Safely back inside the cottage she locked the door with a sigh of relief and, taking the film out of the camera, put it into its plastic case and tucked it into her shoulder bag. She was damp and thoroughly chilled. Slotting a tape of Vaughan Williams’ Fifth Symphony into her cassette player and turning it up loudly, she climbed the stairs and went back into her bedroom, pulling off her scarf and shaking out her wet hair as she began slowly to undress. Putting on her dressing gown she paused, listening, as the music downstairs grew quiet. She could hear a strange buzzing from the spare room. She frowned. For a moment she hesitated, biting her lip. What was it about this damn house which made her so jumpy? It was a fly, that was all, awoken by the morning sunshine. Taking a deep breath she flung open the door and switched on the light. The room was deserted. A quick glance showed that her cases and boxes were undisturbed; Greg’s pictures stood where she had left them, face to the wall behind the door, and she was right, a couple of bluebottles were crawling across the window. As the light flicked on they buzzed angrily against the glass. Shaking her head she backed out and closed the door. Tomorrow she would deal with them.

The bathroom was very cold. With a shiver she pulled the cord to switch on the wall heater and, putting the plug in the bath, she turned on the hot tap. As the windows steamed over she closed the curtains then she tipped some foaming bath oil into the steaming jet of water and stood back, twisting her hair into a knot on the top of her head as she watched the bath fill with fragrant froth. Lying back in the warmth was ecstasy. With a groan of pleasure she submerged all but her head and closed her eyes.

She hadn’t noticed the bluebottle in the corner of the window frame. As the light and warmth woke it up it crawled from beneath the curtain and buzzed angrily towards the strip light over the basin. She opened her eyes and watched it, irritated. The discordant buzzing spoiled her mood. After dashing itself several times against the mirror it took off and made a low swift circuit of the bathroom. Involuntarily she ducked as it swooped over her head. ‘Damn and blast!’ She flicked foam at it. She would not let it spoil her bath.

As the water began to cool she turned on the hot tap hopefully, knowing before she did it that the tank would not yet have heated up again. As she expected it was cold. Heaving herself to her feet she stepped out onto the bath mat and wrapped a towel around herself. Wiping the steam from the mirror she peered at her face. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the bluebottle on the frame of the mirror. She flipped at it with her hand and it took off, swooping up to the light. It was then the phone rang. Wrapped in the towel she picked it up in the kitchen.

‘Kate, I was worried. Are you OK?’

‘Jon?’ Her heart leaped as she sat down, shivering. ‘God, I wish you were here.’

‘I thought so. Something is wrong isn’t it? I could hear it in your voice yesterday.’

She could have bitten out her tongue. Why had she said it? It was over between them. Anyway, what was the use of worrying him when he was so far away? ‘Nothing is wrong,’ she said hastily. ‘I just meant you’d like it here. The big skies, the sea, the silence. They would appeal to you.’

‘Perhaps I’ll come and see you when I get back.’ There was an echo on the line this time – a pause between each sentence; it made them both sound awkward and they didn’t talk for long. After she put the phone down she sat looking at it thoughtfully for several seconds. If it was all over between them, why did he keep ringing?

At a quarter to eight she switched off her computer and the desk lamp and standing up, she stretched. As she worked she had been conscious of the wind rising outside the cottage. It rattled the windows and from time to time she heard the spatter of rain against the glass.

Carefully she built up the fire and shut the doors as tightly as she could, closing the dampers right down so the stove would be snug and still alight when she came home later, then reluctantly she began to pull on her jacket and boots. With one glance behind her into the living room where she had left the single lamp on the side table burning to welcome her home, she stepped out into the night and pulling the front door shut behind her, she turned the key in the lock. For the last hour, she realised, she had been hoping that the phone would ring and Roger would suggest he came to fetch her. It would only take him ten minutes in the Land Rover. She sighed. Clutching her torch firmly she switched it on and directed the beam up the muddy track into the trees.

It took her half an hour to walk the half mile through the wood. The track was muddy and slippery and the wind had scattered the springy resinous branches of the pine trees on the ground, making the path treacherous in the unsteady torchlight. Several times she stopped and glanced around, shining the torch into the trees. The narrow beam showed only wet, black trunks, deep shadows and a tangle of matted undergrowth.

Diana opened the door with an exclamation of surprise. ‘Kate, my dear, you haven’t walked! Greg said he was going over to pick you up half an hour ago.’

Greg, she thought. I might have guessed. She smiled, realising suddenly that her face was so cold it was hard to make her muscles work. ‘I wish I’d known, I would have waited for him,’ she said. She followed Diana inside, shed her wet outer garments and found herself ushered towards the dreamed of inglenook. Within minutes she had been settled into the warmest corner of the sofa with a whisky in her hand and a cat on her knee.

The room smelled gloriously of burning apple logs, and cooking; she sniffed in anticipation; garlic, oregano, tomatoes – something Italian then. Lying back with her head against the cushions she smiled at Roger who had seated himself opposite her. ‘This is heaven. It’s not worth cooking for myself. I’ve been living on baked beans and tinned soup for the last few days.’

‘So, how is your book going?’ Roger smiled. At the Aga Diana had lifted the lid off a pan and was stirring gently.

Kate took a sip of her whisky, feeling the warmth flowing through her veins. ‘Quite well. From the work point of view coming here was a good move. It’s given me the time to concentrate.’

‘Not much else to do over there, eh?’ Roger smiled. He cocked an eye at the door as it opened and Greg appeared. ‘I thought you were supposed to be fetching our guest,’ he said sharply.

Greg grimaced. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise the time. I was on my way out now to get you.’

Kate eyed him cryptically. She did not believe it. He had meant to leave it so late that she had to walk. She said nothing, however. She did not want to spoil the mood of the evening. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said easily. ‘No harm done. I enjoyed the walk.’

‘Well, you can be sure he will drive you back after supper,’ Roger put in quietly, and hearing the note of steel in his voice Kate realised that Greg’s father was as aware as she was that his omission was deliberate. She relaxed back in the cushions further with a sigh of pleasure, her hand gently stroking Serendipity Smith into a state of ecstasy, surprised to acknowledge how relieved she felt that she would not have to face the cold wet trees alone again that night.

It was when Alison and Patrick appeared that Greg, who had been morosely drinking beer in the corner chair, looked up. ‘Did you remember to bring the dagger you found in Alison’s dig?’ he asked. Though his voice was quiet there was a hostile edge to it that Kate picked up immediately.

She frowned. ‘I did indeed.’ Carefully, so as not to disturb the cat she leaned down to the soft leather shoulder bag which lay at her feet and rummaged inside it. The iron dagger was wrapped in a piece of newspaper. Lifting it out she held it up to Alison. ‘I found it lying on the sand,’ she said. ‘I only moved it because the tide was coming in. It would have been lost.’

For a moment Alison hesitated. She took the newspaper packet with obvious reluctance. ‘Thanks.’ She put it down without opening it. ‘I had put it in my haversack. It must have fallen out.’

Kate raised an eyebrow. ‘Aren’t you going to look at it?’

‘Later.’

‘What’s wrong, Allie? Lost interest already?’ Greg’s challenge brought a flush of angry pink to Alison’s face.

‘Of course not.’

‘You weren’t there today.’

‘I was.’ The retort was flashed at him furiously. ‘That just shows all you know. She saw me. Didn’t you?’

‘I did,’ Kate acknowledged.

‘So, what do you think of Allie’s dig?’ Roger interposed quietly, long used to stepping into the quarrels of his children.

‘Remarkable.’ Kate sat forward. ‘I hope Alison is going to get some experts up here soon. The tide is taking away the sand very fast. If she’s not careful the whole thing will have disappeared before it’s properly recorded.’

‘Did you remember to photograph it?’ Alison’s question stemmed not so much from interest, Kate sensed, as the desire to catch her out. It was with some satisfaction that she nodded. She reached again into her bag and produced the roll of film.

‘I’m afraid the light wasn’t as good as I’d hoped. It may not have come out, but it’s better than nothing.’

Alison took the film and threw it down on the table near her. ‘Thanks,’ she said again.

‘It was very good of you to take them for her,’ Roger put in. He had been watching his daughter with a frown. ‘Alison, have you told anyone yet about your finds? Kate is right. Someone expert on these matters needs to come and see it soon.’

‘She’ll do it when she’s ready,’ Diana put in from the kitchen. ‘Don’t pester the child. Give her a chance to write up her project on her own first, if that’s what she wants.’