*
Half an hour later, Charlotte Shapiro drove the short distance from her house in Rothbury toward Cragside. She sang along to Smooth Hits at the top of her voice, safe in the knowledge that she could not be overheard from the confines of her snazzy little Fiat. As head gardener, she had access to several more practical vehicles for use around the estate but she much preferred her nippy little Italian car. The north of England might not share the same climate as those balmy Mediterranean clifftops but there was precious little she found more satisfying than pootling around the countryside with the sunroof down and the wind rushing through her short, choppy blonde hair. As Sting began to sing about fields of gold, Charlotte whizzed through one of the service gates to the estate and followed the road until she reached the staff car park, where she selected her usual parking space and stepped out into the early morning sunshine. It was barely six-thirty but she enjoyed this part of the day, puttering around the estate attending to business before the rest of the staff and the family awakened. She could almost pretend she had the place to herself.
She zipped up a lightweight, forest green gilet emblazoned with ‘CHARLIE’ in gold embroidery on the breast pocket and slid a pair of sunglasses onto her nose. Her eyes fell on the battered little silver Clio parked a few spaces further along and she frowned, remembering she was not alone after all.
*
Anna opened her eyes to find Ryan buttoning a crisp white shirt. He was wearing smart navy suit trousers and the matching blazer hung on the back of a chair. “What time is it?”
“Seven o’clock,” he replied, leaning across to plant a kiss on her cheek. “You should try to sleep a bit longer.”
Anna sat up and watched him knot his tie with efficiency. Ryan never usually bothered to wear a suit to the office, preferring casual dress wherever possible.
“Where are you going? You look as if you’re heading to a job interview,” she joked and his fingers paused in their action.
He met her eyes through the bedroom mirror.
“I am—in a manner of speaking.”
“What do you mean? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
Ryan reached across for his cufflinks and began looping them through the little holes at his sleeves.
“It’s the superintendent job,” he explained. “I’ve been thinking, perhaps it might not be such a bad idea, after all.”
Anna almost laughed.
“What? You told me categorically that you would rather spend your life watching paint dry.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
Anna’s brows drew together at the sharp tone of his voice.
“What’s brought this about?”
“Is there anything wrong with taking the next step on the career ladder?”
He snatched up his suit blazer and tugged it on with more haste than finesse.
“Well, of course, if you really want the job, then you should go for it,” Anna said, not wishing to hold him back.
Ryan opened his mouth, wanting so desperately to tell her about Jennifer Lucas. He wanted to tell her all the reasons why he didn’t want that woman’s poison to infect their lives and how he would do anything—even take the job as DCS—to prevent her coming close.
“I love you,” was all he said.
*
Forty minutes later, Ryan entered the clinical-looking foyer of the new and improved CID Headquarters in an area of North Tyneside known as Wallsend. Lying three miles east of Newcastle city centre, its name held a literal meaning, being situated at the eastern end of Hadrian’s Wall not far from the North Sea. The area was famous for its long history of shipbuilding, its yards having raised the RMS Mauretania to the water among many others and it had an even longer history of coal mining before that. Nowadays, it was better known for its sprawling retail park.
Ryan raised a hand to greet the desk sergeant and then headed toward the secure double doors that would lead him to the main office suite. The rows of visitors’ chairs were already filled with people of varying ages, gender and race which served to remind him that crime did not discriminate and nor did it stick to a nine to five schedule, more’s the pity.
Ryan ignored the lift and took the stairs to the third floor which housed the command suite. He knew that the Chief Constable was often one of the first to arrive and he was counting on today being one of those occasions.
He made his way down a long corridor covered in ugly grey carpet tiles, which was a small improvement on the mud brown they had enjoyed in their previous building. Posters advertising everything from victim support groups to pub quiz nights had been tacked up on the wall and he wondered how long it would take for them to be defaced.
Ryan spotted something from the corner of his eye and ground to a halt before turning back to get a better look. He peered at an A4-sized colour photograph and shook his head in amused dismay.
It was a glossy poster of him, dressed head-to-toe in Victorian fancy dress, taken covertly outside the house at Cragside. Someone with a knack for graphic design had added the text: “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?”
“Phillips,” he muttered, with a quirk of his lips.
Ryan was about to take it down, then thought better of it. Life was too short not to have a sense of humour and, in their line of work, they could do with all the laughs they could get.
*
Charlotte made her way from the staff car park toward Debdon Burn, the narrow river meandering its way through the fold of the valley. She stopped now and then to test the bark of a tree or to feel the soil between her fingers, assessing its texture and colour. She made a mental note of fallen trees and dangerous fungus or weeds that might damage existing ecosystems until she found herself near the bottom of the valley. Towering above her, the house stood atop its mighty crag. Sunlight bounced off its windows so that it seemed to wink at her like a fellow conspirator, watching her every move. The burn trickled between the rocks and made its journey through the valley as it had done for over a hundred years and, looking at the Arcadian scene, it was hard to believe the picture was almost entirely man-made or that the forest had not existed before one visionary person had decided to revolutionise the drab landscape.
It took a person of vision to maintain it, too.
Charlotte reached the burn and hopped across a couple of stepping stones before dropping onto her haunches beside the shallows. She ran her fingers through the tinkling water and raised her face to the sun, dabbing some of the cool water on the back of her neck. She cupped more in her hands to drink.