Shadowed Stranger. Carole Mortimer

       CHAPTER ONE

      TREES overshadowed the narrow lane she was riding down, and several large holes in the road made her bicycle wobble precariously. Birds were singing in those trees, the sound of children laughing happily as they played in the brilliant sunshine.

      Children laughing …? There shouldn’t be any children laughing here. The only house in this area, at the end of this small country lane, was Orchard House, and it had been unoccupied for quite some time now. She knew that some of the village children played there, but if Billy were one of them …

      Yes, there he was, right in the middle of a crowd of other youngsters, the game of five-a-side football obviously well under way, jumpers being placed on the ground as goalposts.

      Robyn came to a halt, straddling her bicycle. Her brother was enjoying the game; for some reason she couldn’t see, football was an obsession with him and his impish face was alive with glee as he scored a goal through the makeshift goalposts.

      ‘Billy?’ she called to him. ‘Billy!’ more firmly as he seemed not to hear her.

      He looked up impatiently. The two of them were very much alike, both blond and fair-skinned, although Billy’s manner was the more aggressive. ‘What is it?’ he asked impatiently.

      ‘You know you shouldn’t be in here.’ She felt rather silly now, the other boys were looking at her as if she had no right to be here. And maybe she didn’t, but neither did they! Billy had already been in trouble with her father once about trespassing into the grounds at Orchard House, and if he were caught again he would be in real trouble.

      ‘Stop interfering!’ her brother snapped, obviously embarrassed at her bossy attitude in front of his friends.

      ‘This is private property,’ she told them all firmly. ‘The last time Constable Fuller caught you he gave you all a warning, the next time it might be rather more serious.’ Especially for Billy. Her parents had been so shocked and upset when the local policeman had called at the house to tell them of Billy’s trespassing.

      ‘Robyn—–’

      ‘I’m sorry, Billy,’ she said, and meant it. ‘But I think you should play football somewhere else.’

      ‘There isn’t anywhere else,’ he snapped.

      ‘Well, you can’t stay here—any of you,’ she added meaningly.

      The other boys started to wander off, shooting her resentful glances as they went. She felt awful for spoiling their fun, but if she had heard them there was a fair chance Constable Fuller would too if he should go by, and she knew for a fact that most of these boys would be in as much trouble as Billy if they were caught here again.

      ‘I bet you’re great at a party,’ Billy muttered once there was just the two of them left.

      Robyn sighed. ‘I did it for your own good.’

      ‘That’s what Dad always says before he keeps me in or stops my pocket-money.’ He kicked moodily at some of the stones on the driveway.

      ‘I’m sorry, Billy,’ she told him ruefully. ‘I didn’t mean to break up your game. Am I forgiven?’

      He seemed to think about it for a while, but she knew he would soon get over his mood—he always did. ‘Okay,’ he finally accepted. ‘But help me look for my football first. It had just been kicked into that long grass among those trees when you interrupted us.’

      ‘All right,’ she agreed cheerfully, leaving her bicycle on the side of the gravel driveway of the house as they went to find the ball.

      The grass was almost up to their knees, the ball nowhere in sight. But there were lots of wild daffodils growing in the grass, and Robyn couldn’t resist picking some of them.

      ‘That’s called stealing!’ Billy appeared at her side with his football.

      ‘I know, but—–’ Just at that moment a car turned into the driveway, the wheels going over Robyn’s bicycle with a telling crunch of metal. The car came to an immediate halt.

      Robyn’s instant reaction was to duck behind a wide tree trunk, pulling the suddenly immobile Billy with her. ‘What’s a car doing driving in here?’ she whispered. ‘This house isn’t occupied.’

      ‘How should I know?’ her brother said impatiently. ‘But I bet your bike’s a mess.’

      ‘I know,’ she groaned, envisaging the twisted metal.

      ‘Maybe—–’

      ‘Ssh!’ she quietened him. ‘Someone is getting out of the car.’

      She watched as the man came around the back of the car, bending down to inspect what was left of her bicycle. He straightened, looking about him with narrowed grey eyes. He was a handsome man, although rather unkempt-looking, his hair long and out of style, although it gleamed with a clean black sheen,

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