Every Woman For Herself: This hilarious romantic comedy from the Sunday Times Bestseller is the perfect spring read. Trisha Ashley

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      ‘Someone gave him some old doors and windows, and he’s using clear corrugated plastic for the roof. I told him you needed somewhere like his friend George’s pigeon loft, only much lighter, and he got the idea immediately. He’s been at it a week – I can hear him hammering now.’

      ‘That’s wonderful,’ I said, a lump coming to my throat at this extra kindness.

      ‘Father’s been complaining, but he isn’t working – too busy banging away himself. That woman’s so insatiable it’s embarrassing. I caught him carrying her up the stairs the other night, which won’t do his back much good.’

      ‘He was always like that, though, Em.’

      ‘This one’s different. She’s got into the house, for a start, with her brats.’

      Like Angie’s squirrels. I hoped Angie didn’t follow me here and get in the house, too.

      ‘Does he mind my coming home for good?’

      ‘He doesn’t care, just says you’ll have to pay for your keep, so the mistress must be expensive.’

      ‘He’s right, though, Em – and I can’t stay in the Summer Cottage for ever. He’s bound to want it for the next mistress. I’ll have to find a job of some kind, and rent a place. Matt hasn’t sent me any money since I dinged Greg. I knew it would be the odd duck, and that only if I was lucky, but I don’t think I want his money any more anyway. I don’t deserve it after killing his best friend.’

      ‘It was an accident, and you’re entitled to some maintenance – we all keep telling you. You’ve got to live on something until you paint again, so—’

      ‘If I ever paint again,’ I said pessimistically.

      She ignored that. ‘So I’ve got you a part-time job, starting Monday.’

      Panic clutched me round the midriff with sharp talons. ‘A job! What on earth as?’

      ‘Helper in the Rainbow Nursery down the road. You don’t know it – they started a sort of self-sufficient commune in Hoo Hall, and there’s a progressive nursery attached.’

      ‘Montessori or Steiner or something?’

      ‘Something. They don’t keep their staff long, probably because they don’t pay much, so they’re always desperate.’

      ‘Do they know I’m a murderess?’

      ‘You’re not a murderess, and the accident didn’t make the national headlines, so probably not.’

      ‘Oh, Em, I don’t think I can do it. I don’t know anything about children and—’

      ‘You can try. Then maybe something else will turn up, or you’ll start painting again.’

      ‘Vaddie at the gallery keeps asking me for more – but they’ve got everything I’d finished.’

      ‘You need to get back here and let the moors cure you, and Gloria will brew you up a tonic. You’ll see – everything will be OK.’

      Gloria is a wisewoman, and taught Em everything she knows, but she brews the most God-awful-tasting potions.

      ‘It’ll be odd living in the mistress’s house.’

      ‘Gloria Mundi’s cleaned it till it squeaks, and I’ve oiled the kitchen door so you can come and go as you like without anyone knowing.’

      ‘Thank you, Em,’ I said gratefully. ‘I’ve put you to a lot of trouble.’

      ‘No you haven’t – you know I like organising. It’s that Jessica woman who’s making trouble – you’ll have to help me to get her out.’

      ‘Father’s mistresses never last long,’ I assured her. ‘Bran’s mother was the longest, but that was only because she wanted to have Bran before she went back home. I don’t think she and Father were communicating in any way once Bran was conceived.’

      ‘Ah, yes – Bran. He phoned me the other day from outside the university. Apparently the High Priestess of Thoth manifested herself, and informed him that he shouldn’t use mobile phones any more because evil spirits escaped from them into his head. I couldn’t hear him very clearly because he was holding it away from his ear, and then there was a swooshing noise and a splash before it went dead, so I think he threw it into the river.’

      ‘Ah.’

      ‘Yes, so I’ve put Rob’s taxi on stand-by to go and collect him. I don’t suppose Bran’s students will notice his absence if he has to come home for a break. He doesn’t remember he’s got any, half the time, and when he does he probably lectures them in some ancient tongue they can’t understand. But apparently the book’s going to be brilliant.’

      ‘There has to be a good reason the University is prepared to put up with his little ways, other than his having an IQ greater than the sum of all the other staff.’

      ‘He also has a whanger bigger than any of the other staff,’ Em said, which was true; even skinny-dipping in the icy beck as children we’d seen he’d been impressive in that department. But unless the High Priestess of Thoth manifested herself in a more solid form and drew him a diagram, I feared that asset would be entirely wasted.

      ‘I don’t think that would particularly impress academic circles,’ I said.

      ‘Perhaps not. I’ve asked them to phone me if he doesn’t calm down in a day or two, and Rob can set off.’

      Rob knew Bran’s little ways and was always quite happy to drive down to Bran’s ancient and hallowed university (which had proved surprisingly accepting of his eccentricity) and transport him back without mishap.

      ‘Well, I suppose you couldn’t put Bran in the Summer Cottage,’ I said, though it still rankled that I’d been the one ejected for the mistress.

      ‘I had one of my visions – about Anne,’ Em said, reading my mind too. ‘She’s in difficulty, and she’ll be coming home soon, for healing.’

      ‘Spiritual or otherwise? She hasn’t been shot, has she? I thought you said she couldn’t be shot?’

      ‘I don’t think it’s that sort of wound,’ Em said doubtfully. ‘But I can’t tell clearly – my predictions are getting more and more fuzzy: I think the vertical hold’s gone. Really, what’s the point of hanging on to my virginity in order to retain my powers, when all I ever see is the boring and mundane? I’ve never clearly seen anything wildly exciting. I really think I might as well explore the darker side of witchcraft.’

      ‘Well, don’t do anything hasty,’ I begged her. ‘Especially anything … Aleister Crowley.’

      ‘That poseur! Certainly not. No, I’m thinking more of joining the local coven and fully embracing the Ancient Arts – and perhaps a suitable man. Lilith’s running one.’

      ‘What, a suitable man?’

      ‘No, a coven.’

      ‘And СКАЧАТЬ