The first place to explore was the house. Conscious of the silence, Emily tiptoed through the foyer like a child sneaking out of her room after bedtime. It certainly was a grand old building, she thought, staring up at the high ceiling. She made a mental note to find out more about its history.
The first room she came to had been turned into an art studio. Mixed-media creations formed by the hands of past visitors were tacked to the walls and ceiling. Poster paints, oils and watercolours sat in rows on work surfaces, while other craft materials were stacked in trays. The stillness of the room instantly reminded Emily of her old classroom after the children had left for the day. She hung in the doorway, memories stirring, then pulled herself away.
The next open door revealed a carpeted room littered with large cushions. A small altar sat at the far end. The smell of sandalwood hung heavy in the air, along with an overwhelming sense of calm.
Moving towards the rear of the house, Emily came to the dining hall. This was where she imagined Lords and Ladies of the Hunt would have feasted on the game that had been shot and killed that day. In the centre of the room, beneath a large chandelier, two galley-style dining tables had been pushed together, end to end.
A loud clatter of dropped pans rang through the air, startling Emily and pulling her eyes towards a set of swing doors on the other side of the room. A male voice released a string of expletives before silence resumed once more.
Deciding to explore outside, Emily headed back towards the foyer, passing by the closed door of Pamela’s office. Entering the walled garden, she welcomed warm sunlight on her face. The day was still bright, the sky a deep, relentless blue. Cupping a hand over her eyes, she smiled as she watched the wildflowers of the meadow dance in the breeze. Her gaze moved from right to left, resting on the small field of vegetables.
Marcia Hardy was stooped over, busy pulling up baby carrots and placing them into a wooden wheelbarrow. Helping her was a woman who Emily guessed to be in her late forties. She wore a loose cotton tunic over cotton trousers. A colourful kitenge headscarf was wrapped around her long dreadlocks. Sensing eyes upon her, the woman looked up and waved. Emily raised a nervous hand in the air.
Leaving the women behind, she strolled through the meadow, moving in a wide circle until she had passed the house and reached the forest’s edge. Skirting the treeline, she noticed a path winding its way between the trunks. Butterflies flitted in the air. Laughter echoed over the meadow. Emily looked back at the distant figures of the working women. Her eyes came to rest on the house. Meadow Pines really was a beautiful place.
Stepping onto the path, Emily entered the woodland. As she walked, she practised her breathing exercise. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. As she exhaled, she felt the knots of tension in her neck and shoulders unravel a little more. They had been building for months, years even. It made sense that it would take time and patience to unpick them all. But here at Meadow Pines, surrounded by nature, Emily suddenly felt as if she had all the time in the world. To be away from all the noise and chaos of the city, even if for a few days, felt like a blessing. Here, encouraged by the tranquil quiet, she could allow her mind to rest and to think positive thoughts. She wasn’t sure about participating in yoga classes or meditation (perhaps she would see how she felt in the morning) but for now, simply being here, embraced by the forest, was all the mindfulness she needed. Which was why, when a short, sharp scream rang out through the trees, Emily felt a twinge of annoyance, before her natural instinct to panic kicked in.
Hurrying along the twisting path, she hoisted herself over a fallen tree trunk. A young woman with shoulder-length dark hair, who was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, stood in the centre of the path, her head swinging wildly from side to side. She was very thin, Emily noticed, her skin as white as paper against the tree bark.
“Are you all right?”
The woman spun on her heels, a startled yelp escaping her throat.
“There was a snake,” she said, her eyes returning to scour the ground. “An adder. They’re poisonous you know. The only poisonous snake in the whole country and they happen to live right here.”
Taking a step back, Emily searched the scrub for signs of the adder’s distinctive zig-zag markings.
“No one’s died from an adder bite in over twenty years,” she said. “In most cases, people are bitten when they’ve come across one in their path and tried to move it out of the way.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
“Ignorance, I suppose. Leave adders alone and they’ll do the same.”
The woman gave the foliage one final, frightened look, then moved towards Emily. “Do you work for the zoo or something?”
“No, I grew up in the countryside. It’s just a thing you pick up.”
“You’re from around here?”
Emily hesitated, then shook her head. “Cornwall. But I live in London now.”
“Why would you want to move there? All that noise and pollution.”
“A change of scene, I guess.” It wasn’t a lie exactly.
“I’ve never been to Cornwall. Or to London for that matter. I never go anywhere. My name’s Melody by the way.” She held out a bony hand. “Melody Jackson.”
“Emily Swanson. I just arrived. I was exploring.”
“Do you mind if I tag along?”
“Be my guest.”
The two women walked along the path, eyes occasionally darting to the sides.
“Is this your first time at Meadow Pines?”
Emily nodded. “How about you?”
Melody brushed her hair out of her eyes. Her movements were quick and nimble, as if her limbs were racing ahead of her body. “Oh, I’ve been here lots of time. I don’t live too far away so it’s easy to get to. Meadow Pines is my little get away from it all. My island. What made you decide to come here?”
The path turned into a small glade where sunlight dappled the forest floor. Foxgloves grew in patches, their bell-shaped purple flowers hanging from long tapering spikes.
“My friend thought it would be good for me. Life has been a little ... hectic lately.”
“That’s why I keep coming back,” Melody sang. She crouched down and plucked a foxglove from the ground.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Emily warned. “They’re poisonous. They’ll give you a rash.”
“Really?” Melody dropped the plucked flower to the ground and rubbed her fingers against her sweatpants.
The women cut through the clearing and picked up the path again. Soon, they heard the babble of running water. A stream lay up ahead. Stepping stones ran from bank to bank. Following Melody, Emily hopped from one to the other, smiling to herself at long ago childhood memories, until she had reached the other side.
“Have you met everyone else?” Melody asked.
“Not yet.”
“I haven’t spoken to everyone yet, but most of them seem nice.” Emily noted the stress in Melody’s words when she said, most of them. “There’s Daniel, who is a social worker. He’s from Italy originally but now he lives in London just like you. He’s very handsome.” She giggled like a schoolgirl, but then, her smile faded. “Then there’s Ben and Sylvia. They’re business types from Manchester.”
“And how are they?” Emily asked.
“Not particularly friendly. All they’ve done since they’ve been here is complain. The food’s not good enough. The water’s not hot enough. You should have seen the fuss Ben made when he found out they’d have to sleep in separate rooms! But that’s Pamela’s policy. Whether you’re in a relationship or not, being here is as much about reconnecting with yourself as it is about reconnecting with the people around you.”
The path disappeared beneath a brush of gorse and hawthorn. As Emily’s eyes were darting between the trees, searching it out, Melody was already cutting around.
“It’s getting so overgrown,” she said, beckoning Emily with a hand. Once they were on the move again, Melody continued with her description of the other guests.
“So next, there’s Helen. She’s a journalist for Modern Living—the magazine for the new woman. That’s what she calls it anyway.” Melody giggled. “She’s here writing a feature about alternative weekend getaways, but Pamela has given her strict instructions not to interview the other guests. After all, modern living is exactly what we’re here to get away from!”
The mention of a journalist being here at Meadow Pines instantly dampened Emily’s mood. Even if this Helen would not be conducting interviews, a little digging would quickly reveal Emily’s past. Reminding herself that there was no internet access at Meadow Pines, Emily relaxed a little. Even if Helen did recognise her from the newspapers, there was little the journalist could do about it.
Melody was still talking. “...apparently she’s some sort of artist. The bohemian type, I suppose you might say.”
“Sorry, who is?”
“Janelle. The lady with the headscarf. She’s very nice, although I’m already sensing tension between her and Sylvia.”
“Oh really? What makes you think that?”
“Well—and I don’t like to speak ill of people—but Sylvia seems to be a little bit ... racist.”
“I see...”
“She hasn’t said anything of course. But it’s more the way she looks at Janelle. I could be wrong of course. It’s a shame, though. You’d think that in this day and age we could all just get along.”
“It’s a nice idea,” Emily said.
“Anyway, that leaves us with Oscar. And I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about him. Pamela said he’s stuck in traffic. He’s wasting a lot of money—half of the weekend will be gone by the time he gets here.”
The path came to an end, bringing them to the northeast corner of the meadow.
“There are lots of other paths to walk,” Melody said. “I can show you a longer one if you like. It goes to my favourite spot—the lake. It’s beautiful there. Most people tend to stick around the house, but why would you do that when you have the great outdoors all around you?”
“Quite,” Emily said. She liked Melody. In spite of her somewhat nervous disposition and unstoppable chatter, she was friendly and approachable. And although she had clearly made it her business to get to know the modus operandi of the other guests, for now, she seemed content enough to enjoy Emily’s company without asking prying questions.
“Shall I take you there? To the lake?” she asked.
“Perhaps later on,” Emily replied. “I should really check on my friend.”
“Yes, I saw you arrive together. Is he your partner?”
Emily laughed. “No, Jerome is a good friend. Although I’m sure right now he thinks I’m a terrible friend for convincing him to come along. He hates it here already.”
“What is there to hate?”
“A lack of concrete.”
“It’s nice to have a friend,” Melody said, staring into the distance. “Derek is my best friend. I always look forward to giving him a cuddle when I get home from work.”
“Your husband?”
“My cat, silly. I’m going to keep walking for a bit. It’s very nice to meet you, Emily. See you at dinner.”
Emily said goodbye as she watched Melody disappear back into the forest. Then, trying not to think about the journalist, Helen or whatever her name was, she headed back towards the house.