Deadlight Hall (Nell West/Michael Flint #5)(56)

‘Yes, I see all that.’ Michael was not looking at her. In a voice that Nell thought was deliberately offhand, he said, ‘Have you thought about having an investor in the business?’

‘You mean a partner?’

‘Not exactly. But someone with an interest. Financially, I mean. Would that solve the shortfall?’

Nell stared at him. ‘You mean you?’

‘I think I do.’

‘But that’s quite a large amount. Fifteen thousand pounds at least.’

‘I know. It mightn’t be possible to do it, but there are some shares and stuff from my grandfather. I’ve never touched them – I just let the bank sort them into suitable accounts, and some interest accrues. I’d have to find out exactly how much they’d realize, but I think there could be enough.’

‘Would you cash in things like that, though? A family legacy?’

‘I’d be doing it for you,’ he said. ‘For you and Beth. So of course I would. Only I don’t know if you’d want me to do it. I don’t know if you’d want such a definite commitment.’

‘Would you want it?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘It would have to be properly drawn up. Legally drawn up.’

‘Certainly.’

‘We’d have to agree on what share you’d get of the profits, and all sorts of things. But,’ said Nell, thinking hard, ‘if we agree we’ll do it – and if the money’s there … Yes, I think I’d want to take your offer up.’ She turned on the pillows to look at him. ‘I can’t believe I’ve just said that,’ she said. ‘I’ve been so determined to be independent.’

‘I know you have. It’s one of the things I love about you. But you still would be independent. I wouldn’t even expect “West and Flint” over the door.’

‘I expect we could have that if you wanted.’

‘For the moment,’ said Michael, speaking slowly, as if he was choosing his words with infinite care, ‘I think this is as far as you’d want to go. But I think it’s something we might find would – well, it would give an extra layer to our relationship, wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Nell. ‘Yes, it would.’

‘It feels as if we’ve made a decision.’

‘It does rather, doesn’t it?’ Nell reached up to trace the lines of his face. ‘Ought we to celebrate that?’

‘What a good idea,’ said Michael, pulling her against him.

Some considerable time later, Michael said, ‘Did we establish if you’re coming on the Porringer hunt with me tomorrow?’

Nell had been sliding into a warm, deeply contented sleep, but she came out of it slightly. ‘I’d like to. It’s half-day closing, so I could shut the shop at midday.’

‘Half-day closing. What a quaint old-fashioned custom.’


‘I suppose if you become an investor, you’ll demand a twelve-hour day and no holidays. Wasn’t it Scrooge who said, “It’s Christmas – take the day off”?’

‘I’ll install a system of clocking in and piece work,’ promised Michael.

‘And wear one of those sexy Victorian frock-coats, and glower over the ledgers?’

‘Yes, but I draw the line at a stovepipe hat.’

‘Pity. Even so, I’d like to Porringer hunt with you,’ said Nell.

‘In that case I’ll cancel the order for the time sheets. Are you going back to sleep now, or what?’

‘Is there anything else on offer?’

‘There might be,’ said Michael. ‘Yes, I believe there might be.’

‘Oh, good …’

As Michael drove them out of Oxford the following day, a thin soft rain was falling. Everywhere smelled fresh and new, and despite the rain Nell’s spirits rose.

‘I remember seeing quite a nice village pub,’ said Michael, ‘so we’ll have some lunch there, shall we?’

‘I do like the way you always incorporate eating into ghost-hunting.’

‘It can be a hungry occupation.’

‘Is that the sign for Willow Bank Farm?’ asked Nell, a little while later.

‘Yes. You can just see it across the fields. I noticed it the first time I was here, although I didn’t know it was relevant then.’ He pulled the car on to a grass verge for a moment. ‘It’s over there – it’s a bit misty through this rain, but you can make out the shape of the buildings.’

‘The rain makes it look slightly unreal,’ said Nell, after a moment. ‘Veiled and blurry, and as if it really does belong to the past.’

‘Do you ever feel that this kind of rain has a sort of immortality about it?’ said Michael, starting the car again. ‘As if it might be the same rain that fell a hundred years ago or a thousand years ago? Or even as near as yesterday.’

‘You’re such a romantic. But I know what you mean. That if you only knew the exact right place to reach through that rain, you might find you were touching another era.’

‘Except that with my sense of direction I’d probably miss the twentieth century altogether,’ said Michael, glancing in the driving mirror as they left Willow Bank Farm behind. ‘I wonder who lives there now? If it’s still the Hurst family.’