Nathaniel Trower’s house had three storeys from what Emily could see as she made her way down the driveway with a bag slung over her shoulder. It looked like a cross between a farmhouse and a gothic mansion, stone walls topped with little ornamental parapets and fake battlements. There was even a tower room, from which she imagined the views were impressive.
The driveway swung around to the left, ending in a wide turning circle. The door was in a gloomy covered porch, giving the impression of walking into a cave. Emily knocked on the door then stepped back until she was standing outside on the drive, as though afraid the door might open to reveal a portal sucking her into a maelstrom of darkness.
It was an age before anyone answered. There was no sign of the dogs Nathan had mentioned, and Emily was about to give up when an intercom beside the door, which she hadn’t even noticed, gave a tired, flat-battery beep, and a crackly voice said, ‘What is it?’
‘It’s Emily Wilson. I’m staying in your property just up the road? I just brought you round a present. Can I come in?’
‘I’m busy right now.’
She gave her sweetest smile, aware that a camera was probably hidden in the gloom. ‘It’ll only be a minute. I’ve brought you a cake, but I wanted to explain the best way to eat it.’
‘Thanks. Can’t you just leave it on the step?’
Emily shook her head. ‘I saw something in your garden. I think it might have been a rat or a squirrel. They’re pretty hungry at this time of the year. If you’re busy I don’t mind waiting.’
She pulled out her phone and pretended to browse the internet, making it clear she was going nowhere until the door opened.
‘All right. Just wait a minute.’
He made her wait. Despite his looks, Emily could understand why he was single. He clearly had no idea how to treat a girl, but perhaps in his profession and with his wealth, that hadn’t mattered.
The door finally opened and Nathan stepped out. Emily’s knees immediately weakened, and she wished her heart would pay more attention to her head. He was hopelessly attractive in a black roll-neck sweater and blue jeans, both hugging a figure which was lean and powerful. His jaw jutted like the prow of an icebreaker, his eyes the turquoise of a radioactive lake.
‘What do you want? I was in the middle of something.’
Emily held up the box. ‘I did some cooking the other day and I brought you something to say thank you for your hospitality. I’m having a lovely time. I’m so glad you forgot to take your properties off the website.’
Nathan looked taken aback. He blinked, then gave a slight shake of his head. ‘Oh, well, that’s good I suppose.’
‘Cottonwood is just delightful, and the locals are so friendly. I really wish I lived around here.’ Emily stopped herself before she could vomit up a bunch of spiel about Christmas spirit, afraid of overdoing it.
‘I’m glad you’re having a good time.’
‘Well, let’s have tea, shall we? Do you have any fresh cream?’ She stepped under the porch roof and began to remove her boots.
‘Ah, I don’t know—’
‘That’s fine. I brought some.’
‘Well, I suppose you ought to come in then.’
Nathan stepped back inside. Emily hurried past him before he could change his mind, finding herself in a gloomy but well-kept house with an abundance of fine furniture but a complete absence of any clutter. She felt like she was walking into a vintage show home, any signs of any personal touch hidden from sight.
‘You don’t have any dogs then?’
‘What?’
‘You said you had dogs. You said not to ring late or they’d go mental and annoy the old bag next door.’
‘Oh. They, um, died.’
‘All of them?’
‘Uh, yes.’
‘And I suppose there’s no old bag next door?’
Nathan gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘I haven’t seen her in a while, so I couldn’t say for sure.’
‘Perhaps you just don’t like the sound of the phone?’
‘It gives me headaches.’
‘Yet you were a record producer?’
‘I—’
Emily flashed him a grin not quite genuine enough to make it obvious whether or not she was joking, then, without being asked, went down a long hall into a wide lounge-diner with views over an extensive sloping lawn. A copy of The Times lay open on a dining table, a cup of coffee steaming beside it.
‘Oh, the kettle must still be hot. I’d love one,’ Emily said. ‘White, no sugar.’
‘Right. Okay.’
Nathan went into an adjoining kitchen. As soon as he was out of sight, Emily grabbed the back of the nearest chair and forced herself to take a few long, slow breaths. She had gained entry, now she had to take control of the situation.
A couple of minutes later, Nathan returned with a mug of coffee. He took a placemat from out of a holder on a side shelf and put it down on the tabletop before handing Emily the mug. As she took a sip, he glanced at the newspaper, as though hoping she would soon leave.
‘You have a lovely house,’ Emily said. ‘Is it just you?’
‘Yes. My father has passed away. My mother lives in a care home in Brighton.’
‘Oh, such a long way away.’
‘My sister cares for her.’
‘Right. So you have a sister?’
‘One. Younger.’
Emily pursed her lips. ‘Do you visit often?’
‘No.’
Nathan retrieved the remains of his coffee and stared out of the window while he drank it. Emily got the distinct impression that he didn’t like being around people. Well, tough. If you destroyed someone’s cakes, you might as well have cut off one of their feet, as Elaine might have said.
‘So, would you like to see what I brought you?’
Nathan shrugged. ‘Sure.’
Emily took the box out of her bag and set it down on the table. Then, with a smile, she lifted the lid.
Nathan took a step back, his body shuddering. ‘Get that thing out of here.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I mean it. Right now.’
He had clenched his fists and lifted them out to the sides of his face like a child preparing to throw a toy. His face, so naturally handsome, had contorted into an expression of rage coupled with disgust.
And something else, hidden in his eyes.
Fear.
Emily looked down at the little Christmas cake, with its jolly Father Christmas figurine standing next to a grinning snowman. It wasn’t quite as good as the supermarket ones, but she had added a few swirls of icing to give it a personal touch, and was really quite proud of it.
‘Now!’ he shouted, eyes wide, practically hyperventilating. ‘Get it out of my house!’
Emily scooped up the cake as Nathan’s hand came swinging down, swiping it out of his reach before he could dash it to the floor. He growled, gripping his face with his hands as she retreated down the hall toward the front door.
‘I’m sorry, perhaps this was a bad time—’
‘Out!’
She didn’t wait for him to come and see her off. She slipped on her boots and fled down the driveway, out through the gate onto the road. Only when she was well clear of Trower’s house did she pause to get her breath back.
Of all the reactions she had expected, that had not been one of them. Nathan hadn’t just been angry at the sight of the Christmas cake. He had been terrified.
He didn’t just dislike Christmas.
It haunted him.