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Walking in Darkness

Page 52

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A black car was parked just down the street; she heard the engine start as she looked towards it, and the car began to move towards the bus-stop, picking up speed as it came, but as it came a single-decker red bus passed it and screeched to a halt. Sophie got on board, paying the driver as she entered.

‘Could you let me off at Arbory House, please?’

‘The Green Man stop, miss? That will be sixty pence. Do you know it? No? Well, I’ll sing out when we reach it.’

‘Thank you, you are very kind.’

Sophie took a seat at the front of the bus, and saw the black car passing them; the driver wasn’t looking her way but Sophie had a strong sense of having seen her somewhere before. For a second she felt a flicker of panic, then she remembered the woman who had got off her train. A woman in a black leather jacket. Of course, that was it. She had to stop imagining things, seeing shadows in the dark, believing she was being followed, watched, was in danger. That way lay madness.

When the bus drew up in the village square at Arbory, the driver turned to wave at her. ‘This is your stop, miss.’

‘Thank you,’ she smiled, and got off, finding herself standing on the forecourt of an old black-and-white timbered public house with a large sign swinging above the door. Sophie stared up at it; a confusion of green leaves out of which peered a strange, mesmeric pair of eyes that made her skin prickle with uneasiness.

If you kept staring long enough you made out the whole face; it seemed to mock you, to know you and be able to read your thoughts. It was a disturbing image.

The building looked out over a village green, a flat square of grass surrounded by trees, all of them bare of leaves now; a few elms, a weeping willow beside a small pond full of ducks and a couple of swans and a couple of horse chestnuts.

On the other side of the village green she could see an impressive pair of high iron gates, the centre of each blazoned with a coat of arms she could not quite make out at this distance. Was that Arbory House?

Sophie turned back to the open door of the pub, but found her way barred by a huge black cat the size of a small dog. It sat squarely on the mat just inside the door and filled the whole opening.

‘Excuse me, I want to get in,’ Sophie said, and the cat gazed at her with unreadable green eyes which were oddly similar to the eyes staring out of leaves on the inn sign. It did not budge and Sophie hesitated.

A woman opened the inner door and grinned. ‘Just step over Tabitha; she thinks she owns the place but she doesn’t. I do. What can I do for you? The bar isn’t open yet, you know.’

‘I was hoping I could get a room for the night.’

She was scrutinized thoughtfully. ‘Single room? Are you alone?’

Sophie nodded. ‘I have to visit Arbory House and I came without realizing how far it was from London and how difficult the journey was. So I would rather stay the night and start back in the morning.’

The landlady considered for a moment. ‘Well, then, come in and I’ll show you a room – now then, Tabitha, move for the lady.’

Tabitha hunched her shoulders but clearly was not going to shift.

Sophie gingerly stepped over her and followed the landlady up some creaking old oak stairs to a small room looking out over the village green. It was a square box with a sloping, dark-beamed ceiling, flowery chintz curtains and a matching bedspread.

‘It’s very pretty,’ Sophie said. ‘The floor creaks every time you move, doesn’t it? Is there anyone sleeping under this room?’

‘No, love, don’t worry, this is just above the saloon bar. On a Friday or Saturday it can get a bit noisy but not this end of the week. Most of our regulars drink in the other bar. By eleven o’clock they’ll all have gone home, anyway. They won’t hear you. Old houses are always noisy, they’re like old people, they grumble a lot.’

She tested the floorboards with one foot and smiled at the protesting creak. ‘Don’t worry about it, love.’

‘Thank you,’ Sophie said and got a shrewd look.

‘French, are you, love?’

‘Czech.’

It was the landlady’s turn to look back. ‘Czech? Well, can’t say I’ve ever met a Czech before. Have you got any luggage?

Sophie flushed with confusion. ‘No. As I told you, I wasn’t expecting to be staying, I . . .’

‘Not even a toothbrush!’ The landlady went on staring at her, assessing her, then shrugged. ‘Well, never mind, I can sell you one, and some toothpaste. I could lend you a nightie, if you want one too. Everything else you’ll need is in the bathroom – soap, shampoo. Will you be wanting dinner tonight? Or are you likely to be having dinner over at the house? They often have big dinner parties, and she buys here, in the village, I’ll say that for her. She doesn’t go ordering all her food from London, like some. She isn’t standoffish, either.’

Sophie listened intently, hungry to know more about her sister.

‘Do you know her?’



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