sadist,’ I said, getting back on safe ground. ‘But able to get away with it. Though now demanding of closer inspection, I believe.’
Felix joined my gaze and smiled.
‘Which brings us neatly to our purpose,’ he said. ‘Essex is certainly full of surprising little gems.’
I popped an olive into my mouth and looked at the table again.
‘Are you from Essex by the way, Sadie? I know you write about it, but an interest doesn’t necessarily make one a native?’
‘I am indeed lucky enough to have been born in that county, yes,’ I ventured so far as to send him a wink.
‘That’s grand,’ he said and pushed his plate into the centre of the table for the waiter. He folded his arms and regarded me. ‘So do you go back a long way? Both parents?’
‘Dad’s originally from Suffolk, just north of the border.’
‘And your mother?’
‘Yes. Born and bred.’
‘Grandparents?’
‘One left on my dad’s side.’
‘And on your mother’s?’
I paused. What was he fishing for? Enough credentials to validate my links to the county? ‘I never met them. They died before I was born.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame.’ Felix nodded, that sympathetic wrinkle sewn back across his forehead.
‘Yes, well.’ I refocused the conversation. ‘Don’t worry. You don’t need old family connections to get the gen on Essex folk. We have a brilliant records office and don’t forget, I am a journalist. My press card opens doors. As does my winning smile.’ Cue cheesy grin.
Felix shifted then leant forwards, his eyes a little misty. Any remaining formality had vanished.
I glanced down at his hands. No wedding ring. He caught my gaze.
‘So,’ he said, cleared his throat and grinned. ‘What’s Manningtree like? Where Hopkins commenced his hunt? Is it very rural? I’ve never been.’
‘Oh,’ I said, a little shamefacedly. ‘I haven’t actually visited the place yet.’
Felix’s eyes widened in mock horror. ‘But the home of the beast himself! You must go. I say one can learn a lot about a man, or woman, from their home and surroundings. It might make interesting reading.’
He was right, of course. ‘I’ll stick it on my list of things to do,’ I added. ‘In fact I’ll schedule it after Colchester. I’m planning to go there next week. That’s where the witches were gaoled. Haven’t been since I was a school kid.’
‘Ah. Colchester. What day are you planning to visit?’
I shrugged. I liked to keep my diary flexible in case any local jobs came up.
‘If you make it next Monday,’ he was saying, ‘I might just be able to accompany you to the castle. I quite fancy the idea. One of my authors has moved down to that neck of the woods and she’s due a conversation about her last edit. Could kill two birds with one stone? Visit said writer, and combine a short tour of the city with another from the Portillion fold.’ His eyes arched expectantly. I saw, with a mild buzz of appreciation, that they glinted with splinters of quartz. For a second it looked like he was holding his breath.
‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘But remember – I haven’t been for a long time. I won’t be a very good guide I’m afraid.’
Felix wagged his hand playfully. ‘Then we shall be on an equal footing. And you can bring me a progress report on the book. Are you happy with your timescale?’
He wanted the first draft submitted within five months. A little bit of a push, but as I had the research and structural outline already, I thought I could make it. Plus the money would come in very handy indeed. ‘Yes. That’s fine.’
‘Excellent. Then shall we drink to the deadline?’
‘We shall,’ I said and raised my glass.
It’s a funny old phrase – the deadline. Comes from the American Civil War. Refers to a line drawn around prisoners. If they crossed it, they’d be shot.
Obviously it never struck me then, but on first meetings, why drink to a finishing point? Why not to a profitable association or ongoing success?
But Felix had elected to drink to the deadline. The line of the dead.
His choice was to be uncannily prophetic.
Chapter Seven
On the train home I realised I was a little tipsier than expected. Felix was such a genial host, and never let my glass go empty, so I had no idea how much I’d drunk. Now I was feeling rather drowsy and there was nothing for it but a little nap. I woke up to the sound of my mobile bleeping. A text from Maggie: it was the birthday of Mercurial’s