‘I will,’ Grace agreed, but doubted she’d be taken seriously. Anyway, her dad was probably right. It wasn’t relevant. Except she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was.
9
Annabel left early the next morning, keen to avoid the Sunday afternoon tailbacks on the long journey to London. Soon after she had gone, heavy rain had begun to pound the windows, and so far showed no signs of slowing. When Millie was settled for her lunchtime nap, Grace sat down in an armchair and began to reflect on everything that had happened since she’d returned. Gradually, the fizzing of her mind abated, and she fell into a half-slumber.
She was woken abruptly by a loud knocking. For a moment she was confused, before she remembered that it would be Ben, calling about the renovations.
‘Hello,’ he said as she opened the door, taking down a large black umbrella. Bess sat next to him, droplets shimmering at the tips of her wet, clumpy fur, her tail wagging. ‘Can I leave Bess here?’
‘Of course.’
Ben led the dog underneath the porch. Bess shook herself, water spraying off her coat, then lay down as Ben said, ‘Stay.’
‘Come in.’ As Grace stepped back she wondered if it were in fact a good idea to let him in, after what she’d witnessed in the pub.
‘So, what are you planning for this place?’ he asked as he followed her through to the kitchen.
Grace pulled out Mike Muir’s papers, and a few rough sketchings of her own. ‘These are really basic,’ she said as she gave them to him, half-embarrassed by her simple designs. But Ben sat down and began studying them carefully.
‘Ah, I see what you’re thinking. Knock out this wall,’ he banged the wall next to him, ‘and you’ve got a nice cosy area. And sort out the bathroom upstairs so it’s en suite. This looks like a good plan.’ He glanced up. ‘Want me to do some proper drawings for this, and then figure out the best way to go about it?’
Grace had gone across to the kettle. ‘Well, we’d better talk money before we get too much further. I’ve only begun thinking about this recently, and I need some idea of how much it would cost.’
Ben folded his arms and looked down at the sketches for a while without saying anything. ‘I’ll tell you what – let me do the plans for nothing, and we’ll figure it out from there.’
Grace was taken by surprise. Ben’s expression was unreadable, but not unfriendly. As she looked at him she noticed that his eyes were framed by grey circles, and there was a melancholy aspect to his face that struck her as almost tragic. A Heathcliff, she thought, and couldn’t decide if the current that ran through her was fear or something else.
‘You don’t need to do that,’ she said.
She thought he might smile, but he just said, ‘I know,’ and began to browse through the papers again. ‘To be honest you’re doing me a favour. I’d be grateful for a project to keep me busy at the moment.’ He raised his eyes to meet hers. ‘Okay?’
Grace faltered under his direct stare. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’
‘Can I take these?’ He held up the loose sheets of drawings.
‘Of course. Would you like a drink?’
Ben shook his head as he got up. ‘Don’t worry about that. Why don’t you give me a quick tour of the place, then I can get out of your way.’
‘All right, then,’ Grace agreed. He came for work, she reminded herself, not to pass the time of day. She was only looking for excuses to delay sorting through the cottage.
She showed him the upstairs rooms, careful not to wake Millie. As they came back down the stairs, Ben gestured towards the corridor and said, ‘What’s in your cellar?’
Grace spun round. ‘What cellar?’ she asked in confusion.
‘Er -’ Ben had diverted his course, heading for a small wooden door behind the stairs. ‘This cellar,’ he said as he rapped on it.
‘I thought that was a cupboard,’ Grace answered. ‘Are you sure it isn’t?’
For the first time since he’d arrived, he smiled. ‘Pretty sure. You’ve never looked inside then?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s locked. I’ve never seen the key.’
She tried to recall what Adam had told her. She was sure he hadn’t contradicted her when she’d asked about the cupboard under the stairs. He’d said it was locked, and they needed to find the key. That was as far as they’d got before he disappeared. She’d told the police that it was a cupboard when they searched the place. They’d wanted the key. But they must have forgotten.
‘It is locked, isn’t it?’ she asked.
He rattled the handle. ‘Yep.’
‘I don’t know where the key is.’
‘Do you want me to pick the lock for you?’ he offered.
‘Ha ha.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘Misspent youth, hey?’
He smiled again, but it barely reached his eyes. ‘Something like that. I need a paper clip or a safety pin.’
Grace went to find a paper clip. Ben inserted it into the keyhole and slowly moved it around. There was a click, then he twisted the handle and pulled the door open.
‘There,’ he said, holding it ajar.
Grace looked past him. Sure enough, steps led away from her into blackness.
‘Have you got a torch?’ Ben asked as he felt about for a light switch.
‘Yes,’ she replied, but she didn’t move. The thought of what might be down there had caused panic to spring up from nowhere. She felt sick.
‘Want me to take a look?’ he offered, seeming to read her mind.
‘Yes, please.’ She ran through to the kitchen to get the torch. When she returned, Ben took it from her, flicked it on and headed down the stairs.
She didn’t release her breath until he called up, ‘It’s mostly boxes.’ Giddy with relief, she peered down to see a beam of light illuminating what looked like pile upon pile of odds and ends. ‘Come and see,’ he suggested.
She began to make her way down carefully, hands pressed against the walls that closed in on her from either side of the staircase. When she reached the bottom, she said, ‘Ben?’
‘Hang on.’ His voice was alarmingly close, but the torchlight was flitting over the wall. She remembered the old couple’s faces in the pub last night, how scared they had looked, and her mouth went dry. What was she doing down here with a man she barely knew?
Another flash of panic disorientated her, and she blindly whisked around to head back up the stairs. As she did so, light flooded the room. ‘I thought there must be a switch,’ she heard Ben say to one side of her. ‘Why the hell did they put it down here?’
She swung to face him. Ben caught her expression before she could recompose herself, and she saw his astonishment fade into something more like disappointment. He switched off the torch and put it into her hand without meeting her eyes. ‘I’ll wait for you at the top,’ he said, then took the stairs two at a time, his upper body tense.
She surveyed the small room, now lit starkly by a white bulb dangling overhead. It was the kind of place that should have a chair in the middle, with someone tied to it being interrogated, but the reality was far more mundane. And wearying. Because everywhere she turned she saw junk – spilling out of boxes and cupboards, oozing from shelves. Just piles of assorted debris and dusty rubbish. She grimaced, hands on hips, considering the amount of extra work she had found in this one small space. Then, taking note of where the light switch was, she pressed it and used the torchlight to guide her back up the stairs.
Ben was leaning against the corridor wall, waiting for her.
