The Janus Stone

‘Rubbish,’ says Nelson angrily, pulling out onto the motorway with the minimum of care. ‘I’m just not jumping to conclusions. Never assume, that’s what my first boss used to say.’

‘I know. It makes an ass out of you and me.’ Clough looks out of the window. Nelson wonders if he’s getting a bit above himself. A good spell in the archives tomorrow will take him down a peg or two.

‘Tomorrow,’ he says coldly, ‘you can start the search for the kids’ family. And look up the Land Registry for the house. I want a list of everyone who’s ever owned the site.’

‘Jesus,’ mutters Clough, in a distinctly non-religious tone.

CHAPTER 17

Max has suggested that they meet at Reedham which strikes Ruth as extremely inconvenient. Reedham is on the Broads, on the opposite side of Norwich. Getting there will involve a long and boring drive through the seven circles of hell, or the Norwich bypass. Why on earth couldn’t they meet somewhere in King’s Lynn, thinks Ruth crossly as she gets into her car. King’s Lynn is not exactly short of restaurants. Maybe Max is a food freak who is going to take her to one of those experimental places that offer sausage-flavoured ice cream or deep-fried hedgehog. Well, if anyone gives her deep-fried hedgehog, she will be sick all over them and serve them right. She is beginning to wish that she had stayed in with The Wire and an M &S lasagne.

They are meeting by the Ship, a well-known Norfolk pub popular with river trippers. Surely she hasn’t come all this way to have a pub meal surrounded by braying Londoners?

Max is sitting at a table overlooking the river. He jumps up when he sees Ruth and when she gets near enough kisses her awkwardly on the cheek. Is this a date then?

‘Ruth! You look great.’

Ruth is wearing a smock top over cotton trousers. She hated this style when it first came in because it makes everyone look pregnant. Now, of course, this is an advantage.

‘Are we eating here?’ Ruth gestures at the pub, which certainly looks inviting in the evening light. The tables are starting to fill up and swans are venturing up from the river in search of snacks.

‘Here? No. A bit further along.’

To Ruth’s surprise he leads the way to his car.

‘Where are we going?’ she asks suspiciously.

‘You’ll see.’

They drive past houses set on the hill with smooth gardens stretching down to the river. Has Max got a house here? He must be earning more than most archaeologists if so. But Max drives past the residential area and along an unmadeup road. Ships’ masts rise up in front of them.

He parks at the end of the road where there are several other cars as well as a low building marked ‘Showers’. In front of them is a small marina, crammed with shiny boats. Some of the owners are having a barbecue and there are children and dogs running around. It all looks very jolly but Max doesn’t give the boat owners a second look. He strides along the pontoon, making it wobble alarmingly. Ruth follows more carefully. The last thing she wants is to fall in the water and to be pulled out by a drunken holidaymaker. They are at the end of the marina now and Max pauses by a small wooden gate. ‘Not far now.’

Through the gate is another pontoon, far more rickety than those in the marina. As they walk along in single file, Ruth sees the river flowing swiftly past them, smooth as silk. Fields rise up on either side, the corn as tall as they are. It is getting dark and the birds are flying low over the reeds. Ahead of them the river divides into two, like an illustration in a storybook. Which path will you take?

‘Here she is!’ shouts Max suddenly.

Bemused, Ruth looks round for the ‘she’. Maybe Max has brought her all the way here to meet his wife? Then she sees that Max is gesturing to a boat moored at the end of the pontoon. It is small and compact, blue and white with a striped awning.

‘This is yours?’

‘Welcome aboard the Lady Annabelle.’

‘Is this where you’re living?’

‘Yes.’ Max leaps lightly on board and holds out a hand to Ruth. ‘It’s great. I can moor at a different place every day but I keep her here mostly. Bit of a drive to Swaffham but it’s worth it. It’s just magical at night, sleeping out under the stars and listening to the river.’

On deck a small table has been laid for two, with candles and wine in a silver bucket. Ruth looks around her. Although they are still fairly near the marina, there is not a sound apart from the water slapping against the sides of the boat. Swallows swoop over the water and, on the opposite bank, she can see cows, knee deep in the wet grass.

Max is looking at her, rather anxiously. ‘Is this OK? I thought it would be nicer than a restaurant. And I don’t often have a chance to cook for anyone.’