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Joseph had moved to a different campsite, one with better facilities and an on-site shop. He had purchased a disposable barbecue, sausages and buns for our evening meal.
I found the campsite after driving up and down several narrow lanes. The caravan park was busy with squealing children chasing balls, while their drowsy-eyed parents lay on sunbeds under colourful awnings. On the other side of a tall hedge, the campers occupied tents of various shapes and sizes, scattered like rose petal confetti. Joseph had chosen a corner pitch and I parked my car next to his aged Ford Focus, which was crusted with mud around the wheel arches.
He greeted me with a stubble-free face. He had lost five or so years in the transformation and revealed dimples in his cheeks, which pitted when he smiled.
‘Decent showers and a washing machine.’ He sniffed his armpit. ‘I smell like a florist’s.’
I held out the bottle of ginger pop. ‘For the ginger cake man.’
He laughed. ‘I should dye my hair red to go with it.’
I fetched the picnic blanket from the boot of my car and spread it out in front of the tent. I had expected a shoebox size tent, but it was large enough to accommodate two people, including a stooped man of Joseph’s height. The zip was down, though.
He had been working on one of his paintings. The easel was up, the box opened up and brushes scattered on a cloth. The picture was of Middleham Castle, but not from the interior. He had gone out to the old earthworks and painted the castle from the higher vantage point.
He cocked his head to one side. ‘Better? I’m just finishing it off. Then I’ll send it tomorrow.’
I stood next to him and admired the delicate brush work, the hazy colours and ripples of cloud in the sky. ‘It’s really good. I can see how it might have looked in its heyday. The palatial size of the keep. It must have been an incredible sight for miles around. Brilliant.’
‘Thank you.’ He picked up the brushes and bundled them up using a cloth wrapping. ‘I’ll finish it later.’
I stretched out on the blanket and watched him turn the spitting sausages. The deluge of two days ago had had little impact on the hardened ground beneath my back. The sultry summer continued unabated.
There were damp socks pegged to the tent lines. ‘An improvement on the last campsite?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Washing machines come at a higher price. But I don’t have to put up with cows.’
‘It’s getting busier. I noticed that today. Harder to get clean shots without people strolling into view.’
‘Summer holidays in full swing. At least I can just ignore people.’ He slit open a bread roll, then handed me a bottle of ketchup and two plastic tumblers.
I gave the bottle a brisk shake and unscrewed the cap. I was starving and we happily ate in silence. The fizzy drink tickled the back of my throat. I relished the mini barbecue for what it was: simple and tasty.
He passed me a paper napkin. ‘I found a phone box, but unfortunately it was out of order. So I’ve still not managed to call Camilla.’
I dug into my handbag and retrieved my mobile. The signal strength was one bar. ‘You could try using this.’
He had the number written in a little notebook. He thumbed through the pages, licking his fingers as he went. The reception was poor, and he walked about the field, trying different locations. I tracked his frustrated movements while sipping on ginger ale.
He returned with visible furrows on his forehead. ‘I think I’ve managed to leave a message on her office phone. The personal one didn’t connect.’ His frown deepened. ‘I suppose she could have changed the number since I last used it.’
‘But you are sending the pictures to her? She must be receiving them.’
Given the alarmed look on his face, I’d touched upon something he hadn’t considered. ‘I send them recorded delivery to the office. But I’ve no means to check if they were signed for.’
‘You’ve not spoken to her recently?’
‘I know she’s got the earlier ones from the Easter break – Bamburgh, Alnwick and Dunstanburgh. But we haven’t spoken since I left London.’ He handed the mobile back to me. ‘Sorry, I’ve eaten your battery life somewhat.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll charge it tonight.’ I dropped the useless thing in my bag. ‘Perhaps she’s gone on holiday with David.’
I was joking, but it gave me ideas that put a different slant on how things might pan out over the next few days. Abandoned to our own devices, we were unfettered by agenda and the constraints of our assignments. What if we merged them into one and established a timetable that suited us both?
‘You haven’t reached the professor either?’ Joseph asked.
‘I set my spy on to him.’
