Standing on the top step to Marine House, Stone leant down to inspect the repair which the carpenter had just finished to the front door. It had not even been painted yet and, grudgingly, he handed over £300 in notes for what he saw as an expensive piece of wood for two panels and for boarding up the broken window in the sitting room until it could be reglazed.
He closed the front door without looking along the road for the thug who had loitered menacingly around Marine House. Even handing over Xavier’s demand, with a knife flashing in his face, would never leave this place secure from the heroin addicts who would do anything for a payday.
He walked down the wide hallway and into the sitting room where he poured a whisky. Today his pain was never far away; it was showing in the lines of his thin face. The hurt in his back was very intrusive; Nurse Carol had called earlier that morning with his medication, but it was slow to work and there was little he could do to get comfortable.
The boarded broken window stared at him as, with the large glass of his favourite malt in his hand, he stood on the small balcony and gazed across the road to the sea. Unusually for Stone, introspection caught him for a moment. This illness, or any illness come to that, he did not understand.
His intake of whisky had grown over the years; of course, it was now far beyond his doctor’s guided limits. But that was nothing new, and he had always been fit and busy. So why was this insidious disease inexorably spreading around his body, making him lose control of his life? Even the buzz of making money from insider dealing was waning. His brooding left him angry with himself.
The bell to the front door of Marine House suddenly chimed into the hallway. Stone heard it clearly; he looked up from his glass of Glenfiddich and swore. Nurse Carol came into the sitting room.
‘Do you want me to get it?’ she asked.
‘No, ignore it – I’m in no mood to speak to anyone. There have been some hoodlums around this place, and I’m beginning to feel very tired.’
Nurse Carol looked at Stone – she knew what he was saying; she had picked up the pieces lying on the back doorstep. She watched as Stone took a long sip of his whisky and sat back and closed his eyes. But the caller persisted with a long ring of the bell, as if they knew he was there.
His instinctive irritability increased; he pulled himself from the chair and started walking slowly to the hallway. But Nurse Carol stood in front of him.
‘Please go and rest and I’ll answer it,’ she said.
‘If it’s those hoodlums, tell them to clear off before I call the police.’
Stone walked slowly back to his chair and his whisky. A minute later, Nurse Carol came back into the sitting room.
‘I think you’d better come to have a look and listen before I open the door. It’s somebody who says it’s vitally important and they urgently need to see you. But be careful, there are a lot of cold callers with scams around this part of town. You’ve seen one on your back doorstep, so this could just be a hoax.’
Stone waved Nurse Carol away and ambled slowly down the hallway.
The video connection showed a clear picture and, as he took it in, he stood back. The person standing at the front door of Marine House was positively someone he did not want to talk to. Ever again.
He recoiled for a moment and stood still.