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A couple of minutes later, with order restored, and a fresh glass of water placed in front of Parkin, which Caro eyed nervously, the medium continued.
‘See?’ he said, staring at her knowingly with gleaming eyes.
‘See what?’
‘Come on, Mrs Harcourt – Caro – may I call you Caro?’
‘Of course,’ she said flatly.
‘That was a sign from your aunt. She’s not happy with your attitude.’
‘Oh, come on, it was just a faulty glass. Probably got cracked in the dishwasher and the ice caused it to contract.’ She said it without conviction.
‘Is that how you want to explain away everything else that’s happened in the house? Do you want to be in denial?’
‘What else has happened that you know?’
He stared at her again, hard. ‘You’ve seen her, haven’t you?’
‘I’ve seen a woman standing behind me in my mirror, yes. Ollie – my husband – has seen her too.’
‘Can you describe her?’
‘She’s not that distinct – an old woman – in her seventies or eighties. Sort of like a translucent shadow.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s got to be the woman your aunt is telling me about. If you’ve seen her then you really do have to leave.’
Caro shivered. The events of the night, the presence of this woman in her mirror, and now this medium all went against the grain of what she believed – and what she wanted to believe. And yet he was right, she couldn’t be in denial. ‘I told you – on Monday – I just don’t believe in – I’ve never believed in, you know – inspirits. Not in the past. I always thought it was rubbish.’
‘And now?’
‘Now I’m not so sure. Something’s happening, isn’t it?’
‘There’s a really bad energy in your house.’
‘There must be ways of dealing with bad energy. Shit, you are really spooking me!’
He closed his eyes, and again pressed his knuckles to his forehead. ‘She’s showing me a bed. She’s showing me something very wrong with a bed. Does that mean anything to you?’
Caro stared back at him. ‘Yes, yes it does. Can you help us?’
‘I am trying to help you. I’m telling you that you have to leave this house.’
‘And I’m telling you that we’ve sunk every pe
‘You mean exorcists?’
‘Yes. Do you know any?’
‘That doesn’t always work. Did you see that old film The Exorcist?’
‘Yes, a long time ago. I thought it was scary, but stupid.’
He looked down at his plate then up at her again. ‘In my view, Caro, the only thing that would be stupid would be to ignore what’s happening.’
Caro felt the vibration of her phone, which was on silent, signalling an incoming text. She pulled it out of her handbag and glanced at it.
The message said:
YOU’LL NEVER LEAVE MY HOUSE.
Then, moments later, it vanished.
31
Thursday, 17 September
Ollie had a hectic morning, dealing first with amendments to the Cholmondley website, followed by a lengthy Skype conversation with his new client, Anup Bhattacharya, on the content of his website. He was also pleased to see three new enquiries come in, following his visit to all the stands at the Goodwood Revival last weekend. In someway she was glad of the distractions of work, but he badly needed time to think.
At least with a blue sky and sunshine outside, the house felt more welcoming and normal than it had during the early hours of this morning. He’d called Caro a couple of times to see how she was, but only got her voicemail. He’d also called the previous vicar of Cold Hill, the Reverend Bob Manthorpe, and had left a message on his voicemail. Now, at 1.45 p.m., having just got off the incredibly long-winded conference call, he was hungry and went downstairs to grab himself some lunch.
The house was a hive of activity, which he was glad about. As he entered the kitchen he saw the head of the building firm, Bryan Barker, in discussion with his foreman, Chris.
Barker, in a lumberjack shirt, jeans and heavy-duty boots, was an affable, energetic man with a dense crop of silver hair and youthful good looks that belied his sixty-seven years.
‘Ah, Ollie,’ he said. ‘I was about to come up and see you. Chris is very worried about the cellar. There are two structural walls down there in extremely bad shape.’ He gestured to his foreman, a lean, pensive and pleasant-natured man in his thirties, to continue.
‘We’re going to have to hire a structural engineer, Mr Harcourt,’ the foreman said. ‘I think we need some Acrow props urgently. I’ll show you where I mean.’
Ollie followed them both down the brick steps into the cellar. Bryan Barker pointed to a large space which led through to the disused kitchen. There had clearly been a wall here at some point. ‘This is what we’re worried about.’
The foreman pointed up. ‘It looks to me as if the developers who were working here before they went bust, as I understand, had taken down a wall to open this space up. But the problem is, this is a main load-bearing wall.’ He then pointed at several large cracks in the ceiling. ‘I’m not at all happy about these,’ he said. ‘We’ve only discovered them since removing the plaster here. I don’t want to alarm you, and I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure these have widened in the last few days.’
‘If any of them went,’ Barker chipped in, ‘it could have a domino effect on all the floors above. It could literally bring down the entire house – this part of it, anyway. I think we should get an engineer out here quickly.’
‘How much would he cost?’ Ollie asked, gloomily, knowing that underpi
‘I think he’d come out for a site visit without charge. Then it would depend on how much work he has to do. I really don’t think you have any option.’
‘Why the hell didn’t the surveyor mention this in his report?’
‘He did.’
The foreman nodded, adding his confirmation too.
‘Shit, did I miss it?’ Yet another thing Ollie realized he had missed – or at least had misinterpreted. There was so much wrong that after a while his eyes had glazed over each time he’d reread the report. He and Caro, who had red-pe
‘I don’t suppose we’ve any chance of getting any of this on insurance?’ Ollie asked.
‘Not a hope in hell, I shouldn’t think,’ Barker said.
The foreman shook his head.
‘OK,’ Ollie said. ‘You’d better do it.’ Then he hesitated. ‘Bryan, when you have a moment, could you come upstairs and take a look at something for me?’
‘Of course. Want to do it now?’
As Ollie led the way up to the attic bedroom, Barker suddenly asked him, ‘Were they relatives of yours or Caro’s who were here earlier?’
Ollie stopped and turned. ‘Relatives? Here earlier? Who do you mean?’
‘The couple with two small children.’
Ollie frowned. ‘Couple with two small children? I didn’t have any – visitors.’
‘About an hour ago. He had a big cigar. I thought he must know you pretty well to be smoking in your house!’
Cigar. Ollie was thinking back to last night. The middle of the night. The smell of cigar smoke in the room before the bed had rotated. Barker had seen something, he realized. But he didn’t want him getting spooked, and perhaps telling his workmen, and risk some of them leaving. Equally, he knew that Bryan Barker was no fool.