Claire parked her car in the garage at the rear of Marine House, and it was gloomy in the shadow. She leant back into her car to pick up her bag, but a large hand suddenly held her arm in a pinch. Her reflex response was to scream but another heavy hand was held over her mouth. The more she struggled, the more tightly her arm was pinched.
‘Do you bring money for Harry?’
‘No, I don’t have money. What are you after?’
‘Let me look in your bag, lady.’
Claire went to close the car door, but she was roughly pulled back and her bag was grabbed from the car seat.
‘I’m nothing to do with Harry, so leave me alone. Take my purse but get out of here,’ Claire shouted.
Without a word the vice grip on her arm relaxed, and with one quick movement, she was thrown to the floor.
‘Tell Harry I gotta have the money. Remind him twenty-five grand in readies.’
The attacker quickly left the gloomy garage space and Claire scrambled to her feet. Her bag had been thrown to the floor, still open. She quickly searched inside, and her purse was missing. Just a few notes, nothing more had been taken.
Claire was shaken. But it was now quiet, and she walked out into the warm summer air. There was nobody there; she was on her own. Walking quickly to the safety of the rear door of Marine House, she fumbled with her key and let herself in. Claire had carefully chosen her time to visit – today, Harry Stone was away in London and, alone, she could search around his large, empty home.
With tenseness in her frown, she made a coffee and stood staring through the rear door of Marine House for several minutes. The quietness of the high-ceilinged kitchen was overpowering, and she almost expected somebody to jump out on her from a cupboard. This place had a sinister feel to it. She crept slowly and warily across the hall to the Regency sitting room where the light was flooding in through the two wide balcony doors. For a moment she stood outside and breathed in the sunny air as if it was a tonic.
For the next hour she walked around Marine House, opening doors, peering into rooms, opening cupboards where the dust had settled long ago. Some of the tiny, cramped rooms on the top floor, servants’ quarters, were creepy, quiet; there were too many spaces with histories of long-gone families living there. Even on a summer’s day, the rooms at the rear were dark and cold. There were two staircases (one for servants), and most of the rooms were musty, with windows that surely had not been opened for many years. The grand Regency sitting room – comfortable in a formal way and now with crumpled cushions – Stone’s study and bedroom, were the only spaces that she could find any trace of having been lived in.
It was easy to see how this large building could be converted into apartments. With views across to the sea, some rooms with spacious, high ceilings, momentarily the thought of living here made Claire excited. But the moment did not last. Just half an hour ago, in the dark garage, Claire had found this place was tainted by money Stone was never going to pay to extortioners, just like Arrow Hall had been.
The bell rang on the front door as Claire was gathering up her papers. The noise startled her; she walked to the video camera and saw the round face and unruly hair of Edith, the daughter of Lady Ruth. As she stared into the video again, Claire saw the same fiery red eyes, just as she had seen them jumping into a meeting in London. This was Edith’s desperation; she was demanding attention.
Claire stopped and, without thinking, let the front door open. Edith almost fell into the hallway and stood glowering at Claire.