It was only for a second, but as Paige’s dizzy head refocused, they locked eyes, and she saw the most bewildered look on his face. She had half-expected to recognise him, to understand who he was and why he had pushed a blade against her throat. But, even in the dark, she knew she’d never seen him before.
She couldn’t quite make out his features, except that he had facial hair poking over the top of a snood. His eyes were bright pinpricks in the shadow of his hoodie. He gawked at her for a millisecond longer before turning and running back along the river path and into a waiting van which promptly sped off.
Paige lay shaking against the grass, unable to take her eyes off the spot where the van had just pulled away, as if scared it would return. She willed her body to move, to run, to scream, to cry, but nothing happened. Fear held her there.
The first action she was able to coerce her body into taking was to put her hand up to her throat, and she began to sob as she felt hot, sticky blood coat her fingertips.
She could tell the wound wasn’t deep, but to feel the mark of her attack immediately made it real.
She heard another noise, the catalyst that finally jolted her body into attempting to get up, but the shock and adrenalin pumping through her sent her toppling backwards again.
The noise was a dog walker, running towards her calling, “Oh my- are you okay? Let’s get you up.”
The next thing she knew a hand was helping her up and an overly friendly corgi was jumping at her lower legs.
“What happened?” The dog walker asked, genuine concern in her voice.
“I don’t...” Paige mumbled, removing her blood-smeared hand from her throat and attempting to stand Tom’s bike back up, dropping it once before the dog walker stepped in and stabilised her.
“Let’s find a bench,” the dog walker said, placing a hand on her back and guiding her along the path. Once sat down, she convinced Paige to let her phone the police.
The rest of the evening continued in a blur. The police came. Crime scene photos were taken. Paige’s wound was cleaned and bandaged. Her mother and Tom were phoned.
The police officer took a statement and description from Paige, and despite Tom’s concerned questioning, the police officer shrugged, admitting that they were unlikely to catch the man.
Paige felt numb to their incompetence. She was too busy thinking about the confused look on the man’s face as he threw her to the floor. Did he think I was someone else? Paige thought. He wouldn’t have used a knife if he didn’t intend to take it further... so why did he run away?
After another twenty minutes of paperwork and formalities, she voiced these questions to the police officer who again shrugged and said there wasn’t anything more she could do.
ECKLAND WAS RAPTUROUS in his sympathy when Paige called to explain why she wouldn’t be coming to his house the following day, even going so far as to offer to pay for taxis there and back. Paige assured him she just needed to rest over the weekend and would be back on Monday. She decided that taking the bus would be sensible, at least initially.
Paige was shaken by the incident, but she was determined not to let it stop her from continuing her work with Eckland. The pay was generous and she was enjoying filling her time, even if the older couple had strange quirks.
The following Monday she headed to the bus stop and made her way to The Rectory.
“Paige!” Eckland said, performing her name like an operatic-style scale.
“Good morning, Professor Eckland,” Paige was used to his over the top greetings.
“I am glad to see you looking so well after the awful events the other night...” Eckland trailed off as he beckoned her in and up the stairs.
“I am hoping to put it behind me now.”
“And the police...?” Eckland enquired casually.
“They say they can’t do anything more, but they have put out an appeal for information on their website,” Paige said, sitting down at the desk.
“Oh, that is a shame.” Eckland mumbled, before closing the door.
CHAPTER FIVE
PAIGE WORKED ON THE Taming of the Shrew essay for most of the day, using her laptop to search for academic papers, editing Eckland’s haphazard referencing system and changing typos.
At 5pm, Eckland knocked on the door, barely pausing for a beat before striding in and declaring, “An early dinner, Paige, my dear! We must not allow you to go home so late again.”
Paige was pleased as the thought of going back after sunset again, even on the bus, had been weighing on her mind.
Arlene had prepared a huge beef roast, piles of mashed potatoes, gravy and vegetables as well as homemade Yorkshire puddings. The table was set with the usual red placemats trimmed with golden tassels, somewhat faded and stained with age, but clearly high quality. Paige noticed that this time it was set with four plates instead of three.
“We have company!” Arlene said keenly, gesturing for Paige to sit at the foot of the table.
“A friend of yours?” Paige said earnestly.
“No, Mr. Holmes is far too busy for dinner...” Arlene said, somewhat sadly. Arlene mentioned Conan Doyle’s detective more often than her own husband’s name. Perhaps she had finally broken the barrier between fiction and reality and had begun to lay a place for him at the table. Her reverie distracted her for a moment as she spooned mashed potatoes on her plate mindlessly, creating a mound that a rugby player would struggle to chow through.
Paige waited for her to break through the fog, wondering if it was impolite to ask just who they were expecting. Arlene eventually put the mashed potato back onto the table and turned to
