Page 12 of The Secrets of Dragonfly Lodge
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Nancy frowned. ‘However, journalists are on the look-out for stories. They have to make things sound interesting.’ She laughed. ‘And real life is often dreadfully humdrum. Scientific research, for instance, isn’t always exciting. In fact, it can be very dull and painstaking. But the media only talks about the rare thrilling moments of discovery or breakthroughs that make it all worthwhile.’ She sighed. ‘And journalists… I have a little experience there—’ She halted and began turning her cup in its saucer. ‘My daughter… Aaron’s mother… caused us some trouble.’
When she met Stef’s gaze once more, Stef was shocked to see her eyes gleaming with unshed tears. Horrified, she attempted to justify herself. ‘I don’t deny that I’m looking for stories,’ she said. ‘They’re what sell papers, after all, but it’s really the truth behind stories that I’m after. That’s what good journalism does. It interrogates the cloud of myth and rumour that blows up around events of public interest and tries to determine what really happened and why.’
‘Very admirable,’ Nancy remarked. She’d mastered herself again. ‘But in my humble opinion, the damage caused by this exposure to the people involved can be considerable.’
‘I’m sure we can both think of examples and it’s a shame. But it’s not always like that. I wrote an article a few months ago about women working in the scientific community. It’s online. Perhaps Aaron showed it to you?’
‘He did. It was a good piece. Although so much for women has changed for the better, there was a great deal in it that I recognized.’
‘The book I propose is an expansion of that article.’
‘A splendid project,’ Nancy said. ‘Simply not one I wish to be involved with.’
Why am I pursuing this?Stef asked herself crossly.The book will be fine without Nancy Foster. I’m sure there are plenty of others I can interview.And yet she was intrigued. Why was Nancy quite so determined in her refusal?
‘I understand your concern.’ There was no point in upsetting her. Keen to take the heat out of the conversation, Stef said, ‘It’s so fascinating to be here. This cottage, this room. What a life you’ve made.’
At this, Nancy sat straighter. ‘Yes,’ she said brightly. ‘It’s been a real haven for me.’
‘A haven,’ Stef repeated. That was an interesting word. A haven from what? Nancy didn’t explain. ‘How long have you lived in the cottage?’
‘Twenty years, twenty-two maybe. After I retired from teaching in Norwich, I felt a bit lost. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had no family there. Aaron’s mother was living in the States then. I hadn’t decided whether to stay in the city or go back to London. I certainly hadn’t considered living out in the country by myself, but then a friend who knew Hickston told me about this place and when I saw it I just loved it. I’ve been very happy here. Such a shame—’
‘A shame…?’ Stef looked at her enquiringly, but the cat had woken up and stretched its thin body and it took Nancy’s attention.
‘Come on, Tabitha.’ Nancy bent and scooped her up, settled her on her lap and stroked her. Eventually, she spoke.
‘But here I am talking all about myself. What about you, Stef? Did you always want to be a journalist?’
Stef smiled. ‘It was one of the few options pushed at me when I was finishing my English degree. Journalism, teaching, publishing. In fact, it turned out that there are hundreds of things I could have done, but I had no idea at the time that they existed. So because I’d written for the university newspaper, I decided to apply for a journalism course. When I got a job on theGlobe,I thought,That’s it, I’m made.’ She frowned.
‘All didn’t go well?’
‘It’s partly the internet, of course. Newspapers arestruggling, advertising is down. TheGlobecut its staff.’ As she spoke, it flooded back, the painful weeks of waiting to find out who was staying and who would go, the impersonal email that arrived delivering her fate. She shuddered. When she glanced up, Nancy was studying her, an expression of pity on her face, and she found herself confessing further.
‘I’m making ends meet, just about, and there are advantages to being freelance – I’ve been able to come and see Mum at short notice, for instance – but it’s nerve-wracking not to have a regular salary. And being single, as I am, there’s no one to help cover the bills if I’m ill or something.’
‘What about your parents?’
‘Mum has little spare money. I’m okay at the moment, not struggling or anything.’
‘Any other family?’
Nancy seemed genuinely interested, so Stef told her about her father, about Pippa and Rob and the twins. ‘Dad would help me out if I asked,’ she said, ‘but he’s always been keen that we stand on our own two feet. Pippa’s married to a high-flying accountant, lucky girl, but I’d never ask him. Sorry, that sounds as though I’m envious of her, which I’m not.’
‘No,’ Nancy said. ‘Though we can’t pretend that money isn’t important. Especially when it’s lacking. I remember a time when I—’
Again, she broke off. It was frustrating, Stef thought. Nancy would so nearly supply a reminiscence, then draw back. Now Nancy laid her empty cup and saucer on the tray. ‘I oughtn’t to keep you,’ she said, almost wistful.
‘Oh, but you’re not… ‘ Stef started to say, then deducedthat Nancy was simply being polite and actually wanted Stef to go. ‘I’ll take the tray to the kitchen.’
’If you wouldn’t mind, dear. It’s the door on the left, next to the stairs.’
The kitchen was at the back of the house and when she pushed the door open, Stef remembered Geoffrey Stuart, whom she had met at church, describing the cottage as run-down. The room with its old lino-tiled floor must have already been old-fashioned when Nancy had moved in twenty years ago. It was furnished with freestanding cabinets, the worktops scarred by generations of knives and hot saucepans. A chipped ceramic sink sat beside a blackened wooden draining board. The view across the Broad from the wide window above the sink made up for it. She bent closer to look. All was tranquil, with tufts of drifting cloud reflecting on the glassy water.It’s breathtaking, she thought.
‘Can you see the heron?’ Nancy had appeared beside her, still cradling the cat. ‘To the left, beyond the jetty.’
A few seconds’ searching, then Stef saw it. ‘It’s so still,’ she breathed.
