The House on Cold Hill

As he stood panting he was distracted by the cottage gate. It was back to how it had been, shabby and hanging badly from its rusty hinges.

He didn’t have the energy to ride any more, so he pushed the bike on up the hill. He was greeted by the grinding sound of cutting equipment as he rounded the bend. A blue and white ‘Police Accident’ sign had been placed in the middle of the road, and an officer in a yellow fluorescent jacket and white cap, holding a torch, stood beside it.

As Ollie reached him, panting hard, and staring with a deep chill at the work going on around the crushed car, he said, ‘I live just up there – Cold Hill House.’

‘OK, you can come through, sir, but I’ll have to accompany you.’

‘Can you tell me anything about what’s happened?’ he asked.

‘I’m afraid not, sir.’

‘I think the people in that car were coming to see my wife and me,’ he said.

‘Friends of yours, sir?’

‘The local vicar and another chap. I recognize the car. That tractor driver – he’s a bloody reckless idiot – tears up and down here like it’s a racetrack.’

‘But you didn’t witness the collision, did you, sir?’

‘No, I didn’t. I think I may have heard it.’

‘Thank you, all right, if you could move along please, sir, there’s a hoist just coming up the hill.’

‘Yes – sure. Er – can you tell me, where did that Cadillac go, just now?’

‘Cadillac?’

‘Yes, a great big 1960s convertible – it went shooting past me a couple of minutes ago.’

‘It didn’t come up here, sir, I’d have stopped it. It must have turned off.’

Ollie nodded and said nothing as he pushed his bike, shivering with shock as he passed the wreckage, and went in through the gates. But he knew.

Knew that from the point where the Cadillac had passed him, to here, there was no turn-off.

58

Monday, 21 September

Two alpacas trotted over through the misty gloom, as Ollie stopped again for a rest, halfway up the drive. He was feeling so exhausted that if he’d had his phone with him, he might have called Caro and asked her to come down and pick him and his bike up in the Range Rover. But in his haste he’d left it up in his study.

He had a bug, clearly. He needed to go to bed when he got home. Maybe he should have gone to bed over the weekend to shake it off.

He was feeling sick and feverish. Images of two crushed bodies, bleeding, maybe some of their internal organs exposed, went round in his mind. Friendly, caring Roland Fortinbrass. Crushed. The Minister of Deliverance whom he had not met. Crushed.

TWEEDLEDUM AND TWEEDLEDEE ARE ON THEIR WAY!

THAT’S WHAT YOU THINK. THEY’RE DEAD. YOU ALL ARE.

The house loomed ahead in the starless darkness. He could see the yellow glow of the hall light, and the one up in his office. Drenched in perspiration, he wheeled his bike, treading carefully in the darkness, round to the back of the house. There were more lights on here – the atrium and the kitchen, their bedroom and Jade’s room. In the weak glow from the windows he put the bike back in the shed, then went into the atrium.

‘Hi, darling!’ he called out.

Then he saw the two suitcases in the hall, by the front door.

‘Caro?’ he shouted.

‘I’m up here,’ she shouted back.

He climbed the stairs and went along into their bedroom. Two more large suitcases lay on the floor. She was folding clothes into one of them.

‘What are you doing?’ he said.

‘I tried to get hold of you, you weren’t answering your phone.’

‘I left it up in my office.’

‘The old lady from Garden Cottage called me. She told me about the accident – the vicar’s car. She said there are two people in it. I think we both know who they are, don’t we?’

She turned to face him.

He walked over to her and put his arms round her. ‘We’re going to get through this, darling.’

‘We’re leaving. Now. Jade, you, me, Bombay and Sapphire. We’re not staying another night here.’

‘I don’t feel well, I need to go to bed.’

Breaking gently away from his arms, she walked over to the bed and put her hand on it. ‘You’re going to sleep in this? Touch it, Ollie. Touch it!’

He followed her and touched the counterpane. It was sopping wet. He touched the top pillow and it was sodden.

‘Shit,’ he said.

‘Look at the walls,’ she said, pointing with her finger.

They were glistening with moisture.

‘We could sleep in the drawing room again.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘All the bedding is sopping wet. Jade’s room is the same. We don’t even have a dry towel in the house. We need to leave, now.’

She closed up her suitcase. ‘Get packing. Just take whatever you need for tomorrow. Mum and Dad are expecting us, she’s making some supper.’

‘Caro, this is—’

‘This is what, Oliver?’

His head was swimming. ‘Darling – OK – give me an hour, I’ve got to get some stuff together up in my office.’

‘No, we’re going now. I’m taking Jade and the cats. You come on when you’re ready. I’ll make sure we keep some supper for you.’

There was no point arguing. ‘OK,’ he said, thinking about the news report he had heard earlier today on his way back from Cholmondley’s showroom. ‘Take the Range Rover, will you?’

‘I don’t like driving it, you know I don’t, it’s too big for me.’

He held her again in his arms and tried to kiss her, but she turned her face away. ‘Please, tonight, take it. I’ll bring the Golf.’

‘Why?’

‘Because . . .’ He hesitated, not wanting to tell her what he had heard on the radio. ‘You can get all the stuff in there more easily.’

She shrugged. ‘OK.’

‘I’ll give you a hand loading it.’

‘No, get on with your packing. Jade’ll help me. OK?’

‘OK,’ he said, reluctantly.

He lugged her suitcase down into the hall and placed it by the front door with the other cases. As he turned round he saw his daughter coming towards him holding the two cat baskets.

‘OK, my lovely?’

‘Are we coming back soon, Dad?’

‘Soon.’ He kissed her, then climbed back up the stairs. He stopped on the landing to get his breath back, feeling giddy and as if he was about to throw up. He took several deep breaths, then carried on up the tower stairs and into his office.

He walked over to his desk and sat down in his swivel chair in front of his computer, completely exhausted and half-expecting to see another message on the screen.

But there was nothing.

He closed his eyes. It felt like a steel band was tightening round his chest. He sat there for several minutes, dozing fitfully.

A ping from his phone startled him.

Down below, he heard the crunch of tyres on gravel, and the sound of a car receding.

He dozed again for a few moments. There was second ping.

Only half aware, he reached forward for his iPhone, picked it up and looked at the display. There was a message from Caro.

Range Rover has a flat battery. Have taken Golf. Call RAC and then join us as soon as you can. Love you. X

‘Noooooooooooooo!’ he yelled, jumping up from his chair with his phone in his hand, and throwing himself down the stairs, along the landing, down into the hall and to the front door. He raced out on to the driveway. ‘Caro!’ he shouted. ‘Caro!’

The Range Rover sat there, dark and silent. Red tail lights were moving away from him, disappearing down the drive, over the brow of the hill.

‘Caro!’ he screamed. ‘Caro!’ He ran after her, breaking into a sprint, the tail lights receding further and further into the distance.

The police would stop her at the bottom, he thought. The accident. The road would still be closed. They wouldn’t let her pass. Oh God, please don’t!