Cecil picked himself up again and offered her his hand.
She took it and stood awkwardly, her body aching all over.
He led her down the debris-strewn staircase and from there they saw Mr Wild, trying to rip a huge painting down from the wall.
Cecil spoke but Grace couldn’t hear him. She held his hand, as he led her out through the open front door.
Once clear of the gravel drive, they instinctively collapsed onto the lawn, breathing deeply.
‘Are you alright?’ he shouted.
Her mouth was so very dry that she struggled to speak. ‘Yes, I think so,’ she managed to answer, not really certain if she was alright or not.
Grace sat up and stared at the burning building. Giant curls of angry red and orange flames unfurled through the bedroom window and that of the two rooms adjacent. The fire was spreading quickly.
From out of the front door suddenly burst Mr Wild, wrestling with the over-sized portrait. She watched intently as he carefully set it down on the stone drive, then ran back inside the house.
She smiled at the thought of him hastening through the crumbling rooms of Linden Grove, attempting to save his precious possessions. But at what cost? Mr Wild had clearly identified them. Arrest and a lengthy prison sentence for both her and Cecil was now unavoidable. Yet still she smiled, pulling out the locket and squeezing it in her hands.
She exhaled steadily, then lent over and pulled Cecil into an embrace. ‘We did it,’ she breathed.
‘You did it,’ Cecil said, his hand gently caressing her back.
Grace sat back in mock displeasure. ‘Is that what you’re going to tell the police when they catch up with us?’
Cecil laughed. ‘Of course not—you know what I mean. I wouldn’t do that to you… I couldn’t… I think I’m…’
Grace studied his face as his words ran dry with whatever it was that he had been about to say. She noticed then that their mouths and eyes were somehow in perfect synchronisation, wholly tuned to one another.
‘I think I’m in love with you,’ he finally managed.
Grace leant towards him, their faces drawing closer to each other. ‘Me, too,’ she whispered. Their dry lips brushed lightly at first, then she pushed herself closer to him with a fervency that rose suddenly from within her, taking her by surprise. For those few seconds in his arms, the various aches and pains around her body vanished.
Cecil shifted closer, pulling their bodies tighter, his hand tenderly stroking the length of her spine. Then, he broke away. ‘Grace Emmerson—will you marry me?’
His words were hurried and, with the explosion continuing to ring in her ears, she failed to hear him. ‘What?’ she said, cupping her ear. ‘I can’t hear you.’
‘Will you marry me?’ he repeated, more loudly.
Her heart sang with his question. ‘What?’ she teased with a smile. ‘I can’t hear you.’
‘I said, will you marry me?’ he shouted.
Grace nodded. ‘Yes.’
They kissed again for several seconds until the spell was broken by the agonising groan of part of the house collapsing. They looked over just in time to see the wing in which Mr Wild had his bedroom crumple to the ground.
Then, the man himself came running out again, this time carrying a chest of some kind.
‘Let’s not just sit around and wait for the police to get here. Come on,’ Cecil said, offering her his hand.
Leaving the remaining tin of nitro-glycerine behind, she stood up, took one final glance at Linden Grove, then hobbled hand-in-hand with Cecil back towards the woods from where she had entered the estate.
From behind them, another explosion ripped through the house, as the second tin of nitro-glycerine ignited.
By the morning, Linden Grove would be nothing more than a pile of smouldering rubble.
Chapter Nine
‘Here you go,’ Juliette said, placing a mug of coffee down beside him.
He knew that it was a coffee by the smell but he couldn’t actually open his eyes to see. He tried to mumble an acknowledgement but his mouth wouldn’t work, either. In this other-world existence that he now occupied there was no amount of coffee that could get him ever to speak again. Less than two hours’ sleep he had had last night.
‘What are your plans today?’ Juliette asked, sitting down on the bed beside him. ‘Mum and I are going to take Matil…the baby to visit my uncle. Do you want to come?’
He tried to speak but a low grunt came out of his mouth instead.
‘Morton,’ Juliette said, impatience woven through the two syllables.
He opened his eyes, surely enough of an achievement for the day.
‘Do you want to come with us because we’ll be leaving in about twenty minutes.’
He shook his head. Visiting Juliette’s mad uncle was about as appealing to him right now as having his legs amputated without anaesthetic.
‘Well…do something constructive with your day,’ she pleaded. ‘Don’t just stay in bed.’
Finding his way back to the land of the living surely had to be considered constructive.
With a slight huff of annoyance, Juliette kissed him on the forehead and left the room.
His eyes shut instantly and his mind went black.
He jolted upright, hearing a baby crying. His daughter. It was time for a feed and nappy change. He swung his legs out of bed, took a deep breath and stood up. He padded across the room, pulled open the bedroom door and listened. Silence. Then, he remembered that Juliette and Margot had taken the baby to see her uncle. Had they not gone? Or were they back?
‘Hello?’ he called down.
Nothing.
Either the cry had come from outside the house, or his mind was playing a cruel trick on him. Either way, he was wide awake now.
He picked up the coffee that Juliette had
