Page 217 of The Running Grave

‘I know I deserved it,’ said Robin, ‘so I suppose I should be glad it happened. It’s like you said to me on the vegetable patch, there’s no “in trouble”, is there? It’s all strengthening.’

For a moment or two Will was silent. Then he said,

‘Have you been in the library yet?’

‘I searched it for Mazu’s fish,’ said Robin. ‘I haven’t used it properly.’

Though beautifully appointed, with mahogany tables and brass reading lights, the library contained few books, and half of them had been written by Jonathan Wace. The rest of the stock comprised holy texts of all major religions. While Robin would have welcomed a quiet hour in the library, she doubted she’d be able to concentrate long on the Guru Granth Sahib or the Torah without falling asleep.

‘Have you read the Bible?’ asked Will.

‘Um… bits,’ said Robin cautiously.

‘I was reading it yesterday. John, chapter one, verse 4:1: “Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, for many false prophets have gone out into the world.”’

Robin glanced at him. She might be mistaken, given his reddened, puffy eyes, but she thought he looked worried.

‘Oh Lord, I’m going to need help,’ said a loud female voice. Robin and Will looked round. Noli Seymour had just entered the kitchen wearing a pristine white tracksuit, and was making a comical expression, hands pressed against her face. ‘I’m an awful cook!’ she said, looking round. ‘Some of you experts are going to have to help me!’

If Noli had imagined a stampede to assist her, or that the kitchen workers would be charmed by her admission of helplessness, she’d miscalculated. Tired and sweaty, none of them smiled, although Sita handed her an apron. Robin had a presentiment about what was about to happen, and sure enough, one of the older women pointed Noli to the pile of onions Robin and Will were tackling, doubtless thinking that this was where she could do least harm. Noli was enough of an actress to fake enthusiasm.

‘Great… um… have you got gloves?’

‘No,’ said the woman, returning to the large vat containing a gallon of tinned tomatoes bubbling on the stove.

‘Hi, I’m Noli,’ said the actress to Will and Robin. ‘Have you got—? Oh, thanks,’ she said, as Robin passed her a knife. ‘So what are your names?’

They told her.

‘Rowena, wow, that’s so funny, I played Rowena in Ivanhoe at drama school,’ said Noli, looking sideways at the way Robin was slicing her onion, and trying to copy her. ‘It was kind of a challenge, actually. I much prefer playing characters with substance, you know? And Rowena’s basically just, you know, beautiful and kind and noble,’ Noli rolled her eyes, ‘and I’m like, “Um, wouldn’t it be easier to use a mannequin or something?” Oh, God, I hope you aren’t named after Lady Rowena!’ Noli added, with a peal of laughter. ‘Were your parents fans, or something?’

Before Robin could answer, Will, whose streaming eyes were still fixed on the onion he was chopping, muttered:

‘Materialist possession.’

‘What?’ said Noli.

‘“Parents”,’ said Will, still not looking at Noli.

‘Oh – yeah, right,’ said Noli. ‘You know what I mean, though.’

‘No, I wasn’t named after Lady Rowena,’ said Robin.

‘I just get typecast, you know?’ said Noli, who was doing her best to touch the onion she was chopping as little as possible, holding it steady with her fingertips. ‘I’m constantly saying to my agent, “Just once, can you get me a character with character?” I’ve been feeling that so much more since joining the church,’ she added earnestly.

The threesome chopped in silence for a little while until Will, after wiping his irritated eyes on the sleeve of his sweatshirt again, glanced at Noli and said,

‘Are you really going to make a film about the Drowned Prophet?’

The actress looked up at him, startled.

‘How on earth did you know about that?’

‘Are you?’ said Will, his reddened eyes fixed on his work again.

‘Well, not just about – nothing’s definite. I’ve been talking to Papa J about maybe doing a film about him. How on earth did you know that?’ she added, with another little laugh.

‘I was the one serving you your potatoes when you were talking about it to Papa J,’ said Will. ‘In the farmhouse.’