‘Good question,’ Connor commented, reaching for his Costa coffee. ‘Have you answered yet?’
‘Just about to,’ and voice-dictating into her phone, Cristy said, ‘If it feels right to go in, we will. Otherwise, we’re just getting the lie of the land. Will keep you posted.’
They drove on quietly for a while, each with their own thoughts, although Cristy was trying hard to escape most of hers. Much better to stay focused on Meier and Nicole, or even Aiden and Hayley – actually, her brother was a good source of welcome distraction. Knowing he was having a ball in Europe with the not-so-new love of his life, Serena, was both cheering and, Goddammit, making her tearful. Why was she always on the brink these days? What the heck was there to cry about in wishing she could be with him?
Actually, what she really wanted was to turn back the clock to before she’d caused this ludicrous situation with David …
‘The guy’s almost certainly some kind of narcissist,’ Connor declared, as they joined the road to Abergavenny, the halfway point.
Taking a moment to realize he meant Meier, Cristy said, ‘I’m more than half-convinced he’s behind most, if not all, of the feedback we’ve received. If I’m right, then he’s definitely trying to mess with us. Question is, to what end?’
‘Maybe it’s how he gets his kicks, alongside playing Jesus?’
With a faint laugh, she said, ‘I’m trying to figure out if there’s some sort of underlying message to the feedback that we’re not quite getting? Actually, I’m going to ask Clove and Jacks to take a closer look at it, see if there are anycommonalities or pointers that might connect the dots. They always enjoy a good code-breaking mission.’
By the time Cristy had relayed instructions and dealt with messages from both her children, she looked up to discover they were passing through Raglan, where the ancient castle appeared bleaker than ever on this dull grey day. Then a few rays of sunlight found their way out of the cloud to light the centuries-old ruins, as if to remind her of how beautiful and mystical the place really was. Her brother, the great historian, would love it here; he’d probably even be able to tell her all about its heritage without having to look it up.
‘I bloody love this place,’ Connor declared warmly. ‘I don’t know why; it just gets me every time I see it.’
Remembering he had a Welsh father, she said, ‘Did you used to come here as a child?’
‘Sure, but I didn’t really appreciate it then. It’s funny, though, how every time I’m in Wales these days, I feel my spirits lifting.’ He threw her a quick glance. ‘Any chance it’s happening for you?’ he asked hopefully.
Tilting her head, she said, ‘I’m thinking that the people who once lived in that castle thought their issues were all-important when they were happening, and now we don’t even know who they were.’
‘Wow,’ he murmured. ‘Not really getting the upbeat thing.’
Laughing, she said, ‘It does put things in perspective though, doesn’t it? The reminder that nothing’s permanent, and no matter how bad things are today – or good – it won’t last because it can’t.’
‘OK, definitely not cheering me up here. So how about a song?’ And he promptly broke into a pretty good rendition of ‘Up on Cripple Creek’,simply because it was the name of the place they were now passing through.
‘You do realize the Cripple Creek you’re singing about is in Colorado, don’t you? Or is it Virginia?’
‘Who cares? It’s just a great song, and now, as we drive around this magnificent curve in the road into the heart of the Welsh valleys, we find ourselves overawed by the spectacle of no less than three of this amazing nation’s most stunning mountain tops. Are you not falling to your knees in adulation of nature’s most resplendent creations?’
Loving him just because he was him, she said, ‘We should be recording this.’
‘What makes you think we’re not,’ he countered, and nodded towards the red light on his display screen, showing that he’d activated the built-in recorder.
‘How did I forget you had that?’ She smiled. ‘Except, I seem to be forgetting everything these days.’ And, after a pause, ‘Remind me, where are we going?’
Two hours later, after pushing through fast descending swirls of fog and outbreaks of sleeting rain as they drove high into the mountains, they finally arrived at the destination they’d selected by using a satellite view on Google Maps. It was a small pull-in from a single-lane road that passed the other side of the wood next to Bryn Helyg Farm. This, Jacks had discovered, was the name used during Meier’s grandmother’s time; they had yet to establish what the place was called today.
Funny how no one had mentioned it in their comments, and yet several had provided contact details without any prompting.
As they got out of the car, a cloying mass of freezing air instantly dampened their coats and chilled their faces. Thankfully, there was no wind and for the moment, no rain – just a morass of low-lying cloud spreading out in a dense grey fug around them. Cristy took in what little she could see: thorny hedgerows across the narrow road and the towering copse behind her, not a single person, vehicle, bird or animalin sight. In fact, even Connor wasn’t wholly visible at the other side of the car.
‘Not much in the way of signal,’ he muttered, checking his phone as he came to join her. He looked up, surveyed the ominous cluster of trees and said, ‘You first.’
Stifling a laugh, in spite of no one seeming to be around to hear them, she took a step forward, only to be blocked by his arm as he gallantly took the lead.
The tight cluster of trunks, with needle-branches coated in frost and upper limbs reaching like skeletal fingers into the mist, felt both unworldly and menacing. They moved gingerly, holding back brambles and steadying themselves against peeling bark, careful not to trip on exposed roots or sink into hidden rabbit holes. Their breath filled the space in front of them with small clouds of warm air; the scent all around was heady and earthy and very soon started to become sweetly pungent.
On reaching the other side of the copse, they remained partly hidden to get their bearings before moving on. Across the track in front of them was a huge, metal barn, doors wide open, with a tractor outside but no sign of a driver, and from their current perspective, the outbuilding’s interior appeared as black as night. Thanks to Google Maps, they already knew that the dry-stone wall sloping downhill away from the barn surrounded the farmhouse garden. It was a relief to see that in reality it was no more than four feet high and that the huge trunk of the yew they’d spotted during their online stalk was right next to a small, wrought-iron gate.
From here, they could only see the roof of the house – muted grey slate with chimneys either end, and a lazy trail of smoke curling from one into the dank, colourless sky. It was clearly large and gave the impression of being solidly settled into its place on the hillside.
After checking up and down the track, glimpsing further structures fifty or more yards away but still no people, theymade their way over to the stone wall and peered through the tangle of old man’s beard that ran along the top. The property was indeed big and sturdy, a classic Welsh farmhouse with at least a dozen deep-set, wood-framed windows and a heavy oak front door. It had clearly undergone some improvements over the years to add a huge, peak-roof front porch and a deep-set flagstone front patio, with a wide, wrought-iron gate at one end opening into a lane that ran between the garden and what appeared to be stables.
