Spider Light(85)
‘That must be rewarding.’
‘Yes, it is, but there’s not a great deal of money in it. Or were you cherishing a romantic view of antiquarian book dealers? Tracking down lost Shakespearean first folios or unpublished sonnets of Keats? Ransacking forgotten libraries and archives in remote corners of ancient cities, with sunlight picking out the tooled leather of calf-bound books—’
‘Trekking out to ancient houses whose owners have died, and haggling with greedy relatives,’ said Antonia caustically. ‘And flogging the results to collectors with money but no discernment or museums with discernment but no money.’
He smiled, and Antonia saw that he was younger than he had first seemed–perhaps early forties–and also that he was no longer so hostile. He said, ‘Godfrey is always expecting all kinds of priceless gems to turn up, but they rarely do.’
It was said with a kind of affectionate exasperation, but there was still an air of distance about him, as if he disliked the world and preferred to keep it at arm’s length. Antonia had the sudden impression that he had buried his real self so deeply that a kind of brittle ghost-fa?ade had developed and was called into service for public occasions. There had been a time when this would have attracted her professional curiosity and when she would have wanted to get behind the carapace and find out what had created it. But she only said, ‘Will your Trust buy up any of the other old buildings?’
‘We’d like to, but it’s down to funds.
‘There’re some marvellous old places in this area; I’m loving seeing them all. I want to take a look at Twygrist Mill.’
‘You’d probably do better to avoid Twygrist,’ he said at once, and if the reserve had been melting, it was instantly and firmly back.
‘Is it so derelict?’
‘It’s not a place for tourists,’ he said. ‘It has a rather distressing atmosphere.’
So that was it. He had remembered he was talking to a flaky female, and he was warning her away from potential triggers. Antonia said, ‘It looked interesting.’
‘Not so very interesting.’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘Miss Weston—’
‘You could drop the formality and call me Antonia. Especially since we’ve been on hysteria-exchanging terms.’
‘Antonia. May I ask a small favour?’
‘Yes, of course.’
This time the hesitation was more marked, then he said, ‘Don’t mention Twygrist to Godfrey Toy.’
Antonia looked at him in surprise.
‘Some years ago there was a–a tragedy there,’ said Oliver. ‘It affected Godfrey very deeply. I don’t think he ever really got over it. He’s a sensitive man for all his comic ways.’
‘I’d already realized that. Of course I won’t mention the place to him.’
‘Thank you.’ He set down his cup, and glanced up as the boy from the library came over to their table.
‘Professor Remus, they’re bringing that archive stuff up for you at two.’
‘Thank you, Kit. I’m on my way back.’ Oliver Remus hesitated, and then said, ‘Antonia, Kit is a bit of Amberwood’s history in a way.’
‘You don’t look like history,’ said Antonia smiling, liking the boy’s narrow green eyes and mop of tow-coloured hair.
‘I’m afraid he is. He’s the present holder of the Clock-Winder appointment–the memorial clock on the side of the mill.’
‘The wretched job was wished on me when I was too young to resist,’ said Kit promptly. ‘They’re a sneaky lot around here, Miss Weston. And it’s kind of a hereditary thing. Father to son or nephew, all the way back to the Flood.’
‘I read about the Clock-Winder tradition,’ said Antonia. ‘I rather liked it: it’s so very English.’
‘It’s so very tedious,’ said Kit. He gave her a sudden blinding smile, and went out.
‘His family’s lived here for generations,’ said the professor. ‘Kit pretends that the clock’s just a joke, but he does the job faithfully, and I think he’s actually quite proud of it.’ He stood up. ‘And now Miss Weston–Antonia–if you’ve finished, I’d better get back. I enjoyed our lunch.’
Donna could not believe it. She simply could not believe that the bitch had picked up not just one man, but two. Two! One of them was the donnish-looking Professor Remus from Quire, but the other was a young man! At it again, you slut? Not five minutes out of prison, and already you’re getting your claws into another young boy!
If Donna had not been parked in the concealment of trees outside Quire’s main gates, and if she had not followed Weston’s car to Amberwood Magna, she might never have known about this. And she needed to know everything–knowledge was power. She must overlook nothing about Weston’s life.
She had followed Weston and Oliver Remus into the Rose and Crown, and had bought a drink and some sandwiches, taking them into one of the chintzy alcoves along with a newspaper. She read the paper, checked her watch rather pointedly a few times, and then pretended to make a call on her mobile phone. Anyone particularly watching would assume she was here to meet a friend and that the friend had been delayed.
Weston and the professor seemed very in tune with one another; it was odd how you could sometimes sense that. But it had not stopped the trollop from sending out her lures to the golden-haired boy who went over to their table to talk to them. It had not stopped her from looking at him with the harpy-greed in her eyes.