Still Waters by Judith Cutler Read Free Book Online Page A

was early. Fran suspected the latter. In fact, she suspected that Farmer would deliberately arrive anywhere early simply to discompose the person meeting her.
    At five-foot ten herself, Fran didn’t meet many women of her own height, but Paula Farmer must have been at least that. At forty-ish, she carried more weight than Fran, but Fran suspected it was pure muscle under a suit as well cut as her own.
    ‘It’s a beautiful building. You were right to worry about the roof, though. Is there much damp damage inside? Last Friday’s rain wouldn’t have done it any good.’ Clearly she had no time to bother with formalities. A Dictaphone clipped to her lapel, she carried both a powerful torch and a digital camera; she produced hard hats for both herself and Fran.
    Fran stared. ‘Are these necessary? Mark and I have been in quite often and—’
    ‘It’s a building site the moment I agree to take on the job. Hard hats, protective boots, high-visibility vests, Detect—’
    ‘Fran, please.’
    The other woman approved, nodding and rewarding her with a smile that lit up the whole of her otherwise inscrutable face. Fran thought vaguely of Dutch Interiors, as if the Girl with the Pearl Earring had filled out with age.
    And she was on the move already.
    Fran donned her hat and scuttled after her.
     
    ‘I just want to hug the place and make it better,’ Fran admitted, almost apologetically, as they looked out of an attic window at the surrounding countryside. ‘I’ve never felt like this about a simple building before.’
    ‘In that case it’s the place you’ve got to live.’ Paula spoke flatly, but with a tinge of the mystic, acknowledging a destiny not worth arguing with. She pointed at a van. ‘Ah, I see Caffy’s here. Caffy Tyler. She’s responsible for the interior work. Don’t expect magnolia gloss from her, by the way. She’ll use appropriate materials – the sort English Heritage and the National Trust use. Probably the only places she’ll encourage you to update are the bathroom and the kitchen.’
    ‘We shall need more than one bathroom,’ Fran objected. ‘Some en suite.’
    ‘She’ll know what you can and can’t do. Chapter and verse. Trust her, she’s the most highly qualified of all of us – done a list of courses as long as your arm. Drat, who’s that arriving now?’
    Fran smiled. ‘That’ll be Mark. He loves the place as much as I do.’
    ‘Mr Harman?’
    ‘Assistant Chief Constable Mark Turner. Call him Mark.’
    ‘Police titles are such mouthfuls,’ Paula said, as if she had wide experience of them and condemned the lot.
    They watched while a small woman passed Mark his headgear, and two yellow discs marched forward together.
     
    ‘Hello. I’m Caffy Tyler – Caffy with two f’s, not Cathy,’ a gamine young woman just getting out of the predictable white van introduced herself to Mark as he got out of his car.
    ‘Mark Turner.’ Her name sounded familiar too, but her face certainly wasn’t.
    They shook hands, not so much an introduction, he suspected, but more as if they were sealing an unspoken bargain.
    ‘What a place!’ she said, beaming.
    ‘We just want to make a start,’ he said. He caught a pleading note in his voice and carried on, ‘We thought we could do something ourselves in the garden.’
    Caffy wrinkled her nose. ‘You could make a start cutting back those hedges, I suppose, though the trees would need trained surgeons.’
    He had his usual vision of people in masks and green gowns.
    ‘And under all those weeds you might even have a proper Victorian garden with parterres and paths – you’d need an expert to tell. Wouldn’t it be fun to restore that too!’
    ‘We don’t want to live in a museum. It’s not as if it’s National Trust or anything like that,’ he objected.
    ‘You wouldn’t put furry dice and Darren and Sharon labels in that elegant car of yours, would you?’ she asked scathingly.
    Before he could concede that he would put nothing in