been the single bedroom above the tiny old living area was now merely ceiling space with a mezzanine gallery lined in bookshelves, reached by a spiral staircase.
The old one-up, one-down farm labourer’s hovel was no more. Only that week the bespoke oak garage, which had replaced the old barn forming one side of the courtyard, had been signed off. In the end, rather than lay a modern driveway, they’d left the old cobbles and drainage channels, had them blasted clean, and turned them into a feature patio, which now formed an outside room, consisting of teak furniture under a solid oak pergola, with an impressively large, but often necessary fire pit.
However, as they approached up the sheep track, this area now appeared to be covered by…vehicles. ‘Why are there lots of cars, Benjamin?’
