village was pretty close to Lostwithiel. It looked like she had the right person.
“Hello,” she said when the phone was answered. “I wonder if I might speak to Dr. Richard Creswell.”
“Speaking.” The man’s voice was old, creaky, and he coughed loudly as soon as he had answered. “Sorry about that. How may I help you?”
“My name is Rachel Parker. You don’t know me, but I have some information for you,” she began.
“If you’re one of those wretched salespeople I’m not interested. Go away and bother someone else,” he said.
“No, no, it’s not that,” Rachel said hastily. “Please don’t hang up. Did you once know someone called Esther Durrant?”
There was silence on the other end of the line and she thought that he might have hung up on her. “Hello . . . ?”
“What is it? What’s happened to her? Has she gone?”
“No, she’s still very much alive.” Rachel could have sworn she heard a sigh of relief. Either that or it was a crackle of static on the line.
“I’d like to come and talk to you about her if I may?” Rachel held her breath, hoping for a positive response.
“Wednesday, teatime. I’m better in the afternoons.”
She jumped at the invitation, such as it was. “Thank you, thank you, Dr. Creswell. You won’t regret it, I promise.”
There was a harrumph and then more coughing and the line went dead.
* * *
Later that afternoon, as cabin fever was starting to set in, Rachel went for a walk. The pain in her wrist and fingers had almost disappeared, as long as she didn’t use her hand too much, and she found herself craving some fresh air. The previous day’s drizzle had stopped and she looked out of the kitchen window into a bright, clear sky. Luckily, she had a pair of trainers with velcro fastenings, which, although they might not be as suited to the terrain as her new hiking boots, were at least easier to get on and off. Shoelaces were beyond her at the moment. She checked her map and decided that she would attempt a complete circumnavigation of the island.
She hadn’t gotten farther than the quay at Hugh Town when she was nearly mown down by a wild-haired woman wearing the same paint-covered fishing smock she’d had on the previous day, carrying a bag of groceries.
Leah again. She hadn’t yet made it back to Embers then.
“Hello!” she called out, expecting a warm reply.
“You!” Leah said when she reached her. “I was on my way to see you.” She glared at Rachel, her mouth set.
In that instant, Rachel knew right away what must have happened. She did her best to play things down, pretend innocence. “What’s up?” she asked. “Did you forget something?”
“What’s up? What’s bloody up? I’ll tell you what’s up. Some interfering outspoken little twerp got in touch with my dealer, didn’t they? There’s only one person who that could have been.”
Ouch. Leah was really angry. A small crowd had gathered, hearing her raised voice, but they kept their distance, not wanting to be sucked in to the argument yet keen to hear the particulars nevertheless.
“I can explain . . . ,” Rachel began.
Leah held up a hand. “Don’t even start. Amber at the post office said Max had been trying to reach me, had called her to leave a message. You know who Max is, don’t you?” She glared at Rachel, who nodded dumbly. “What gives you the right to poke your nose into other people’s lives? Hey? Who exactly do you think you are? I looked after you, saved your goddamn sorry Australian arse and this, this is the thanks I get? You spy on me in my own house, take no heed of my wishes, my strict instructions actually . . . And to think I imagined we might have been friends.”
Leah was now standing so close that Rachel felt her breath warm on her face. It had the unmistakable bitter aroma of gin.
“You need to learn to mind your own bloody business, girl.”
“I’m sorry, Leah. I thought I was helping.”
“Helping? What would you know about helping? You’re so sure that you know what you’re doing, aren’t you? That your way is right? You don’t give a shit about anyone or anything else.”
“That’s not fair,” said Rachel quietly. “I am sorry for going into your studio when you had asked me not to. It was wrong of me. But when I saw your paintings, I snapped a couple of shots of them without really thinking. Then