Roberts gave a light laugh, which didn’t deceive his friend. “Not really. It’s just the long hours in the studio standing at the easel. It’s very tiring work, you know. Not like writers. Sitting on a soft cushion all day dreaming up impossible plots.”
Kent returned his smile. “There’s a little bit more to it than that,” he said good-naturedly.
“Of course, old chap. You know I was only joking. Stay to dinner. A nice lady comes in from the village when Gilda’s away.”
After the meal the two men sat smoking and talking in the great room that Roberts’ craftsmen had created from what had been two smaller chambers which had been roughly partitioned for some commercial purpose by a previous owner when the place had been a working mill. Apparently the building had been constructed as far back as the sixteenth century, and a vast beam which ran across the whole fireplace wall carried the roughly carved date by some long dead carpenter: 1545.
When Kent’s pipe had been drawn to his satisfaction and the whisky glasses had been filled, the two men were more relaxed and forthcoming than when Mrs Summers, who acted as the artist’s housekeeper, had supervised the meal.
“How long did you say?” Kent asked.
He was referring to the final stages of renovation of the mill. There were various finishing touches that would be carried out by specialist craftsmen, such as wrought ironwork and light fittings in period with the age of the house.
Roberts sat back in his big carved oak chair with a satisfied expression on his face. “About three months should see it through,” he said. “All in all there have been few problems. Far less than I had imagined.”
“I know it’s a delicate matter,” his friend said diffidently. “You mentioned it before, but has the cost over-run...?”
Roberts shook his head. “Most remarkable, really. Nowhere near as much as I had anticipated. More than covered by the income generated by Gilda on her travels around Europe and the States.
“That’s good to hear,” Kent replied. “I’m glad I steered you toward the purchase. You must be sitting on a small fortune here. I suppose you won’t ever think of selling?”
Roberts reached out for his glass. “No. I’ve discussed it with Gilda. I think we’ve settled here for life. I can’t imagine we would ever find such a place full of history and at such a reasonable price. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Only too glad to have such a close friend near at hand,” Kent said.
This conversation was to come back to haunt him.
III
The author was busy on a new collection of short stories and did not see Roberts again until three weeks later, when they ran into one another in the bar of The Three Horseshoes. Gilda was over for a few days, so it was a pleasant surprise for Kent and they decided to have dinner together at a local restaurant. It was a convivial evening, and when the three left the restaurant Kent had promised to visit the mill the following Monday to see some further improvements. Gilda was off on her travels again before then, so they said goodbye in the car park.
Kent arrived in the afternoon in question in a state of anticipation but, to his surprise, Roberts seemed withdrawn and vague regarding the invitation. He was, however, full of enthusiasm about a new painting he was engaged on, though when Kent questioned him further he remained tight-lipped about its subject and demurring whenever Kent questioned him more closely. But he did promise that he would reveal more about it at a later date. Roberts also gently declined Kent’s repeated requests to visit the studio to see the work in progress.
“Later,” he said. “It is something completely new for me, and I’m sure it will create a sensation when I first exhibit it.”
But after dinner that night, long after Mrs Summers had gone, he unburdened himself of a subject that had obviously been slightly troubling him. It seemed so trivial at first that Kent could not believe it.
“The water?” he said. “I don’t understand.”
Roberts interrupted him peremptorily. “The mill-race,” he said tautly. “It’s beginning to get on my nerves.”
Kent gave the other a deprecatory smile. “But you can’t hear it,” he said. “These walls are enormously thick. It’s a long way down, and it’s only a small stream...”
Roberts cut in abruptly. “I’m talking about the studio. It’s just above the stream.”
Kent just could not get his friend’s drift. “What are you driving at? The floor is made of very thick timbers. The stream runs eight feet underneath. And it’s not a very fast-flowing river, if one can call it that. I’m at a loss to know what’s troubling you. We’re old friends. You can be perfectly frank with me. You were so pleased and happy to have found such a wonderful place...”
Roberts gave him a twisted smile. “I know it sounds idiotic. It’s difficult to explain...”
“Try me,” Kent insisted.
Roberts gave a hopeless shrug. “It seems to depress,” he said. “I’m here alone most of the time. Half of my day is spent down there. And with Gilda away...”
Kent reached out and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “I do understand,” he said gently. “But there’s something more, isn’t there?”
Roberts turned a suddenly haggard face toward him. “Yes,” he said simply. “There’s something in the water.”
IV
Kent went away an hour later greatly troubled at his friend’s state of mind. His first thought had been to make a joke about taking more water with it, but he realised there was something far more serious than was evident. Roberts would not enlarge on the subject that was troubling him, and Kent did not like to probe any further.
However, things had apparently returned to normal toward the end of June when Roberts threw a party on the lawn of his restored property for friends, neighbours and the craftsmen who had worked so hard and expertly on the project.
Mingling with the guests were the local vicar and the librarian of the village Arts Centre, Roberts’ London agent and a sprinkling of local notables. Some of the artist’s canvases were on display in a conservatory erected as an adjunct to the mill house, and the local press had sent a reporter and photographer to cover the event.
All in all it was a most successful gathering, Kent thought. The only notable absentee being Gilda, who was still negotiating terms with purchasers in Holland, though she did make a phone call during the celebrations, which was relayed by loudspeaker to the assembled guests.
When Kent came away he was considerably reassured as to Roberts’ state of mind. His friend was almost ebullient and greatly looking forward to a very successful future. Though Kent did not question Roberts about the things that had obviously been worrying his friend—he was far too tactful for that—he was greatly reassured by the artist’s restored balance and felt secure in the knowledge that he had now recovered his normal state of mind.
But two things came back to Kent long afterward. When the vicar was at the garden party he expressed a wish to bless the house. He was about to anoint the huge crown post with holy water when he gave a sudden exclamation and dropped the vessel on to the floor before he was able to perform the ceremony. He explained that he suffered from arthritis of the hands and had received a sudden twinge of pain and the incident passed off.
The other occurrence was of a lighter nature and concerned Roberts suddenly spotting a young couple, who had evidently come down the stream in a canoe and had been prevented from making any further progress by the mill building. They were standing on the bank watching the party with great interest. Roberts immediately invited them to join in and they were soon the centre of interest. The wife was a very beautiful blonde girl of about twenty-five, with her husband equally handsome. Kent was vividly reminded of a famous classical painting of a Greek god and goddess whose title he had forgotten.
But some while afterward, the canoe had been found floating upside down in the stream several miles further up and there was no sign of its occupants. There were several boat yards in that area with various craft for hire and, as so many people congregated there in the summer months, no one was able to assist the police in their inquiries. The river was dragged but nothing was found. It eventually transpired through further press reports that the girl was a married woman who had run off with her lover. People in the village were extremely interested, but when the couple were last heard of in Canada the matter was soon forgotten.