Chapter 3
I’m speechless. For once in my life, I have no words because what the actual hell is happening? Who is this man? He is gripping my neck as if he is deciding whether I live or die and staring at me with the eyes of the devil. I’m burning up. He is killing me inside and as my situation reveals itself, I wish I had listened to the warnings my subconscious tried to give me.
I should have run while I had the chance. I should have blended into the crowd and made my escape. I should have begged the priest to offer me shelter and I should have pretended I was someone else. However, something is telling me he would have found me anyway and so my best course of action is to help him as quickly as possible so he will leave.
Fuck, Aunt Veronica, what the hell have you got me into?
He is staring at me with so much controlled rage I merely nod as that one act causes his hold to lessen around my neck. As his hands drop away, I resist the urge to replace his with my own as I gulp in huge bursts of air and attempt to regain my composure.
I can’t even speak. I’m so terrified and as his phone rings it strikes me that life is going on somewhere for normal people.
He answers it and speaks in a strange language, and only the occasional flicker of his gaze in my direction alerts me that I may be the subject of his conversation.
It gives me time to gather my tattered dignity around me and I resist the urge to sob into my already saturated hanky.
What a fucking day. Nothing prepared me for this bolt of lightning and as he speaks, I try to figure a way out of this mess.
He wants information that I don’t have readily available. The only way I’ll get it is to agree to him accompanying me to my aunt’s homes and allow him to rifle through her possessions. What do I care anyway? She could be hiding the Crown Jewels for all I know, and he is welcome to them as long as he leaves as quickly as he came.
I swear he’s marked my fragile skin with his rough hands and yet rather than be angry about that, I’m resigned to it. I’m already aware I will never win against him. I don’t stand a chance in hell and so the best thing for me is to agree to his demands and get him out of my life for good.
Fuck Aunt Veronica, what the hell were you involved in? There is a part of me that is intrigued, although I will never admit that to him.
This is a mystery; something I’m interested in discovering myself and I may just learn a little more about my aunt who, as my mum used to say, went off the rails years ago.
He cuts his call and pockets his phone and sighs deeply.
“We will head straight to the house. Are the keys with you?”
“Yes.” My voice shakes as I picture the bunch of keys currently residing in my handbag that is nestled by my side. I intended on driving over there after the funeral, anyway. I collected the keys this morning from the solicitors once I heard the will and I’m excited to see first-hand what she left me. I know this was her country home, and she has one in London. There was also a third one in Cornwall that exploded with her and several of her staff in it, and I always accepted the reasonable explanation of a faulty gas boiler.
However, sitting beside this dark demon has made me question that. His father was murdered. Could that have happened to my aunt as well? Am I safe as her beneficiary and should I be grateful that I’m not going there alone? Perhaps my best interests include agreeing to this man’s demands because, in uncovering his desired information, he may just answer a few questions I have of my own.
Conversation is limitedas we speed up the motorway to the Cotswolds and as we turn off toward Lower Slaughter, my companion chuckles softly.
“Interesting name for a town.”
“If you say so.” I reply airily, not wanting to engage in conversation with him unless strictly necessary.
Despite my anger toward him, I am fascinated by my surroundings as we speed past green hedgerows and small villages where pretty chocolate box houses nestle in the English countryside.
It’s a long way from my own home near the south coast and in my darkest hour, I am monetarily distracted by the brilliance of nature.
The car slows down as we reach a turning and I stare in shock at the house that rises majestically from the well landscaped grounds before us.
Wow. This is my aunt’s country house. There must be some mistake.
I note the name on the electric gates that we pass through.
Thorn House
It conjures up an image of the fallen rose in my aunt’s grave and I blink away the sudden tears.
“Beauty shrouded by deadly thorns tossed into a pit before it had the chance to fade.”
“Excuse me.”
I jump as I realize I spoke out loud and I say quickly, “I’m sorry. I was just voicing my thoughts.”
I turn my attention to the view before me and am speechless as we pull to a stop on a large driveway that rests at the side of the gigantic property. The Cotswold stone gleams against the sodden fingers of rain that sparkle on the windows like my own wretched tears. The storm has now passed, but the results remain and everywhere is covered in droplets of water, soaking the place in misery.
The clouds are dark and threatening above us, much like the man sitting beside me now and it all appears a little surreal as we come to a final stop outside a home I never imagined in a million years I would own.
The door opens and the keys press against my side as I exit the car, my mysterious stranger offering me his hand in a different way this time as he helps me from the car.
I stare in awe at the amazing home before us and must be in a state of shock because I merely follow him around the side of the building on a path that leads to the huge oak front door.
“The keys.” He says simply and all my earlier bravado deserts me as I fumble in my bag and my fingers rest against the harsh metal of the key to God only knows what.
I don’t even try to take charge and hand him the bunch of keys, wanting to use him as a human shield as we head into a home I don’t think I belong in.
We step into a hallway and the first thing that impresses me is the flagstone floor. Oak beams nestle against the ceiling and a huge fireplace sits to one side, as cold now as my aunt’s lifeless body in the sodden grave we left behind.
I’m vaguely aware of the men who accompanied us as they appear to be operating some sort of drill and my companion stands beside me as they pass and says unemotionally, “They will check it’s safe.”
“Safe?” I gasp and he turns, and his dark stare doesn’t give me any reassurances, as he states fact. “I believe your aunt was murdered and the weapon was her home. I am taking no chances with our lives, and we will wait here until the house is searched.”
“Murdered!” I stare at him in shock and my legs quiver, causing me to sink into a nearby wing-backed chair that is set beside the fireplace.
He leans against the wall and regards me with interest.
“Yes, murdered. Do you understand the seriousness of your situation now, Miss Scott-Stanley?”
“I’m beginning to.” I say with a nervous laugh.
He merely nods and appears satisfied. “Good. It makes things easier.”
I’m not sure how long we wait in silence, but then one of the men returns and says something in that strange language that makes my companion say with satisfaction. “Good.”
He turns to me and his eyes glitter as he says in his deep voice, “Shall we?”