Midnight is a Lonely Place. Barbara Erskine

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      She handed over the box gratefully and preceded him into the cottage. ‘I’ve been in Colchester. The fire’s out, I’m afraid.’ She pushed the front door closed, making sure the latch had engaged, then she went through into the kitchen and drew the curtains, cutting off the cascade of light which shone out onto the grass. The garden sank into darkness.

      ‘I’ve come up to find Alison. Is she here?’

      Kate swung round and stared at him. ‘You mean she’s still not at home? I’ve been to see if she was digging out there, but there’s no sign of her.’

      They stared at one another, the hostility which crackled between them suddenly muted. Greg lowered the box to the ground. ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘Of course I’m sure.’

      Behind Kate the phone rang from the kitchen. She turned to answer it. Greg followed.

      It was Roger. ‘Tell Greg she’s with a friend. Silly child didn’t think to leave a note. Apparently she went up through the woods to the Farnboroughs’. She’s spending the night with them.’

      ‘I knew she would be OK.’ Greg shook his head in exasperation when she told him. Then he leaned across to the counter and picked up the box of matches lying there. ‘Do you want me to light the fire for you while I’m here?’ His voice was curt, almost as if he were offering against his will.

      ‘Would you.’ She did not allow herself to sound too grateful. ‘The lighters are over there. I’ll get us a whisky.’

      ‘All done.’ Greg came back moments later. ‘Good lord, what’s that?’ He had spotted the dagger lying on the table near the coffee pot. Curiously he picked it up and examined it. ‘Where did you find this?’

      ‘In Alison’s excavation.’

      He frowned. ‘I thought she asked you not to touch anything there.’

      ‘She did, and I had no intention of doing so. This was lying on the ground at the edge as though she’d dropped it. Another tide and it would have been lost.’ She poured the two drinks and pushed one towards him. ‘I told you, I went out to see if she was still there. There’s a terrible mess at the excavation.’

      He raised his glass and sipped the whisky, still holding the dagger. ‘I thought she was doing it carefully.’

      ‘She was. She showed it to me only yesterday. It must have been that storm last night. It’s full of seaweed, and half the side has fallen in. I expect that’s how that came to light.’ She nodded in the direction of the dagger.

      Putting down his glass he examined it more closely.

      ‘Is it Roman do you think?’ He glanced up.

      Kate missed the sudden amusement in his eyes. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think it might be earlier but I’m not an archaeologist. I do think she ought to get some experts here. She could be doing irreparable damage, poking around the way she is.’ She still had not mentioned the torc.

      ‘The way you describe it the sea will do a lot worse than anything she could do. At least she’s saving a few things this way.’ Greg put the dagger down. ‘You’d better bring it when you come to dinner tomorrow.’

      ‘I shall.’ She met his eye. For a minute they studied one another, measuring each other up.

      ‘So. How are you liking Redall Cottage?’ he said at last.

      ‘Very much. But I’m sorry you had to leave so I could come.’

      ‘You mean you’d like me to move back in with you?’ He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

      ‘No.’ She did not flinch. ‘I’m paying for my privacy.’

      ‘And I’m interrupting it.’ He put down his glass.

      ‘Not for another thirty minutes. I allow myself the occasional break. Have another?’ Picking up the bottle she gestured towards the glass. He intrigued her. Handsome, boorish, presumably talented, he was something of an enigma.

      ‘Why not. I can hardly get done for drunk driving in that thing. No one would notice the difference.’

      As Kate led the way through into the sitting room he followed her. She poured his whisky then she glanced at him. ‘Someone broke in here last night.’

      ‘Broke in?’ His expression was bland; politely interested. If he was surprised he didn’t show it.

      ‘They seemed to be looking for something.’

      ‘Have you told the police?’

      She shook her head. ‘Whoever it was had a key.’ She sat down, cradling her glass on her knee.

      ‘Oh, I see. You think it was me.’

      ‘No. It was a woman.’

      That did surprise him. ‘You saw her?’

      She shrugged. ‘Not quite. But I know it was a woman, and I smelt her perfume. I thought at first it was Alison messing about, but now I’m not so sure. Perhaps it was a friend of hers.’ She paused. ‘Or of yours.’

      He did not rise to the remark. ‘Is anything missing?’

      ‘No. At least, nothing of mine.’ She took a sip from her glass, not looking at him. ‘Did you mean to leave those pictures upstairs?’ she asked after a moment. She sat staring at the wood-burner. The fire inside roared like a wild beast.

      Greg raised his foot and kicked the damper across. ‘I did. There’s no more space in the farmhouse. Why, don’t you like them?’ He threw himself down into the chair opposite her. There was a challenge in his eyes.

      ‘Not much.’

      ‘Too strong for you, eh?’ He looked puzzled suddenly. ‘Did you mean to imply that one of them is missing?’

      ‘No, they were all there, I think. And yes, I suppose so,’ she conceded. ‘They are disturbing.’

      ‘They depict the soul of this place. The cottage. The bay. The land. The sea. The sea will drown all this one day, you know.’

      ‘So I gather.’ She refused to be rattled by the dramatic declamation. ‘And sooner rather than later if that digging is anything to go by.’

      He frowned. ‘It’s strange. None of us knew that was there. Allie found it a while back – the signs of the dune having been dug by men and not just being natural – then only a few weeks ago a great section split off like a ripe rotten fruit and it started spewing out all these bits and pieces.’ His voice was quiet, but his choice of words was deliberate. He had not taken his eyes off her face. ‘It exudes evil, this place. It’s in my paintings. I’m amazed Allie can’t feel it. But she’s an astoundingly insensitive kid. Perhaps it’s because she anaesthetises herself all the time with that noisy crap she calls music.’

      Kate smiled. ‘I saw the scarlet machine this morning.’

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