2010
The doorbell rang and Natalie jumped. Clutching a tissue to her cut hand she looked around for an innocuous looking defensive weapon. Grabbing the empty bottle of champagne she went into the hall and switched on the light. It had grown darker while she was eating. The solid oak door hid the caller from view and, taking a deep breath, she called out, ‘Who is it?’
‘Stuart Cross, your neighbour. I know it’s a bit late but…’
She sighed with relief and opened the door. On the step stood a man she guessed to be in his late thirties, with curly blond hair and a tentative smile. In his hand was a bottle of wine.
‘Sorry to be round so late, but I had a parents’ evening at school and wanted to welcome you properly. I saw the light on so risked calling. Here,’ he said, thrusting the bottle towards her, ‘I believe it’s traditional for the seller to leave a bottle for the new owner.’
‘Oh, right. Thanks.’ She took the bottle, adding it to the empty one under her arm. ‘I’m Natalie Ogier, though you probably know that already. Please, won’t you come in?’ She was being polite and hoped he’d refuse but, to her dismay, he accepted and walked into the hall.
‘I was in the kitchen, if you’d like to join me.’
She led the way, still feeling disturbed by the voice she had heard only moments before. Could it have been Stuart? But he wasn’t around when she heard it that morning so…
‘You’ve hurt your hand. What happened?’ he said as she put the bottles on the worktop. His voice was deep with concern. She looked at her hand and saw the blood seeping through the tissue.
‘It was an accident, I…gripped the glass too hard and it broke. Only a small cut, I’ll run it under the tap.’ Natalie turned her back to him as she stood at the sink and let the cold water flow over her hand, the sting making her wince. Stuart came up behind her, saying, ‘That looks deep. Do you have a first aid kit handy? I could help bind it up for you.’
He was right, it was deep and she prayed it didn’t need stitches. ‘Yes, there’s one in that drawer over there. Thought it was a good idea to put it somewhere near the knives,’ she said, nodding towards the knife rack. Stuart fetched the green box and studied the contents. Looking up he smiled, and for the first time she noticed his eyes. They reminded her of blue opals, edged with a darker outer ring; an eye colour she had never seen before.
Stuart placed a sterile dressing over the cut and then wound a fine bandage around her hand, finishing with a neat knot.
‘That should do for now, but if it seeps through you may need to go to A & E for stitches. Does it hurt?’ He released her hand and she felt it throbbing.
‘A bit, but I’ll be fine, thanks.’ Natalie remembered something he’d said. ‘I don’t recall your name being on the sale contract and yet you mentioned being the seller.’ Overcome with tiredness, she fought to stifle a yawn, but failed.
‘Technically my mother was the owner, but I’m her next of kin and as she’s living abroad I acted on her behalf.’ He stood up. ‘I can see you’re tired, so I’ll go. Just give me a shout if you need anything. Living so close, I’d like us to be good neighbours.’
‘Thanks, but my parents only live along the coast, so I hope not to have to call on you.’ She walked with him to the front door. ‘Thanks again for the wine.’ She managed a tired smile as she opened the door.
Stuart nodded. ‘You’re welcome. See you around.’ He strode off towards his own cottage, visible only by a porch light glimmering in the late evening darkness. Natalie shut and locked the door and returned to the kitchen to switch off the lights. As her hand went to the switch she remembered the voice which had startled her earlier. With a shiver she plunged the room into darkness and went upstairs, exhaustion dragging her feet. She didn’t bother cleaning her teeth or removing her make-up, but crawled naked under the duvet, after checking blood hadn’t stained the bandage. It hadn’t. Moments later she was asleep.
A bright light burned through her eyelids and Natalie slowly opened her eyes, disorientated. Sunshine streamed through the un-curtained window and realisation dawned. As she began to push herself up into a sitting position the pain in her hand made her look down. A small patch of brown stood out against the white bandage. Easing herself up carefully, she drew up her knees and gazed out of the window. The sea sparkled against the blue sky, dotted with a few soft clouds on the horizon, and she could make out boats bobbing up and down near Fort Grey. She sighed. It was idyllic. But she felt exhausted not exhilarated. Her sleep had been infiltrated by weird dreams which had left her drained, as if she had spent the night under attack. Vague memories of angry voices and raised fists percolated into her mind. What on earth was it all about? Of course, she had had bad dreams before, everyone did. But the last one had been months ago, when she was still in London and after Liam had hit her. So why now? She was safe from him and lived in a beautiful cottage with a stunning view. Shaking her head Natalie swung her legs out of bed and padded across to the en suite.
Glancing at the mirror she saw the tell-tale shadows around her blue eyes, dulled by exhaustion. Her short fair hair was tousled and her narrow face looked pinched. God, she looked a mess! She needed rest and sun to bring back her normal sparkle. Once showered and dressed in shorts and T-shirt, she felt revived and, after exchanging the bandage for a plaster, went downstairs to the kitchen. Light flooded the room and it felt warm and welcoming, but the outside beckoned. Natalie filled a tray with juice, coffee and toast and went out to the terrace. Only the occasional cry of a wheeling gull disturbed the peace and her spirits lifted. She told herself moving into a new home was a stressful, tiring experience, and it was no wonder she’d had bad dreams. It was Saturday and she wanted to make the most of her free time. With a bit of luck she and her father would get the pictures hung that day and she could relax on Sunday. On the way back inside she heard a car pull up and guessed he’d arrived. Time to get going.
A couple of hours later the sitting room walls were adorned with bright splashes of colour: original water-colours and acrylics that had caught her eye in London galleries. The predominant colours of blue, green, gold and red gave the room warmth, she thought.
‘You have a good eye,’ her father said, standing back to admire the effect.
‘Thanks, they’re by up-and-coming artists and didn’t cost the earth, but I do love their use of colour. And at least you can tell what they’ve painted instead of having to guess like some of those paintings by so-called top artists. I particularly love these,’ she said, pointing to a group of smaller paintings of almost photographic quality, ‘they’re by a Spanish artist of Andalusian towns, but with a twist. See? The way he’s placed his figures? Reminds me of Dali.’
They stood for a few moments amiably discussing the paintings before Natalie made a pot of coffee and they sat outside for a break.
Peter sipped his coffee, looking thoughtful. ‘You know how worried we were about you after that man landed you in hospital.’ His voice held an edge to it Natalie hadn’t heard before and she gripped his hand. He went on, ‘You…you are okay now, aren’t you? He hasn’t been in touch?’
She felt guilty about lying but didn’t want to worry him. ‘No, not since I obtained the restraining order. It’s in the past, Dad, I’ve moved on and I’m glad to be back.’ A twinge in her hand reminded her of the events of the previous day and for a moment she wasn’t quite as certain. Had she been so traumatised by Liam’s behaviour she now heard imaginary voices? When her father had asked about her hand she had shrugged it off as a minor cut. She could hardly have told him the truth!
His voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Good. You may be all grown up now, Natalie, but you’ll always be my little girl.’
Natalie couldn’t help laughing. ‘Not surprising, Dad, seeing as how you’re over six feet tall and I’m a nudge over five!’
He grinned and suggested they get back to the job in hand. With a last glance at the mesmerising view, Natalie picked up the mugs and they went inside to finish hanging pictures in the other rooms. In the London flat her ‘Art Collection’, as she called it jokingly, had filled the open-plan living area and the only bedroom. Friends had remarked it was like walking into an art gallery. Here, there were so many walls the paintings could be spread out and hung to suit the rooms and furnishings.
Natalie enjoyed walking round the cottage with her father as they debated what should go where and the time passed quickly. By three o’clock all the pictures were in place and they took a final tour to double-check Natalie was happy. She was. In fact she loved the difference it made to all the rooms: affirming her personal touch and individual style. Bold, colourful and unusual. Proud of her new home, she reached up to kiss her father.
‘Thanks, Dad; you and Mum have been brilliant. It looks as if I’ve been here for months.’
‘You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now, I must be off as I think your mother has another job lined up for me. No rest for the retired, eh?’ He moved towards the door and then stopped. ‘Nearly forgot, we’d like you to join us for dinner tomorrow, about one, if you’ve no other plans?’
‘Lovely, thanks. Give my love to Mum.’ Natalie closed the door and sauntered outside. Much as she loved the cottage, it was sitting in the garden and drinking in the view which drew her. That and the feel of the sun on her body. Natalie unfolded a lounger and stretched out. The warmth from the sun made her drowsy and it was hard to keep her eyes open. Perhaps a short nap wouldn’t hurt…
Natalie must have fallen asleep and she became aware of a distant voice filtering into her consciousness. It became closer and closer and she woke with a start.
‘Where are you?’ The voice was louder now, coming from behind her, and she froze in terror. Was she imagining voices again?