It's Raining Men (38 page)

‘I’ve got chickens, pigs, ducks, geese and an old donkey. It’s more like an animal sanctuary than a working farm.’ Frank lifted the coffee to his lips.

He has a nice mouth, thought May, imagining it on her own. She swung her head away before she blushed.

‘So are you going anywhere nice with Daisy when she gets back today?’

‘We’re going for dinner tonight. She likes this French place in Whitby. Not really my sort of thing but,’ he shrugged, ‘it’s something I can do to make up for her
having to keep going back and being prodded and poked at.’

Oh, you poor man. What a burden of guilt to carry. She only just stopped herself from putting her arms around his shoulders and hugging him. She had better go before she overrode her safety
catch.

‘Well, it’s been nice seeing you again, Frank,’ she said, standing and picking up her litter. ‘I hope you have a lovely meal later.’

‘Thank you, May,’ he said. She felt full of warm syrup hearing him say her name.

‘Bye.’

She turned from him and began walking, knowing that he was watching her. She concentrated on trying not to trip or let the wind blow up the skirt of her floaty dress, Marilyn Monroe-style.

Gene insisted on paying the bill. He wouldn’t even let Lara pay as a gesture of thanks for the crutch. She could move quite fast on it now and reckoned she wouldn’t
need it in a couple of days. She wondered whether she should ask if he wanted it back.

They arrived at their destination at quarter past eleven: a rescue centre which had a long twisting drive flanked by huge trees that blocked out the sunlight. At the end of the drive was a large
stone house with outbuildings next to it. Penny, the lady to whom Gene had spoken on the phone, was waiting for him in the doorway. She was a straight-backed no-nonsense horsey type wearing a
disposable apron.

‘Mr Hathersage? Welcome. I’m Penny.’ She held out a meaty hand and gave Gene’s a thorough shake. She threw a friendly hello at Lara too as she was getting out of the
truck. ‘Come in, come in and meet Gracie and Poppet. You okay there?’

‘I’m fine,’ replied Lara, following Penny and Gene into a sizeable kitchen dominated by a huge red Aga. At the side of it, curled into a small ball, was a light-grey dog
looking up at the strangers with wary grey eyes. A shaggy little pup came bounding over from across the room, his tail wagging so much that he almost knocked himself over with it.

‘This is Poppet and that over there is Gracie,’ breezed Penny. ‘I gave you first refusal on Poppet but if you don’t want him, he’s got two people on the waiting
list. As for our Gracie, well, she’s been in the wars a bit, poor thing. She was found very scared in the woods with her back leg in a very bad state, so God knows what she’d been
through. Had to take it off but she’s doing very well. The vet thinks she’s no more than nine months old. Bit nervy. Doesn’t like noise or plastic bags. Likes a basket by a
fireside and she’ll sneak up on your lap when she thinks you aren’t looking. Needs some patience and love and a quiet life.’

Don’t we all, thought Lara, as Poppet jumped up at her in an effort to claim her attention.

‘Someone took her and then brought her back after two days because she wouldn’t come to them. I want to know that whoever takes her will persevere with her. I don’t want any
more upsets for her, she’s had more than her share,’ Penny said with a stern edge in her voice.

Gene squatted down to the basket, offering the back of his hand. Penny moved away and picked up Poppet, who was trying to cut in on the action.

‘Hello, girl,’ Gene whispered. ‘How are you doing?’

Gracie shivered to her three feet and, just when Lara thought she was going to walk away, her head came forward and she sniffed at Gene’s fingers. He was talking to her gently, words that
Lara couldn’t make out because they were so quiet.

‘He’s got the touch,’ said Penny. ‘Lovely creature.’

Lara wasn’t sure if she meant Gracie or Gene. The way he was trying to make a connection with the dog, talking to her softly, was fascinating to watch. She hadn’t thought he could be
so patient. Gracie didn’t seem to be put off by his wild hair and black beard. In fact she settled down in her bed and let him stroke her head, even closing her eyes.

‘What do you think? Are you the man for our special little girl?’ asked Penny, her friendly head on a tilt. ‘Or are you more of a Poppet man?’

Gene turned to Lara. ‘Well, which do you think I should take?’

‘Are you kidding? You have to take Gracie. Poppet’s got the chance of a home, two other homes.’

Gene nodded and turned to Penny. ‘Yep. I think Gracie would fit in at La Mer, if you think I’m suitable to take her.’ He straightened up. ‘Got a space by the fireside
waiting for her. I think I must be a sucker for the wobbly-leg type.’ He cast a furtive glance in Lara’s direction.

‘Can we say the weekend, then, for pick-up?’ asked Penny, struggling to hold giddy little Poppet.

‘Good for me,’ replied Gene.

I won’t see her settled in, thought Lara with a sad gulp. I’ll be gone.

Penny saw them out.

‘Pleasure to meet you, Mr Hathersage, Mrs Hathersage.’

Lara opened her mouth to say that they weren’t married, but it was too much hassle to explain. For a moment, she imagined herself as Mrs Gene Hathersage. Then she imagined living at La Mer
with a three-legged greyhound in a basket by the wood-burning stove in the kitchen. It wasn’t a thought that had her rushing in panic to the hills, as it would have done on day one of her
holiday.

Gladys was frosty with her again and Joan didn’t know why. She had been politeness itself to the woman and yet Gladys was throwing her enough cold looks to turn her into
a snowman. That was unfortunate as Joan was hoping to engage her in conversation over a nice cup of tea and some cake, and subtly winkle information out of her.

Joan needed to go back to the Internet café in Wellem. It was such a nuisance having no access to Google in the village. There were questions that needed answering because at the moment
she had crumbs of information that refused to bind together. She was missing the link that would connect all the pieces.

At the moment it wasn’t much of a story to deliver to the newspapers for a mighty sum, but she suspected that it had the makings of a scoop. What she knew so far was that Gilbert Carlton,
lord of the manor, was out in a boat in 1928 with twelve fishermen and the boat sank, but the rain saved them. Or a very able dolphin. For some reason Gilbert paid money to all twelve of them and
the mysterious R, who was probably a woman called Raine de la Mer. And that money was still being paid to R, the wife of Seymour Acaster. R Acaster was the heir of the Carlton estate. And it looked
as if she was still alive because if she wasn’t, wouldn’t Edwin have made a new will? Then again, Mrs Acaster had to be a hundred if she was a day. It had to be an oversight. She
herself had claimed some of Stanley’s benefits for a month after he died – putting it down to grief when they caught up with her. Someone in Ren Dullem had been creaming off the estate
for many years, though. Joan had to applaud their brass neck.

‘So why did you take me with you?’ asked Lara as they drove down the ridiculously littered lane that led to Ren Dullem.

‘As a guiding beacon to steer me away from sentimentality,’ Gene said, and sniffed. ‘I thought that as a hard-nosed business woman you would help me make a sensible decision
and not automatically load me with a dog that would require extra maintenance.’

Lara snorted with laughter. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘And she’s female.’

‘Bound to be trouble, then.’

He sounded so grumpy yet Lara knew he was play-acting with her. He was as pleased as punch that he would be adopting Gracie at the weekend. He was looking forward to seeing her wander in, sniff
around and settle herself by the fire when she realized she was home.

‘I was being sensible. I couldn’t see you with a ball of cotton wool like Poppet. You’re more of a hound man.’

‘Even three-legged ones.’

‘You could make her a crutch. Don’t forget the fish.’

She saw Gene’s eyes crinkle and his mouth smile under his beard.

They were seconds away from Well Cottage.

‘Thank you,’ he said, using the same gentle tone of voice he had used with Gracie.

‘I enjoyed it,’ said Lara. ‘And the Frannie’s sausage filler,’ she added. ‘I only wish I could see Gracie walk into your house for the first time and take up
residence by the fire.’

‘You’ll be catching up with all your stuff on your computer by then,’ said Gene, braking by the front door.

‘Very probably.’ She sighed, and a cold draught brushed against her heart as she visualized it.

When gardeners arrived taking Lord Carlton’s attention, Joan took the opportunity to nip out to Wellem to get ‘some feminine things’, as she put it. Gladys
huffed and nodded her assent.

Joan had to ask. ‘Gladys, have I offended you in any way?’

Gladys hardly knew where to start. But she remembered Edwin’s warning that if she stirred up trouble it wouldn’t be Joan who was out on her ear.

‘Of course not,’ she said with a cold smile. ‘I’ll tell Lord Carlton where you are, if he asks.’

Joan wasn’t convinced, but she had bigger fish to fry than humouring an old woman’s moods. She took the bus into Wellem which, annoyingly, was extra full of people as there was a
midsummer fair on. Luckily the Internet café was quiet as everyone was outside enjoying the sunshine. Joan got out her notepad and pen, reviewed what she had written, then started to type
into the Google search box.

What does Illis quos amo deserviam mean?
These were the words cut into Seymour Acaster’s gravestone. The answer came up immediately, under Romantic Quotes: ‘For those I love
I shall sacrifice.’ Joan wrote it down but she was still no wiser. The translation to that quote was obviously not the magic binding agent.

Where is High Top in Ren Dullem?
It was a long shot, seeing as even Google didn’t know anything about the village, never mind an individual house. Google wasn’t helpful. It
returned search results of window-cleaners in Ipswich, shops selling sports shoes and a porn site featuring busty women smoking cannabis.

Next on Joan’s list was:
Why are no girls born in an area?
That brought up lots of irrelevant results about China and India so she changed the question to:
Why are no boys
born in an area?
That didn’t lead to anything but wider issues of choosing the sex of a child and declining birth rates. Joan tapped her fingers on the keyboard.

Raine

She read: ‘People with this name tend to be visionary, with great spiritual powers. They are inspirational and powerful and have an overwhelming desire for a stable home life and/or
community.’

Apparently it was a Teutonic name meaning, not rain, but counsel or mighty army. In German it meant strong. Joan didn’t even bother to write any of that claptrap down.

Reine

Lots of references to a Norwegian fishing village. Obviously it was also the French word for queen.

Joan pressed the back arrow to take her to the search bar again. To
Reine
she added
de la mer – words associated with
and wished she hadn’t. Numerous entries came
up, ranging from ships named as such to waltzes and hotels. Les Sirènes de la mer, Crème de la Mer, Walter de la Mare, Maris Piper potatoes . . . She felt like picking up the monitor
and throwing it at the wall.

She tried the only phrase she didn’t recognize:
Les Sirènes de la mer
. It brought up a host of French entries. She clicked on the first and was grateful for the
‘Translate this page’ option. It didn’t translate it very well.

Joan threw down her pen in disgust. So that was it, then. Unless old Raine was a frigging mermaid, she had reached a dead end in her Internet searching.

The only thing she had left to do now was find out where High Top was and introduce herself to the woman who lived there. She’d get the story from the horse’s mouth. From Raine de la
Mer herself. Or whoever was claiming monies from the Carlton estate in her name.

Gladys asked for the afternoon off. In all the forty years she had worked for Lord Carlton she had never asked for this and of course he could not deny her.

‘Is everything all right, Gladys?’ he asked, pulling on his gardening gauntlets.

‘Yes, yes, it’s fine,’ she lied. It wasn’t fine, not at all. She needed to speak to Raine and it wouldn’t wait. And no better time to do it than when Mrs Sly and
Mighty was out of the house herself. Otherwise she wouldn’t put it past her to follow Gladys up to High Top.

Gladys took with her a basket of food from the larder and a fresh trout from the lake. She never turned up at Raine’s empty-handed. She walked as fast as her legs would take her through
the village and up through Spice Wood. She knew she wouldn’t sleep if she didn’t see her old friend.

Raine was dozing in her chair outside in the sun when Gladys arrived. Faithful Albert was on her lap as usual. Raine’s odd-coloured eyes sprang open just as Gladys was about to nudge her.
Her weathered old face broke into a smile.