Letters to the Lost by Iona Grey Page B

In Clacton, if you think that pedal car of yours can make it that far?’
    That was a good question. The Triumph had been Will’s twenty-first birthday present from his parents, intended only for leisurely weekend runs along open country roads in the life they had assumed he would have (which had obviously not involved anything as low-rent as driving around making cold calls). However, it was also a rhetorical question. Wearily Will leaned across and took the printed list of addresses.
    ‘No worries. But what about Nancy Price? I know she doesn’t own the house, but her neighbour mentioned that she’d lived there since the war at least, and that she was the kind of person who didn’t believe in keeping money in the bank. I was thinking – it might be worth having a look in the house, if we could get permission. You know – wads of cash under the mattress, that sort of thing.’
    While Will had been speaking Ansell had been studying his computer screen. Now he tapped out a few words on his keyboard and looked up with a distracted air.
    ‘Oh, I’m sorry, are you still here? Only I thought I told you to bugger off to Clacton and do some actual proper work for a change? Bex – get Nigel on the phone would you?’
    Will sighed. It was a slim chance, he knew that, but still – he’d hoped he could persuade Ansell to take it. Because now he was left high and dry with the problem of his promise to Albert Greaves.
    He went into the office he shared with Barry, a harassed ex-policeman with two divorces and a battle with alcoholism behind him, and ahead of him too, some days. Beyond the wide, blank windows the city was painted entirely in shades of dirt.
    ‘So it’s a day at the seaside for you,’ Barry remarked, not looking up from his screen. ‘All right for some.’
    Will switched on his computer. ‘Lovely. Perfect weather for it too.’
    ‘Better than being stuck in here.’ Barry still had eight months left of a two-year ban for drink-driving. He stretched and leaned back in his chair, locking his hands together behind his head. ‘You can bring me back a stick of candy floss and some nice signed agreements. I’ve lined up quite a few appointments for you.’
    ‘Excellent.’ Distractedly Will scrolled down his screen and clicked open files.
    ‘That Nancy Price case came to nothing, then. Thank Christ. Finding heirs on that one was turning out to be a proper nightmare. No money there, Mike reckons. Complete wild-goose job.’ When Will didn’t respond he said, ‘Got anything nice planned for the weekend?’
    Will remembered the summons to Sunday lunch at his parents’ house. ‘No,’ he said bleakly. In the corner the printer whirred and spat out paper. ‘What about you?’
    ‘I got the kids on Saturday afternoon. I was going to take them down Chessington, but Kelly wants to go to Bluewater. Shopping.’ He grimaced. ‘Here, didn’t Bex give you the paperwork for Grimwood? I’ve already printed it out.’
    ‘Oh, yes – thanks for that. Just printing out a map.’ He closed Nancy Price’s file and collected the papers from the printer tray. ‘I’ll be off then. Have a good weekend.’
    ‘Ha flaming ha,’ said Barry.
    The Local History room in the library was warm and quiet. The helpful library assistant who’d shown Jess to it had pointed out directories where she might look up the name of a particular person, and books and records relating to Church End around the time of World War Two. Internet access was free of charge, and she explained to Jess (in a hushed voice, even though there was no one else in the room) how to log on using the number on her library card. Jess thanked her politely, and couldn’t bring herself to mention that she didn’t have one. The librarian left, and she looked at the rows of spines, wondering where to start.
    An hour later she had amassed a small pile of books on the table in front of her, and found several references to the cottages on Greenfields Lane. They