by Clare Chase
‘My God. He really did hate women, didn’t he?’ The kettle had come to the boil, and she poured the water out.
‘I’m afraid so. It’s the same attention to detail he showed when he sent you the phone and the message in the attic, only on a much grander and more hurtful scale.’
She bit her lip. ‘I hate the way he managed to read me.’
But Nate shook his head. ‘He didn’t know for sure you’d open the packet, or move up to the attic bed. He just thought it would be amusing if you did. I think it was like a game to him. He couldn’t control his mother, so he set out to manipulate every other female in his life. He was sick.’
She nodded. ‘Why was the news of the new will so delayed?’
‘As well as hating women, Newbold hated his brother. He left a sealed letter with his family solicitors to be sent to a London solicitor’s premises two weeks after his death. The family solicitors had no idea what was in it, apparently, or even that they were sending it to a rival firm. Newbold hadn’t put the company name on the envelope, just a name and the address, so it looked like a personal letter. In fact, it was a message to the London firm saying if you’ve received this then I’m dead, please notify my family solicitors and Samson Newbold about my new will, which you hold.’ Nate poked at the teabags with a spoon.
‘He went to all that trouble simply because he wanted Samson to have the chance to gloat over his gains before having the rug pulled from under his feet?’
He nodded. ‘And think how Maggie Cook would have felt, if she’d still been alive.’
Ruby closed her eyes for a second. ‘So I presume this place and everything in it will be sold ASAP, for the benefit of all those actors.’
‘That’s right. I’ll know in a day or two whether the new executors want us to carry on overseeing this place, or if they’ll make their own arrangements.’ And that would be that. Nate took his tea upstairs to his room feeling empty.
Nate had cooked supper the night before; tonight I was determined I’d do it. I’d amassed all the ingredients I wanted, but still hadn’t plucked up the courage to turn on the gas. Instead, I stood there looking at a load of chorizo, garlic, onions and peppers. The pasta was still on a plate on top of the scales. I’d been in the same situation for about five minutes when Nate walked into the room.
I saw him glance at the elaborate preparations, the oil in the cold frying pan, the pasta water cooling in the kettle. Then he looked at the hob. He bloody knew; knew exactly why nothing was underway.
He picked up the matches from where they sat, on the shelf next to the herbs, and put them into my hand. I could feel my fingers shaking as I made to strike the light. He turned the gas knob as I leant towards the cooker, and then within a moment the oil was heating, and I had tipped in the onion.
I couldn’t look at him. ‘Thanks.’
‘Not a problem.’
‘I was going to add in some of the rosemary you bought, too.’
He went to the windowsill to take a couple of sprigs from the pot it was growing in. Without looking at me he said: ‘I never asked how things were in Saxwell.’
‘It felt odd. Like finally closing a door that’s been ajar. But somehow it was a relief.’
Now he did cast me a quick glance. ‘Must have been harrowing to see your house like that.’
‘Yes, but I’d already been mourning it before it was destroyed. I knew I could never go back.’
He rinsed the rosemary and brought it over to me to chop. ‘I’m glad Steph was there to give you a coffee after you’d met with Luke.’
I smiled automatically. ‘She’s one in a million, your cousin. Although we had a moment of awkwardness.’
He was reaching for a bottle of wine to the left of the cooker, but glanced at me and raised an eyebrow.
‘She was under the impression I’d had a crush on Paul Mathewson, and would need to talk things through. To be fair, if she’d been right, I’d certainly have needed to unburden.’
‘You mean you and he weren’t—’
I gave him a look. ‘No. I don’t tend to go in for men like Paul. I’m not really a herringbone-suit-and-intense-personality sort of girl. Bloody good thing, as it turns out.’
‘Can’t argue with you there.’ I noticed he was smiling as he uncorked the Rioja and poured us each a healthy glass. ‘Want me to lay the table?’
‘Thanks.’
‘I would have been down to help sooner, only Samson Newbold called,’ he said.
‘I bet that was an interesting conversation.’
‘It was quite …’ He paused for a moment to reach for some plates. ‘… lively. I did have one bit of good news for him though.’
‘Really?’
‘The London solicitors are happy to cover our fees for sitting this place, so he won’t have to cough up.’
I tipped the chopped peppers into the hot oil and onions. ‘I’m guessing that wasn’t quite enough to make his day?’
‘Very astute of you.’
I stole a glance in his direction. His hair had fallen forward as he worked. I took in the dressing on his arm. The scar would be a long one. Peering at him was a mistake. Did he have to make a thing of looking so rugged? I dragged my attention back to the cooking.
‘I might have a lead on our burglars too,’ he said.
‘Really? I thought perhaps we’d never know.’
‘Maybe we won’t for sure, but Samson’s had a break-in now, at his own house.’
‘Interesting.’
‘Yes. Apparently it was the night after he’d had the news about the will. He’d been down in the Red Tavern as usual, drowning his sorrows. Sounds like he’d had a skinful. Said one of the regulars there who’s not normally his greatest fan was being really sympathetic, buying him more and more drinks.’
‘And that clearly didn’t ring alarm bells at the time, thanks to Samson’s unshakeable belief in himself.’
‘Got it in one. Anyway, at the end of the evening Samson was so far gone that the landlord of the Red Tavern and the drink-buying bloke had to lift him into a taxi. He doesn’t remember how he got out at the other end, or anything else until the following morning.’ Nate raised an eyebrow. ‘He told me he was convinced the guy at the pub had spiked his drinks.’
‘Doesn’t sound as though much spiking would have been required, given the quantities.’
‘I thought it would be tactless to point that out. Anyway, the next day he found he’d been robbed and he’s convinced the guy at the pub was behind it. I’m not sure how far he’ll take it with the police; he might just consider they’re quits now, if this was one of the people he’d borrowed from. And he did admit he’d mentioned the security arrangements at River House in the pub. He wondered if the same guy was responsible for both break-ins, so he wanted to see what I thought.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘it sounds quite possible, and it’s good to have things tidy. I like knowing the answer to these little mysteries.’
He reached across to get the pepper grinder from the work surface by my side, accidentally brushing my arm. His warmth and the contact sent shivers through me. They shot round to all the most relevant areas in an alarmingly intense way. I flicked a glance at him.
He gave me a crooked smile. ‘Sorry.’
Suddenly I was very conscious of how close he was standing; that and how it still wasn’t close enough, as far as I was concerned.
‘Shit, Ruby,’ Nate said.
‘You say the nicest things.’
‘It’s just that …’ He moved closer still, until I was aching for him to touch me.
‘What?’
‘Since I met you, I’ve started to feel alive again. I never thought I’d get that back after Susie died.’
I felt goosebumps rise on my arms. Tears pricked my eyes as I turned to face him properly.
‘But what happened to her is the very reason we shouldn’t be together.’
I turned off the gas I’d bravely managed to light. ‘Do you have a
ny idea who killed her?’
He shook his head. ‘The one thing I’m sure of is that it was someone who was out to get me. She’d never have made such a ruthless enemy.’
I wondered. Not everyone with enemies deserved them. You only had to look at Damien’s mother to see that.
‘Her killer’s still out there,’ Nate went on, ‘and for all I know they’re planning their next move. Their target might be me. Or, if we start a relationship, it could be you.’
‘I’m willing to take the risk. I don’t want to play it safe if it means us being apart.’
He took my hand in his and interlaced his fingers with mine. ‘I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. Certainly didn’t mean you to find out.’
I looked up at him quickly and the tears threatened again. ‘Same.’
We were both silent for a moment.
‘Nate,’ I said at last, ‘why did you come and get me, when I was with Paul, and you knew you could be killed? You put yourself in harm’s way then.’
He looked at me. ‘That was different.’
I shook my head. ‘Uh-uh. That was the same. Except you were putting yourself in certain danger, whereas in this case, it’s harder to know what we’re dealing with. I’m just making the same choice you did.’
He was a centimetre from me, his eyes serious. ‘But are you sure you want to make it?’
‘Never been surer.’
And, at last, he let go of my hand, and took me in his arms.
Thank You
Thank you so much for reading A Stranger’s House. I do hope you enjoyed following the first Ruby Fawcett and Nate Bastable mystery as much as I enjoyed writing it!
I also hope you found Cambridge an interesting setting. I’ve lived here for years now and worked at the university centrally, as well as the colleges where the students live. To me, the city seems like the perfect backdrop for crime fiction. It’s a place of great contrasts, where worlds collide thanks to its compact nature. On a five-minute walk you can see drug dealers on the commons as well as choirs singing madrigals from punts on the river. And given that it’s home to multi-million pound businesses, as well as academics with world-class reputations, it’s not hard to imagine the sort of rivalries that might sometimes boil over!
One of the things a writer’s always after is feedback. It’s invaluable to know whether our stories strike a chord. (And if the response happens to be good, it can make a huge difference to the profile of a book and author too!) If you have time to leave a brief review, either on a retailer’s website or somewhere like Goodreads, that would be amazing. I also love hearing directly from readers. You can contact me via my website, Twitter or Facebook, using the details in the ‘About the Author’ section. It would be lovely to hear from you.
Thank you, and happy reading!
Clare x
About the Author
Clare Chase writes mysteries set in London and Cambridge featuring crime-solving couples. She fell in love with the capital as a student, living in the rather cushy surroundings of Hampstead in what was then a campus college of London University. (It’s currently being turned into posh flats …)
After graduating in English Literature, she moved to Cambridge and has lived there ever since. She’s fascinated by the city’s contrasts and contradictions, which feed into her writing. She’s worked in diverse settings – from the 800-year-old University to one of the local prisons – and lived everywhere from the house of Lord to a slug-infested flat. The terrace she now occupies presents a good happy medium.
As well as writing, Clare loves family time, art and architecture, cooking, and of course, reading other people’s books.
She lives with her husband and teenage children, and currently works at the Royal Society of Chemistry.
A Stranger’s House is her second novel with Choc Lit. Her first was You Think You Know Me.
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More Choc Lit
From Clare Chase
You Think You Know Me
Book 1 – London & Cambridge Mysteries
Sometimes, it’s not easy to tell the good guys from the bad …
Freelance journalist, Anna Morris, is struggling to make a name for herself, so she’s delighted to attend a launch event for a hip, young artist at her friend Seb’s gallery.
But an exclusive interview isn’t all Anna comes away with. After an encounter with the enigmatic Darrick Farron, she is flung into the shady underground of the art scene – a world of underhand dealings, missing paintings and mysterious deaths …
Seb is intent on convincing Anna that Darrick is up to no good but, try as she might, she can’t seem to keep away from him. And as she becomes further embroiled, Anna begins to wonder – can Seb’s behaviour be explained away as the well-intentioned concern of an old friend, or does he have something to hide?
Purchase from your eBook provider or visit www.choc-lit.com for more details.
One Dark Lie
Clare Chase
Book 3 – London & Cambridge Mysteries
The truth can hurt, and sometimes it leads to murder …
After becoming embroiled in a murder investigation, Nate Bastable and Ruby Fawcett have decided to opt for the quiet life. But crime has a habit of following them around.
When her work dries up, Ruby finds herself accepting a job researching and writing about Diana Patrick-John, a colourful and enigmatic Cambridge academic. Simple enough. But then there’s the small fact that Diana was found dead in suspicious circumstances in her home – the very place where Ruby has now been invited to stay.
As she begins to uncover Diana’s secret life, Ruby’s sleuthing instinct kicks in, leaving her open to danger and retribution. But can she rely on Nate to support her? Especially when his behaviour has become increasingly distant and strange, almost as though he had something to hide …
Read an extract of the first two chapters here.
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Read a preview of One Dark Lie next …
Preview
One Dark Lie
by Clare Chase
CHAPTER ONE
When Quentin Patrick-John asked me to write about his sister, the offer came just at the right moment. Of course, there was more to the proposition than met the eye. A lot more.
Quentin seemed to sidle out of the shadows on King Street. I’d been up in the new flat I was renting there, above Claudio’s restaurant. It was tiny, and the smell of garlic and pizza dough started to drive me crazy hours before my proper dinnertime, but it was warm and mostly watertight.
Seven o’clock on an early December evening. Nate had been with me, lounging on my bed. We’d got together six months earl
ier, after confronting a homicidal maniac who’d blown up my house. Long story: suffice it to say, said maniac had been strongly inclined to blow me and Nate up too, which had proved to be a bonding experience. The moral is, if you get involved in a murder investigation, be prepared to take the rough with the smooth. Nate did warn me about this at the time, but I got curious.
Now the dust had settled we were taking things slowly: seeing each other often, but still keeping our own space.
Nate’s mobile rang, and I watched as he talked. He was wearing a soft, thickly woven charcoal grey shirt over jeans, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
He glanced in my direction, and for just a moment his blue eyes met mine. Then he got up, turned away and wandered to the other side of the room. ‘Yeah, sure,’ he said. ‘But I’ll need to call you about it later.’
I walked to the window overlooking the street, as though turning my back would give him more space. Pushing the curtain aside I felt the draft from the sash and pulled my hoodie more tightly round me. Outside, lamplight only emphasised the dark alley opposite. Someone leant against the wall there, and lit a cigarette. The scene was lonely, but the noise from the crowd downstairs was reassuring.
Frost coated everything in my line of sight. A spider’s web hung from the lamppost, looking as though it had been encrusted with sugar.
Behind me, I was conscious of Nate’s low voice. There’d been a lot of these sorts of calls lately; ones where he told the caller he’d have to speak to them later. To be fair, there was no privacy in my flat – the only door, apart from the entrance, was the one to the loo.
‘Okay,’ Nate was saying. ‘See you then.’ He cut the call and came over to me, turning me round to face him. I think it’s his eyes that do it. That blue gaze gets me every time. Thoughts of quizzing him still hovered, but his look pushed them to the edge of my brain until I couldn’t quite think what they were doing there.
