Frozen Grave (Willis/Carter #3)(51)
‘Fancy a picnic?’ she asked, putting the perfume on the kitchen table.
‘Lovely.’
They walked up through the field she owned at the back of her property. Bramble, a pure-bred Dartmoor pony, was grazing there. Megan stopped to stroke her.
‘She won’t bite.’ She laughed at Ellerman’s reluctance to come close.
‘Best place for a horse is in a burger.’
‘Don’t listen to him, Bramble.’
She stroked the pony’s mane as it nuzzled into her and nudged her with its head.
As they walked through the gate at the top of the field the moor took hold: waterlogged tufts of dead fern squelched beneath their feet.
After skirting the village they came out on the main road. Haytor stood dark and solid, stark on the horizon. They crossed to follow the old granite tramline that ran up and round to the right of Haytor, and walked for ten minutes in silence as they climbed steeply until they reached a place where the last of the cut granite was piled ready for transportation that never came.
‘On a fine day you can see the sea,’ Megan said, smiling, happy, as they stopped to get their breath.
‘Lovely.’
He could see that it would take a lot to shift her from this place. If he ever married her he would make her move up to town.
They skirted round to the right of the discarded granite, and around the back of the largest of the three quarries. The way into the quarry was a narrow path, flanked by high hedges and built into the hillside. It was a pathway that led straight into the base of the quarry and to the edge of the lakes there.
Ellerman looked back across the crater. The lakes in the basin were beginning to freeze. Snow was still white and unsullied on the stems of grasses blown into the quarry and surviving in the stillness.
‘It’s so still here – what an eerie place.’
‘Yes – but beautiful. Things grow here that wouldn’t survive on the top. Welcome to my secret world.’
Ellerman picked up a stone and threw it into the centre of the deepest pool.
‘Won’t be long before it’s completely frozen. The water is as grey as all this granite.’ Ellerman looked around him. ‘Do you come here very often?’
‘Every day. It’s the inspiration behind a lot of my work. I see it change through the seasons. I love the way the light reflects on the water and illuminates the walls of the quarry, creating depth in the shadow. I love the way the trees have taken root between the slabs of cut rock. I love the way . . .’
He kissed her. ‘And I love the way you feed me. I’m starving.’
‘Of course. Let’s eat. Follow me – I have just the table for us.’
He followed her past the lakes and up into a sheltered place where the granite had been cut and left in slabs and blocks. Megan unpacked her picnic and laid it on top of the slabs.
Ellerman couldn’t wait to get away from the quarry. The more he sat there, hemmed in by a hundred feet of jagged rock, three freezing lakes between him and the path out, the more he felt the knuckles back rapping on the top of his head.
‘Are you okay?’ Megan looked at him, concerned.
‘Yes. Just a little headache after the drive, that’s all. Have you got any wine in that backpack?’
She smiled. ‘Of course.’
She took out a bottle of Spanish Rioja and showed it to him.
‘I thought we could have a toast to us – to good times ahead, holidays in Spain in your farmhouse there.’
Ellerman brightened. He turned his back on the chill breeze that had come to swirl around the basin and send ripples across the centre of the lakes where the ice had yet to reach. ‘Perfect choice. You clever little thing.’
For a moment, Megan looked at him, puzzled by his choice of words, but then she smiled and let it pass. She opened the wine and poured and handed him a glass then raised hers to a toast. Ellerman had half finished his already.
‘To us.’ She felt a flash of annoyance at his rudeness but she recovered quickly whilst he finished his glass.
Chapter 28
Monday was Diane’s first day helping at the Faith and Light hostel. It went so well that she stayed on for the evening service. They were short-staffed for cooking dinner. Zoe was having the evening off to spend with her boys. Diane had been looking forward to it. It felt different to working. Everyone was grateful and took time to explain things to her. Simon helped to cook the dinner. Diane found herself peeling spuds for the mash and packing sausages on trays. She met some interesting people and they treated her as a person in her own right, not a widow, not a grandmother or mother. She was Diane, the volunteer. Sheila and Lyndsey were very friendly.
The time flew by; it was so busy. When they had finished serving dinner there was the tidying and washing up and then the preparation for breakfast. Diane sat down for a cup of tea with Lyndsey and Sheila.
It was ten o’clock when she went to find Simon to say goodnight. She knocked on the door of his office.
He opened the door and Diane could see he had company: a woman who quickly hid her face in a handkerchief. She looked upset.
‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
Simon smiled, embarrassed.
‘Thanks for your help, Diane. Can I ring you tomorrow and we can catch up on how things went?’
‘Of course.’