He hesitated. Should he really be painting a man who was now dead?

But the painting had started before that, when it wasn’t a tragic situation. And this wasn’t a portrait of the man, it was a distant snapshot of a moment in time. That thought assuaging his guilt, he went over to his work table and began to assemble his paints and brushes.

As he did so a cheeky voice behind him said, ‘I thought this whole room would be filled with Christmas prezzies for me!’

He turned to Emily. ‘Small is beautiful,’ he replied. ‘A bag of uncut diamonds really doesn’t take up much space.’

She smiled and kissed him. ‘So, we have a Ghostbuster? Tell me?’

He told her about his visit to the Bishop of Lewes, and all Parnassus had said.

‘Jim Skeet?’ she said, when he had finished.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘I’m curious. Wonder what a Ghostbuster looks like!’

‘A tubby, bearded guy, with a sack full of gadgets.’

‘In a red suit, with reindeer parked outside?’ she questioned.

59

Wednesday 19 December

The answer was small, thin, wearing a fawn trenchcoat, beneath which was a clerical shirt and collar and grey trousers, and carrying a large, battered attaché case. He looked about twelve, but must have been north of forty. With the darting eyes of a wary gerbil, and limp, ginger hair brushed forward like a monk’s tonsure. The Reverend Jim Skeet was accompanied by a far more confident-looking man, around a decade older and seven stone heavier, with jet-black hair that looked freshly dyed, and a triple chin. He was also wearing a clerical shirt and collar, and jeans, beneath a parka.

‘My colleague,’ Jim Skeet said, by way of introduction. ‘Reverend Gordon Orlebar.’

Jason and Emily led the strange duo through to the kitchen, sat them at the table and produced tea and digestive biscuits. When they were all settled, Skeet, who had a curiously high-pitched voice, said, ‘Exactly where did the manifestation – or rather, manifestations – happen, Mr and Mrs Danes?’

‘Right here in this room,’ Emily replied.

‘And up in my studio,’ Jason added.

‘And in our bathroom,’ said Emily.

Gordon Orlebar spoke with a far more mature and assured voice. ‘We’ve done our research as best we can, given the short time. Quite interesting really.’ Then he fell silent.

They waited patiently for him to continue, but he picked up a digestive and peered intently at it, with a slight frown, as if he had discovered a foreign body present. ‘Hmm’, he said. ‘Digestives. Can’t really beat them, can you?’

‘I suppose not,’ Emily said, puzzled by his sudden switch of focus.

‘Sort of the comfort food of biscuits, I always think.’

‘So, what did you find that was interesting?’ Jason asked, growing impatient.

Orlebar continued studying the biscuit as he spoke. Meanwhile Skeet was rummaging, preoccupied, in his bag.

‘Quite a bit of historical activity,’ Reverend Orlebar said, calmly, with a relaxed smile, and placed his biscuit on his saucer. ‘This whole area, the land on which your house has been built, has something of a history of disturbances.’