The Lovebirds. Cressida McLaughlin
as I am.’
‘Wow,’ Rosa murmured. ‘Rousing speech.’
‘I thought I’d start on a positive note,’ Penelope said. ‘And now, I’m going to go and open the post, and the day will undoubtedly go downhill from there. Stephan?’
‘Cappuccino?’
‘That would be wonderful, thank you.’
‘Amazing,’ Rosa said once Penelope was behind the closed office door. ‘Do you think her New Year’s resolution is to be a bit more human?’
‘She’s always been human,’ Abby said, laughing. ‘She loved the Christmas tree, remember? You always forget the times she’s been kind and encouraging.’
‘That’s because they’re so outnumbered by sharp looks and reprimands that they pale into insignificance. If she’s really turning over a new leaf, then I’m all for it.’ Rosa sipped her coffee and drifted towards the shop, a perplexed look on her face.
The visitors were few and far between that morning, but Abby didn’t panic. It was only the second of January, people would still be in a post-party stupor, and going for a walk round a nature reserve was unlikely to be at the top of many people’s to-do lists. That was the kind of attitude she needed to change.
‘What about hangover walks?’ she said, to nobody in particular.
‘What are you muttering about over there?’ Rosa called, giving her a cheeky grin.
‘Why don’t we run hangover walks?’ Abby repeated, warming to her brainwave. ‘Come and clear the cobwebs away with a brisk walk down to the lagoon and back, ending with a bacon sandwich and a hot drink in the café? I can tailor the information about the wildlife, pick out the fun and grizzly facts. Why are long-tailed tits called bumbarrels? Statistics about adder bites, and the impressive way sparrowhawks kill and eat their prey. If people realize we’re not all earnest, adenoidal obsessives, we could appeal to more of them.’
‘It sounds like a grand idea,’ Stephan called, her words reaching the café due to the building being so empty. ‘And the scopes are bound to interest a few people. You could work that into it, too.’
‘I’d planned on doing that separately, but …’ Abby chewed her pen, then scribbled everything in her notebook.
The quiet lasted close to an hour before Penelope emerged from her office, looking five years older than when she had gone in.
‘What is it?’ Abby asked. ‘Are you OK, Penelope?’
The older woman waved a dismissive hand. ‘Nothing you need to worry about. Post rarely brings good news, does it? No, this is your concern. I’m on tenterhooks wondering if it will be another complaint, or if you’ve won him round altogether.’
‘Sorry?’
Penelope slid a white envelope onto the desk, Abby’s name written in familiar, slanted handwriting.
‘Oh.’ She didn’t touch it immediately and tried to stop the smile that was threatening.
At that moment, two young women walked through the door. Their warm coats and scarves suggested they could be here for an outdoor walk, but their high-heeled boots did not. They were heavily made-up, had perfect, preened hair, and were perhaps a couple of years younger than she was. Their overall appearance was so out of place with the surroundings that Abby swallowed the urge to laugh.
She slipped the envelope beneath the counter. ‘Hello, welcome to Meadowsweet Nature Reserve – are you here for a day pass?’
‘Yeah.’ One of the women stepped forward. ‘We were wondering about those walks you do – y’know, like the one before Christmas. Are you doing any more?’
‘I’ve got several organized over the next few weeks. They’re all up on the website.’ She swivelled the computer monitor round to face them and clicked through to the relevant page.
The woman scanned the list. ‘Great, ta. And when do I know who’s coming on them?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘When do I know who else will be on the walks? Do you have a list or something?’
‘I lead most of the walks,’ Abby said, frowning. ‘Sometimes one of the wardens, Gavin or Marek, will give me a hand.’
The woman nodded. ‘So, this walk, before Christmas, yeah? I heard that … that someone …’
‘Jack Westcoat,’ Penelope finished, stepping forward, her arms folded tightly over her chest. ‘You heard that Jack Westcoat had attended one of our nature walks and are here to see if he’s likely to come on any more.’
The woman smiled, and Abby tried to hide her anger, wondering why she hadn’t worked it out sooner.
‘Yeah,’ the woman said. ‘It’s all round the Harrier estate that he was here. I’d love to glimpse him in the flesh. I’ve read all his books.’
‘Young lady.’ Penelope hardly gave her time to finish speaking. ‘This is not what Meadowsweet is for. You come to look at the wildlife, not stalk other visitors. He may have visited the reserve, but there’s no reason to suspect he will return, and even if he does, that is not information we will be sharing publicly. Do you have no concept of a fellow human’s right to privacy?’
The woman took a step back; her friend was almost at the door. ‘He’s a writer, though. Shouldn’t have written books if he didn’t want the limelight, and certainly shouldn’t have assaulted that bloke and got all over the papers. He’s fair game, as far as I’m concerned!’
‘Then I suggest you go and work out your frustrations at a hunting party, instead of coming after my— our visitors. I hear the Blasingham estate does a good grouse and pheasant shoot; you have until the end of the month before the season closes. Goodbye.’
Abby’s gaze flicked between the women, standing their ground for a moment before making a swift retreat, and Penelope, who was more riled than Abby had ever seen her. She was actually quivering.
‘Are you OK, Penelope? That was amazing.’
‘Did they honestly think they could come here to gawk at him, and that we would tell them if and when he had plans to come back? What is the world coming to? I sincerely hope that Jack isn’t leaving the cottage as they pass by, otherwise heaven knows what will happen. I’d better warn him.’ She hurried to her office and Abby was left alone, shocked by the brazenness of the young women, and wondering how close Penelope was to Jack that she could pick up the phone to him at a moment’s notice.
‘Seems the Octavia gossip tree’s made it all the way to the Harrier then,’ Rosa said, handing Abby a fresh cup of tea. ‘My neighbours haven’t said anything, but then Tim and Bob don’t seem like the kind to spread rumours.’
‘I don’t even think it’s Octavia. Remember, Jack did come on one of my walks just before Christmas. It was quite well-attended and, while nobody said anything at the time, anyone could have recognized him. He was in the visitor centre for a bit afterwards, too. He was never going to stay hidden for long, not if he’s as famous as he appears to be.’
‘He wasn’t that widely known before,’ Rosa said, resting her elbows on the counter. ‘Though he had more fame than most authors due to his first book getting so much praise, and in his twenties, too. But ever since this punching business, he’s achieved a new kind of celebrity status.’ She shook her head. ‘I wonder how much he regrets that split-second decision? Or maybe he still stands by it, who knows? From what I read, it did seem like the other guy, Eddie Markham, was behaving like a prize idiot, whatever kind of past they have together.’
Abby bit her lip. One question from her and Rosa would explain what Eddie Markham, whoever he was, had done, and then she would be able to form more of an opinion of Jack. And yet, all Rosa would know was what had been in the papers, and that couldn’t be