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Morris, thought Libby) to light the fire to keep the house warm for the rest of the year and purify the cattle. Seeds were planted and courting rituals took place, all to ensure fertility for the coming season. There were earnest articles on the blood-letting which could be said to be the ultimate fertility rite and some which denounced the whole incident as a put-up job to call the whole of Druidism, Paganism and Celticism into disrepute.
    It was all hugely interesting, thought Libby, but what Gemma thought she could do she had no idea. In this case, more so than in any other she had been involved with, she had no legitimate interest, and neither did Fran. And Fran hadn’t even felt the slightest flutter of her psychic wings which had been so necessary in other cases, and the reason that the police, in the shape of Detective Inspector Ian Connell, as Jane had reminded her, had asked for her help.
    Nevertheless, she and Fran would go to the Solstice Parade and talk to Gemma. It would be a day away from Steeple Martin at worst, and might turn up something interesting at best. Although being away from Steeple Martin might turn out to be the best of it after all, Libby thought, and went to put the kettle on.
    ‘It was nice to see you this afternoon,’ said Ben, later. He was pouring himself a drink before going up to shower and change.
    ‘Yes,’ said Libby, hesitating inside the kitchen doorway.
    ‘Any more thoughts?’ He cocked his head on one side, like an eager dog, thought Libby.
    ‘A few,’ she said slowly. ‘I really like what’s being done, and I can imagine how it will look when it’s finished.’ She sat down and smiled. ‘And I even began imagining ponies in the paddock.’
    Ben sat down opposite and patted her knee. ‘That sounds hopeful.’
    ‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘I’m just being silly, I’m sure, but I do feel kind of pressured, and as I keep saying, I bought this cottage and did everything in it myself, so it feels like part of me.’
    Ben looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. ‘I do understand. And with me living here it doesn’t feel like your house any more, does it?’
    Libby was horrified. ‘That wasn’t what I meant!’
    ‘I know it wasn’t.’ Ben gave her a crooked smile and stood up. ‘I know we’ve been all through this before, and came to a compromise –’
    ‘You did, you mean,’ Libby interrupted.
    ‘All right, I did,’ agreed Ben. ‘But it was that or lose you. And I don’t want to lose you.’ He dropped a kiss on her head and made for the stairs. Libby remained staring after him feeling guiltier than ever.
    Now what, she asked herself. Before Fran and Guy’s wedding Ben had indeed come to a compromise, putting his own desire to get married on hold and agreeing to live in Number 17 until Libby felt ready to live at Steeple Farm instead of moving into it straight away.
    What she needed to do, she answered herself, getting up and going back into the kitchen, was to sort out what exactly she felt for Ben. Was the threat of leaving her cottage and moving in to a property owned by a member of his family affecting her feeling for him? She pulled a face at her reflection in the kitchen window. It made her sound like the heroine of a historical romance being imprisoned by the Duke’s family.
    Perhaps, she thought, absently stirring the pot on the Rayburn, she needed to get right away. Right away from Ben, the cottage, the farm and from Steeple Martin itself. Her world had been so bound up in its narrow confines for the last few years, even if there were excursions to Nethergate, she had hardly considered the outside world.
    ‘That’s it,’ she said, raising her head. ‘I shall have to run away.’
    Chapter Five
    There was no opportunity to run anywhere before the Solstice Parade at Steeple Mount. Fran and Libby met in the car park at the bottom of Steeple Mount high street, which was almost at bursting point. Libby drove round and round, cursing each time she