‘That’s new. I thought you wantedHindsight.’
‘Nothing’s set in stone, just putting it out there. Two strong female leads is what we’re after, with you in charge, as discussed, and you get to decide on any other podcasts you want to bring into play.Hindsightof course can be one of them, with Connor at the helm if you so wish. It’s just hard for me to see how you’d find the time to work with him if he remains in Bristol and you’re in London or New York – or who knows where else in the world you might be as you build your team and delve into your own investigations.’
Avoiding the issue of shape-shifting that was clearly going on, she said, ‘Before we go any further, let me be clear about Molly Terrance. She isn’t someone I’d ever want on my teamin any capacity. She’s smug, spiteful, mendacious and has absolutely no regard for the truth on any level, unless it suits her. She said as much when we spoke last week. So, if Vikram Rathour really is rooting for her, you need to count me out, because I won’t have my name or my reputation associated with hers.’
Kinsley laughed. ‘There’s my girl – as feisty as ever, and boy, have I missed you …’
‘Cut the flannel – I want your reassurance, Paul.’
‘OK. Leave it with me. I’ll get back to you the minute I can tell you what you want to hear.’
As soon as she was in the door, Cristy tore off her coat, kicked off her boots and was about to call David to report on Kinsley’s maddening response when a hot flush bloomed out of nowhere, just as Connor rang.
‘I’m guessing you were driving so haven’t picked up Honey’s WhatsApp?’ he said when she answered. ‘We’re on! With Nicole. Wednesday at four. Honey’s going to drive.’
Cristy’s surprise turned to irony as she struggled to strip off. ‘Has she asked us to wear blindfolds?’ she asked.
He laughed. ‘She didn’t mention it, but don’t let’s rule it out.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
No blindfolds. No recording either, as Honey drove them out of Bristol on Wednesday afternoon, heading for an unknown destination that appeared to be west of the city and north of the M48. Connor was in the front passenger seat, Cristy in the rear, exchanging messages with a behavioural psychologist who’d finally got back to her for a paid consultation on the potential issues someone like Nicole Ivorson might be dealing with now. This ‘expert in her field’ could be good for the pod at a later stage; today, she was advising on traits or cognitive patterns to look out for, and how long-lasting or damaging or deceptive they might be. As Cristy couldn’t mention anything about the crime, or the twins, without making it obvious who the subject was, the information being received was at best conflicting, at worst misleading, although it could come into its own once they were face to face with Nicole.
Sensing they’d left an urban area, she looked up to discover they were travelling along a country lane surrounded by fallow fields and sorry-looking hedgerows, and guessed they were probably a couple of miles inland from the River Severn. It was a dank, mizzly February day with the cloud so low and thick there was no earthly chance of the sun breaking through, only the potential of more, heavier rain on the horizon and an upsweep of the bitter southwesterlies. It was so miserable it was enough to make even the birds weep, as her mother used to say.
After a while, Honey slowed the car in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere and turned in through a wide-open five-barred gate. There was no signage to speak of and no particular road markers either, as far as Cristy could tell.
For the next minute or so, they bumped awkwardly and slowly along a potholed track, running like a vein through the heart of a forest of soaring pines, until, eventually, they turned off the trail and came to a stop outside a long, low red-brick building. It had probably once been a stable block, but with its ornate French doors, twin chimney pots and small, surrounding garden, it was now clearly a residence.
‘Maeve’s brother, Harold, owns everything hereabouts,’ Honey told them. ‘His house – one of his houses – is further along the trail. You can’t see it from here, but it’s an old manor.’
‘So what does Harold do in this out-of-the-way nirvana?’ Connor asked, taking it all in.
Climbing out of the car, Honey said, ‘He usually lets the whole place for corporate or private events. He actually lives opposite his car dealership over on the A38: Strummonds – I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. He took his wife’s name when they got married. They’re away on a Caribbean cruise at the moment, so no chance of running into them, and they’ve cancelled the rest of their bookings so that Nicole can be here in peace.’
Once they were all gathered next to the car, Cristy said, ‘So, Nicole has a concerned uncle keeping her safe from the public eye? Can we assume he doesn’t believe in her confession either?’
‘It’s not a conversation I’ve had with him,’ Honey replied, ‘but given where we are, I’d say there’s a good chance you’re right. His only condition to them staying here is that he isn’t dragged into any unwanted publicity, so please keep that in mind as we go forward. Maybe leave it there,’ she saidto Connor as he opened the boot to take out the recording equipment.
As he complied he nodded for Cristy to look behind her. She turned to see an older woman, wearing an Aran knit sweater and baggy blue jeans, coming out of a set of French doors to greet them. In spite of her dignified bearing, her face was drawn with weariness, and her short, auburn hair seemed unsure of its style. Her deep-brown eyes were shadowed and sad.
‘Maeve,’ Cristy said, moving forward to take her hand. ‘I don’t expect you remember me—’
‘I do, actually,’ Maeve interrupted. ‘You were one of the better ones, back when most in your profession were calling my daughter a monster fit to be hanged. It’s the reason we’ve agreed to see you today – plus Honey here has convinced us you really do want to help. You must be Connor,’ she said, turning to him and holding out her hand again. ‘You’re younger than I expected, but no harm in that, as long as you can be trusted.’
‘He can,’ Honey assured her. ‘Shall we go inside? It’s starting to rain.’
Maeve turned to lead the way, standing aside at the door to show them into a cosy kitchen with a plentiful number of oak cabinets, a double-front Aga and black stone worktops. A kettle was boiling, and some mugs were laid out on a tray, but Maeve seemed not to notice as she pushed open a door at the far end.
‘She’s through here,’ she said, indicating for them to follow.
As they filed into a long, narrow hallway with half a dozen doors along one side and a large expanse of empty wall on the other, Cristy caught the pleasing scent of a diffuser blending with the warmth.
Stopping at the first door, Maeve said quietly. ‘She’s … Well, you’ll see for yourself how she is. Just bear with her when you need to, and try not to scare her.’
Wondering what to make of that, Cristy glanced at Connor. Maeve pushed open the door, and moments later, they were in a small sitting room with an overstuffed corduroy sofa up against the back wall, an armchair angled inwards from the French doors and a beanbag slumped next to a freestanding TV. In the middle of the room, a square coffee table was laden with orange peel and sweet wrappers – beside it, seated on the floor with her back propped against the sofa, arms wrapped around her knees, was a small woman with her face turned away.
‘Hi Nicole,’ Honey said softly.
