Chapter 4

“What!” shrieked Pat, “What’s going on?”

Alick left his armchair, scrambled over on his knees and scanned the page. “I guessed where you were from your reaction.”

“I can’t understand this.” She moaned. “It makes no sense.”

“Hector’s her creation, she invented the episode. To be precise, she scripted it in the same way she does with everything else. There was no problem until she strayed onto the subject of The Berkshires. Once she insinuated he was no more than an actor, the illusion was destroyed.”

“Yes, I realise she was unable to keep him with her. What I can’t understand is what’s on the next page. She continues to write as though nothing has happened, makes no mention of the calamity the previous evening. On the next day they meet up again.” She paused as she fanned the page backwards and forwards. “Unless...”

“Go on.”

“Yes, I’m right. The section dealing with Hector’s sudden departure finishes a quarter of the way down the page, yet the next day she starts writing overleaf. It’s almost like she was blocking out any recollection of the disaster.”

“That’s what she did. When you read on, you’ll note their relationship develops without any fresh mention of him being an actor.”

“I’m exhausted, I want my bed, but I can’t stop now.” She leafed through the remaining pages. “Oh no, there’s loads more.”

“Give me that. You don’t need to read any details of her holiday. Skip forward to the end when she’s back in London.”

“Suits me. So, from what you imply they became lovers by the time she returns home.”

“Not in the modern context, although yes, they were very much in love when she left for Camden. Their plan was for her to sell her house, return to Hector and marry.”

“Oh, Alick, one more thing. The absent house. Why wasn’t Hector’s mill in the painting?”

“It was, but not in the first series. Eleanor never saw the mill on the canvas because the one and only time she watched the show it was an early repeat. After the first evening she stayed at the mill. They were inseparable and I doubt she had any desire to watch television.

“Hector didn’t appear in the early episodes and it wasn’t until he was written into the storyline that his house was added to the painting. The first appearance was at the opening of the second series.”

“Thank you dear.” She yawned. “I just hope I stay awake for the rest.”

“You will. It’s less than a page.”

June 26

I’ve been back in England for a little over a week and its murder! I miss him so much I cry myself to sleep each evening. I phone him twice a day, despite that I hate being apart from my dearest boy. If only I could trust someone to dispose of the house for me - one more problem of being alone.

The estate agent has lined up eight prospects and I’ve scrubbed the house from top to bottom, inside and out, so everything’s out of my control now. Wheel on the buyers and let me escape from this grey city.

June 28

This is the worst day of my life.

It was five minutes after one of the prospective buyers left and I was settled in my television chair watching a news bulletin concerning the future of The Berkshires - or more accurately, its absence of future. The makers are disturbed with the viewing figures, they’re falling, and they’ve decided to axe the show. That in itself is bad enough, however what’s disastrous is when. In three days time they shoot the final scenes. What am I to do? After they finish the filming, Hector will vanish. I’ll lose him.

I’ve had a weep and a think and I know now what I must do, although I have little faith that it will work. First, I must book my flight to Boston.

Pat closed the journal at the final page of writing and placed it on the floor beside her chair. “That’s it then, the end.” Following another yawn, she asked, “Did she fly to him?”

“No.”

“Why am I unsurprised? No passport?”

“Correct. Just in case we’d made a mistake we checked the passenger lists for Boston and New York. She didn’t leave England.”

“She has to be somewhere.”

“There was no reason for her to leave her home, although just in case, we checked the usual places. There was no-one remotely like her. She’s disappeared.”

Pat rose and helped herself to another drink. “This has to be my last. I’m dead on my feet. Do you want another?”

“No thanks. I have to work in the morning.” He scanned his watch. “Later this morning.”

“You may have to prepare your own breakfast. I’ll probably lie in.”

His teasing grin returned. “You recall I told you there wasn’t a passport.”

She sighed her suspicious sigh. “I remember.”

“It’s not strictly true. We did find one amongst her papers, although it wasn’t current. It belonged to her parents and as a minor she was listed as their child.”

She sat on the arm of his chair and slowly slid onto his lap. “I presume there’s a good reason for this fresh titbit you’ve fed me.”

“I’ll let you be the judge. The passport led me to an uncle, her mother’s brother, who’s lived in America for most of his adult life. He’s a widower now, however when young Eleanor was orphaned they were amongst the relatives wishing to adopt her. They believed an upbringing in America would be better for her.

“I had a lengthy talk with him on the phone and he told me something which, in view of her journal, is weird. Eleanor was taken to the States only weeks before her parents were killed. They were on holiday for a little over a month. Can you guess where the uncle lives?”

“No, not with any accuracy, whereas I hazard it’s in Massachusetts. Where exactly?”

“I doubt you’ve heard of it. It’s a small town called Deerfield, quite close to the Berkshires.”

“I assume the uncle took them to Mohawk Trail.”

“They did a lot of sightseeing and he can’t remember where they visited, although he accepts it’s probable.”

“In which case she may have visited Lake Conestoga, which, if you think about it, would explain a lot. For instance, why she promptly fell in love with it, plus the magical power she talked of.”

“I suspect the image of the lake and the woods were retained in her mind from when she was a child, a time of happiness when they were a family. A forgotten memory as evocative as that is very strong, it’s incredibly powerful.”

Pat was deep in thought for some time. “Magic ... I suspect there’s some force of which we have no understanding. I’ll think on it tomorrow - when I’m fresh. Right now, I’m ready for bed.”

She was almost upright when she recalled another query. She settled back into his lap and rested her head against his chest. “One more item that confused me. Eleanor was in a panic because she was certain Hector would vanish when the series finished. Why do you think?”