Madeleine drove through the stone gated entrance, past the gatehouse and up the long and extensive driveway towards the huge gothic building that was Wrea Head Hall. She’d looked the property up on the Internet, but still, the sight of it took her breath away as she rounded the corner. It was like an exquisite piece of Victorian history that had been left behind for the twenty-first century to appreciate and admire.
Parking a little way down the lane, Madeleine walked up the final stretch of the drive and even though the trees had begun to shed their leaves, she used them as camouflage, wanting to take in the full beauty of the house for just a few private moments before walking through the doors.
Tawny lamplight twinkled through the many panes of glass that created the huge Victorian windows. An arched stone church-like doorway stood in the centre of the windows, with its impressive solid oak door. She looked up to where turrets lined the roof and from where carved stone gargoyles could be spotted as they peered down to where she stood.
Madeleine began to shake. The thought of meeting her father made her mouth dry and her apprehension began to build as a slight and irritating feeling of nausea took over. He was somewhere in that house. The man whose knee she had sat on as a child, played games with, and cuddled up to. But then it occurred to her that he might not be home at all. What if he’d taken a holiday, a trip abroad or, even worse, what if he’d sold the hotel and moved on?
Just for a split second she couldn’t decide which would make her more nervous: him being home, or the fact that he might not be home at all.
Her eyes were once again drawn to the huge gothic multi-paned windows. There was a glow which seemed to come from within. Madeleine stood on her tiptoes and watched the people who were congregated inside. Women beautifully dressed in evening wear, men all in black formal dinner jackets, bow ties and crisp white shirts. All held champagne glasses and selected hors d’oeuvres from the vast silver platters that were carried around by waiters. Everyone was smiling, laughing and chatting. A bay bush blocked her view and she struggled to see. It was at times like this that she wished she’d been just a few inches taller. A cast iron planter stood to the left of the window and she used it to balance on, as her eyes became drawn to a stone-built inglenook fireplace that stood impressively within an oak panelled wall. A disorderly pile of logs lay beside it on the tiled hearth.
A man reached forward, chose a piece of wood and threw it onto the already roaring fire. Looking quite at home, a woman stared into the flames and tucked her feet up on a dark blue Chesterfield settee, just as a man passed her a drink, kissed her on the cheek and smiled lovingly towards her. It was a scene of tranquillity. Everyone looked so very happy. All radiated a glow of warmth, joy and contentment.
Then, from a room to the back of the hall, there was a scream. A scream so shrill and loud, it sounded like the final note of an operatic soprano. People moved away from the glow of the fire and almost ran towards the room beyond.
‘He’s dead, he’s dead, murdered,’ a rotund woman shouted as she ran through the crowd towards the window, her hands waving frantically in the air, shaking them above her head, followed by a second scream.
Madeleine panicked, jumped down from her perch and ducked behind the bay tree. Again, her stomach churned, and she began to shake. The tree she cowered behind was hardly the hiding place of the year, its thin willowy trunk and small cast iron tub barely hid her at all. But fear overcame her and she did not dare move. She had to think rationally, had to decide what to do. Something wasn’t right. The guests hadn’t seemed overly alarmed, nor had the waiters and it occurred to her that one or two had actually laughed.
Holding her breath, she began to move slowly around the outskirts of the house. She should have phoned her father first, arriving like this was probably not the best of ideas, after all it was suddenly obvious that the hotel was in the middle of a party and the last thing he needed was her turning up like the proverbial bad penny.
She needed to get to her car without being seen and began creeping from one bush to another, one eye on the house, the other on her car which now seemed to be much further up the lane than she’d originally thought.
‘What the hell?’ a man’s voice bellowed as she felt herself being grabbed from behind and thrown to the ground. Her arms and legs lashed out, kicking and punching as best she could. She managed to land one definite punch before she landed flat on her back; her arms were pushed upward and she was pinned to the damp tarmac, as a man’s body straddled her from above, making it difficult to breathe.
‘HEEEEELLLLLPPPPPP… I can’t… I can’t… breathe. GET… OFF… ME. Ouuuuuuuuchhhhhhhhhhh…’
‘Be quiet for goodness’ sake, you’ll disturb the guests.’ He manoeuvred his weight, allowing her to regain her breath. ‘What the hell are you doing creeping around? Staking the place out?’
Albeit terrified, logic took over and Madeleine began to calm down. Her attacker was asking questions, not the normal actions of a man who was trying to murder or hurt someone.
The daylight had quickly turned to dusk and Madeleine squinted to take in the stranger’s appearance. His hair looked a little unkempt. His chin seemed to be covered in thin, trimmed stubble, but his grimace showed a set of perfectly straight teeth. His breath smelled of fresh mint and he was dressed in army combat clothes.
‘I want to see my father,’ she suddenly managed to blurt out as once again her fighting spirit returned, and she began flailing her legs in a desperate attempt to kick her attacker.
His gaze suddenly changed from stern and angry to amused and just for a moment their breathing fell into unison as they stared at one another in silence.
‘Feisty little madam, aren’t we?’ he said and as quickly as he’d pinned her to the floor he had jumped up and his hand was held out towards her. ‘You getting up, or staying down there?’ His voice was deep, with a distinct Yorkshire accent.
‘I wasn’t planning on being down here in the first place, you asshole. Do you often go around attacking people and throwing them to the floor in the middle of winter?’ Madeleine growled as she stared up at him.
‘Firstly, it was still autumn the last time I checked and second, I only attack people who look like they’re about to rob the place.’ He picked up her handbag and passed it to her.
‘Semantics,’ Madeleine tried to baffle him with words as she nervously looked over her shoulder. ‘I came to see my father and then I changed my mind. The hotel looked busy. I was heading back to my car and trying to be discreet. Until you knocked me flying.’
He began laughing and couldn’t stop. ‘Ma’am, it’s a hotel. Of course it’s busy, what did you expect? We’re having a murder mystery weekend.’
‘Ma’am? Ma’am?’ Madeleine questioned. ‘Who the hell do you think I am, my mother?’ She glared at him and nervously began brushing the dirt from her trousers.
There was a momentary silence as Madeleine slowly digested what he’d said and looked over her shoulder. She caught his eye and a smile crossed her lips but she quickly tried to disguise it. ‘Fine, so that explains it, a murder mystery weekend.’ She blushed and kicked at the gravel.
She looked down at her trousers and once again began to rub the grime from them.
He bowed his head and held out a hand. ‘The name’s Bandit.’
Madeleine shook his hand. ‘Bandit? Is that your name, really? Didn’t your mother like you?’
He laughed. ‘It’s a nickname, given to me when I was in the marines. It kind of stuck, but if it offends you, the real name is Christopher, Christopher Lawless. Now, you say your father lives here? Shall I call the boss or do you want to go and creep around in the trees some more?’
‘Providing the boss is still Morris Pocklington, go ahead. I’m sure my father will be pleased to see how you welcomed his daughter to—’ Madeleine stopped in mid-flow as she looked up to see her cross-armed father standing before her on the doorstep of Wrea Head Hall.