"Can you move it?"

"Course we can." Michael looked over his shoulder, past Ca.s.sandra. "Get the chain saw, will you, Chris?"

Ca.s.sandra turned; she hadn't been aware there was anyone else in the room with them. Another man stood behind her, leaner than the first, a little younger. Sandy brown hair curled roughly around his neck. Olive skin, brown eyes. "Christian," he said, nodding slightly. He extended his hand a little, hesitated, then wiped it on his jeans. Held it out again.

Ca.s.sandra reached to meet it.

"Chain saw, Chris," said Michael. "Come on, speed it up."

Michael raised his eyebrows at Ca.s.sandra as Christian left. "I'm due at the hotel in a half-hour or so, but never fear, I'll get the main work done and leave my trusty sidekick to finish up." He smiled at Ca.s.sandra with the sort of direct gaze she found impossible to hold. "So this is your place. I've lived in the village my whole life and never thought it was owned by anyone."

"I'm still getting used to the idea myself."

Michael c.o.c.ked an eyebrow as he took in the dereliction of the room. "What's a nice Aussie girl like you doing in a house like this?"

"I inherited it. My grandmother left it to me."

"Your grandmother was English?"

"Australian. She bought it in the 1970s when she was on holiday."

"Some souvenir. Couldn't she find a tea towel she liked?"

A noise at the door and Christian was back carrying a large chain saw. "This the one you're after?"

"It's a saw with a chain," said Michael, winking at Ca.s.sandra. "I'd say it's the right one."

The hall was narrow and Ca.s.sandra turned sideways to let Christian pa.s.s. She didn't meet his eyes, rather pretended interest in a loose baseboard at her feet. The way that Michael spoke to Christian made her feel embarra.s.sed.

"Chris is new to the business," said Michael, oblivious to Ca.s.sandra's discomfort. "Doesn't know his chain saw from his drop-saw yet. He's a bit of a greenie but we'll turn him into a woodcutter yet." He grinned. "He's a Blake, it's in his blood." He gave his brother a playful punch and the two men turned their attention to the task at hand.

Ca.s.sandra was relieved when the chain saw started up and she was free, finally, to escape back to the garden. Although she knew her time would be better spent clearing creepers from inside the house, her interest had been piqued. She was determined to find a way through that wall if it took all day.

THE SUN was high now and shade was at a premium. Ca.s.sandra unwrapped her cardigan and laid it on a nearby rock. The sun's tiny footprints danced across her arms and the top of her head was soon hot to the touch. She wished she'd remembered to bring a hat. was high now and shade was at a premium. Ca.s.sandra unwrapped her cardigan and laid it on a nearby rock. The sun's tiny footprints danced across her arms and the top of her head was soon hot to the touch. She wished she'd remembered to bring a hat.

As she searched the brambles, poked her hand gingerly through one gap after another, avoiding thorns, her thoughts drifted back to her dream. It had been particularly vivid and she could remember every detail-sights, smells, even the dream's pervasive mood. Undeniably erotic, laced with forbidden desire.

Ca.s.sandra shook her head a little, shooing away the tendrils of confusing and unwanted emotion. She turned her thoughts instead to Nell's mystery. The night before, she'd sat up late reading the notebook. A task that was easier said than done. If the rash of mold didn't make things difficult enough, Nell's deplorable handwriting had deteriorated further when she arrived in Cornwall. Longer, loopier, scratchier. Written faster, Ca.s.sandra was willing to bet, more excitedly.

Nonetheless, Ca.s.sandra was managing. She'd been spellbound by the account of Nell's returning memories, her certainty that she'd visited the cottage as a little girl. Ca.s.sandra couldn't wait to see the sc.r.a.pbooks Julia had found, the diaries that Nell's mother had once filled with her most private thoughts. For surely they would shed further light on Nell's childhood, maybe even offer vital clues as to her disappearance with Eliza Makepeace.

A whistle, loud and shrill. Ca.s.sandra looked up, expecting a bird of some kind.

Michael was standing by the corner of the house, watching her work. He indicated the brambles. "Impressive crop you've got there."

"Nothing a bit of weeding won't solve," she said, standing awkwardly. She wondered how long he'd been watching.

"A year of weeding and a chain saw." He grinned. "I'm off up to the hotel now." He c.o.c.ked his head towards the cottage. "We've made some good headway. I'll leave Chris to tie up loose ends. He should be able to manage, just make sure he leaves it how you'd like." He paused and smiled again in that artless way of his. "You've got my number, right? Give me a call. I'll show you a few of the local sights while you're in town."

It wasn't a question. Ca.s.sandra smiled slightly and regretted it immediately. She suspected Michael was the sort to read any response as agreement. Sure enough, he gave her a wink as he headed back towards the front of the house.

With a sigh, Ca.s.sandra turned back towards the wall. Christian had climbed through the hole made by the tree and was now perched on the roof, using a handsaw to cut the branches into lengths. Where Michael was easygoing, there was an intensity about Christian that seemed to spill into everything he did and touched. He shifted position and Ca.s.sandra looked away quickly, feigned an avid interest in her wall.

They continued working, and the silence strung between them amplified every other sound: Christian's saw dragging back and forth; the pitter-patter of birds on the roof tiles; the faint noise of running water somewhere. Ordinarily, Ca.s.sandra was happy to work without speaking, she was used to being alone, preferred it for the most part. Only this wasn't being alone, and the longer they pretended it was, the more static-filled the silence grew.

Finally she could stand it no longer. "There's a wall behind here," she said, voice loud and somewhat more strident than she'd intended. "I found it earlier."

Christian looked up from his stack of wood. Stared at her as if she'd just started quoting from the periodic table.

"I don't know what's on the other side, though," she rushed on. "I can't find a gate and the plan my grandmother got with the sale gives no indication. I know there's a heap of creepers and branches, but I thought you might be able to see from up there."

Christian glanced down at his hands, seemed about to speak.

A thought popped into Ca.s.sandra's mind: he has nice hands. She pushed it right back where it came from. "Can you see what's over the wall?"

He pressed his lips together, dusted his hands on his jeans and nodded a little.

"You can?" This she hadn't really expected. "What is it? Can you tell me?"

"I can do better than that," he said, holding on to the eave so that he could jump down from the roof. "Come on, I'll show you."

THE HOLE was very small, right at the bottom of the wall, and concealed so that Ca.s.sandra might have searched for a year and not found it. Christian was on his hands and knees, pulling the undergrowth aside. "Ladies first," he said, sitting back. was very small, right at the bottom of the wall, and concealed so that Ca.s.sandra might have searched for a year and not found it. Christian was on his hands and knees, pulling the undergrowth aside. "Ladies first," he said, sitting back.

Ca.s.sandra looked at him. "I thought maybe there'd be a gate."

"You find one, I'll follow you through it."

"You want me to..." She glanced at the hole. "I don't know if I can, if I even know how to..."

"On your stomach. It's not as tight as it looks."

Of this Ca.s.sandra had some doubt. It looked very tight. All the same, the day's fruitless searching had only strengthened her resolve: she needed needed to know what lay on the other side. She hopped down so she was eye level with the hole and looked sidelong at Christian. "Are you sure this is safe? You've done it before?" to know what lay on the other side. She hopped down so she was eye level with the hole and looked sidelong at Christian. "Are you sure this is safe? You've done it before?"

"At least a hundred times." He scratched his neck. "Sure, I was younger and smaller, but..." His lips twitched sideways. "I'm joking. I'm sorry, you'll be fine."

There was some relief once her head was free and she realized she wasn't going to perish with her neck jammed beneath a brick wall. Not on the way in, at any rate. She shimmied the rest of her body through, as fast as possible, and stood up. Dusted her hands together and looked around, wide-eyed.

It was a garden, a walled garden. Overgrown but with beautiful bones visible still. Someone had cared for this garden once. The remains of two paths snaked back and forth, intertwined like the lacing on an Irish dancing shoe. Fruit trees had been espaliered around the sides, and wires zigzagged from the top of one wall to the top of another. Hungry wisteria branches had woven themselves around to form a sort of canopy.

Against the southern wall, an ancient and k.n.o.bbled tree was growing. Ca.s.sandra went closer. It was the apple tree, she realized, the one whose bough had reached over the wall. She lifted her hand to touch one of the golden fruit. The tree was about sixteen feet high and shaped like the j.a.panese bonsai plant Nell had given Ca.s.sandra for her twelfth birthday. Over the decades, the short trunk had adopted a sideways angle, and someone had gone to the effort of propping a crutch beneath a large limb to absorb some of its weight. A scorch mark midway along suggested a lightning strike many years before. Ca.s.sandra reached out to run her fingers along the burn.

"It's magical, isn't it, this place?" Christian was standing in the center of the garden by a rusted iron bench. "Even when I was a kid I could feel that."

"You used to come here?"

"All the time. It felt like my secret spot. No one else knew about it." He shrugged. "Well, hardly anyone else."

Beyond Christian, on the other side of the garden, Ca.s.sandra noticed something glinting against the creeper-covered wall. She went closer. It was metal, shining in the sun. A gate. Ropelike tendrils draped across it, a giant web blocking the entrance to the spider's lair. Or exit, as the case may be.

Christian joined her and together they pulled some of the creepers loose. There was a bra.s.s handle turned black with time. Ca.s.sandra gave it a rattle. The door was locked.

"I wonder where it goes."

"There's a maze on the other side that leads all the way through the estate," said Christian. "It ends over near the hotel. Michael's been working to restore it these past months."

The maze, of course. She had known that. Where had Ca.s.sandra read about the maze? Was it Nell's notebook? One of the tourist brochures at the hotel?

A quivering dragonfly hovered near before darting away, and they turned back towards the center of the garden.

"Why did your grandmother buy the cottage?" said Christian, brushing a fallen leaf from his shoulder.

"She was born around here."

"In the village?"

Ca.s.sandra hesitated, wondering how much she should tell. "The estate, actually. Blackhurst. She didn't know until her adoptive father died, when she was in her sixties. She found out her parents were Rose and Nathaniel Walker. He was-"

"An artist, I know." Christian picked up a small stick from the ground. "I've got a book with his ill.u.s.trations in it, a book of fairy tales."

"Magical Tales for Girls and Boys?"

"Yeah." He looked at her, surprised.

"I have a copy, too."

He raised his eyebrows. "There weren't many printed, you know, not by today's standards. Did you know Eliza Makepeace used to live right here in the cottage?"

Ca.s.sandra shook her head. "I knew she grew up on the estate..."

"Most of her stories were written here in this garden."

"You know a lot about her."

"I've been rereading the fairy tales lately. I used to love them when I was a kid, ever since I found an old copy in the local charity shop. There was something bewitching about them, more than met the eye." He scuffed at the dirt with his boot. "It's a bit sad, I guess-a grown man reading children's fairy tales."

"I don't think so." Ca.s.sandra noticed that he was raising and lowering his shoulders, hands in pockets. Almost as if he were nervous. "Which one's your favorite?"

He tilted his head, squinted a little in the sun. "'The Crone's Eyes.'"

"Really? Why?"

"It always seemed different from the others. More meaningful somehow. Plus I had a wild eight-year-old crush on the princess." He smiled shyly. "What's not to like about a girl whose castle is destroyed, her royal subjects vanquished, who nonetheless plucks up enough courage to embark on a quest and uncover the old crone's missing eyes?"

Ca.s.sandra smiled, too. The tale of the brave princess who didn't know she was a princess was the first of Eliza's fairy tales she'd read. On that hot Brisbane day, when she was ten years old and had disobeyed her grandmother's instruction, discovered the suitcase under the bed.

Christian broke his stick in half and tossed the pieces aside. "I suppose you're going to try and sell the cottage?"

"Why? Interested in buying it?"

"On the wage Mike's paying me?" Briefly their eyes met. "Don't hold your breath."

"I don't know how I'm going to get it ready," she said. "I didn't realize how much work there'd be. The garden, the house itself." She gestured over the southern wall. "There's a hole in the b.l.o.o.d.y roof."

"How long are you here for?"

"I'm booked at the hotel for another three weeks."

He nodded. "That ought to be enough time."

"You reckon?"

"Sure."

"Such faith. And you haven't even seen me wield a hammer."

He reached up to plait a stray piece of wisteria in with the others. "I'll help you."

Ca.s.sandra felt a flush of embarra.s.sment: he thought she'd been hinting. "I didn't mean...I don't have..." She exhaled. "There's no restoration budget, none at all."

He smiled, the first proper smile she'd seen him give. "I'm earning peanuts already. Might as well earn nothing working in a place I love."

THIRTY-THREE.

TREGENNA, 1975.

NELL looked out over the churning sea. It was the first overcast day she'd struck since arriving in Cornwall and the whole landscape was shivering. The white cottages clinging to cold crags, the silvery gulls, the grey sky reflecting the swollen sea. looked out over the churning sea. It was the first overcast day she'd struck since arriving in Cornwall and the whole landscape was shivering. The white cottages clinging to cold crags, the silvery gulls, the grey sky reflecting the swollen sea.

"Best view in all of Cornwall," said the estate agent.

Nell didn't dignify the inanity with comment. She continued to watch the roiling waves from the little dormer window.

"There's another bedroom next door. Smaller, but a bedroom nonetheless."

"I need longer to inspect," said Nell. "I'll join you downstairs when I'm done."