The Language Of Spells Part 8

'Oh.' Gwen didn't have a follow-up for that.

'Don't want to give Cam a reason to fall out with me. He buys the drinks,' Harry supplied.

'Right.' Cameron Laing the lawyer. Cameron Laing, friend to the local detective inspector. Life was odd.

'So,' Harry said gently, 'can you talk me through it?'

Gwen took a sip of coffee, gathering her thoughts. 'I woke up. Something woke me up. I guess a noise, although I wasn't aware of anything clearly. I got up and went downstairs.'

'On your own? That wasn't sensible.'

Gwen glowered at him. 'There are a lot of creepy noises in this house. You want me to call the police every time the radiator burps?'

Harry waved a hand. 'Continue.'

'I went downstairs and when I walked into the kitchen, I saw the back door shut.' She paused, feeling the fear all over again. 'Someone had just left.'

'No forced entry, so we're looking at someone with access. How many people have a key to the house?'

'I have no idea.' Gwen said, feeling stupid. 'I doubt Iris was in the habit of giving them out, but-'

'Can you show me the keys?'

Gwen got up and fetched her key ring. It still felt bulky and awkward in her hand and it took her a while to locate the front and back door keys.

'Okay. The front door has a new Yale, but this one,' he held up the bra.s.s back door key, 'looks vintage.'

'I don't know who has the key. I know Lily Thomas a my great-aunt's cleaner a had one, but she left it here.' Gwen went through to the hallway and picked up the spare key.

Harry nodded, his phone at his ear. 'Michael? Got a job for you in Pendleford.' He paused. 'Nope. Got to be today. This morning for preference.' He looked at Gwen. 'Eleven o'clock okay with you?'

She nodded, dumbfounded by the way people kept taking charge, bringing her things, helping. It was unsettling.

Harry collected his jacket. 'Thank you for the cake. It was very nice to meet you.'

'What's going to happen about my intruder?'

'Well, we file a report.'

'And?' Gwen said. 'Don't you dust for fingerprints or something?'

'Sometimes,' Harry said. 'But it's not all that easy and, as your intruder had a key, technically we don't have much of a crime. Entering, but not so much with the breaking.'

'But you're here. The detective inspector.'

Harry smiled again. 'Like I said; you're a special case.'

I've been called that before, Gwen thought wryly, and she opened the front door for Harry. An icy blast blew straight through her clothes, making her feel suddenly naked. She wrapped her arms around her body. 'Goodbye then. Thank you for your help.'

'Anything for you, Gwen Harper,' Harry said with a grin and headed down the path.

Gwen shut the door, utterly bemused. 'They're all crazy around here,' she said, turning around and leaning against the door. She tried not to wonder what, exactly, Cam had said about her to Harry.

'Prrup?' the cat said, looking as innocent as the seven-year-old Ruby after she'd been left in charge of their joint haul of Easter chocolate.

'That goes for you, too, Cat,' she said, straightening up.

Later that day, the doorbell rang and somebody started pounding on the front door. Gwen rushed through, tightening her dressing-gown cord as she went.

Cameron Laing stood in front of her, arm raised from bashing seven shades out of the paintwork.

'Is something on fire?' Gwen said, stepping back to let him in.

'Why didn't you call me?' His face and voice were as neutral as they had been in the pub, but there was a tightness around his eyes.

'What?' Gwen closed the door against the howling gale.

'You were broken into,' Cam said. His forehead creased. 'You should've told me.'

'I called the police.' Gwen folded her arms. 'And I'm fine. Thanks for asking.'

'I know you're fine.' Cam sounded irritated. 'I spoke to Harry.'

'You two are like a pair of little old ladies.' Gwen was determined not to be pleased that he cared.

Cam frowned. 'What?'

'Gossiping. This whole place is filled with people talking about other people's business and turning up at all hours and talking and wanting ... stuff.' Gwen realised she was babbling and forced herself to stop.

'Are you all right?' Cam dipped his head to look at her properly.

'I'm just tired.' Gwen tried a smile. 'Actually, I'm exhausted.'

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving the front standing up. 's.h.i.t. Sorry. Did I wake you up?'

'No.' Gwen was momentarily confused, and then she remembered that she wasn't dressed. 'I was just going through Iris's papers. Trying to make sense of the open-door policy in this place.'

'It's your house, now. You can do whatever you want. Don't let people in.'

'That's easier said than done,' Gwen said. The temperature in the hallway suddenly dropped further, as if she hadn't just shut the door, and she shivered.

'Right,' Cam said, and pushed past her, heading for the back door.

'Help yourself,' Gwen said drily. He bent down to look at the door and Gwen found herself staring at his backside. She swallowed. It was just as appealing as the front view. Maybe even more so because she couldn't see him scowling at her from this angle.

'The locksmith is coming round. I thought you were him. He. Whichever.'

'You should replace the whole thing. This gla.s.s isn't safe. Someone can knock it out and reach through-' He stopped when he saw her expression and stuffed his hands into his pockets. 'It's fine. This is a very safe town. Our crime rate is really low.'

'I'm sure,' Gwen said politely.

'Well. I'm glad you're okay.'

'I'm fine.' She smiled to show that she was fine and that he didn't have to be politely concerned for her any longer.

'Good,' Cam said. 'I'll leave you to your reading.'

He paused at the door, looking like he might be about to say something.

Gwen dug her fingernails into her palm to stop herself from blurting out something stupid like: stay. Or from reaching out and grabbing the front of his shirt. 'See you later,' she said. After he'd gone, she ran upstairs and watched him get into his car from the bedroom window. She laid her head against the cool gla.s.s and marvelled at the heat in her skin.

The locksmith came as promised, but he kept his coat on while he worked. The house was freezing and Gwen couldn't get the pilot light on the boiler relit. By the afternoon, ice had formed on the inside of the windows and Gwen answered the door wearing thick socks, tartan flannel PJ bottoms and an enormous hooded sweatshirt that was rolled up several times on the sleeves.

Gwen was surprised to find Cam on the doorstep. He was looking serious, which wasn't so shocking. Gwen wondered if the frown was regulation issue, handed out after the bar exam.

'You look terrible,' Cam said.

'The words every woman longs to hear.' Gwen stepped aside to let him in.

'Sorry. I mean, you don't look well. Are you all right?' His face softened in concern and instantly he looked like a different man.

'The boiler's broken and the repair guy says he can't come out until tomorrow and I can't stop thinking about some stranger walking around in the house while I was asleep and touching all my stuff. Well, Iris's stuff. Apart from that, I'm fabulous.'

He held up a hammer and a piece of plywood. 'I come bearing gifts.'

Gwen brightened. 'Can you fix heating?'

'Sorry, probably not. I'm going to nail this over the gla.s.s in your back door.' He shrugged. 'I'll take a look at your heating, although I warn you not to get your hopes up.'

'Good enough.' The hallway suddenly seemed too small a s.p.a.ce to share with Cam, so Gwen led the way to the kitchen.

She flipped the switch on the kettle and got a tin down from the cupboard while Cam examined the back door. She wondered if Cam, as executor of Iris's estate, had some legal obligation to look after the property. The thought that he might be bound to the house and, by extension, her for six months, was appealing. 'Is this part of the service?' Or do you still care about me?

Cam turned round. 'What do you mean?'

Gwen didn't know how to ask whether he was in her kitchen out of personal concern or professionalism. And suddenly she didn't want to know the answer. 'Nothing,' she said. 'Would you like tea or coffee?'

Cam pounded nails with a focus that Gwen found alarmingly attractive. He had taken off his suit jacket and hung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. His shoulders filled out his white shirt very nicely indeed and the way his hair curled over the nape of his neck did something odd to Gwen's insides. She leaned against the counter and contemplated his back. It was soothing to look at him when he wasn't frowning at her.

Then the doorbell rang and spoiled Gwen's moment of quiet enjoyment. Cam glanced over his shoulder. 'You expecting someone?'

'Not exactly.'

It was a tall man with a checked scarf tucked into a dark wool coat. His skin was suspiciously smooth and evenly toned. He had the well-kept look that went hand-in-hand with a disgustingly healthy bank balance. She would lay money that he didn't want chilblain ointment.

'Ms Harper?'

'h.e.l.lo.' Gwen stuck out her hand. The man gripped it firmly and pumped her arm, while Gwen tried to work out if he was wearing foundation.

'I'm Patrick Allen,' the smooth man said. 'As head of the Rotary, 'I'd like to welcome you to our little town.' He gave a fake modest chuckle that made Gwen want to throw up. 'I heard about the unfortunate incident and I wanted to a.s.sure you that this is a very safe town.'

The cold air was streaming through the open door and Gwen saw a hard frost clinging to the lavender bushes that lined the path. Politeness said that she had to invite him into the house, but Gwen felt a stickiness in the air that was almost like a barrier. d.a.m.n house making all the decisions. She ignored the feeling and smiled as cheerily as she could manage. 'Would you like to come in?'

Cam appeared in the kitchen doorway, the hammer dangling carelessly from one hand.

'This is Patrick Allen,' Gwen said quickly, trying to ignore the way her heart had sped up. She was having a ridiculous throw-back reaction to Cam. Something to do with old memories.

'I know Patrick.' Cam smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. 'Don't often see you on this side of the river.'

'I could say the same to you, Cameron.' Patrick inclined his head. 'I wanted to talk to you about something, actually.'

'You'll have to make an appointment at the office.'

Patrick ignored him. 'It's about this ridiculous folk festival.'

'I've told you before,' Cam said. 'Not something I can help you with.'

Patrick crossed his arms. He looked unaccustomed to hearing the word 'no'. 'What's the point in having laws, then?'

'A question I have asked myself many times,' Cam said with a tight smile. He turned to Gwen. 'Where will I find your boiler?'

'If you can't even use them to protect what's right ...' Patrick was still talking and Gwen revised her initial impression from 'smooth' to 'irritating'.

'Upstairs. Back bedroom in the cupboard in the corner,' Gwen said.

Cam started to turn away, then stopped. 'The law isn't about what's right. It's about what's legal.'

'But this so-called festival will be an embarra.s.sment,' Patrick said. 'It's an affront to the decent people,' he went on, his chest puffed up with importance, 'the decent businesses-'

'Are they having a craft market?' Gwen said.

'Pardon?' Patrick glanced at Gwen.

'At the festival. Are they planning to have a craft tent or something? These things often do.'

'I have no idea,' Patrick said, his expression sour. 'What I do know is that they will ruin the town's green.'

'Chippenham and Trowbridge have held them for years without any problem,' Cam said. 'And, as I understand it, the town council have made it clear that the green must be left in the state in which it was found.'

'We're not Chippenham,' Patrick said in a withering tone.

'Just, if there's going to be a craft market, I'd love to join in. I have a stall.' Gwen knew she was being childish, but she couldn't help it. Patrick reminded her of every authority figure she'd ever rebelled against. Old habits died hard.

Patrick looked momentarily at a loss for words. Then he rallied with another false laugh. 'Ah. I take it I won't be able to count on you to sign my pet.i.tion, then?'

'As a local business owner, I welcome anything that brings in the punters,' Gwen said sweetly.

'Well. Yes. I suppose.' Patrick looked as if he dearly wanted to say something else.