High Spirits at the Village Inn (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #3)

Chapter 1

Pushing open the front door, I felt a warm satisfaction as I stepped into my hallway and flicked on the light switch. There was no post on the doormat – not even any junk mail for once. After kicking off my shoes I hurried into the living room and switched on the lamp, then drew the curtains.

It was good to be home after a hectic day at work. I loved my job as lead buyer at Rochester’s department store in Oxford Street, but the long days and the commute home to Borehamwood did take their toll, particularly in the winter months.

Thankfully, the central heating was on a timer, so the house was nice and toasty. It might be the end of March, but the month showed no signs of ‘going out like a lamb’ as the saying goes. It was cold, dark and miserable, and it had rained most of the day, too.

I switched on another lamp, then reached for the remote control which operated the flame effect on our electric fire. I didn’t need the heater – the radiators were doing a more than adequate job of warming the house up – but the glow from the dancing flames made me feel instantly cosier.

Remembering I’d left my shoes lying on the doormat, I hurried back into the hallway and put them neatly on the shoe rack, then hung up my coat and bag.

Glancing at my watch, I guessed I had about half an hour before Rory arrived home. It was Thursday night. Takeaway night. No need to cook or worry about what we were going to eat. Time for a quick shower to wash off the stresses of the day.

I was just towel drying my hair when I heard the front door shut. I wrapped the towel around my head and headed onto the landing.

‘Just had a shower! I’ll be with you in a minute,’ I called down the stairs.

Rory, who was hanging up his coat, looked up and smiled. ‘Pyjama time?’

‘How did you guess?’

‘I’m a genius. Coffee?’

‘Please. And dig out the takeaway menus. They’re in the—’

‘Second drawer down. I know. You tell me every week.’

He disappeared into the kitchen, and I hurried back into the bedroom and finished drying my hair, then I ran a comb through it and shrugged on a clean pair of pyjamas and my slippers.

‘Wow, Kirsty,’ I said, glancing at myself in the mirror, ‘what a vision your husband has come home to this evening.’

But even though it was now the end of March, it still felt like midwinter in my mind, it was dark and I’d had a long day…

On the days he worked from home, Rory would see me arriving back from Rochester’s dressed in my smart work clothes, and in full make-up.

On warm evenings, I’d change into a summer dress and we’d go outside to enjoy a glass of wine in the garden while dinner cooked.

But at this time of year, I’d have happily hibernated. I was definitely not a winter person.

Rory had made coffee when I arrived downstairs. He looked tired, though still impossibly handsome.

‘Long day?’ I asked sympathetically.

‘As always. How was your day?’

‘Busy but good.’

We had the same conversation most days, I thought suddenly. We could have been following a script. It worried me a bit.

‘Did you find the menus?’ I asked, reaching for my coffee cup.

He picked up some leaflets and waved them at me. ‘Chinese, Indian, Thai or pizza?’

I considered the matter. ‘Mexican,’ I said at last.

He rolled his eyes. ‘You’re so awkward! I’ll have to go on the app then.’

Grumbling, he discarded the leaflets and picked up his phone, studying it for a moment before tapping the screen a few times. ‘As if I don’t faff around with screens enough,’ he muttered.

‘Sorry,’ I said, hiding a smile. Thursday nights were supposed to be our phone-free nights, but the image of burritos was in my mind now and our favourite Mexican place did things the modern way.

‘Only for you,’ he told me with a sigh. ‘Hey! Put that phone down!’

‘Oops, sorry!’ Guiltily, I dropped my mobile onto my lap. I’d had a message from my friend Dawn, reminding me that we were meeting for lunch on Saturday. Another trek into the city. I could only hope the weather had improved by then.

‘I should think so too,’ he said. Scrolling down he added casually, ‘have you heard back yet?’

‘Huh?’ I’d found the remote for the television and was searching for something worth watching.

‘I’m guessing you want the extra spicy burrito meal?’

‘Yes please. With beef and black beans. Make it a large one.’

Rory raised an eyebrow and I shrugged defensively. ‘I didn’t have time for lunch.’

He gave me a knowing look and tapped the screen again. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Have you?’

‘Have I what?’

‘Heard back,’ he said patiently. ‘About the holiday.’

‘Oh, that.’ I nodded. ‘Yes. It’s fine. Although they did say I should try to give more notice next time.

I pointed out that it wasn’t my idea and that my husband had, for some reason known only to himself, decided we should both take a week off work, even though we’re not going away and it all seems a bit pointless to me, but—’

‘It’s our wedding anniversary.’

His voice was flat, and he didn’t look at me.

My stomach lurched and I swallowed. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Yes, I know. I mean, of course I know that. But we’re not going away and we don’t really do anything special, do we?’

I’d forgotten, and he knew it. I could have kicked myself.

‘Ten years,’ he said. He put down the phone and smiled at me. ‘Ordered. Should be here in about thirty to forty minutes. So you didn’t forget then?’

‘Of course not! Ten years. April 11. The big day. How could I possibly forget that?’

Had it really been ten years? But that meant…

I swallowed again and cradled my coffee cup as if for comfort. ‘Well, that’s quite a thing, isn’t it? What is the tenth anniversary anyway?’

‘Tin,’ he replied.

‘How on earth did you know that?’ I shook my head. Sometimes he amazed me. Most of the time he amazed me. Most of the time it amazed me that he was amazed by me. The fact he’d stuck with me for ten years amazed me most of all.

‘So it’s definite then? You’ve got that week off.’

I nodded, wondering why it was so important to him. ‘Yes. Like I said, I break off on Good Friday, and I go back to work on Monday 13 April.’

‘Great.’ He leaned back in his armchair and sipped his coffee.

‘What’s the big deal, though?’ I asked suspiciously. ‘Yes, I know it’s our anniversary – our tenth anniversary – but we could still go out to celebrate without us taking a week off work. It’s on a Saturday this year, after all. Why do we need time off?’

‘Don’t you think it’s about time we took a break?

We’ve worked solidly since Christmas, and I can’t remember the last time we went anywhere or did anything different.

I thought it would be good to spend some time together, that’s all.

’ Rory leaned forward, an eager look in his dark eyes.

‘Maybe, if the weather improves, we could have a run out to the coast, or into the countryside one day. A change of scene and some fresh air would do us good.’

I eyed him worriedly. He’d sounded casual when he said that, but he’d mentioned a couple of times recently about how good it would be to live by the sea or deep in the countryside, and how working in London was all very well when you were younger but when you got to our age maybe it was time to think again.

Had he been serious? I’d laughed it off at the time. Told him we weren’t in our dotage yet, thanks very much, but maybe he’d meant it. Was that the reason he wanted me to take a week off work? Did he want to go property viewing?

If so, he was being very sneaky about it.

The thought gave me chills. I’d been here before and I didn’t think I could face it again.

The first time he tentatively mentioned the subject I’d distracted him with something else. The second time I’d tried to laugh it off, even though I didn’t feel remotely amused. ‘I’m only forty-four,’ I’d told him. ‘Just because you’re an old man doesn’t mean we’re ready to retire just yet.’

‘I’m not fifty until the end of the year, thank you very much,’ he’d retorted indignantly. ‘You’ll be forty-five in the summer. You’re catching up.’

‘Catching up but not giving up. Why would we want to move away from here? We’ve got this lovely house—’

‘It’s a three-bedroomed terraced house, Kirsty,’ he’d pointed out. ‘It’s hardly Windsor Castle.’

‘But it’s home! And the commute to Oxford Circus is very manageable for me, and you only have to go into the office one day a week most weeks, so it’s not like it’s a problem for you.’

‘I know that. It’s just…’ Rory had sighed and shrugged. ‘I was just saying, that’s all. Forget it.’

And I had. Or at least, I’d tried to. But it had kept nagging away at me, because I’d had that conversation before and look where that had led me.

And now here he was, sneaking the subject of rural life into the conversation again.

What if that was the real reason he’d wanted me to take a week off work?

What if he did harbour hopes of moving away from here?

What if he had a whole host of viewings lined up in some godforsaken place in the middle of nowhere?

Lincolnshire even, which seemed liked a million miles away to me but was where he’d grown up, and where his mum and dad still lived.

What the hell would I do then?