A Stranger's House

by Clare Chase

  I wasn’t sure if it might give a repeat performance and I hovered next to the table, wondering what to do. The strawberries were one thing, but opening someone’s private post didn’t feel right. And what else might be in the packet, along with the alarm clock or phone or whatever it was? If there was any other little message for Damien, I didn’t want to be on the receiving end.

  At last, I made up my mind and marched back down the stairs to the basement, already bathed in the early morning light from the French windows. I stuffed the package in the cupboard with the DVDs and the photo, putting a couple of cushions over the top of it for good measure.

  When you only begin your night’s sleep proper at five a.m. it’s a considerable disadvantage to have an all-day festival going on outside your bedroom window the following morning. I managed to sleep until the first bands started up, with only the occasional jolt into brief consciousness before then, when some sudden or violent noise occurred.

  Once the band called Blood Metal came on there was no hope for it. I admitted defeat and got up. Peeking round the drawing room curtains to get an idea of what was going on, I met the gaze of a small child, her face decorated with tiger stripes. Yet another shock to the system and a cue to shape up, get clean and into coping mode.

  I was going to have to call Nate Bastable; that was the decision I came to as I stood in the shower, shampoo suds streaming off my hair and down my arms. I didn’t want to go running for advice but, realistically, I needed to know what to do about the phone. Okay, and partly I just wanted to make a point too. I was still quite convinced that Damien had abandoned it to avoid dealing with awkward callers, and why should I have to put up with the results? Not in my job description, thank you very much Mr Newbold.

  And then there was the parcel. It came to me that I didn’t actually know where Damien Newbold had gone. If he was in the Bahamas, he would no doubt prefer to deal with his post when he got home, but if he was away on business in London, he might want things forwarding. Admittedly, probably not practical joke parcels that woke you up in the middle of the night, but …

  And again, I felt that undeniable desire for revenge. I wanted to forward him a parcel that would disturb his night’s sleep. Serve him right. And presumably someone else had felt just the same way, which was why the bloody thing was here in the first place.

  If sending it on wasn’t an option, I wanted to get permission to open it, or destroy it. Otherwise I’d be constantly listening out, expecting it to do the bonging thing again.

  Standing in the kitchen, my hair drying rapidly in the warm room, I picked up my phone and dialled.

  Nate smiled when he saw Ruby’s number on his mobile; the worry about why she was calling came a split-second later. He dragged one of the wooden chairs out from under the scrubbed oak table, and reached for his half-drunk coffee as he pressed the green button.

  Things moved fast in Newbold’s household. Already an abusive phone call in the middle of the night, and the delivery of what Ruby called a ‘prank’ package, with its alarm call. Nate leant forward in his seat as she talked, elbows on the table. He could tell from her tone she wasn’t spooked – just irritated and venting. But there was something in all this that made him uneasy. ‘I don’t much like the sound of any of that.’

  There was a moment’s pause, but then she spoke quickly. ‘I was just having a rant; it’s no big deal.’

  ‘Ruby—’

  ‘Seriously.’

  Nate leant back in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment. She shouldn’t have to put up with this, and if he let her, then it was his fault as much as it was Newbold’s. And as it happened, he’d had a message from Barry to say he was unexpectedly free. He’d been on a break at Cromer, but had driven his wife home early when his sister-in-law had called to say she’d broken up with her bloke. Now – Nate gathered – both wife and sister were installed in his two-up two-down, talking twenty-four seven about why all men were bastards. Barry was keen to take on any work available, as soon as.

  ‘What if one of my other sitters took over? I’ve got someone available now. You might be more comfortable with family.’

  Nate heard her draw in a sharp breath. It was followed by a long pause. Well, maybe not then. After what Steph had told him, it probably figured. Her grandparents were dead, he hadn’t heard any other relations mentioned, and who knew what her mum might be up to.

  ‘Or it goes without saying that Steph would have you.’ Hell, he’d have her. The thought came unbidden.

  ‘It’d be like being in a goldfish bowl, with all the village cats staring in at me.’

  Which Nate had known already, before he’d suggested it. And things tended to get more expensive when you suddenly found yourself single. Staying in a hotel for a few weeks wasn’t likely to be an option. ‘You said the woman on the phone sounded drunk?’

  ‘As a lord.’

  ‘And did you manage to explain who you were, or that the charming Mr Newbold wasn’t in residence?’

  ‘She hung up too fast.’

  He was less than happy about that, but before he could reply Ruby added, ‘It’s really nothing I can’t handle.’ She was aiming for breezy again. ‘Might it be worth just talking to Damien Newbold to see what he says about the package and the call? Assuming you can get hold of him, that is.’

  Nate’s resolve was ebbing away, like sand around his feet being pulled by the tide. How could he possibly chuck her out? ‘I can get hold of him,’ he said, eventually. ‘Already spoken to him on a mobile number since he left, in fact, so presumably he has more than one.’

  ‘Maybe he’s taken his work one with him, and left his personal one here.’

  ‘Quite possibly.’

  ‘Shall I wait to hear back from you, once you’ve spoken to him?’ Ruby’s voice conjured up her image, those eyes, and the high cheekbones.

  Bugger. ‘All right then. But Ruby?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You will tell me if anything else strikes you as odd, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’ But she said it too quickly.

  The conversation hadn’t put me in a great mood for work. I could tell Nate pitied me, and didn’t really think I should stay at River House. Ironically, it was also out of pity that he was keeping me on. It shouldn’t matter, of course; having a roof over my head was what counted. Officially. I put it out of my mind and went to search for somewhere to set up camp with my laptop.

  Damien Newbold’s study seemed made for the purpose, just along the hall, behind the drawing room. I’d hardly been in there, but now I looked properly I found a large desk, side on to the window, with a bulky wooden swivel chair, for those who reject the more comfortable, modern sort. Damien had chosen dark green, swagged curtains for the room. They covered at least a third of the glass and I tugged at them, feeling irritated. They refused to be pulled back properly, so I had to submit to wandering round in fish-tank gloom, peering at the set-up. Everything was tidy and subdued. The desk had a pile on it, but it was a neat pile – one that had been arranged and left just so. An A4 leather-bound address book sat on top of some other stuff. I sat down for a moment, ready to push the heap aside, but the room was too much somebody else’s. The kitchen would do better. I went out again, closing the door on the dust motes and silence.

  Trying to launch back into my work felt similar to dipping into a cold, stagnant lake. But I hadn’t got time for niceties. The deadline was looming and I was already way behind schedule. The process of going through the interviews I’d done filled me with a sense of self-loathing. I’d never faced up to it before, but I knew all my books had been voyeuristic. Whether I was focusing on weird parenting, or sibling relationships, I was always delving into people’s personal lives for my own benefit. It was just this current one that had taken my research to a higher level of prurience and made me see my work for what it was. I should never have embarked on the topic – the moment I’d done the first interview I’d realised I’d taken a wrong turn, but b
y then it had been too late. And, now the subject was one I found personally difficult, there was all the more need to tackle it without flinching. The business with Luke felt like a punishment; my just desserts.

  I put in a couple of hours but the need to eat broke my concentration. Over a plateful of toast I began to browse the web. Typing ‘Damien Newbold’ into Google was irresistible. I had a strong desire to know what made him tick.

  Well, money for a start, evidently, though that wasn’t news to me. You could see as much by looking round his house. The Internet filled in some of the background to his riches though, telling me he’d made a mint working for a technology consultancy called TomorrowTech. Naff name, but it was clearly doing the business as far as investors were concerned. There were several interviews with Damien in the local business press, commenting on various innovations, and the company’s successful launch on the stock exchange.

  I carried on scrolling through the Google results and eventually found something that had been posted on a technology blog only a day earlier.

  ‘According to our informant, Damien Newbold of TomorrowTech is about to hit the industry press headlines again. There’s talk of a significant new invention which could lead to record profits for the company next year, spelling great news for shareholders and sealing Newbold’s reputation as TomorrowTech’s greatest asset.’

  So, Damien Newbold might be a weirdo, but he was a clever weirdo.

  Then I Googled his company, and found it was based on a science park, just to the north of Cambridge. I scanned the media section for information on his rumoured new innovation, but TomorrowTech’s latest press release dated back three weeks, and there was no mention of his ‘significant new invention’ in any of their recent news.

  Could the rumour and his going away be related? Perhaps he was at some test lab somewhere, working on his new idea in secret. Maybe he was the sort that dropped everything for work, and he had simply flown out of the door, leaving smoked salmon, mobile phones and irate girlfriends without another thought. I let my mind drift away, mulling the package and the phone and what it all meant.

  My attempts at doing more proper work were half-hearted and in the end I spent the rest of the afternoon investigating my list of chores. By eight-thirty I’d cleaned the bathroom, using a special brush to push non-existent gunk out of the Jacuzzi-style spray holes; vacuumed each of the middle-floor bedrooms; paused for a bolognese supper and then dusted some bookcases. It was slightly galling, particularly since it all looked spotless anyway. Then again I was being paid to do a job, and, if I did it well enough, maybe I could get other house-sitting work to tide me over until I’d decided what to do.

  I was about to start dusting the basement for a change of scenery when there was a rap at the door. I opened up and found Nate standing there.

  ‘I had to drop off a contract in Cambridge,’ he said, ‘so I thought I might as well stop by instead of ringing, if it’s not inconvenient.’

  I was edgy, just at the sight of him. It didn’t help that having a roof over my head was under his control. ‘No, it’s fine.’ I stood back so he could step into the hallway. ‘Would you like a lager?’

  ‘That’d be great,’ he said, following me through to the kitchen.

  I fumbled about with glasses, and poured us each a Beck’s. ‘What news of Mr Newbold?’

  He pulled out a chair and looked up at me from under his fringe. There was a twinkle in his eye, and my fears of being chucked out receded. ‘I hope you’ve got a strong stomach.’ He took a swig of his drink.

  ‘Explain.’ I sat and swigged too. A bit too eagerly, in fact, as is my wont when I’m nervous.

  ‘Newbold’s just fed me a load of bullshit, and I’m about to pass it on to you.’

  I took in his half-smile, and the wry look in his eyes.

  ‘As far as the mobile goes, he was very apologetic.’ He paused for a moment. ‘As well he might be. He says he thought he’d left it on the train, and he tells me he’s been on the phone to First Capital Connect’s lost property desk almost constantly ever since.’ His tone and the pausing said it all. ‘Where exactly did you find the phone?’

  I explained. ‘I suppose you could accidentally leave your mobile on top of some books in a bookcase,’ I added. ‘If you were looking for a particular volume, and happened to have it in your hand.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Nate said.

  ‘Still,’ I went on, not giving him time to chip in further, ‘if it is just girlfriend trouble then it’s not likely to affect me. And I’ve got a thick skin. It’d take more than that to cause me any upset.’ I’m sure the threat of losing my job enhanced my acting skills. ‘So, what should I do with the phone?’

  ‘He said keep it switched off, and he’ll respond to any voicemail when he gets back.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  Nate smiled. ‘And as to the package, he says it sounds like a silly prank and, once again, he’s “terribly sorry you had to deal with it”.’

  ‘My turn to say hmm.’

  ‘He says to take the thing outside and chuck it in the bin.’

  ‘He doesn’t even want me to open it? Or to see what’s inside himself?’

  ‘No,’ Nate said. ‘I think it’s odd too. My guess would be he’s had similar before and so there’s nothing to find out. He certainly sounded genuinely laid back about it, as though it was run-of-the-mill stuff. It was only his attitude that made me relax, really. If he’d sounded edgy, it would have been another matter.’

  But it had still bothered him, I could see that. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want me upset; he was on high alert too. I wondered why. Still, the main thing was, he’d decided to let things lie for now. ‘So everything’s okay then. That’s great.’

  He did another one of his pauses, his eyes on mine, so that I had to look away. Something told me he still wanted me gone. I was going to have to tread carefully.

  ‘It’s just a matter of seeing what happens next,’ he said at last, draining his lager. ‘Right, I’d better get out of your way.’

  I walked him to the door. He turned for a moment. ‘Ruby?’

  ‘Yes?’

  His glance met mine again for a second, but then he looked away. ‘Actually, it doesn’t matter. I’ll see you soon.’ And then he was gone.

  Nate’s visit left me feeling unsettled, but at least it answered what to do about the package; there would be no waiting for it to go off that night. I went down to the basement, opened the DVD cupboard and took the jiffy bag out from underneath the cushions.

  If it were me, I’d have wanted to check inside at least. Still, there it was. I walked over to the French windows, undid the bolts and used the key from a small hook near the ceiling to open up. I’d got as far as climbing the steps to the bins, but paused before I chucked it in. The fact was, it was me. The package might have been addressed to Damien, but it was I who had had to deal with it. It still felt personal, even though it wasn’t. And, now that Damien Newbold had said he wanted me to chuck it out, opening it up didn’t seem so dishonest. I was just looking at something someone else had abandoned as trash.

  Hmm. So I was planning to plunder another person’s rubbish … But it was too late now. My fingers were already sliding underneath the sticky fastening of the envelope.

  It was a mobile. I turned it over in my hand, and then peered inside the jiffy bag, but there was no note. The outer screen was the sort that would show the number of an incoming call but it was a model that flipped open to reveal a larger interface. I fiddled about until I found the calendar function and there was the alarm, set to go off every morning at four a.m.

  Of course, if Damien Newbold hadn’t been away he would have opened the package and, assuming he was mystified, he would have explored it, just as I was doing, trying to find out what the game was. I was quite sure he would have seen the booby trap well before it disrupted his night’s sleep. But maybe just knowing someone was trying to get at him would have been unnerving.

 
I looked up at the house from where I stood by the bins, thinking of everything I knew about its owner. I couldn’t imagine him getting spooked by something like that.

  Who had sent it? That was the question. I checked the phone’s address book and looked for any other calendar entries; there were none. But there was one other obvious place to dig for information.

  And that was where I found the message. The text said, simply: Made you look.

  I caught my breath. It wasn’t meant for me – of course it wasn’t – but the mocking ill will hit home all the same.

  Chapter Six

  Nate stood in the kitchen back at Two Wells Farm. What was Newbold playing at? He wished he’d asked Ruby to show him the package now, but if she had, he wouldn’t have been able to resist opening it. That would have been the action of a PI, and broken every rule in the house-sitting book. He took a deep breath. No use chucking in the game if you were going to get drawn back in at every second turn.

  The game … That was exactly what it seemed like. Newbold hadn’t sounded perturbed or surprised when Nate had told him what had been going on. He’d sounded amused.

  I did throw the phone away after I’d read the text. Half of me felt I should keep it, in case it was ever something I wanted to show someone, but the other half knew I could never admit to Nate that I’d gone ahead and looked at it, against instructions. I noted the sender of the text’s number before I ditched it, all the same. I wasn’t sure what I was planning, but it seemed sensible not to burn my bridges.

  Suddenly the house felt claustrophobic, as though there was something uneasy trapped in there with me. Outside the deep thud of music from the main stage still filled the air. I decided to walk up and down along the pathway, well within range of the house as per Damien’s instructions, and get some space. I locked up and set the alarm.

  The day had become overcast, and I was glad of the jumper I’d pulled on over my jeans. Strawberry Fair mid-evening is scuffed around the edges, losing its colour. The face-painted children, clutching their Pegasus helium balloons, had long since gone home in tears. Earlier, through the window, I’d seen a hairy-legged man dressed up as a fairy on top of a pair of stilts, but there was no sign of him either. Audiences for the music had thinned out, with most people huddled round the bars and food stalls, or lolling on the ground. A man dressed all in white was talking earnestly to himself as I went past.