Derek smiled and looked around. He saw unpacked boxes and carefully folded bedding on one of the armchairs. Pictures of a teenage boy clearly indicated who the most important man in Mrs. Grey's life was.
The burning cake eased the tension. Meg set it out on the porch, where it was coldest, and finished making the filling. She also seasoned the sauce and put on some water for the pasta. The prospect of spending a rainy evening in the presence of a stranger filled her with mixed feelings. She had to admit to herself that this hadn't happened since her husband left her.
"I'm sorry, but I had to take care of dinner. Would you like something to drink?
" "Don't bother me. Are you expecting anyone?
" "No. I'm completely alone here," she paused, realizing she shouldn't say it.
"Don't worry. I won't take advantage of it. This mansion is a beautiful example of Elizabethan architecture," he said, changing the subject.
"Yes." Still, it's undeniable that someone has tried to renovate this place at least a few times, but clumsily.
"And you'll have to try again. I suggest you start with the roof; the rest can wait. Besides, those buildings outside are only fit for demolition. If I were you, I'd be careful going in there.
" "Are you an architect? An engineer?
" "No. A local doctor. But I know a lot of things."
The small talk continued, as did the downpour. Meg had no choice but to serve dinner for two. It was a rather pleasant prospect, as Derek turned out to be a charming companion.
Thanks to him, the renovation plans were finalized, and the prospect of welcoming the first guests by summer seemed realistic. That is, of course, if anyone was willing.
"Won't your wife worry about you? It's late.
" "I'm a widower," he replied, lost in thought.
After Derek left, Meg began to wonder why Sergeant Weston was so worried about her. Was she in some danger? The persistent photographer didn't seem like a dangerous criminal, but he was also far from the ideal neighbor.
She fell asleep thinking about disappearing elderly people, mysterious corpses, and… Derek.
The morning was exceptionally cold. Meg pulled the covers up to her chin, but even that didn't help much. Eventually, she had to get up and light the fire. The memory of a pleasant evening put her in a good mood.
On her way to the store to buy fresh bread, she met Sergeant Weston. When she asked him why he was sending lonely men after her, he replied with a disarming smile. Only the journalist's insinuations made him wary.
"I can assure you that no Simon Chayefsky works in our office. The only photographer here is Wilma, and she certainly didn't bother you. I made sure of that myself. Please repeat what he said exactly."
Meg did her shopping and on the way back, she told the sergeant the whole story. Kay must have felt he should tell her something, because he didn't take long to persuade her for tea.
"Keep what I'm about to tell you to yourself. Dates and names won't mean anything to you, because it wasn't a big deal. The old man you bought this house from was once a double agent. Then he disappeared. Some time ago, he returned to England under a different name with his German wife. You had the opportunity to meet her too. Eight years ago, they both died in a car accident. I still can't believe their signatures are on the documents you showed me.
" "That sounds too fantastic." People can't just disappear and then reappear, let alone die and return to the world of the living a few years later – Meg was skeptical. In her opinion, espionage scandals belonged to ancient times, and she doubted any of them continued to this day. "And this man who was murdered?
" "We can't connect him to this case in any way. He's an average citizen. He had nothing to do with politics or the intelligence services. Once again, I advise you to be careful. We'll check out that photojournalist, because, by the way, his claims are logical. However, I think someone else is involved in this whole thing, and if you know too much… Well, it's time for me to go."
Sergeant Weston returned to his duties, leaving Meg with an unspoken warning.
She spent the next few days pondering these words and working in the garden. She did call her son, but she didn't want to worry him. She also had no intention of taking him out of school to keep her company. If she was in danger, she had no intention of endangering him further.
Besides, she wasn't being harassed by a photographer, the weather was beautiful, and a local person had visited her, offering help. Only Derek hadn't appeared. The memory of that evening was very pleasant, and the image of the tall, dark-haired doctor, conjured in her mind, brought a dreamy smile to Meg's lips.
Gardening had gathered such momentum that she decided to clean up the tool shed and make some more space. Besides, she hoped she'd find a few useful items among the rust-eaten scrap metal.
It was hard work and not particularly pleasant. It was full of dust, cobwebs, and heavy junk, revealing additional shovels and rakes. The afternoon was drawing to a close, and Meg was tired and hungry. She looked with satisfaction at the organized tools. She was about to leave when she heard a bang and felt a blow to her head. The last thing she could think of was Derek saying that the shed would eventually collapse.
When she regained consciousness, it took her a long time to realize where she was or what had happened. She barely realized she was lying in her own bed, in her underwear and nightgown. A bandage was wrapped around her head. The slightest sound seemed to have the force of a brass band.
"Margaret, can you hear me? Answer me. Margaret?"
Only at those words did she realize Derek was sitting on the other side of the bed. She couldn't understand why he was shouting so loudly.
"Please, be quiet," she moaned.
"I showed up just in time to pull you out from under the boards that used to be your shed. A beam supporting the roof hit you in the head. You're lucky you only got a few stitches. Kay said it wasn't an accident. Someone did it on purpose."
Meg could only grasp that it was a rather strange coincidence. The rest of her thoughts were very hazy, and besides, she realized that thinking hurt.
"I'll be around if you need anything. You shouldn't get out of bed for the next few days." He gave her a charming smile and left the living room, closing the door behind him.
The next day, the sergeant visited her, but he wouldn't discuss anything specific. He had postponed it until some unspecified future, which was the result of a consultation with Derek.
The medical staff took diligent care of the aching Meg, and only after four days was she allowed to leave her bed. Thus ended a remarkably pleasant period of recovery.
"If you don't mind, I'll make dinner tonight, and you'll be the guest of honor.
" "Good." I've done the shopping, so you won't have to leave. Now I'll take care of my other patients and return
this evening," he said with a smile, and left the residence. Meg, ignoring a slight dizziness, began inspecting the damage Derek had wrought, but to her surprise, everything was in perfect order. Preparing even a fancy dinner was no problem with such a well-stocked refrigerator. This confirmed that the doctor was indeed knowledgeable about many things.
That afternoon, Sergeant Weston made an unannounced visit. This time, he was more talkative.
"We know for a fact that what happened wasn't an accident. Someone carefully prepared everything. The shed would have collapsed sooner or later. It's lucky Derek showed up in time. Besides, we think we've stumbled upon something. I'd be very grateful if you could share those documents regarding the purchase of the house."
Meg checked her purse, then the nightstand in the bedroom, and the desk in the library, but she couldn't find the contract. She remembered perfectly well that the last time she took it out was during her conversation with the sergeant, and she was certain she hadn't hidden it anywhere on purpose. She even searched the entire living room, but she couldn't find any official documents.
The disappearance of the documents seemed irrational to her. Who would need them
, and why!? "Apparently, the previous owners' partner wants to destroy all traces of their presence here. Who had the opportunity to steal them?"
Meg thought for a moment, and only one person came to mind: Derek. During her accident, he'd shown up just in time to save her. That alone raised suspicions. Besides, she was unconscious for a while, so he could have searched the house for documents. He had plenty of opportunities to do so later, as he spent all day with her.
"How well do you know him?" she asked the sergeant, sharing her suspicions.
"We went to school together, we're neighbors. He's four years older than me, but somehow we never left each other's side for part of our lives. He went to medical school, I joined the police, but then we met again here. We're like brothers, although I'm sure each of us has many secrets. I find it hard to believe he'd be capable of something like that.
" "How did he end up in this province instead of pursuing a medical career?
" "He was devastated after his wife's death. Then his career fell apart, and he was left with no choice but to become a provincial doctor. I'll check all the possibilities again. I must have missed something. See you later.
" Derek showed up this evening. The dinner wasn't a success, because despite his charm, Meg remained suspicious and watched his every move. He quickly realized something was wrong and didn't intrude with his presence. He left without even a word about a return visit.
This ending to the evening was neither pleasant nor satisfying. The unspoken parting devastated Meg. She had grown fond of Derek and thought her life would finally work itself out, but it clearly wasn't meant to be.
She couldn't sleep for a long time. She kept considering possible scenarios. The doctor persistently appeared in each of them, optimistic or pessimistic.
A morning without his smile and warm words seemed colorless. She lacked the motivation to get up and start the day. Finally, reluctantly, she left bed and, cup of tea in hand, began a methodical search for the purchase agreement for the house. A search of most of the rooms yielded nothing.
Despite this, it was difficult for her to accept the fact that Derek could be a thief or murderer. She decided to wait until the matter resolved itself. After all, Kay didn't believe in his guilt either. She hoped she could prove it.
Time passed slowly and alone for Meg. Even though she had settled in, she couldn't find her place. Gardening had to be put on hold for now, and at home, she had nothing to do except cook. She didn't want to rush into hiring a renovation crew. She needed an advisor. She also needed concrete plans for the future and a little motivation.
Only now did she understand that starting from scratch wasn't so easy. He knew he could count on his cousin, but only closer to summer. Currently, the company he worked for was overbooked, and he couldn't even dream of a few days off. All she had to do was inventory all the available rooms and prepare a list of essential purchases.
Sergeant Weston visited her one sunny afternoon. The weather was perfect for walks and airing out the long-unused interiors. Most of the windows in the house were open. Curtains were hanging on strings tied to trees in the garden.
"We finally managed to find this journalist," he began, as if to justify his visit. "He didn't give you his real name, but we've identified him among the friends of the murdered Tony Mayson. This all ties into a rather unpleasant story that hasn't been verified yet." He hesitated whether he should really mention it, but after a moment, he continued. "Mr. and Mrs. Mayson disappeared around the same time the owners of this house died in a car accident. Tony suspected his parents' bodies were found in the burned-out wreckage, which is why he was following and perhaps even blackmailing our mysterious couple. This could have been the motive for the murder. Of course, doubts remain about the killer, but further investigation might dispel them.
It was another fantastic theory that Meg couldn't accept. However, she had plenty of time to consider it. The sunny weather was perfect for cleaning. Airing the sheets, shaking the rugs, and doing laundry and ironing occupied most of the day. Her cousin promised to come with his wife and children the following weekend to look around the house and assess the costs.
Derek had shown up once or twice during that time, but their visits were always brief and inconspicuous.
Meg sometimes strolled the village streets, looking at the houses and observing the people. She wanted to get to know the area and the customs.
One morning, while shopping, she heard the terrible news. Sergeant Weston had been arrested. No one knew exactly why, so incredible rumors were spreading. She felt herself losing her footing. The only person she knew and could trust here was suddenly unavailable.
A persistent photographer, accompanied by an inconspicuous man, was waiting for her outside. She had no desire to talk.
"Hello. I wanted to apologize for the way I behaved.
" "I accept your apology, now please get out of here," she said sharply.
"I owe you an explanation. My name is Simon Baxter, and I am indeed a journalist. This is Inspector Wilson. Perhaps you would be more willing to listen to him." He looked at her questioningly and waited for an answer.
"Come in," she said finally, reluctantly opening the door.
She made some tea and cut some cakes. She wasn't sure she wanted any explanation. She didn't hide the fact that the whole situation had long since overwhelmed her.
"You probably know who the previous owners of this house were. After all, making you aware of it was part of the plan. I have no doubt it was all improbable, to say the least, but it was true nonetheless. Now we won't be able to determine who died in the car accident, but the claim that it was Mayson's parents can be considered true. The fact of the murder confirms this to some extent." Meg looked at the inspector in disbelief; despite her best intentions, it seemed to her like one big misunderstanding. "What you don't know is that Kay Weston was the grandson of the previous owners. His mother died during childbirth. As a small boy with an English surname, he was sent here to live with a distant cousin of his father, who, by the way, had never shown any interest in him. That way, his origins were a blank slate. When his grandparents arrived, he helped them sell the house, misled the police, and likely shot Mayson. It's certain that his gun fired the shot." He made sure the investigation uncovered nothing, and he wanted to discredit you just in case. He told you the truth, which was so improbable that if you had told it to anyone else, no one would have believed you. He also stole documents confirming your version of events. He arranged an accident that made it possible. He could always hope you would lose your life. It was fortunate that the local doctor happened to be nearby. That's more or less the truth. No one here knew anything, and no one would have believed you." Disbelief now gave way to shock and utter astonishment. Meg felt betrayed.
"But how did you come to this conclusion?"
"As you know, I was a friend of Tony's," the photojournalist spoke up this time. "He told me all his suspicions, and when I learned he'd been murdered, I took on the case myself. At first, I thought you were their accomplice. The sale of the house seemed to me to be a setup. But then I started working with the inspector, and it was only a matter of time before they discovered the truth.
" "Why did they sell the house at all?" she asked, confused.
"You know the reason best. With the money they got, they probably bought a small house in a remote area where they could be anonymous. That's all they needed. That's why the price was what it was."
Meg pondered everything she'd heard for a long time. It was hard for her to accept that someone had treated her like a pawn in a game she had no control over. On the other hand, she was happy that it was all finally over.
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