Page 100 of Secret Paths

“Good. Missions are tiring.”

I sit.

The wood is slightly damp beneath my coat, and the air smells of leaves and river water. Bernard’s lead lies loose across Mrs Higgins’ purple walking boots, which are bright enough to startle livestock.

“He has a better routine than most people,” I say.

“Bernard?”

“Yes. Morning walk, afternoon walk, pub appearances, regular snacks, village attention. He is practically the mayor.”

“He would accept the office, but not the responsibility.”

“He refused to move at least twice during the last Ramblers walk.”

“Boundaries,” Mrs Higgins says. “Very important.”

I look down at Bernard. “He has excellent ones.”

“He also has selective hearing and no shame.”

“Also useful.”

Mrs Higgins laughs, the soft, throaty sound of a woman who has enjoyed the same joke in many forms for years.

For a while, we sit without speaking.

That is one of the things I like about Mrs Higgins. She can talk enough to fill a church hall, but she can also let silence sit between people without poking it to see what falls out.

A robin lands on the wall opposite, tilts its head at us, then thinks better of the company and flies away.

“Alexandra tried to set me up with Mark,” I say.

I have no clue why I mention it other than that I was looking for a fairly safe topic to fill the silence. In hindsight, the weather would have been a better option.

Mrs Higgins does not turn her head. “I know in total four blokes with the name Mark in St Claire. You have to help me here?”

“The new chef at Morton Hall.”

“Oh nice fellow. Met him once at the pub. Alexandra mentioned he was settling in.”

“Of course she did.”

“And that he was single.”

“Also, apparently, a personality trait.”

Mrs Higgins’ mouth twitches. “For some people.”

“She brought him to my house yesterday morning.”

Now Mrs Higgins does look at me.

“Did she?”

“For a cooking lesson.”

“That is bold.”