Maisie reached into her knapsack and brought out the photograph of Albert Durant. “Did you ever see this man?”
The woman took the photograph and nodded, handing it back to Maisie. “I used to see him on Saturdays or Sundays. He walked here with his wife. Younger than him, she seemed—and I was worried when I saw her walking when she was expecting. I mean, along the flat is one thing, but she was striding out up and down these hills.” She shook her head and looked down at her feet. “I remember seeing him once more. He was on his own, and he told me she’d died.” She brought her attention back to Maisie. “I was very sad for him—he was quite distraught, and seemed so lonely. He asked me if I thought anyone would mind if he scattered her ashes in their favorite place, and I told him I didn’t think anyone would know. After all, people can be afraid of that sort of thing—ashes of the deceased—but it’s not the dead who can hurt you, is it? It’s the living.”
Maisie sighed. “My father has always said the same thing.”
The woman pointed across to the neighboring patch of woodland, and described a clearing beyond the fence, with a small pond surrounded by trees. “They would sit by the pond to have their lunch. It was secluded and it gave a bit of shade from the sun or—more likely—the drizzle. I can’t say for definite because I’d walked on by then to give him some peace, but I would imagine he scattered the ashes in there.”
“Thank you,” said Maisie. “I just wanted to know.”
“Do you know how he is?” asked the woman. “I wonder about him sometimes, when I come this way with the dog.”
“I’m afraid he passed away.”
The woman turned her head, as if to hide her tears. “Doesn’t surprise me. A broken heart took him. You could see it in his face. I thought then, no matter how old he is, he won’t see out another year. Happens more to men, you know.” She paused and sighed, adding, “I’d better get on. Very nice to have met you.”
Maisie thanked the woman and stood for a while at the edge of the field, watching her continue on her way, the spaniel running back and forth, as if hoping to flush a pheasant or a rabbit out of the tall grasses along the verge. When the woman was almost out of sight, Maisie climbed over the fence and into the woodland. Human ashes, she knew, never composted in the same way as ashes from a wood fire might.
There was nothing of note around the pond, so Maisie continued to spiral out towards the line of trees encircling the water. She kept her head down, and on occasion used a stick to prod away leaves. When she reached the trees, she began scrutinizing each trunk from her own height down to the ground. It was clear this was a place for lovers: there were hearts carved into the wood with pairs of names, one either side or etched into an arrow. Iris and Tom had been to the clearing; so had Peter and Millie. Alice and Sid had lingered, and B and E. Time had stretched some of the names as the trunk grew and widened. Maisie wondered if those couples were now married, and if time had given them children and perhaps grandchildren.
She moved on and, feeling hungry, looked for a place to settle for lunch. Beyond the main cluster of trees stood a large beech, its branches outspread as if they were wings. She chose her spot in the curve of its trunk where it reached the ground; it was as if nature had provided her with a seat and a place to lean back. Taking a bite of her cheese and tomato sandwich, she cast her gaze around, down past other trees to the pond, and from side to side. It was at that moment she noticed the words carved into the wood where the trunk seemed to curve around her: Albert, Elizabeth, and Baby, encircled by a heart. Maisie put down her sandwich and leaped to her feet. She began brushing back the carpet of leaves with the stick as she walked around the tree, and then stopped. Ashes. White ashes had been distributed around the tree. Then she saw it—a hollow in the trunk.