The House of Birds and Butterflies

‘Jack Westcoat?’ she screeched. ‘As in, acclaimed thriller writer, puncher of fellow author at recent awards ceremony, once-glowing reputation now in tatters, all-round literary bad boy Jack Westcoat?’

‘That,’ Rosa said, ‘is exactly right. And wow, is he smouldering in real life too.’

Abby’s frown deepened. She had perhaps seen something in one of the café copies of the Daily Mail about some scandal involving two famous authors, but there was nothing concrete to hold onto.

‘This is incredible,’ Octavia was saying, her eyes flitting between them as the cogs worked. ‘Think what he could do to raise the profile of the library.’

‘I’m not sure he wants the publicity,’ Abby said slowly. ‘He seemed quite keen on maintaining his privacy when I met him.’

‘And not after what happened,’ Rosa said. ‘I mean, the story is crazy, like something from a soap opera. But he was polite to me, if not exactly delighted, when I turned up on his doorstep to see how he was getting on. Like you, Abby, I’m not sure what he expects us to do. He’s probably just venting his frustration.’

‘He must have a lot of it if he goes around punching people,’ Stephan said, sipping his coffee.

‘That was just the once,’ Octavia said. ‘Before that, he was one of the country’s up-and-coming author superstars. Granted, he’d put a murky past behind him – university high jinks that got out of hand, apparently, but he’d become a true golden boy by all accounts, until this latest incident. I’ll have to find out what happened now, why the punch got thrown. Goodness me, it’s really him?’

‘I recognized him from the photographs I’d seen in the paper when it happened.’ Rosa hugged her mug to her chest. ‘He must be hiding out here, that would make sense, wouldn’t it? Writing his new book, staying out of the limelight.’

‘I wonder if Penelope knows who she has staying in her house,’ Stephan said. ‘It’s not exactly got the same kudos as Wild Wonders, has it?’

‘But he’s not going to be involved in the reserve, is he?’ Abby pressed. ‘There’s no reason anyone else should know that he’s here.’

‘Do I sense some protectiveness there, my love?’ Octavia asked.

Abby shrugged. After his initial priggish note and their less than friendly encounter, she suddenly felt sorry for their new neighbour. Everyone had areas of their past they’d rather keep quiet about, and it must be worse if everything you did played out under a media spotlight. Stephan clearly thought there was no excuse for him hitting someone, and maybe it was unforgivable and Jack was a world-class dick, but nothing, Abby knew, was ever as simple as it seemed.

‘I just don’t know if we should go spreading it about,’ she said. ‘Especially as he’s so adamant he doesn’t want to be disturbed.’

‘Ah, Abby, you always were the sensible one.’ Octavia patted her hand. ‘Still, no harm in asking, a few months down the line once he’s integrated himself a bit more in village life, if he’d fancy giving a talk at the library. I expect I could rustle up my biggest-ever crowd.’

‘Octavia,’ Stephan said, ‘he punched someone at a very public event, and now he’s taken up residence in a secluded cottage on Penelope’s estate. He’s unlikely to want to advertise his presence by coming to talk to the great and good of Meadowgreen.’

‘In a couple of months, I said. I’m not that much of a dragon.’

Abby sipped her tea. She couldn’t help but think that having Jack Westcoat here, with all the interest and scandal he seemed to have brought with him, was going to complicate things.

She had to focus on bringing visitors to the reserve for all the right reasons, and now not only did the new resident of Peacock Cottage seem averse to other human beings, but he might draw unwanted attention all of his own. Did authors get paparazzi appearing on their doorsteps like actors? The man in the Mercedes had clearly been Jack’s friend – the words she’d overheard were much friendlier than her encounter with him. But was he really that much of a celebrity? If he was, then she couldn’t imagine anyone – the press, regulars, holidaymakers – being interested in the nightingales on the reserve when there was a real-life, disgraced superstar author in their midst. And – Abby thought ruefully as Jonny, who hadn’t said a word the whole time, quietly excused himself – an incredibly attractive, disgraced superstar author to boot.

As the weeks passed, the Indian summer they had been enjoying slipped slowly out of sight, like a shy guest leaving a party, and autumnal weather took over with full force. Abby noticed there was a new vibrancy about the reserve, not necessarily because it was busier, but because there was suddenly a whole lot to talk about. Wild Wonders had been an instant ratings hit according to Stephan, who was watching every episode. Gavin and Marek were also unashamedly regular viewers, and Abby was finding their conversations on the subject more and more juvenile.

‘Did you see what Flick Hunter was wearing last night?’

‘Bit low cut, wasn’t it?’

‘Is anyone complaining, though?’ Marek said thoughtfully, leaning on his rake handle like something out of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

Penelope even weighed in on the discussions occasionally, much to everyone’s surprise.

‘How are our figures?’ she asked one Friday afternoon, when Abby was rolling her neck, thinking about the weekend and a visit to see Tessa. ‘It seems those television bods may not have sunk us, after all.’

‘Didn’t I say?’ Stephan said, walking over. ‘It’s not the world’s most competitive market, is it, nature? Enough to go around.’

‘There may be enough nature to go around, but are there enough visitors? That’s what we need to determine.’

Abby looked through the figures on the computer. ‘We’re down fractionally on last week, but the weather’s been much greyer over the last few days, which would account for this small a drop. It’s pretty consistent.’ She smiled, hoping her positivity would rub off on her boss.

‘Consistency is a start,’ Penelope said, ‘but what we want is to be aiming higher, scaling that mountain, not strolling through the foothills. How are your walks going?’

‘They’re quite successful. I’ve got one next Tuesday that’s fully booked.’

‘Keep it up. Well done. Good work.’ She addressed them each in turn, Rosa’s eyes widening at the unexpected encouragement.

‘Dear God,’ Stephan whispered once Penelope had retreated. ‘What’s got into her?’

‘Maybe she’s been on a social skills course,’ Rosa said. ‘What about Monday, when she was in London? What was that about?’

‘Who knows?’ Abby shrugged. ‘It’s not like she’s going to come back with goody bags for us all and share her escapades over a hot chocolate.’ The image made them laugh, Penelope’s good mood infecting them.

‘Seen any more of our literary antihero recently?’ Stephan asked as he wheeled the mop back towards the café.

‘Nope,’ Rosa said. ‘Not a peep. He’s backed down easily.’ She raised an eyebrow at Abby.

She was wearing a denim shirt that would have looked outdated on anyone else, but Rosa, with her beautiful colouring, her bold Jamaican hair and dark eyes, was always stylish. Sometimes Abby wished she had her friend’s elegance, but as lots of her time was spent out on the reserve, helping the wardens, running walks and messy activities, jeans or cargo trousers paired with a reserve-brand T-shirt or fleece were ideal for her, if not exactly eye-catching.

‘I’ve not heard from him either,’ Abby said, though she’d heard enough from everyone else about their new neighbour.

That was the other talking point adding to the buzz on the reserve. The fact that Octavia had been here when Rosa returned from her trip to establish Jack’s identity was the undoing of everything. Abby had noticed more familiar faces at Meadowsweet than she ever had before, people who she said hello to in the Skylark in the evenings, or bumped into at the chapel store, and who wouldn’t be able to tell a blackbird from a bullfinch. She just hoped the buzz stayed within Meadowgreen, and no journalists got hold of the news. She’d had to rub The lesser-spotted Jack Westcoat off the sightings blackboard on two occasions over the past couple of weeks.

She didn’t know how she felt about her encounter with Jack. He had been stubborn, certainly, and unreasonable to begin with, and finding out about his recent fall from grace should have been enough to cement her dislike of him.

But the truth was, her mind had returned to those few minutes on the pathway of Peacock Cottage more often than she would have liked, though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone. She had enough to deal with – her booked-out walk for one thing. It was only a few days away now and the weather looked like it would be dry but cold. The thing she hadn’t told Penelope was that there were a couple of names on the list of attendees that she recognized.

The local councillor, Helen Savoury, and her husband, had booked places. She didn’t know if there were any council grants available, but she thought that if she did a good job, they would at least see how beautiful, and valuable, the reserve was to the local area.

The forecast, inevitably, had lied. Tuesday turned out to be warmer than planned, but with a constant drizzle that penetrated almost all types of clothing within minutes. Bob the robin was perched on the top of the feeder station as Abby set off with her group of visitors, serenading them as they passed.

‘Good morning, everyone,’ she said, facing the expectant crowd and clapping her hands together to get their attention. ‘Welcome to Meadowsweet Nature Reserve on this glorious October day.’ There was a smattering of laughter. ‘I’m Abby Field, and I’m your lead on today’s walk. I’m going to start by taking you through the woods, and then we’ll angle left, down towards the coastal lagoons to look at the waterfowl and migratory birds, and then back along the meadow trail which, while without its butterflies at this time of year, has beautiful views across the water and some autumn wildlife all of its own.

‘Please ask questions as we go, and if you spot anything and can point it out without disturbing it, I – and I’m sure some of you – should be able to help identify it. Is everyone covered up well enough? Luckily not many of our bird or animal species are put off by a bit of rain, though some of the birds of prey will wait until it’s dry to go hunting. Still, I’m hopeful we’ll see a lot today.’

She took a breath, realizing that her introduction was too long, hoping she hadn’t lost everyone’s attention completely. Mr and Councillor Savoury were hovering at the back of the group but, she was relieved to notice, looked interested. Helen Savoury was a solid, imposing woman who dressed impeccably and had a kindness to her dark eyes. Today she was wearing a light-grey, fitted waterproof jacket, the hood pulled up over her bobbed brown hair.

There were also the two women – sisters, she remembered – who always came together, one with a white stick, the other leading her. Abby had seen them several times over the last few weeks but had never got their names. They always wore bright colours, today waterproof jackets in lemon yellow and coral pink, so different from the camouflage browns and greens that people often donned to visit the reserve.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s get going.’

Two hours later, things were looking up. The rain had abated, though after the first half an hour Abby was sure everyone was too wet to care anyway, and they’d spotted a marsh harrier, a reed warbler, two herons and a cluster of bearded tits, which were always popular with their dusky gold-and-grey colouring, bouncy, toy-like movements and ping-pong song. As they reached the beginning of the meadow trail, however, Abby’s plan faltered. It was far too muddy for any of them to pass easily, even with sturdy walking boots on.

A woman in her forties with spiky red hair, who Abby had decided was the world’s most enthusiastic visitor, walked ahead of her.