The Retreat(24)

I nodded for her to continue.



Beddmawr Chess Club was based in a grand Victorian house near the centre of town, just across from the river. Zara paused on the bridge and found herself hypnotised by the swirling water beneath. A nutcase paddled beneath her in a kayak, which made her shiver. You wouldn’t catch her doing that, no way. The only place she liked to get her thrills was between the sheets.

She buzzed the door of the chess club building and went inside.

She found Malcolm Jones seated at a chess table, sipping a cup of tea. The seat opposite was free and she gestured to it.

‘Go ahead,’ he said.

He had the lovely, lilting accent of the region, along with a good head of white hair and sharp eyes. He was sharply dressed too, in a tweed jacket that had been around so long it had come back into fashion.

He started to set up the pieces and she realised he thought she wanted a game.

‘Oh. I was just hoping to ask you a few questions,’ she said, introducing herself.

‘We can play while we talk,’ he said.

‘But I haven’t played in years.’

‘I’m sure it will come back to you. Ready?’

‘Oh, go on then.’

Malcolm moved his first pawn and said, ‘So what did you want to talk to me about?’

She asked him if he remembered Lily Marsh and her father’s death by drowning.

‘Of course. Dreadful, dreadful. They never found her, did they? I understood that she drowned too.’

‘Probably. The only other possibility is that someone took her. I know the police spoke to all the known sex offenders in the area . . .’

Malcolm moved his knight. Was it Zara’s imagination or did his hand tremble as he lifted the piece? Perhaps she had imagined it, because his voice was steady. ‘And you’re wondering about the unknown ones? I was the librarian here for forty years. I must have heard things. Rumours. That’s what you’re thinking, yes?’

‘You read my mind.’

‘You’re looking in the wrong place.’

Zara had been about to move another pawn. The rules had indeed come back to her, though she was still unsure what the horses – the knights – did. She paused, waiting to see what Malcolm said next.

‘Some people think she was taken by the Widow,’ he said.

She stared at him, then laughed nervously. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘No one else has told you the story of our local witch?’ he asked.

’No. I’m not from round here.’

‘Ah. Well, people don’t talk about it so much any more. Not openly, anyway.’ He nodded at the board. It was her move. She moved her queen onto a central square and he captured it.

‘Bad move,’ he said.

‘You were telling me about this witch . . .’

‘Ah, yes. Well, people don’t talk about her these days. Except children. We had a children’s section at the library. It’s remarkable how many children’s books are about witches. The children loved drawing them too, black cats and cauldrons. Spiky trees, a hut in the woods.’

Zara couldn’t see how this connected to what had happened to Lily. ‘Witches were just clever women that men couldn’t tame, weren’t they? Women who wouldn’t conform. We learned about it at school. I suppose they drowned witches round here?’

‘Surprisingly not. There were very few witch trials in Wales. A few cases in Flintshire. But most of that went on in England.’ He licked his lips. ‘In fact, I don’t really know when or how the legend started. The first mention of the Red Widow is in a testimony from the early nineteenth century. It’s still in the library if you’re interested. Fascinating stuff. According to legend—’

‘Malcolm! Are you going to introduce me to your young friend?’

Another man had appeared at Malcolm’s shoulder. He was about seventy, completely bald, with hooded eyes. His lips curled back to reveal a set of crooked teeth.

Malcolm’s shoulders were stiff with tension. Before speaking, he took a sip from his cup of tea. ‘This is Zara . . .’

‘Sullivan.’ She instantly regretted telling this man her surname. Ridiculous. But she felt like a girl breaking her mother’s golden rule. Never speak to strangers. Never tell them your name.

‘We’re in the middle of a game,’ Malcolm said.

‘Marvellous.’ The bald man reached over and moved one of Malcolm’s pieces on the board. ‘Checkmate.’

Zara said, ‘Oh. Damn.’

‘You should give her more of a chance, Malcolm,’ the man said. ‘My dear, do you mind if I muscle in? I’ve been waiting to play Malcolm all afternoon.’

‘Of course.’

Reluctantly, she got up. She handed Malcolm her card and noticed the bald man watching as Malcolm tucked it into the pocket of his tweed jacket.

‘Perhaps we could play another time.’

As she left the chess club, she glanced over her shoulder. The bald man was watching her. And Malcolm had gone as white as the milk in his stone-cold tea.





Chapter 12

‘Hang on,’ I said, when Zara had finished talking. ‘Did Malcolm Jones actually tell you anything useful?’

‘He was about to tell me about the Red Widow, before the bald guy, the one with the teeth like tombstones, interrupted us.’