Raven's Gate

beautiful.”
    He opened the door.
    “Do let me know how you get on,” he said. “And I’ll call when I’ve spoken to the police and tell you if there’s any news.”
    * * *
    Elizabeth Ashwood, the author of
Rambles Around Greater Malling
, lived in Didsbury, a suburb of Manchester. The address that Richard had been given took them to a detached house in a wide, leafy street. A gate and a path led through a garden that was perfectly neat, with an array of spring flowers. On the front door was a knocker shaped like a hand. Richard lifted it and let it fall. A hollow boom echoed through the house, and a minute later the door opened.
    A thin, dark-haired woman stood there, not looking at them but past them, her eyes covered by two circles of black glass. Matt guessed she must be about thirty-five. He had never met a blind person before. He wondered what it must be like, living in perpetual night.
    “Yes?” she asked impatiently.
    “Hi.” Richard smiled, unnecessarily. She couldn’t see him, of course. “Are you Elizabeth Ashwood?” he asked.
    “I am Susan Ashwood. Elizabeth was my mother.”
    “Was?” Richard couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice.
    “She died a year ago.”
    So that was it. They had come all this way for nothing. Matt was ready to turn round and go back to the car, but suddenly the woman spoke again. “Who are you?”
    “My name is Richard Cole. I’m a journalist from the
Greater Malling Gazette
in Yorkshire.”
    “There are two of you.”
    “Yes.”
    How had she known? Matt hadn’t made any sound.
    “A boy…” Her hand reached out and somehow caught hold of Matt’s arm. “Where have you come from?” she demanded. “Why are you here?”
    Matt squirmed, embarrassed to be held by her. “I’ve come from Lesser Malling,” he said. “We wanted to know about a book your mother wrote.”
    “Come into the house,” the woman said. “I can help you. But you must come in.”
    Matt glanced at Richard, who shrugged. The two of them went inside.
    Miss Ashwood led them into a wide, airy corridor. The house was Victorian but had been carefully modernized with oak floors, concealed lighting and floor-to-ceiling windows. There were paintings on the walls – mainly expensive abstracts. Matt couldn’t help wondering for whose benefit they were, since the owner couldn’t see them. Of course, it was always possible that the woman had a husband and family. And yet at the front door he had got the impression that this was someone who was always alone.
    She led them into a living room with low leather sofas and gestured at them to sit down. A polished grand piano, brilliant black, stood in the corner.
    “Which of my mother’s books brought you all this way?” she asked.
    “It was a book about Lesser Malling,” Richard said.
    Matt decided to cut straight to the point. “We need to know about Raven’s Gate.”
    The woman became very still. It was hard to read her emotions behind the black glasses but Matt could sense her excitement. “So you’ve found me…” she whispered.
    “Do you know what it is?”
    Susan Ashwood made no reply. The two black circles were fixed on Matt and he felt uncomfortable, wanting to move. He knew she could see nothing at all and wished she wouldn’t stare at him in this way. “Is your name Matt?” she enquired.
    “Yes.”
    “How did you know that?” Richard asked.
    “I knew you would come,” Miss Ashwood said. She was ignoring Richard. All her attention was focused on Matt. “I knew you would find me. It was meant to happen this way. I’m just glad you’ve arrived in time.”
    “What are you talking about?” Richard was getting angry. “I think we’re at cross purposes,” he went on. “We came to see your mother…”
    “I know. She told me you’d seen her book.”
    “I thought you said she was dead?”
    For the first time she turned to Richard. “You don’t know who I am?”
    “Sure.” Richard shrugged at Matt. “You’re Susan Ashwood.”
    “You haven’t heard of me?”
    “I don’t mean to be rude, but should I have? Are you famous? What do you do? Do you play the piano?”
    By way of an answer, the woman fumbled on a table beside the sofa. She picked up a business card and handed it to Richard. He turned it over and read:

    “You’re a medium.”
    “What?” Matt asked.
    “Miss Ashwood talks to ghosts,” Richard explained. “Or that’s what she believes.”
    “I talk to the dead in just the same way