Scared to Breathe, page 12
‘What a stunning house! I’d heard it was lovely but I’ve never seen it before. You must be so proud of it.’
‘It needs a lot of work,’ I say, but I can’t deny the small rush of pride I feel at her gushing compliments.
‘No wonder Julian is so desperate to buy it. He has a group of investors waiting to buy in to a house-to-flats scheme. This is the second one that’s fallen through.’
I look at Sandy. ‘Well, he won’t get his hands on my place, I’m keeping it.’
‘I’m sure something else will turn up for him, although I should imagine he’s under pressure to find something soon. The investors won’t wait around forever and he lost a lot of money on a piece of land recently in Cirencester.’
‘How can you lose money on land?’ I ask her. How does she know all this?
‘He bought it expecting to get planning consent to build new houses but the palm he greased at the council had heart trouble and took early retirement. Julian was fuming.’ Sandy gives a little laugh.
As we climb out of the car I marvel at the uncaring nature of Julian, and Sandy for that matter. ‘How do you know all this?’ I ask. Julian sounds dishonest and dodgy to me and I’m glad I have no business dealings with him.
‘It’s a small village.’ Sandy shrugs and looks up at the old house with admiration.
I feel a shiver across my skin. How many other people want to turn Black Hollow into flats and build houses in the grounds? Who are these investors? I bet they weren’t happy when I turned up. I lead Sandy across the yard to the dairy. Her face lights up when she sees the cat. She picks him up and he snuggles into her neck. I fear for the silk blouse.
‘Thank you so much. I still can’t understand how he got here though. I was beginning to think he’d been cat-napped.’
Cat-napped? And left in my house on purpose? A house in which the lights went out? No, I’m not even going to entertain the idea. The Rigbys made my life a misery in Luton. I’m not going to let lingering terror create fear out of nothing here. It must have wandered from home and got in a window. After all, I’d felt a draught, hadn’t I? I’ll check the Hall to see if any windows are open.
Sandy drops me back at my car in the village and suggests we meet up some time with our husbands for a thank-you drink. I don’t try to explain Reuben and I are only engaged. I say a hurried goodbye and rush home, arriving as a large white van trundles down the drive behind me.
The builder, Michael Chambers, impresses me with his knowledge as we walk around the house and assures me the Hall would be his only commitment for the duration of the project. He studies the plans, surveys and engineer’s reports thoroughly and looks at the quotes my father had received previously. He then asks several questions while he takes pictures of the documents with his phone.
I answer as best I can, wishing Reuben was here to assist, then I ask Michael questions.
He says he has a gang of skilled tradesmen working for him and as he’s been given so much information he’ll be able to email me a quote the following Monday. He’s polite, efficient and not too pushy. He’s also helpful when I ask for validation of his work from previous customers and says he’ll request their permission to share their contact details.
‘I have other builders to interview but I’ll let you know my decision as soon as possible,’ I promise.
After he’s gone, I prepare a sandwich and look at my watch. I’ll just have time to check the Hall more thoroughly for open windows before I fetch old Bob for tea. I’d glanced about as I’d shown the builder around but I needed to give him my full attention. I enter the back door and pause, waiting to see if a draught lifts my hair or brushes my skin. Nothing. Had I imagined it last night?
I look around the kitchen and test the windows are fastened securely. I don’t want the cat to get back in – or anything else for that matter. I once heard a story about squirrels getting into someone’s house through a window and causing all sorts of damage.
I check the boot room and office then walk through to the dining room. Heavy drapes are held by gold rope tie-backs, their huge tassels hanging low over the velvet. I move them aside to check the French doors and admire the view, sneezing as a cloud of dust tickles my nose. I look down, trying to get a tissue from my pocket when my breath catches in my throat.
There are footprints in the dust behind the curtain.
Chapter 23
I close my eyes to calm my racing heart then peer closer at the footprints. There’s a thin layer of dust over them and surely it hasn’t all come from the curtains? No, they were probably made months ago when my father was here. I’m not going to let them spook me. I’m here to stay.
Bob’s waiting in the bar when I arrive to collect him and he gives me a wide smile. He chatters non-stop on the way to the Hall. It’s as if he’s been storing up conversations for months and now he can let them all out. He tells me about his knee and how much he misses his dearly departed wife. I park my little car as close to the coach house as possible but Bob wants to stand and admire the Hall before we move, much like Sandy did. I stare at it too and quash a small shiver of unease. Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing to fear here, I tell myself. Old Bob takes ages to hobble to the door. He must leave home early in the morning to get to The Dog House for his lunchtime pint. He pauses several times to rub his knee before sighing and setting off again.
‘It’s such a shame,’ he says, ‘I was keen to look around the old gardens to see how they’ve changed.’
I secretly think he might be disappointed if he did. William does a great job of mowing the acres of grassland and pruning trees with his extendable cutters but tending flower beds is a little trickier. He manages to hoe the weeds from his chair but getting amongst the plants to prune, support and deadhead them is too tricky. Bob’s rose garden is overgrown – the plants leggy with no promise of the exquisite blooms he’d described on the short journey to the Hall.
Bob takes a large bite of Battenberg cake, washes it down with a mouthful of tea, and leans back in his chair. His eyes crinkle as he smiles at me. ‘Forty years I worked here, and I loved every minute of it. It’s so good to see the place again.’
‘You must have known my family well.’
‘I certainly did. Your father was a little scoundrel, always up to tricks with that friend of his, William. Only in fun though. Not like his brother. He always did have a mean streak.’
‘Brother?’ This is news to me. ‘I didn’t realise I had an uncle. Is he still around?’
‘He’s been gone for a very long time.’
I open my mouth to ask what he means – has he gone away or has he died? – when there’s a knock at the door. I excuse myself and go to answer it. William sits waiting in his wheelchair; his arm outstretched and holding a catalogue.
‘I thought we might plant some flowering shrubs around the grounds to add a bit of colour as I can’t manage the flower beds. There are some lovely rhododendrons and hydrangeas in that brochure if you’d like to take a look.’
‘What a wonderful idea. I’ve got Bob in here. Let’s ask him for his opinion.’
‘Bob?’ William frowns.
‘The old gardener. He remembers you.’ I go back to the lounge to fetch him.
‘Come and say hello to William, Bob. He can’t come in, so could you come outside?’
‘I’d love to.’ Bob gets unsteadily to his feet then hobbles to the front door. Why doesn’t he use a walking stick?
William has turned his chair and is trundling away.
‘William, my dear boy,’ Bob calls.
William pauses then swings his chair to face us.
‘I haven’t seen you for what… thirty years? I heard you were back.’ Old Bob walks over to William and pats him awkwardly on the shoulder.
More pity. More remembering the man William used to be. William’s mouth is pinched and he stares at his feet resting on the metal footplates. He glances up briefly and nods then looks away again. I’ve been insensitive and I feel awful.
‘Remember when you and Andrew swapped my sugar for salt in the potting shed? I nearly threw my tea up.’ Bob chuckles.
William makes an effort to respond, smiling grimly. ‘I certainly do… you soaked us with the hosepipe as a punishment.’
Bob tips his head back, showing gaps between his teeth, and laughs like a barking seal. ‘Little buggers, you boys were. Oops, pardon my French, Miss Tasha. One time they dug up all my neatly arranged bedding plants and mixed them all up. I’d spent ages setting them in groups of colour.’
William nods at the brochure. ‘I’ll leave it with you, Tasha. Well, must get on. Nice seeing you again, Bob.’ He turned his chair and moved away.
I must remember not to impose any other visitors on him. Bob goes back inside to finish his cake. I sit opposite him and give in to my desire to bombard him with questions.
‘Did you see much of my mother when you worked here? Sally, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. Pretty slip of a girl, clouds of dark hair and big grey eyes, just like yours. She used to live in the village and visit with her sister, Lynn. Sally was sweet on your father and Lynn took a shine to William.’
‘What about my uncle?’
‘Simon? The girls didn’t take to him. He was a surly, broody type. He was always jealous of your dad. Simon thought because he was the oldest he should be the apple of his mum’s eye but she favoured Andrew. Sunnier nature, you see.’
‘Is my uncle still alive?’ I wonder why he hasn’t inherited Black Hollow Hall.
‘Far as I know, he is. Sorry to be rude but do you think you could run me home now? My knee’s giving me gip and I need my tablets.’
I jump up. ‘Of course! Perhaps you can come back another day when you’re feeling better.’
‘I’d like that.’ He pats my hand and gets slowly to his feet.
I help him towards the car and as we leave he stares up at the attic window swallowing and blinking hard.
‘Are you all right, Bob?’ I ask, putting my hand gently on his arm.
He looks at me with watery eyes. ‘Your grandmother jumped to her death from that window,’ he says shaking his head. ‘A very sad day, that was.’
I go cold all over and the backs of my hands tingle. Jumped to her death? ‘What made her do that?’ I ask, my voice betraying the shock I feel.
‘She couldn’t carry on once your grandfather died. Did you know he was murdered?’
Chapter 24
Bob peers at my face as I stare out of the windscreen. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve said too much. You shouldn’t listen to my ramblings. It was all a long time ago. Over twenty years in fact. Can you drop me at the third cottage on the left?’
‘Murdered? In the Hall?’ I’m stunned.
He pats my hand. ‘I’ll visit again soon.’ Bob opens his door and tries to clamber out. I run around the car to help him and see him to his front door. He turns the handle and walks in, saying thanks for the tea, but I can’t stop myself from reaching for his arm to detain him.
‘Did they catch the person who did it?’ I can’t bear to think the murderer might have got away with it.
‘Oh yes. He was put away for a very long time and as far as I know he’s still there. Sorry, I’ve got to go. Goodbye miss.’ He closes the door with a soft click and I’m left staring at the blue-painted wood.
Who killed my grandfather? I’ll have to go home and look it up on online.
I search for hours but can’t find anything. I also search for Simon Harrington but there are so many people of that name I don’t know where to start. It’s so frustrating. Bob knows a lot more but he’s clearly reluctant to tell me. He could see he’d alarmed me and must have felt bad about it. But I need to know.
Luckily the power doesn’t fail again because there’s no way I’d go in the Hall tonight. I go to bed but sleep badly, my dreams taking on the surreal horror of the kind I’d had in Luton where I was being chased by a man with a knife and my legs wouldn’t carry me forward.
Relieved to see daylight creeping through a gap in the curtains, I think about asking Muriel for information. No. I won’t do that. Muriel is bound to embellish the story and unsettle me even more. She’s got a vested interest in scaring me away. I think she’d do anything to help her precious son to get his hands on the Hall. I’ll ask William instead. I dress quickly and run up the drive to his cottage. When he answers the door my lungs are on fire and I can barely speak.
‘Do you know who killed my grandfather?’ I pant. ‘Do you know how he died?’
William looks intently at me and is silent for a moment. ‘I think you should come in for a minute. I’ll make you a coffee.’
I perch on the edge of the sofa.
‘Who’s been telling you stories?’ he asks. ‘No, don’t tell me. It’ll be Bob.’
I nod miserably. I’m so disappointed Black Hollow has a sinister past. But hang on, did William say stories? ‘Is it true?’ I ask.
‘It’s natural to want to know what happened but really… name one good thing that’ll come from knowing.’
‘I’m not sure… but it would give me answers.’
‘Feed your imagination, more likely. The past doesn’t matter and we can’t change it anyway. It’s making the most of the future that’s important.’ William presses his hands to the sides of his chair and tenses his arm muscles to shift his bodyweight.
Is he referring to his own situation or mine? Perhaps I shouldn’t keep badgering him.
‘It was all so long ago, Tasha. Don’t worry yourself with it. I was afraid Bob might start on those old stories. Just move on and enjoy the house for what it is. Don’t let this spoil it for you. Did you look at those brochures?’
William’s clearly not going to disclose more. I don’t want to sour the easy friendship that’s growing between us so I tell him which shrubs I’d like then return to the coach house to eat a quiet breakfast.
I don’t want the radio or television on. I need time and space to think. There’s so much I want to know. Where’s my mother? How did my grandfather die? Who killed him? Is the murderer still in prison?
A loud knock at the door startles me. When I open it my heart gives a jolt and I step back, almost closing the door again at the sight of ginger hair. But it isn’t a Rigby. Of course it isn’t…
‘Mrs Hargreaves? I’m Scott Dawson,’ the visitor explains. ‘The builder.’
I open the door properly, feeling foolish and not bothering to correct him about my title. Scott Dawson is young; a blue-eyed ginger nut. He holds out his hand and I take it, trying to force down my revulsion for a hair colour I’d rather liked before the Rigbys came into my life.
‘I didn’t realise the time,’ I say, because I’m sure he must think me rude or a bit odd.
I close the door behind me and lead him to the Hall. He’s as thorough and knowledgeable as the builder who’d called yesterday but as the minutes pass I realise it doesn’t matter. I’m embarrassed and ashamed but I’m not going to give him the contract because every time I saw that red hair I’d panic that the Rigbys had found me. I know I’ve got to get over this ridiculous aversion but at the moment I need to focus on healing myself and strengthening my relationship with Reuben.
Scott promises to send me his quote but I’m too cowardly to tell him I’ve decided against him. I’ll tell Reuben the first builder is the better option, though perhaps I’ll be able to make things up to Scott by telling people it was a close-run thing.
I work at my computer for the rest of the day and find it calms me. When Reuben calls in the evening I assure him all is well. I can’t tell him about last night after insisting I’d be fine here. I go to bed early and choose a family saga to read. The last thing I need is a scary psychological thriller. I try to lose myself in the Victorian setting but can’t relax. I’m too tense listening out for strange noises. I really miss Reuben and can’t wait to see him tomorrow. When he returns everything will be put back into perspective. We’ll get the building project underway and start planning the wedding. I’m finally drifting off to sleep when my heart freezes and I can’t breathe. Someone is in the woods. Screaming.
Chapter 25
I rear up in bed, the cool air prickling on my overheated skin. Had I really heard a scream or had I dreamt it? I hold my breath and wait. Oh, God. There it is again. A female in distress. Terrified, in fact. I want to hide under the covers but the woman needs help. I should call the police.
I turn on the bedside lamp, slide out of bed and creep downstairs, flicking light switches as I go. I reach the phone and pick up the receiver. But maybe I should call William first. He might know what’s going on.
‘Hello?’ His voice is gravelly with sleep.
‘William! Did you hear a woman screaming?’
‘What?’ He’s silent for a moment as he takes in what I’m saying. ‘Go back to sleep, Tasha.’
‘We can’t just leave the poor woman to–’
‘It isn’t a woman. It’s a fox.’
‘What?’ I’m stunned.
‘Haven’t you heard a fox scream before? It’s probably defending its territory. Wait until mid-winter. They make a terrible noise when they’re mating.’
‘I can’t believe an animal would make a horrendous sound like that.’
‘Have a listen on YouTube.’ William yawns. ‘You’ll get used to all these weird noises eventually. You haven’t heard the owls screeching yet.’ He laughs softly.
I thank him and hang up, feeling foolish. Okay, this country living is going to take a bit of getting used to but I’ll soon adjust to it. I wonder how many calls the police get from people mistaking foxes for women in distress. Loads, probably. Glad I’m not making one of them, I go back upstairs, turning lights off along the way but I leave a small nightlight on when I climb back into bed. I decide I won’t tell Reuben about this embarrassing episode.
