The cupboard door was ajar and light was filtering in. She saw the spider that had spooked Nipper scuttle over the lip of the door and out into the bedroom. Tiny shadows moved out there. The bats, trapped inside the room, denied their exit route. She stayed still. Her hips ached where she was bent double, her arm was going numb, but she didn’t dare move.
All was silent, but this could be a trap. He could be out there still, waiting. Knowing that if she was still hiding in the house, sooner or later she would have to show herself. Sweat was pouring out of her. She blinked, eyes stinging. Couldn’t even move to wipe the moisture away.
Minutes passed. Then hours.
Slowly the light inside the crawl space changed, grew dimmer. Belle wasn’t wearing a watch so she could only guess at the time. Maybe seven, eight o’clock in the evening? And still there was no movement in the gatehouse. Inch by inch, she began to relax. They really were gone. She moved a little, eased her aching joints. In anguish Belle thought of her mother. What would they do with her? She couldn’t even think of it. She was powerless to help. But help had to come from somewhere, didn’t it?
At last, it started to grow dark.
No movement anywhere.
When it had been full dark for over an hour, she braced herself and unfolded her limbs, stretching, feeling pins and needles stab at her arms and legs, feeling the trembling weakness in them from this enforced inactivity. She would get downstairs, phone the police or someone, and then help would come. Mum would be OK. She had to believe that or she would go stark staring mad.
Listening intently to every movement, the crackle of the beams as they cooled after the day’s heat, she thought it’s OK now. They’ve really gone.
Belle edged along the crawl space, past the chimney, and reached the cupboard door. Stealthily she emerged into the half-dark of the bedroom, bending double to get out of the low opening and then standing up, able at last to stretch, to get some life back into her stiff, frozen limbs. Dimly she could see the bats, still swooping confusedly around in their confinement.
She was crossing the room when suddenly she stopped moving. Wait. Wait.
She’d only heard one car going.
But there had been two cars pulling up. The Porsche and the Mercedes.
She was already moving back toward the cupboard when a large shape stirred by the bed. She turned, the breath catching in her throat, and stared at the man who’d been sitting there. Her heart was beating so hard she thought she would choke.
‘Hiya, Belle,’ said Harlan. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’