would be no point in telling Gabe that she had sensed the presence of their missing son right here in Crickley Hall and that she had also witnessed ghostly apparitions in the house. Perhaps there was something special about this place that engendered supernatural activity, a peculiarity that enhanced or was a catalyst to certain psychic energies. If she told him this he might finally lose patience with her and dismiss it all as 'horseshit'. She loved him and trusted him with her very life, but she didn't need that kind of negativity right now: she wanted so much to believe. Eve doubted he would be convinced that she had seen little faces watching her from Crickley Hall's roof windows on her return from the harbour village, even though Cally had observed them too.
When they had come back after their fruitless hunt for Chester, Eve and Cally had gone up to the attic room together—she couldn't have left her daughter alone downstairs in the big house, and besides, Cally showed not an ounce of trepidation at the prospect of meeting the 'phantom' children—to find the long-disused dormitory completely empty without an ethereal body in sight. 'What did you expect?' would be Gabe's reaction. 'The dormer windows are filthy with grime, rain was on them, you could have seen anything you wanted—whatever you expected—in them.'
No, only a genuine psychic or clairvoyant would understand and Eve had almost decided on Sunday after her 'contact' with Cam that she would seek out the one advertised in the village shop's display cabinet. This morning's events had strengthened her intention.
Nevertheless, Eve still hesitated.
•
Gabe stood by the window, a plastic mug of coffee in one hand, a sandwich with a great bite taken out of it in the other. Laid out on a desk behind him were the design plans for the prototype of the first marine current turbine, a smaller detailed sketch showing the turbine's rotor and drive chain on top of this. He had declined the invitation from his three colleagues, who were employed by the parent company, Seapower, to join them for lunch, because he knew discussions would continue while they were eating and he needed to take time out to assess all the information he'd absorbed during the morning.
The Seapower project was important globally, because the system would be able to use the limitless energy of the sea currents. A submerged machine could generate a maximum of three hundred kilowatts in a current of only five and a half knots, which eventually could be linked with a land power grid by a marine cable that would emerge from the base of the pile and lie out of sight on the seabed. Environmentally the submerged turbines would have very little impact and they would cause no pollution whatsoever; they would be installed beneath the sea at places with high tidal current velocities. Locations like Hollow Bay, Gabe thought.
He took another bite from the sandwich that the team's one and only secretary had nipped out to buy him before she went to lunch herself. Hollow Bay.
Gabe continued to gaze out at the dismal view of the backs of office blocks, the rain adding its own dreariness to the grey scene. The sun had broken through the clouds earlier that day and its warmth had hinted at an Indian summer, but that hadn't lasted very long—the clouds had closed up and the endless drizzle had resumed. His thoughts meandered from the harbour village to the house to which he had brought his family.
Crickley Hall was a seriously weird place, no question. And although Eve seemed in better shape yesterday, he knew her nerves were already frazzled. And more trauma could tip her over the edge.
'Fuck it,' he said aloud.
Suddenly his mind was made up. They were moving out of Crickley Hall. They would find somewhere smaller, a cottage maybe, anywhere that was warm and without puddles that had no cause, or strange noises in the night, or doors that kept opening by themselves. Although he had no belief in ghosts, there was definitely something eerie about the old house. Neither he, nor his family, needed it; Loren especially was becoming more and more frightened, though for her mother's sake she managed to hide it well. Hell, even the mutt was scared.
He felt a weight lift from his shoulders and he smiled to himself. Yeah, he'd drop by the realtor's office some time tomorrow.
24: THE EVACUEES' TALE
Percy Judd sat at the kitchen table as he had three days ago when the Caleighs had first moved into Crickley Hall. His hands dangled the flat cap between his knees, his storm coat hung on a hook beside the kitchen door. For such an elderly man his faded blue eyes were watchful and alert. Like last time, Eve was brewing him a cup of tea.
Cally had been sent to her room to play or read one of her picture books; Eve had questions she wished to put to Percy, but not in front of her daughter.
He shifted awkwardly in his seat. 'Don't mean to disturb yer none, missus. Been workin' down at the church all mornin', but I'm finished there fer today.'
'It's okay, Percy, you're not disturbing me. Besides, you can't work outside in this weather—that's why I called you in. But call me Eve, won't you? You already know my husband's name is Gabe.'
'If it's all the same to yer, I'll stick to mister and missus. It's only proper. Yer my employers, y'see?'
'Well, it seems you come with the house,' Eve agreed. 'But you don't mind us calling you Percy, do you?'
He chuckled and shook his head. 'That'd be fine, Missus Caleigh.'
She smiled at him. There was something she really liked about this old man, even though she hardly knew him. He seemed simple in a good way, a special way, without complications.
'Actually,' she said, 'I'm sort of glad to see you today.'
He looked at her quizzically.
'There are things I'd like to ask about Crickley Hall.' She paused. Had his face momentarily darkened when she said that?
'There's a lot to do in the garden this time of year,' he said, as if he couldn't spare the time for idle chat.
'Really? I thought with winter on the way there wouldn't be much for you to do out there, especially in the rain.'
'Oh no. In some ways this is the most important part of the year. Have to get things ready for the cold weather.'
She brought his tea over as he enthused on what was obviously his favourite topic. Percy placed his cap on the table and took the proffered cup.
'Not that yer got much of a garden, apart from the lawn, but what there is still needs tendin'. There's prunin' to be done an' the tyin' back of the plants, mulch to be spread over the beds to save 'em from the frost. Then there's the trimmin' of the trees, cuttin' out the dead wood. Then yer apples want collectin' an' the fallen ones picked up—yer got a coupla healthy apple trees roun' back. Make lovely jam with 'em, yer could, if yer've a mind to. There's more plantin' of bulbs needed—daffodils, tulips, snowdrops—which've gotta go in now if they're gonna come through by next year's spring.'
He blew into his cup to cool the steaming liquid.
'Then there's yer logs yer'll want choppin',' he resumed. 'I've already put a fair amount down in the boiler room, but if yer gonna' keep all yer fires burnin', bedrooms an' all—there's a particular damp cold about Crickley Hall that radiators can't best—yer'll soon be runnin' out of wood to burn.'
'We don't expect you to do that, Percy.' Eve took a chair opposite him. 'Gabe will be only too willing to chop wood. In fact, he'll enjoy the exercise.'
'It's choppin' the right wood that's important. Some'll only make a lot of smoke, others yer won't even be able to light. Yer gotta know the right kind to axe.'
Eve nodded. 'You can show him which are better to use.' She leaned her elbows on the table. 'How long have you worked at Crickley Hall, Percy?' she asked, looking directly into his eyes as if the question was of some importance.
'Most of my life, missus. Since I were twelve years old. Never got on with school, an' in them days 't'weren't unusual for a lad to start work at that age. Not down in these parts, anyway.'
He sipped the hot tea and smacked his thin lips in appreciation. 'I likes it strong,' he remarked appreciatively. 'Proper cuppa tea, this.'
Eve was still staggered that Percy, who must be in his late seventies if not early eighties, had spent so many
