Rachel wasn’t sure why Philip was unhappy about her working in the wine cellar. But on her first day there, her second day at the house, she realised she wasn’t happy about it either. The door to the cellar was off the hallway. It led to a flight of wooden steps that led in turn to a cavernous and rambling space that ran under the house. Row after row of tall wine racks shaded the lights so most of it was sunk in an uneasy and shadowy gloom. The stone walls and floors made the cellar chilly and cold, even while the sun was burning bright outside.
Of course there were no windows down there. But once you passed the first wine racks there was no sign of the steps or the door either. That, together with the silence and the shadows tinged with garish colours thrown by the bottles, disorientated Rachel. It was easy to feel she was trapped in a grisly fairy tale, locked up in a monster’s underground lair with no way of escape. One of those stories that parents decide they won’t read to their children because it might give them nightmares.
At the end of the cellar was a desk where she set up her notebook and pen.
Rachel wandered from row to row along the racks, counting the wines, dividing them into reds, rosés and whites, Spanish, French and Italian. In boxes littered around were job lots of wine that Danny had bought at auctions and Rachel fished out the bottles and arranged them on the racks. There was something curious about this collection. But she couldn’t put her finger on it.
She shivered slightly when she heard the door above open, a piercing shaft of light appear and the sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs. When she realised it was Philip with Ray the dog in tow, she felt relief but couldn’t understand why. Philip was uncharacteristically sombre.
He picked up a bottle of red. ‘How you doing?’
‘Fine. Although I haven’t seen much of Danny this morning, so I’m not entirely sure if I’m doing the right thing.’
Philip sighed. ‘I think he’s on one of his building sites today.’
‘My job here is a bit strange.’
In the half-light, Philip’s face remained in the shadows. ‘Really? Why?’
‘I don’t think he drinks wine. All these bottles are covered in dust. They look as if they’ve been dumped here. Funny behaviour for a wine connoisseur.’
Philip put the bottle down. ‘I know. I think he’s pretending to be a country gentleman and country gentlemen keep wine collections. It’s a bit of a joke.’ His tone suddenly changed and he burst into a warning. ‘Listen, Rach, I don’t want to freak you out or anything but you might decide that it’s not a good idea to be on your own down here with Danny.’
Rachel gave a light laugh. But it wasn’t a convincing one. ‘I don’t know what you mean. He’s a friend of my dad’s. He’s my employer; I can’t tell him where he can and can’t go in his own house. What are you suggesting – that he’s a bit handy with women or something?’
Philip picked up another wine bottle and studied the label. ‘No, I’m not suggesting that at all. It’s just I don’t think it’s a good idea. Tell him you can’t work down here. Tell him you’re claustrophobic – he’ll believe that. He thinks all women have a phobia of some sort or another, except Dannyphobia of course.’
Rachel became angry. ‘Stop it, Philip, you’re frightening me. There’s no way Danny’s like that. My dad thinks sex pests should be hung. If he thought Danny had laid a finger on me, he’d kill him, and I mean really kill him. Danny will know that, my dad’s views on the subject aren’t exactly a secret. So please, stop it.’
‘It was just a thought, that’s all. I didn’t mean anything by it.’
Rachel said nothing further and Philip drifted back up the stairs to the hallway followed by an unusually quiet Ray.
But a few hours later, when Danny returned from his building site and paid her a visit in the cellar, Rachel was worried. Danny said nothing as his footsteps echoed on the stone floor and he weaved in and out of the wine racks, casting peculiar shaped black shadows on the back wall where she sat making notes.
Then he was standing right behind her. It startled her slightly because she hadn’t heard him move. The lack of natural light in this underground world suddenly somehow bothered her. Why that was, she couldn’t say.
‘How are you getting on, Rachel?’
Her answer was uncertain. ‘Good thanks.’
Danny was uncomfortably close. ‘You’re all right down here, are you? I mean, to be honest, this cellar gives me the creeps a bit. You’re not scared of enclosed spaces or anything?’
‘No. Well, maybe a little.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘Okay. Look, do the best you can down here and then we’ll find something else for you to do.’
‘That would be good.’
There were a few agonising seconds before he walked away, the stairs creaking and moaning beneath him. When he opened the door to the cellar, Rachel heard Danny shout, ‘What are you doing loitering in the hallway? And I thought I told you to get rid of that bloody animal.’
The door slammed shut so Rachel didn’t hear Philip’s reply.
As the days passed, Danny’s visits to the cellar were less and less frequent. On one such afternoon visit, he admitted to her that he didn’t even like wine and was thinking of selling his collection and converting the cellar into a gym.
‘I suppose the whole thing was my attempt to play the country squire. I’m really into my classic cars, Rachel, that’s what I love. On your final day here, I’ll take you for a spin and we’ll go for lunch in a country pub. Would you like that?’
Rachel pretended she would. ‘Yes, that would be nice.’
‘I’ll tell you what, why don’t you go home early. You’re wasting your time down here anyway.’
Rachel grabbed her bag and seized her chance to leave.
It was the following afternoon, while Rachel was at her desk in the cellar, that Danny paid her a final visit. He stood right behind her while she sat at the desk writing up her notes. The heat coming off him and his shallow breathing were making her tense again.
‘I think you’re about done down here. Let’s reassign you to something more worthwhile.’
Rachel felt an immediate release in her belly at his words. But she also noticed his voice sounded slightly slurred and the peculiar shadow he cast on the wall in front of her swayed slightly. He rested his head on her shoulder from behind and she caught a whiff of his stale cologne and the equally stale alcohol on his breath, his bristled cheek pressed up against hers.
Then his arms coiled themselves around her waist like a slimy python and he whispered, ‘I’ve got a four-poster upstairs that needs airing. How about you come and help me with that.’
She froze. Her legs didn’t obey when she tried to jump up and no sound came out of her mouth when she opened it to scream. She was stiff, caught cold in a hellish moment in time.
‘Or are you the kind of girl who prefers it a bit rough on the desk in the cellar? Trapped with nowhere to go. You can tell me, Rachel, I’m flexible.’
It was only when he forced his hands up her blouse and squeezed her breasts so hard that she was in agonising pain that she finally let out a piercing scream.
Trapped. Trapped. Trapped.