by Gill Mather
CUT OFF
GILL MATHER
All rights reserved
© Gill Mather 2016 The right of Gill Mather to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This book is a work of fiction and except in the case of historical fact and actual place names, any resemblance to actual persons living or dead or to locations or places mentioned in the book is purely coincidental
CONTENTS
About the book, About the author
Chapter 1 Saturnalia
Chapter 2 Fun And Games
Chapter 3 Medallion Man
Chapter 4 Never Judge A Book By Its Cover
Chapter 5 Checkmate
Chapter 6 Old Sins
Chapter 7 The Ark Among The Flags - Exodus 2.5
Chapter 8 Send
CUT OFF
This sequel to 'Compromised' has Roz Benedict and Guy Attwood spending a mid-winter break in a commune in Suffolk. Intending to enjoy their holiday walking and visiting country pubs, instead a spell of bad weather results in an enforced confinement in Burning Souls Hall where communications with the outside world are cut off for a week.
During that week, they get to know the residents well, some of them very well. The varied characters of their hosts ensure an interesting stay. Even before their arrival, Roz reads in a local advertiser of a young man having disappeared. Within days of the whiteout commencing, a dead body is accidentally uncovered.
It isn't long before the fun of the various activities on offer becomes overshadowed, for Roz at least, by sinister overtones. Veiled threats and accounts of past incidents are disquieting.
Events rapidly take a serious turn with a calamity in the making. Tragedy seems unavoidable.
THE AUTHOR Gill (Gillian) Mather has published six novels on Kindle under the pen name of Julie Langham, the first five being a series of novels set in Colchester around the same fictional law firm and featuring the same main characters over a number of years. A seventh novel is currently being touted to agents and publishers.
Various of Gill's works also appear in the Suffolk Libraries catalogue as ebooks and have apparently been well received.
Gill has been a solicitor for several decades and runs a small practice from her home in Langham, near Colchester. She is a member of writers' group Write Now! which meets fortnightly near Bury St Edmunds, and also a member of the Dedham Players.
A third short novel following on from Cut Off is planned. Any feedback may be emailed to [email protected]
Gillian Mather - October 2016
Chapter 1 Saturnalia
THE SHORT LOCAL advertiser report gave very little detail and would normally have gone unnoticed. Roz however was twiddling her thumbs in the car while Guy was in a wine merchants purchasing some suitable bottles to offer to their hosts tonight. The advertiser had been picked up at a service station on the way to a New Year’s Eve party near Stowmarket.
The report related that a man in his twenties had disappeared. It named the town of Hadleigh, quite near to the estate where Guy and Roz were soon to spend a romantic week’s holiday. Roz had recently moved in with Guy. It was a considerable departure for her from her previous largely independent, career-woman stance and they were still deciding what to do with her house in Hertfordshire. The Christmas break for Guy, a law lecturer at Lincoln university, went on for two more weeks and before Christmas Guy had suggested a holiday to unwind and celebrate their becoming live-in lovers.
The question had been where. Guy was inclined towards a warm and sunny destination but not too far distant, maybe the Canaries. Goa perhaps.
Roz favoured something closer to home that wouldn't require flying. Having been invited to this forthcoming New Year’s Eve party at Stowmarket, she was reminded her of childhood holidays in Suffolk which was, she assured Guy, a lovely county strewn with public footpaths. They could take healthy bracing walks and end up in wonderful country pubs.
“Oh,” Guy had said.
Therefore she had trawled the internet and happened upon this large country house which, to earn more money to support itself, let out holiday accommodation. They advertised themselves as BSH Breaks but to all intents and purposes, it was a commune by any other name. That, in this modern world, the occupants mostly owned leasehold accommodation within and around the main house couldn't disguise the communal nature of their living arrangements. Although some residents had jobs away from the estate, others worked at the house and in the grounds, growing food and running courses in self-sustainability and various arty-crafty subjects. They ate communally most nights of the week and holiday-makers could join them if they wished for a nominal charge.
This irresistibly appealed to Roz who’d always had a secret yen to join a commune in her youth or become a new age traveller or the like. She had dreamed of experiencing freedom from the strictures of conventional society. Instead she’d been channelled somehow - parents, school careers officers, boyfriend of the day - into one of the most tightly controlled professions possible. The police force. You couldn't sneeze without having to account for it. And it just got worse and worse over the years.
“We can go glamping,” she had told Guy.
“Glorified camping! For a whole week!”
“Actually it stands for glamorous camping. We could opt for a gypsy caravan instead. Or there’s a few tree houses.”
“No. Not a tree house. Not in January. No. If we have to go there, the gypsy caravan sounds the most….substantial.”
“So we can go then?” said Roz.
“Well if you really want to, of course we can.”
Roz threw her arms around Guy’s neck. This was the thing about Guy. He was so easy going. So solicitous of her wishes and welfare. Previous boyfriends and one husband hadn't come close to his sweet, kind, considerate nature. He never moaned about anything. Mostly he turned any potential problems into jokes. And he had asked her to spend the rest of her life with him. It was still difficult to take in.
The car door was opening.
“What do you think?” Guy said handing her three bottles, a red, a white and a Sauternes.
“They’re great,” she said. But she didn't actually look at them as he drove off. She was nervous and distracted at the prospect of this New Year’s dinner party held by intellectuals seemingly for intellectuals, friends of Guy’s. She’d definitely be happier later, once they were in their taxi heading for their hotel.
As they drove off, she looked down at the short report of the disappeared man, read the rest of it and filed it away for future reference or to forget as the case may be.
ROZ WATCHED apprehensively as Guy appraised the accommodation critically, though a small smile was as ever playing around his beloved mouth. He looked at Roz.
“So where are the ‘usual offices’ if you know what I mean?”
“Well, I think there might be something round the back.” She climbed onto the double bed and tweaked the curtain. Sure enough, a few paces away a small wooden shed could be seen in the gloom. Roz hadn’t dared tell him that they would be provided with a composting toilet. A traditional shepherd’s hut stood nearby which would house their shower according to her reading of the literature.
“Hmm,” said Guy testing the bed with his hand and she let the curtain fall back. “Fairly firm. Let’s hope the undercarriage can stand the strain.” He laughed, making Roz laugh too, and he joined her on the bed.
SOME TIME LATER, Guy pronounced the bed sound.
“I think,” he said, “that I need to go and avail myself of the facilities. Then perhaps we can get dressed and go and have a pub dinner.”
“Actually, I booked for us to eat at the hall.”
�
��Oh. Oh well, I s’pose it’s nearer. It won't be vegetarian though will it?”
“Actually possibly vegan.”
“You’re pulling my leg, of course.”
“No. They grow a huge range of vegetables here. Including some experimental ones. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“But I don't want experimental vegan cuisine. I’d quite like a steak now. We don't have to eat with them every night do we?”
“No, no….no. I expect we can go to a nice pub during our walk tomorrow and get you stocked up with meat at lunchtime.”
“Yes. The walk,” he said resignedly. “Oh well. Off I go. If I don’t come back soon, you'll have to employ your detective skills to locate me.”
Guy pulled on a dressing gown, anorak and a pair of wellingtons. He stepped out and down the wooden stairs onto the frosty ground below. He walked to the rear of the caravan and peered around. There was just a small shed. He was looking for the sort of chemical toilet you saw on building sites or at music festivals. Or that people hired for outdoor parties when they didn't want hordes of drunks crashing through their house. He continued to walk around the caravan until he came back to the steps.
“Oh, God,” he said aloud and trudged back to the shed. It was pitch black by now and he had no idea what he was sitting on but it didn't feel very sanitary.
“Roz,” he said when he got back into the caravan, “I think something’s died in that shed at the back, judging by the smell.”
“Did you throw sawdust down?” she said.
“What sawdust? Down what?”
“Oh well. We’ll have a look at it tomorrow.” She was already dressed. “I’m going to go up at the house.”
“Now she tells me!”
THE LARGE HALL was beamed and hung with tapestries and, at this time of year, boughs of holly, ivy, yew and other greenery. Saturnalia still in full swing. There was a fireplace at each end. The log fires roared away and above their heads cast iron candelabras bore thick lighted beeswax candles. There was no other form of illumination. Steaming dishes of various bean and lentil stews were laid on the table which covered most of the length of the hall. Another table similarly laden ran parallel to it.
Rough pottery jugs held homemade wines and ales which Roz and Guy were sampling in ceramic goblets. Other dishes bore artisan bread rolls, potatoes and a range of winter vegetables plus winter salads; salsify and other shredded root vegetables dressed in flavoured oils. Guy, despite being sceptical earlier, was impressed having tried something of everything.
“The wine’s nice too, isn't it,” said Roz.
“Very,” he replied taking a slug. “I’d say it’s quite strong though. We’d better take it slowly.” He swallowed another mouthful.
Their fellow diners were of all ages, including families. While some people looked as though they’d just returned from a day at the office, others dressed in a much more “alternative” style. Ageing hippies, men with white hair in ponytails and women with plaits wearing voluminous kaftans sat alongside besuited men and women with neat hair dos checking their smart phones. Others sported dreadlocks and baggy homemade jumpers, long skirts and working trousers. The children too seemed to mirror their parents, decked out according to their families’ leanings. But when they’d finished eating, they all got down, ran around and played together.
“It’s great for the kids,” said one woman seeing Guy and Roz watching them at play. “There are so many children here there’s always someone to play with and something to do. There’s lots of organised events for them at weekends. And in the summer we eat outside. They can run about and be free. That’s really why we came here; for our son. So that he’d have more freedom than if we lived in just a house in a street. Although he hasn’t any brothers or sisters, he’s never lonely.”
“It seems very well organised,” said Guy.
“Well, we’ve had several decades to sort ourselves out,” said Jack next to him, a member of the suit brigade. They’d had a round of introductions when they first came in.
“How did this place come about then?” asked Guy.
“It was founded by a chap called Samuel Hicks in the nineteen sixties,” said Jack. “He was a bit of a hippy. He inherited some money and bought the house but hadn't the cash to do it up. It was basically a ruin. So he offered like-minded people accommodation in exchange for their labour, and begged, borrowed and stole the necessary materials to gradually restore it. There’s always been some form of holiday business to bring in income, though far less organised in the past. Mainly originally a rather rudimentary campsite. When he got older, Sam put the property into a trust to continue to be run along the lines of his principles of communal living. He’s dead now and the property is run by a board of trustees. I’m a trustee. Sally,” Jack gestured to a woman opposite, “is another trustee.”
“We were surprised,” said Sally, another snappy dresser, “that you opted to stay in a gipsy caravan at this time of year. There’s some nice apartments in the converted stable block. Most visitors we get in the winter book one of those. You’re very brave.”
Roz looked determinedly at the carousing children as Guy frowned at her. Addressing Sally the other side of the table she said:
“So do you still take in people who want to simply live a communal life even if they couldn't afford to buy a flat or house here?”
“Well normally they have to have skills of some kind to contribute. But we do take in a few lost souls who turn up seeking sanctuary. They have to work. They get some pocket money and we hope when they leave that they’re better than when they arrived. Or if they really fit in and can run courses, say, or grow or produce something that can be sold, then they can rent some accommodation.”
“We thought Adam would stay and involve himself in the holiday lets until he suddenly wasn't here any more,” said Alice seated the other side of Roz.
“How d’you mean?” Guy asked.
“Well he cycled off one Saturday before Christmas to supposedly look at some old railway wagons he’d come across on the internet. And he never came back.”
Roz was suddenly conscious that the room was a little quieter than before. The children running around made it harder to tell but there was a tension in the air, she was sure of it.
“I think I may have read about him in a local advertiser,” she said.
“Possibly,” said Jack. “But that’s what sometimes happens. People turn up here without warning and just as suddenly they leave.”
“Has he been found yet?” asked Roz.
“Not so far as we know,” said Alice.
“Did you contact the police or anything?” asked Roz.
“No. We weren't his parents,” said Jack. “We don't have any responsibility for this floating body of flotsam that think they fancy a life in a commune and then find that when they have to work, it doesn't suit them at all.”
“Yes but Adam wasn't like that. He worked hard,” said Alice.
“Whatever. It still doesn't suit everyone.”
“So who told the paper then?” asked Roz.
“His parents we assume,” said Alice. “Some of us thought we’d better contact his parents and tell them.”
“Well,” said Roz, “if you want, I could….” But Guy kneed her quite sharply under the table. “….I could….er….think about it. Meditate upon it.”
An older woman sitting diagonally opposite Roz stiffened and stared at Roz. “Do you have the gift then? You definitely have an aura about you. I feel that you can discern the unseen. The unspoken. Perhaps you’d like to visit the stone circle with me. To those who are receptive, it can enhance such qualities. A few of us have a séance once a month. You’d be very welcome to attend. We….”
“Amelia. Our guests are here to relax and enjoy their holiday,” said Jack. “You mustn’t pester people. And it isn't a stone circle. It’s just a few piles of rocks.”
Guy steered the conversation back to the history of the commune and Jack was happy to o
blige. Roz wanted to listen but Amelia was clearly trying to catch her attention, as was Alice to her right who nudged Roz while scrolling through her smart phone.
“Adam was one of the most ravishingly good-looking men I’ve ever seen. Very well appointed,” she whispered. “My speciality is drawing and painting and I was going to do a few studies of him. I took some photos of him as a starting point. Look.” She handed the phone to Roz.
“Wow,” said Roz, not least since the young man was stark naked.
“Look,” said Alice again and, leaning over, she placed a finger on the screen to zoom into the shot, but instead of homing in on his face, she enlarged the crotch area. Roz giggled
“Very well appointed indeed,” she laughed and zoomed out and onto his face before Guy noticed. For a few moments she sat transfixed. It was true. He was devastatingly handsome. The features were a touch feminine but that just somehow enhanced the masculinity. He had slightly slanting green eyes and low eyebrows, a sensitive mouth and a fine nose. His dark hair, lightly curled, didn't quite fall to his shoulders.
“See what I mean,” said Alice. “He certainly turned a few female heads around here. Funnily enough, the men didn't take to him so well. Probably a good thing he cleared off really.”
Roz was about to ask if there was anyone in particular he’d upset but Guy tapped her arm and said they’d better start their walk back to their accommodation as it was over half a mile. He refused any dandelion and chicory coffee.
“I don't want to be going all night,” he whispered. “Not with the toilet facilities as they are.”
They said their goodnights, donned their outer wear and walked towards the exit. Just before they reached the heavy double wooden doors, Amelia ambushed Roz and pushed something into her hand, closing her fingers around it with her other hand.
