I stepped into the kitchen and looked around.
She said, in a voice that brooked no argument, ‘Cocoa,’ and suddenly I knew that was what I wanted above everything else. A huge mug of frothy cocoa. Thick and sweet. A bit like me, really.
She nodded at her office.
‘I’ll bring it in.’
Her office was small and cluttered. The centrepiece was a huge, hairy cat, slumbering heavily on a copy of the Flour Handling Regulations. Another difference. My Dr Bairstow always maintained that an organisation possessing Mr Markham should not additionally burden itself with pets.
I made myself comfortable and passed the time by reading those parts of the Regulations not currently covered in cat.
‘Vortigern,’ announced Mrs Mack, dumping a tray on the desk. Two steaming mugs and a silver pot for top-ups. It always pays to stay on the good side of the kitchen staff.
I assumed Vortigern was the cat. Rip Van Winkle might have been more appropriate.
I blew the steam away and sipped. It tasted the way cocoa should. Hot, rich, and chocolatey.
We sat in silence while the building creaked around us. Faintly in the distance, I could hear footsteps and voices. The guard was changing.
I waited for the question du jour – who are you? – but it never came.
I warmed my hands around the mug and licked off my chocolate moustache.
Not looking at me, she said, ‘I don’t know who you are but I’ll tell you this. If you’re not Maxwell then you’d better learn to be, because if it’s one thing this unit needs at the moment, it’s a Maxwell of some kind.’
Startled, I stared at her.
Having said that, she finished her cocoa in silence.
As did I.
I should have spent the day quietly preparing for the hearing. Running through likely questions and rehearsing my answers. A bit like a job interview – although an unsuccessful applicant usually just gets a polite letter – not a bullet in the brain.
That’s what I should have done. It didn’t work out like that. Not at all.
The first thing that happened was that Barclay turned up. ‘I’ve allocated you a room if you want to come and have a look.’
‘Is it worth the effort? I’ll probably be dead by this time tomorrow.’
Her eyelids flickered. ‘Come and see, anyway.’
I never expected to go back to my old room in the main building. I wondered who had it now. I expected to be allocated one of the trainees’ rooms on the first floor of the Staff Block. They were OK – a bit small but so was I, and it wasn’t as if I had any possessions to clutter up the place.
I’d underestimated her.
There are a number of small rooms on the ground floor. They’re not very pleasant, the tiny windows are barred, and they offer a panoramic view of the wheelie bins and the car park. Mr Strong had commandeered most of them as storerooms.
She’d excelled herself.
This one was at the end of a long narrow corridor and smelled strongly of the floor cleaner that had undoubtedly been kept in there. A narrow metal bed was pushed against one wall. A battered chest of drawers occupied another. An old-fashioned strip light hummed and flickered. The floor and ceiling were of concrete. The bathroom was on the floor above. The horses were better housed.
Now I knew why she’d put herself to the trouble. Revenge for yesterday. Well, at least we wouldn’t have to pretend to be friends.
‘I’ll leave you to get settled in.’
That wouldn’t take long. I looked around. I never thought I’d say this, but I really missed Sick Bay. And Dr Foster’s invisible but very real protection. I never thought I’d say that, either. It struck me that, as well as being thoroughly unpleasant, this room was horribly isolated. Anything could happen at the end of this corridor. Fire, for instance. And all the windows were barred. I might not even live long enough for the hearing.
Well, I had nothing to lose.
‘Why did you do it, Izzie?’
I’d touched some sort of nerve. Her face froze and for a moment, she was somewhere else completely. But only for a moment.
‘We couldn’t leave you in Sick Bay indefinitely, could we?’
‘No, I mean, why did you grass up Leon Farrell?’
She loved him. I was sure of it. She’d always loved him. She must have been over the moon when I died. Then he moved to Rushford and she had him isolated and alone and vulnerable. She’d been poised to make her move. Then I came back and wrecked everything.
She stared at me and I could see her lip lifting in the familiar sneer. This was more like it. I knew that underneath that smiling face – ‘You don’t know, do you? You really have no idea.’
I shouldn’t have asked. I should have just walked away.
‘Know what?’
Above our heads, the light flickered again. Shadows came and went.
‘I didn’t report Leon Farrell. I reported Madeleine Maxwell. It was Madeleine Maxwell who should have been arrested, not Leon. He just covered for you. They all did.’