take much. You could organise some support. Talk this through with a counsellor.’
But I wasn’t listening. I wanted him to believe me, regardless of the incredible nature of my tale. I thought he liked me.
‘Nor are you a bloody doctor or social worker.’ The fury was rising up, taking control. Was he suggesting I was losing my mind? Comparing me to a junkie? I stood up. ‘I’d like you to leave now please.’
Joe threw up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Okay, okay. I’ll go. I’m only saying this because I care about you. You know that. This research that you’ve sunk yourself into – it’s morbid. And unhealthy. I think it’s affecting you.’
I couldn’t say a word. If one came out it would be followed quickly by lots more of varying degrees of nastiness. I marched to the door and held it open for him, pursing my lips as he went through.
He stopped outside and pulled out a card. ‘Got a pen?’
‘Not on me.’
He pulled a pencil out of his back pocket and leant against the wall, scribbling something on the back of the card. ‘Look, take this number. A mate of mine is a therapist. Think about giving her a call.’
I said nothing but took the card with one hand and with the other held on to the door handle, knuckles turning white.
This time Joe trundled slowly down the stairs, zero spring in his step. I waited until I heard the sound of the outer door close then I went back into the living room and sat on the floor.
I knew he’d only said what others would if I told them the same tale. But, I thought as the serpent settled, I wasn’t mad. I was right. In fact I was righteous.
However, his words had warned me: whatever path lay ahead, I’d be walking it alone. Excepting spirits and their bleak and lonely moans.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The next day I sat down to my book. Despite my conviction the previous evening, some of Joe’s words had impacted on me. Particularly what he said about putting the mad stuff into my writing. It was preying on my mind as I tidied up my first chapter on Matthew Hopkins. I entered some of the details I ‘saw’ at the Hopping Bridge. It certainly brought it to life, but it could be construed as fantasy and undermine some of the solid evidence I had amassed to support some of my claims.
In the end, about eleven o’clock, I decided to run the whole thing past Felix himself and picked up my phone.
I went through to a voice I recognised to be Delphine, who told me that she’d see if Felix was free. After a short wait, he came on the line. He was breathless, like he’d been running, and told me he had only a few minutes to spare.
‘Important meeting?’ I asked.
He laughed out something that sounded like a hybrid of a chortle and snort. ‘Have you not seen the news today?’
I told him I hadn’t.
‘We’ve had some damn leak about Robert.’
I assumed he meant Cutt.
‘The press are up in arms about a book he’s halted. There’s a reference to a Russian deal he brokered a couple of years back. The writer’s hinting at large scale involvement with the mafia. Quite ridiculous.’
I expressed surprise that this was a Portillion book.
‘Oh God, no. It’s a minor press we acquired last week. Obviously as soon as we found out about the content we then had to pull the book. Now there’s speculation that Robert bought the outfit purely to stop the publication.’
Ha ha, I thought. ‘Oh dear,’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘So I’ve got to go into a damage limitation meeting in a sec.’
‘Okay, I won’t hold you up,’ I said, and asked him how much of my ‘experiences’ he wanted me to put in. And would that affect the credibility of the book?
He didn’t seem to think so. So I told him, rather guardedly, about the Hopping Bridge section.
‘Go for it,’ was his conclusion. ‘Spices up something that’s otherwise quite dry.’
I took his advice and after hanging up wrote the scene into the chapter. Then I attached the document to Felix’s email.
‘Please like it,’ I muttered and hit ‘Send’.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was my second day at the National Archives.
Though interesting, the first had not been at all rewarding. The phone call with Felix and then embellishments to the chapter had set me back a couple of hours, and when I finally reached Kew Gardens it was getting