Roots of Evil(39)

‘That sounds quite worrying for you,’ said the unknown man. ‘But I should explain that I don’t actually live here and I’m nothing to do with the family.’

‘Oh, I see,’ said Francesca rather blankly, and as if realizing that this had not been much of an explanation, he said, ‘The lady who lived here left the place to a charity I work for – my name’s Michael Sallis, by the way, and the charity’s called CHARTH.’ This was said in a perfunctory manner, as if he thought he had better offer his own credentials in exchange for Francesca’s. ‘I’ve been meeting a surveyor here – he’s just gone, and I was getting ready to leave. Did you say you’d driven from London? Well, you’d at least better come inside and have a cup of tea or something. Nobody’s cleared the kitchen out yet, and I shouldn’t think the odd teabag would be missed.’ He stepped back, holding the door open for her.

One of the things you absolutely never did in life was step over the threshold of a remote house, occupied by a lone and unknown man. Lions’ dens and wolves’ lairs, thought Francesca. Oh, bother it, he looks perfectly all right. In any case, I’ve just spent five years living with one wolf, so by the law of averages I shouldn’t think I’m due to encounter another one for a while.

She said, ‘I’d love a cup of tea. Thank you very much.’

And stepped over the threshold.



If Michael Sallis was a wolf, he was a very well-mannered one. There was no milk in the big old-fashioned larder, so he made black coffee, apologizing for the fact that it was instant, and searching the cupboards until he found clean cups.

‘We can be civilized and drink it in the sitting-room if you want, but the kitchen’s the only place with any heating on.’

‘I like kitchens.’ Fran accepted the coffee gratefully, and Michael Sallis sat down on the other side of the big scrubbed-top table.

‘How unusual is it for your friend to go off without telling anyone?’ he said.

‘It’s very unusual – she’s rather a conscientious sort of person. And she has three dogs who she would never abandon.’

‘Have you taken on the dogs as well as the task of tracking her down?’

Fran explained about the kennels, and added, carefully, that she was staying with Trixie after an acrimonious separation from her husband. ‘She and I teach at the same school; that’s how I know her.’

Michael Sallis studied her for a moment, and then said, ‘History or English literature?’


‘What—? Oh, I see. English literature. Some grammar as well if I can force it in without the artless little grubs noticing. I help with the drama side a bit, too.’ She regarded him over the rim of the cup. ‘That was quite perceptive of you.’

‘You didn’t look like maths or chemistry,’ he said, and Francesca grinned, remembering the Deputy Head.

‘Why d’you think your friend might be here?’

‘I don’t think she’s actually here,’ said Fran. ‘But I know she was here a couple of weeks ago, so she might have met some of the family. I wondered if she might have been given some information, something about Lucretia von Wolff, and gone hotfoot after it, and – well, got into difficulties of some kind. The thing is that she hasn’t got any family – only an old aunt somewhere in the north – so as I’m still living in her house…’

‘You’ve had the task thrust upon you.’

‘Yes. I didn’t really think it could be passed to the aunt – she’s about ninety or something.’

Michael finished his own coffee, and said, ‘I wonder if it would be any good to phone Deborah Fane’s nephew. He only lives about five miles from here, and he might know something. I’ve got his number. Would he be of any use, d’you think?’

‘Is that Edmund Fane? Trixie did mention him. He’d be worth trying, wouldn’t he? Thank you very much.’

‘I don’t think the phone here is connected, but I’ve got a mobile if not,’ said Michael, reaching into a battered briefcase.

‘You’re being very kind.’

‘That’s because this is the classic situation,’ said Michael lightly. ‘Damsel in distress turning up out of the blue and requesting help. How could I refuse? Although to be correct you should have waited until a blizzard was raging, or at the very least a thunderstorm – you said you taught drama: where’s your sense of theatre, Ms Holland?’ He smiled and suddenly he no longer looked quiet or scholarly; he looked mischievous and as if he might be rather fun if you could get through the outer layers of reserve.

The phone call was brief but productive. ‘Your friend did talk to Edmund Fane,’ said Michael, putting the phone down. ‘And he somehow managed to arrange for her to get into Ashwood Studios.’ He saw Fran’s reaction, and said, ‘Didn’t you think of checking Ashwood? It’d be the first place most people would think of in connection with Lucretia. And if you live in North London it isn’t very far, is it?’

Francesca thought it was not very far at all. She thought Trixie could have got there and back in an afternoon. ‘But she didn’t believe she could get access, so I haven’t really thought about it.’

‘Edmund Fane got access for her. He tracked down a solicitor who holds the keys. And,’ said Michael, looking at her very intently, ‘he met your friend there on Monday afternoon.’