these herself.”
Chris stared at him nonplussed. “I thought the trauma was obvious,” she said unsteadily. “Sophie has lost her mother in the most distressing way…Surely that…”
“Sarah doesn’t believe that is the cause and neither do I.” He was almost brusque, turning slightly away from her so that his face was in the shadows. “Sophie and Natalie did not get on. Natalie spent very little time with the child.”
Chris was not entirely convinced.
“Why did Nat commit suicide?” she asked him abruptly.
He swung round, the shadows etching the bones forming his face, stealing from it every trace of colour. His eyes glittered febrilely over her as he studied her, his body tense with an emotion she could not define.
“Tom Smith has already told you. She was mentally disturbed.”
“You don’t seem particularly concerned.” It was a dangerous thing to say, and she almost wished it unsaid when he continued to stare at her.
“What is it you want me to say Chris?” he demanded bitterly at last. “Natalie and I elected to go our separate ways a long, long time ago. My main concern now is Sophie. She’s already suffered enough at the hands of your cousin. I don’t intend to let you increase that suffering. Just remember that while you’re here I’ll be watching every step you take. Do anything that affects Sophie adversely and you’ll be leaving.”
“I’m not leaving Little Martin until I see Sophie running about, laughing and chattering as a six-year-old should,” Chris retaliated fiercely, the commitment she had just made half shocked her, almost as though she had been impelled to take the first step down a road she hadn’t intended to traverse. Slater was still watching her and fantastically, despite his cold eyes and grim mouth she had the impression that he was pleased by her reaction, although she could not have said why. Imagination, she told herself sardonically. Slater could have no reason at all for wanting her to stay.
“That’s quite a commitment you just made,” he told her softly. “Are you capable of seeing it through I wonder?”
She bent to pick up her case pushing the honey blonde cloud of hair obscuring her vision out of the way, impatiently, as she stood up to face him.
“Just watch me,” she told him grimly.
She was outside and in the car before she realised that she had not made any arrangements for the following day. A quick mental check informed her that it would be Friday—how travelling distorted one’s sense of time—that meant that Slater would be working. She would call on him early in the morning and tackle him about what access she could have to Sophie. Feeling as though she had cleared at least one obstacle, she put the car in gear and set out for the cottage.
CHAPTER THREE
THE lane which led to the cottage and which she remembered as scenic and rural, was dark, almost oppressively so, the lane itself badly rutted in places, and Chris heaved a small sigh of relief when at last she picked out the familiar low crouching outline of the cottage in the car’s headlights.
Parking outside she hurried up the uneven paved path. The lock was faintly rusty and she broke a nail as she applied leverage to the key. Grimacing ruefully she stepped inside, flicking on the light automatically. Her eyes widened in shock as she stared round the sitting room. Damp stains mildewed one of the walls; the cottage felt cold, and even worse, smelled faintly musty. She remembered now that her aunt had always insisted on a small fire even in the summer, and that she had often expressed concern about the building’s damp course too. As a teenager she had paid scant attention to these comments, but now she was forced to acknowledge their veracity.
Why had no one written to her; told her how much the cottage was deteriorating? Or perhaps they had and their letters were still following her round the world. Sighing Chris made her way through the living room and into the kitchen. Here too signs of decay and neglect were obvious. The cottage was clean enough but desolate somehow, and so cold and damp that the atmosphere struck right through to her bones. The dining room was no better, more patches of damp marring the plaster. With a heavy heart Chris made her way upstairs. The roof needed re-thatching John had told her, and during the winter it had leaked. He had added that they had made what temporary repairs they could, but all her worse fears were confirmed when she opened the first bedroom door and walked inside. She and Natalie had once shared this room; its contours, every crack in its walls were unbearably familiar to her, as was the faint, but unmistakable perfume, heavy and oriental, at seventeen she was far too young to wear such a sophisticated fragrance, but she had insisted on doing so nonetheless, and its scent still hung on the air. Surely after six years it ought to have died, Chris thought frowningly. Unless of course Natalie had been here more recently. But why? She had flatly refused to take on any responsibility for the cottage when Natalie had been forced to have her aunt moved away from it. It could moulder away to dust was what Tom Smith told her she had said when she asked him to get in touch with her. She touched the cover of one of the single beds absently, withdrawing her fingers as they met the damp fabric. She shivered suddenly, noticing the mildew clinging to the cover. This had been her bed…She smiled wryly to herself. She had chosen the quilt herself. Natalie had chosen exactly the same thing, and then had burned a hole in her own with a cigarette while smoking secretly in bed. Absently her fingers smoothed the fabric, tensing as they found the small betraying burn mark. This was Natalie’s quilt. What was it doing on her bed?
Memories of Natalie’s possessiveness during their shared childhood flooded her. Natalie had hated her ever touching anything of hers. She would never have allowed her quilt to be placed on Chris’s bed. That was all in the past, Chris reminded herself. No doubt whoever cleaned the cottage had mixed up the quilts. She turned round and walked out of the room, shutting away the memories and lingering traces of Natalie’s perfume. She couldn’t possibly sleep in that room, it was far too damp.
Her aunt’s bedroom showed the same distressing signs of neglect. Now she knew why Slater had offered her a bedroom she thought wryly. She would have to stay here tonight. She could hardly go back now and wake up the whole household. So where did that leave her? If she wanted to get close to Sophie she would either have to take a room at the pub or…or swallow her pride and ask Slater if his offer of a room was still open. Much as she wanted to help Sophie she didn’t know if she could cope with sharing the same house as Slater.
She wasn’t nineteen any more she reminded herself wryly. What was she afraid of? That Slater would try to take up where they had left off? Hardly likely. No, tomorrow she would just have to go cap in hand to him and ask for his help, much as she resented the idea. But that was tomorrow. She still had to cope with tonight. Sleeping in either of the bedrooms was out which left only the living room. Shivering slightly at the thought she remembered that her aunt used to keep spare bedding in the airing cupboard. If it was still there, perhaps it might at least be dry. While she was here she would have to get a builder in to check over the cottage and put it to rights; put in a new damp course and renew the roof. Until that was done no one could possibly live here.
As she walked towards the bathroom, she glanced automatically at the small chest in the landing alcove and then frowned. Two cigarette butts lay in the ashtray. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled warningly and she suppressed the desire to turn round and look behind her. Obviously they had been left there by the cleaner. And yet as she entered the bathroom Chris had the distinct impression that something was not quite right…Pushing aside the notion as fanciful she opened the airing cupboard, relieved to discover a pile of bedding there that felt dry to the touch. The house had an immersion heater so at least she would be able to have a warm bath before curling up downstairs on one of the chairs, although she didn’t anticipate
