Feeling suddenly cold, Alice turned toward the kitchen. Another wave of dehydration washed over her and dark spots swam in front of her eyes.
Foolish, she told herself. It was stupid to become so engrossed in work that she neglected to eat or drink.
She entered the kitchen and flicked on the lights, which did little to relieve the melancholic atmosphere. She stacked her dishes beside the sink and decided to grab a quick glass of water, which ought to tide her over until she got home. The drive to Rothbury wasn’t long and she had a fully stocked fridge back at the little one-bedroom flat she’d rented for the duration of her assignment. After a bowl of pasta or maybe a nice homemade paella, she’d get an early night and rest her tired eyes.
Another crack of thunder rumbled outside, bouncing off the walls.
Alice gulped down a few mouthfuls of water and hurried out of the room. There was still no sign of anybody in the reception foyer and the hallways were eerily quiet; there was no distant sound of conversation nor the murmur of a television, not even Lionel’s booming voice carried on the air.
But she was not alone.
The house seemed to breathe around her, whispering secrets through its wooden walls, watching her. Waiting.
Warning.
Alice had reached the front door when she heard a clattering sound somewhere over her shoulder. She tugged open the door and looked out at the rainy driveway, feeling the warm summer wind brush against her skin. Freedom awaited her and held the promise of a lifetime of rewarding work, perhaps a husband and children one day.
But it was not to be, and the noise came again.
She looked over her shoulder at the empty, shadowed corridor. It beckoned her to turn back and she began to wonder if one of the Gilberts needed her help. Lionel might have fallen, or Cassandra, for that matter. They were getting on, after all. Or it could be Dave, struggling with a box of artefacts in his office further down the hall. Her hand fell away from the doorknob and the door clicked softly shut again.
Like Pandora, she was unable to resist her own fatal curiosity.
CHAPTER 10
The lights were blazing through the windows of their rental cottage when Ryan returned home. He’d taken the walk through the trees more quickly than usual, dodging puddles as he went. He didn’t mind getting wet, especially when the rain was warm against his face and smelled of freshly cut grass, but he minded the overwhelming sense of disquiet he’d been feeling all day and sought the comfort of home to remind him of everything that was right and good in the world.
“Hello?”
Ryan kicked off his sodden boots and began to shrug out of his wet shirt. Summertime in the north of England was universally acknowledged to be a temperamental season and he should have known better than to leave the house without a jacket. Clearly, the brief bout of warm weather had addled his brain and the sooner winter came, the better.
He dipped into the downstairs bathroom to retrieve a hand towel and was in the process of scrubbing at his hair when Anna came to greet him.
“Hi,” she said, lifting the edge of the towel to bestow a kiss. “How was the rest of your day?”
“Tedious,” he replied. “Long, unproductive and full of unanswered questions.”
“Welcome to my world,” she laughed, thinking of the hours she had spent poring over texts about the first Viking raids in Northumberland.
Hearing her laughter was just the tonic he needed. Ryan moved forward and looped the towel around her waist like a lasso. She chuckled as he drew her toward him with a definite glint in his eye.
“You sound as if you need a distraction,” he said, when they stood toe to toe.
Anna pretended to consider the question.
“I do enjoy a game of Scrabble.”
“Mm,” he agreed, dipping his head to nuzzle at the sensitive skin of her neck. His breath was warm against her skin and she sighed.
“Or chess,” she managed. “I like chess.”
He lifted his head and kissed her deeply, letting the towel fall to the floor so he could spear his fingers through her hair to cradle her head.
“I’ll show you my best gambits,” he promised.
*
A good while later, Ryan followed Anna through to the spacious kitchen where she had been working for several hours using the large oak breakfast table in lieu of a desk. He scented the air like a hungry lion and almost growled when he caught a whiff of meat roasting in the oven. “You didn’t need to go to all this trouble,” he said.
Ryan didn’t expect anybody else to cook or clean for him; he could rustle up a pretty good meal and he enjoyed singing along to a spot of classic rock while he did the vacuuming, which thankfully drowned out any flat notes.
“I had a yen for some comfort food and it was a welcome relief from reading Bede’s ecclesiastical history,” Anna told him. “You can do the washing up, if you like.”
“It’s a deal.”
While Anna tidied away lever arch files and closed her laptop computer, Ryan went in search of a bottle of red wine and a couple of glasses. It was the weekend, after all, and it would complement the meat nicely. If it managed to soothe his taut nerves, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing either.
“So”—Anna re-entered the kitchen having deposited her paperwork elsewhere and accepted a generous glass of Malbec—“before I was carried off, you were telling me about your day.”
They clinked glasses and took a sip of wine.
“I’ve had worse,” Ryan conceded, thinking of recent history with a flashing smile. “There were no crazed psychopaths running amok, for one thing. If anything, the estate has been strangely quiet. I don’t know what it says about my psyche but I almost wish something would happen.”
Anna frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” He set his wine down again, his thirst having disappeared. “I’ve had a sense of foreboding all day. I can’t explain it.”
“You think something bad is going to happen?”
He walked across to the kitchen window and braced his hands on the countertop, eyes scanning the dusky garden outside.
“I’m trying to figure it out,” he said quietly. “I know there’s something I’ve seen or that I’m missing and it feels important. I wish I knew what it was.”
Anna rested a hand on his back in silent support.
“You can’t stop somebody committing a crime, if they’ve set their mind to it.”
He laughed shortly.
“If I could, I’d be out of a job.”
The smile died on his lips when he remembered the discussion he’d had with his Chief Constable. The intended candidate for Detective Chief Superintendent had been troubling him all day. He didn’t want the position himself and had never intended to apply but it might be better than allowing ghosts from the past to haunt his present and the future he hoped for with Anna. He made up his mind, there and then, to tell Morrison that he wanted the job after all. He’d tell her first thing tomorrow morning.
Anna gave him a searching look.