Selena waved a warm goodbye as Laura pulled out of the drive: she had insisted on dropping her home after dinner. They’d had a wonderful evening, which seemed to go by in a flash.
Selena pushed her key into the lock, glad that she had left all the lights blazing inside Sloe Cottage – she didn’t intend to come home to a dark house again. She walked quickly through the living room, where the air was icy despite the glowing fire, and into the kitchen, taking off her jacket and shoes, stretching her legs. It was past midnight, Sunday morning already, so she’d go straight up to bed and have a shower when she woke up.
Selena rushed upstairs, two steps at a time, keen to enjoy the warmth of her bed: she’d only had one glass of wine with dinner. Laura, generous to a fault, had insisted that she try several of her father’s pakoras, by which time she was too full to eat much of the huge portion of chicken jalfrezi that was placed in front of her. She walked down the landing between the two bedrooms: the door to the second bedroom was ajar. Selena pulled it crisply closed.
Ten minutes later, she was in bed, the room lit by a soft glow from the lamp. She considered reading a book for twenty minutes, but then she changed her mind, switching off the light and closing her eyes. As she tried to sleep, shreds of conversation from the evening came back to her. Rob and Laura had entertained her with anecdotes connected with Rob’s love of history. Laura thought that it was hilarious that Rome was founded by two brothers who were nursed by a she-wolf: her pupils always loved to act out that story. Rob explained excitedly that he was a member of several local societies, that he had recently been to Taunton Museum to see the largest collection of Roman coins which had been found in a single container, in Frome. Selena thought that Rob was fascinating: she liked the way his eyes shone as he spoke with such enthusiasm about his research. They had chatted for a while about Selena’s paintings, and she had mentioned meeting Joely, who, according to Laura, was well known in Ashcombe as a herbalist who was always in demand, particularly for her incredible natural skin creams.
Selena breathed deeply, trying to calm her mind so that sleep would come; she thought wryly that she could do with some of Joely’s valerian or chamomile tea to help her drift off. She opened her eyes: the room was intensely dark, the granular blackness made it impossible to see a chair or a wardrobe in the corner of the room. Selena tensed as she recalled the shadowy form she thought she had seen beside the old well, the slender figure, her arms raised as if in salutation. She told herself firmly that it had been simply her imagination, a trick of the moonlight and shadow. There had been no one there. She was enjoying living and painting in Sloe Cottage and just because it was old, it creaked a little and it had an atmosphere, she wasn’t going to let that spoil her stay. She was painting good marketable pictures, she was benefiting from the peace and quiet, she was healing, and she had started to think less about David and everything she had lost.
Selena rolled over on her side and exhaled, feeling sleep start to swamp her. She was safe and warm, her toes curled beneath a soft duvet, and she began to drift. Her breathing was deep and rhythmic, she was almost asleep, when she heard a sound, a distinctive noise coming from outside the room. It woke her immediately; she was alert, listening. It was a single sob, soft, but definitely a throaty moan. She was sure she had heard it: it had been outside the door on the landing, or beyond.
Selena held her breath, wide awake now, her ears straining for any sound. She wondered if an intruder had managed to sneak in while she was out, but it was unlikely: the house had been locked. Her mind raced, wondering what to do. For a while there was nothing, deafening silence in her ears, then she heard the click of a latch, the creak of a door opening. She recalled the second bedroom, how she had closed the door earlier, and now she had just heard it open; she had heard someone open it.
Selena couldn’t move; her breath rasped in her chest as she listened hard. Her skin prickled with cold and fear; she felt a rivulet of perspiration pool at the bottom of her spine. She huddled beneath the duvet and waited. Then she heard a soft footfall on the landing, hardly a sound at all, but Selena was sure someone was there. She opened her mouth to call out, but the words stuck in her throat. She was sure that there was someone just beyond the bedroom door: she felt that at any moment, the door would be pushed open. Selena wished she had the courage to get up, to switch on the lights, flood the room with brightness, fling open the door and prove to herself that there was no one there. Her mind was playing tricks.
Then there was another noise, a slow dull metallic scrape: the door latch to her bedroom was being lifted. Selena felt her body stiffen, bracing herself, and time stretched as she held herself tense and coiled. She strained her ears to listen, but there was no sound other than the thud of her pulse.
Selena cowered beneath the duvet and squeezed her eyes closed, shaking, hoping that sleep would soon come.
The next morning, Selena woke unusually late: it was after eight thirty. Once she had fallen into slumber, she had slept surprisingly well. She slithered from beneath the duvet in pyjamas, about to rush to the shower, then she changed her mind. She stood in front of her bedroom door: it was closed, as she had left it: nothing had changed. In the bright daylight, Selena knew that her imagination had played tricks on her last night; she had heard the wind and believed it was something else, something supernatural. Perhaps Joely’s words about the house having a presence, the constant repetition of the word eerie, had got to her. This morning, her mind was calm, focused. She had imagined the sound of a sob and the rest had followed: the natural creaks of the house, movement from the wind.
She placed a hand on the door latch, hesitating for a moment before thrusting the door wide and stepping onto the landing. The air was cool, the space was gloomy, but nothing was amiss. She stepped cautiously towards the second bedroom and caught her breath. The door was slightly ajar. She knew she had closed it firmly last night, but now it was open, a gap revealing the shadows beyond. Selena took a breath and pushed the door open: it banged against the interior wall, creaking back towards her. She stepped into the bedroom. The air was ice against her skin through her thin pyjamas. She gazed around: the bed was exactly as Claire had left it a week ago, the duvet smooth, the pillows plumped. The curtains were parted, revealing a clear glass vase. Nothing had changed. Selena resolved to wash the bedding today, to open the windows wide and let in some fresh spring air. But first, she’d have a shower.
It was past nine when she emerged from the shower, her hair dripping. She paused, listening, hearing the sound of rapping: there was someone knocking at the front door downstairs. She wriggled into clothes and rushed down, barefooted beyond her jeans, her hair soaking into the fabric of her top.
When she shoved the door ajar, she was surprised to see the engineer, now smarter, tall and lean in jeans and T-shirt instead of the black anorak: he was standing there, smiling broadly.
‘Has something else broken down?’ she asked, puzzled. ‘Only, it’s a bit odd to get another visit from an engineer on a Sunday.’
He laughed, thinking she was making a joke, and held out a box containing a coffee maker. ‘I’ve brought you this, since the old one doesn’t work. And also…’ His other hand held a paper bag of croissants. ‘I brought these too – I hope you haven’t had breakfast yet.’
Selena was even more puzzled. ‘Thank you…’
He smiled. ‘My mother asked me to bring the coffee maker over and I thought the croissants would be a useful addition.’
‘Your mother?’ Realisation dawned on her slowly. ‘Do you mean Lesley?’
‘I should have introduced myself last time, but I thought you knew. I’m Nick Russell. Ian and Lesley are my parents.’
Selena smiled shyly, feeling a little awkward that she had assumed he was the engineer. But now it all made perfect sense.
She opened the door wider. ‘Would you like to come in? Have you had breakfast? I mean, there are too many croissants for one.’ She put a hand to her mouth, wondering if she was being forward.
‘Thanks, and no, I haven’t eaten already – breakfast would be nice. And we can check the coffee machine works…’
Half an hour later, they were sitting at the kitchen table with small cups of perfectly brewed coffee and a plate each of warm flaky croissants. Selena was glad she had asked Nick Russell to stay. He was good company, and the presence of another person was exactly what she needed to bring her back to normality after her imagination had played tricks last night. She watched him from across the table, his fingers wrapped around the small cup, and she smiled. ‘The new machine makes great coffee. It was kind of you to bring it over.’
‘Mum and Dad are busy in the garden this morning. I usually drive up to see them at some point over the weekend,’ he said. ‘Coffee makes a nice change. I’ll have to start drinking it again.’
Selena remembered. ‘Oh, you usually drink Earl Grey tea.’
‘This is Sunday breakfast, though.’ The skin around his eyes crinkled as he grinned. ‘But why are we talking about breakfast when I’ve wanted so much to talk about your paintings?’
A smile spread across Selena’s lips. ‘The painting is going really well. I’m having such a great time here – it’s so inspiring.’ She leaned forward. ‘I’ve painted fields, cows, trees, and I’ve even painted the old well.’
‘I’m glad you’re enjoying Sloe Cottage.’ Nick raised his eyebrows. ‘Many people just find it a bit cold and a bit eerie.’
‘That was the word you used last week.’ Selena wondered whether to mention to him the silhouette she’d glimpsed standing beneath the moon, or the sob she’d heard last night from the spare bedroom. She decided not to: he hardly knew her and she didn’t want him to think her foolish.
‘It’s an old house,’ Nick said by way of explanation. ‘Especially the front part, the original seventeenth-century rooms. It has an atmosphere and not everyone feels comfortable here. But you clearly do.’ His gaze was one of admiration. ‘You seem to be really at home, painting and sketching, having a great time.’
‘That’s what I came here to do,’ Selena replied.
‘On that note,’ Nick pushed his half-finished coffee cup away. ‘How would you like to go for a walk? There are some great places around here – woodland, farmland, hills. It’s a lovely day and you could bring your sketch pad. From the Blackdowns, you can see for miles. And there’s a lovely walk up to an old beacon, one of a chain of beacons built in Elizabethan times to warn of advancing enemies, the Spanish Armada. From the top, you can see villages, hills and farms, the motorway and the Wellington monument. It’s a stretch of history, the old and the new.’
‘Oh, that would be great. I’ll take some photos, and perhaps I can paint some of the scenes later.’ Selena’s voice was warm with enthusiasm. It would be a perfect Sunday, being outdoors exploring, looking for new landscapes to paint. And Nick had local knowledge; he knew the best places to visit. She would pull on some walking boots and a jacket, then they’d set off into the sunshine.
Selena smiled: she was looking forward to the rest of the day: it was glowing with all sorts of new possibilities.