‘Timmy!’ he shouted. ‘Hold on! Daddy’s coming!’
He hurried back to the house and was relieved to find that the front door was unlocked. As he entered the hallway, he could hear a phone ringing. It sounded as if it were coming from the drawing room. He wondered if he ought to find it and answer it, but then it stopped. He was about to climb the stairs when it started ringing again.
He sat up in bed. For a moment, he couldn’t think where he was. But it must be morning. He could see a wan grey light between the curtains, and when he turned over and picked up his watch he saw that it was 8:17. And that phone was still ringing, although it was very faint.
He recognised the ringtone: it was that irritating up-and-down plinking ‘waves’, which meant that it was Martin’s phone. But why didn’t he answer it?
The ringing stopped. Rob rubbed his face with his hands and yawned and swung his legs out of bed. Vicky stirred and murmured, and he stayed still for a few moments in case he woke her up. She needed all the sleep she could get.
He quietly got dressed. If they needed to stay here at Allhallows Hall for yet another night, they would have to drive over to Tavistock sometime today and buy themselves some fresh clothes. There was the Farley Menswear shop and Brigid Foley, the women’s boutique. They had washed and tumble-dried their underwear and socks yesterday evening, but this was the third day that Rob had been wearing the same plaid shirt. At least his father had left some spare razor blades in the bathroom. He would have found it too eerie to shave with the same blade his father had used on the day he had been murdered.
He went to the bathroom. It was unrelentingly chilly in there, and the taps dripped, and when he pulled the chain the plumbing let out its usual groaning, like a slaughtered pig.
As he came out, he met Grace, all wrapped up in their mother’s pink candlewick dressing gown.
‘My God,’ he said. ‘Where did you find that?’
‘It was hanging behind our bedroom door. Dad must have missed it when he got rid of her clothes.’
‘He didn’t only get rid of her clothes, did he? He got rid of everything that belonged to her. Her sewing basket, her music box, all of her books. All those things you would have thought he might have kept, you know, for sentimental value. It only occurred to me yesterday that there isn’t a single picture of her anywhere.’
‘Dad didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body, Rob. You know that. Except for himself, of course. The only person that Herbert Russell felt sentimental about was Herbert Russell.’
‘How did you sleep?’
‘On and off. I heard Martin and Katharine come in, and I heard you going downstairs.’
Rob paused. Grace’s auburn hair was tousled and her green eyes were puffy, but this morning she looked so much like their mother, rather than their father, and it wasn’t only the dressing gown that gave her that appearance. Rob guessed that it was coming to Allhallows Hall and realising she would never see her father here again, ever. She was free of him.
‘You didn’t hear any of that whispering again, did you?’
Grace shook her head. ‘Our window was rattling all night because of the wind, and apart from that, Portia snores like somebody sawing up logs. But for goodness’ sake don’t tell her I told you. Anyway, I must go to the loo.’
As Grace closed the bathroom door, Rob heard Martin’s phone again. The ringing wasn’t coming from the master bedroom, but from somewhere downstairs. He hurried down to the hallway, and it was then that he realised it was coming from the drawing room. He went in, lifted Martin’s overcoat up from the sofa and found the phone in his side pocket, still ringing.
He took it out and said, ‘Hello?’
‘Oh, hi, Martin! For a minute there I thought you weren’t going to pick up. It’s Ted, about that Regis investment.’
‘Sorry, but this isn’t Martin. This is his brother. Martin’s tied up at the moment. I’ll have to ask him to call you back.’
‘I see. Okey-dokey. But can you ask him to make it asap? I’ve had a tip-off about Regis but once it goes public the price is going to go up like a fucking rocket.’
‘I’ll go and tell him right away.’
‘Thanks. There’s a good chap.’
Rob went back upstairs. He knocked at the master bedroom door and called out, ‘Martin? Martin, there’s a phone call for you. Business.’
He waited, but there was no answer, so he knocked again.
‘Martin? There’s someone called Ted on the phone for you, about some investment. He says it’s urgent.’
There was still no response, so Rob opened the bedroom door and cautiously looked inside. It was dark, because the heavy velour curtains were still drawn, and there was a strong smell of stale alcohol and cheesy sick. When he opened the door wider, Rob saw the lamp lying on the floor where Katharine must have knocked it off the bedside table. Katharine herself was lying on her side on top of the patchwork quilt, fully dressed, her skirt hitched up at the back. For a moment Rob had the terrible thought that she might have choked on her own vomit, but as he came around the bed he heard her breathing, even though she sounded clogged up. She had brought up sticky yellowish lumps all over her pillow, which he guessed was half-digested homity pie.
She was alive, but she was lying there alone. There was no sign of Martin, not even when Rob lifted up the overhanging quilt and looked under the
