THE TRYSTING TREE by Linda Gillard Read Free Book Online Page B

flames.
    As she turned away, Ivy tripped over one of the albums on the hearth rug. She lost her balance and flailed, reaching out for the mantelpiece, but she fell, banging her head on a corner of the table. Stunned, she tried to get up on to her knees, but found she had no strength in her arms or legs. She lay helpless on her sitting room floor, like a felled tree.
    Burning letters tumbled from the grate and Ivy watched in horror as they ignited a paper trail of scattered photos leading from the hearthstone to the rug where she lay. She began to shout, calling for help, but her voice was frail and the walls of her cottage were thick. She clutched at her skirt, hoisting it away from the flames. As the rug began to smoulder, Ivy reached up for the corner of the tablecloth and tugged. There was a vase of flowers on the table. Connor had brought a bunch of chrysanthemums and arranged them for her. The water in the vase might be enough to douse the burning rug.
    She pulled steadily and felt the tablecloth slide, bringing the vase to the edge of the table. As the cloth travelled, more photographs fell from the table, fluttering into the air before landing on the rug where they curled and smouldered. Coughing, blinded by smoke and tears, Ivy propped herself on one elbow and reached up for the vase. She grasped it and threw the contents at the burning rug. There was a hissing sound and smoke filled the room. Choking now, she dragged herself across the carpet, towards the telephone, thinking of her grandson. The dear boy had taken pity on her ancient eyes and useless fingers and had bought her a special phone with big buttons, saying it would be easier for her to use “in an emergency”.
    When someone answered, Ivy managed to gasp the word, “Fire” and the first line of her address before she passed out.

ANN
     
    Connor earned his tea. It must have been a gruelling story for him to tell, even though he’d gone over the few known facts with the police and in his own mind many times. Ivy had died in hospital of smoke inhalation and although he’d been at her bedside, she’d been unable or unwilling to speak to him.
    He’d rescued what he could of the family archive. Some was untouched by the fire, but much of it was burned or damaged by smoke and water from the vase Ivy had emptied in an attempt to put out the fire.
    ‘Do you know for certain that she actually started it?’ Phoebe enquired. ‘Perhaps it was just a dreadful accident.’
    ‘The firemen said it was clear a considerable amount of paper had been put onto the fire. And the fireguard had been set to one side.’
    ‘I see. That doesn’t sound like an accident, does it?’
    Connor shook his head. ‘There seems little doubt Ivy dumped a load of material onto the fire, most of which burned, but some must have fallen out onto the hearth. The only significant damage was to the rug and Ivy’s clothing, but she seems to have doused that pretty effectively when she realised the fire was getting out of hand. But the paper must have continued to smoulder and fill the room with smoke. And at some point she must have fallen.’
    ‘How do they know that?’ Phoebe asked, her eyes bright.
    ‘She had a bad bruise on her forehead. She hit something hard, something sharpish. Knowing the layout of that room, I’d say she keeled over and hit the corner of the table.’
    ‘So,’ Phoebe said, summing up. ‘You’re convinced she was trying to destroy the archive.’
    ‘Well, yes, I am, if only because I know my grandmother. If there’d been some kind of accident, if a spark had landed on some photos and they’d started to burn, Ivy would have put out the flames with her bare hands rather than lose them. So it had to be her doing. For some reason she was trying to destroy something that, up till then, had meant all the world to her.’
    ‘Apart from you?’ I asked.
    Connor looked up, surprised. ‘Yes, she was very fond of me. I was like the son she never had. My mother