Palmer-Jones 04 - A Prey to Murder Read Free Page A

would want to remember it all clearly and write it all down. She stood up.
    ‘I wasn’t sure you’d come,’ he said. It occurred to her for the first time that he might be as nervous as she was.
    ‘You should have known that I would,’ Helen said.
    He took her hand and they walked together up the footpath. It was well worn, used by ramblers looking for Offa’s Dyke, eroded in places to the bare rock. He knew more about birds than she did and pointed out meadow pipit, skylark, lapwing. Away from the field around the barn which had once been cultivated, there was only bracken, rough grassland and a few sheep. The path was very steep and soon they were high above Gorse Hill looking down on the roof of the house. She was lightheaded with the effort of climbing and the heady scent of the gorse.
    ‘Does your grandmother own this land?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘All the way to the top of the hill. But she lets the grazing to a farmer.’
    ‘Well,’ he said gently. ‘Where’s your peregrine eyrie?’
    The footpath flattened, crossed the face of the hill before reaching the summit and led into the next valley, but above them the hill became more sheer and rocky. It might perhaps have been possible to climb there without a rope. There were buttresses and shady slopes and crevices where there were still grass and birch saplings, but from where they were standing that seemed impossible. Halfway up the cliff, in a narrow fold in the rock, was the eyrie. With the naked eye they could only see the white stain of dropping and an indistinct grey shape which might have been the female, but Laurie seemed not to mind.
    ‘It’s terrific,’ he said. ‘ What a beautiful view she must have right over the valley. Next time we come we’ll try to get some binoculars.’
    ‘My grandmother has some,’ she said. ‘I’ll borrow hers.’ She did not want to appear too excited about his plans for future visits to the eyrie. Perhaps he was only interested in the falcons and she was deluding herself that he liked her.
    They found a place to sit just below the path, behind a big, pink smooth boulder. They were hidden from the path there and looked down over Gorse Hill and the town. It was, Helen thought, their own eyrie. He put his arm around her bare shoulders and kissed her. His lips and his face were warm.
    They spent most of the day there. They shared the picnic and talked and kissed and lay on their stomachs to look at the view. A group of racing pigeons flew over and the small male peregrine appeared from nowhere, separated one brilliant white pigeon from the crowd and killed it from below. It was over so quickly that she might not have noticed what was happening if Laurie had not pointed it out to her.
    ‘How do you know so much about birds?’ she asked.
    ‘My dad was keen,’ he said. ‘ He used to take us out when we were kids.’
    ‘You won’t tell anyone about the nest, will you?’ she said suddenly. ‘My grandmother’s afraid someone’s going to steal the young.’
    ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘ Who would want to steal them?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ she said vaguely. ‘ Falconers I suppose.’
    ‘Why does your grandmother think they’re in danger?’
    ‘She said there was a van she didn’t recognize parked at the end of the lane near the barn on two evenings last week. It was an old blue van with a registration number from outside the area.’
    ‘Did she contact the police?’
    ‘I don’t know. She might have done. She seems suddenly to be obsessed by the birds. She never bothered much when Grandpa was alive and he was the one with the real interest. Now she’s trying to persuade us all to take turns at guarding the eyrie. My parents think she’s going loopy.’
    ‘Do you?’
    ‘I don’t know. Something’s happening. She’s usually so cool and proper. She’s been secretary of the Sarne Wildlife Trust for ages but I thought she enjoyed the social events and that she wasn’t really