The Tangled Web

by The Tangled Web (retail) (epub)

  Pyracantha bushes bordered the front garden, thickly covered in red berries and giving the cottage its name. A blackbird flew up from its branches with flutters and calls of alarm as she closed the car door. Opening the wooden gate, she walked up the path of pressed earth that lurched around forsythia bushes and straggly lavender, and approached the front door.

  Her hand hesitated as she touched the knocker, remembering that the forthcoming interview would be difficult. Discussing with someone when they must leave their home was not an easy task. She wished she had rung Edmond and asked him to come with her. But that was weak. She didn’t need Edmond or anyone else to hold her hand.

  During the journey she had rehearsed a speech but when the door opened and a smiling face surrounded by white curls greeted her, the words faded completely.

  ‘You must be Miss Clifford, the new owner. Do come in, my dear.’

  ‘Mrs Falconbridge?’ Amanda said hesitatingly.

  ‘Yes, dear. That’s me. I presume you’re here to examine your new inheritance and warn me you won’t renew my lease?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but yes,’ Amanda said. ‘It’s such a thrill to suddenly be the owner of a house, and such a beautiful one – I just have to live in it. After existing in a small flat and then a tinier bedsit, the thought of a whole cottage to myself is bliss.’

  Mrs Falconbridge led her through the house. ‘Come into the kitchen first,’ she said, ‘and we’ll have a cup of tea.’

  Amanda glanced at the tempting part-views of the rooms, excitement glowing in her expressive blue eyes. She couldn’t resist a gasp of pleasure when the kitchen door opened. Brass shone around an old fashioned fireplace and a copper kettle steamed gently over glowing coals. ‘It’s too good to be true!’ she exclaimed.

  She looked at the lady in front of her, whose eyes shone in a rosy face surrounded by the luxurious white hair. The hair colour had misled her at first and she now guessed that Mrs Falconbridge was no more than sixty.

  ‘Sit down, my dear. After our tea you can see the rest of your house.’

  While Amanda soaked in the atmosphere of the cosy room, Mrs Falconbridge studied her. The late autumn sun shone through a window and picked out golden streaks in the wisps of hair, making a frame for the young woman’s face. There was a gentleness about the girl’s expression and bright intelligence in the blue eyes. She liked what she saw.

  Amanda’s blue eyes darted around the room, storing the impression of a well loved home. A radio sat on a window sill and a work basket spilled its contents over a leather couch against one wall. There was still room for an armchair and a table with two kitchen chairs in one corner.

  ‘This is your favourite room, isn’t it?’ she asked.

  ‘Except in the summer. Then I use the lounge with its large windows and the main view of my – your – garden.’

  ‘The cottage is still yours, for another year,’ Amanda promptly reassured her. ‘I’m not here to try and find a way to evict you. I’m content to wait until it’s mine.’

  ‘Come and see it any time. I love visitors, especially lovely young ladies.’

  The cottage consisted of three bedrooms and two living rooms besides the kitchen and a surprisingly modern bathroom. ‘It’s enormous compared to what I’ve had before.’ Amanda’s face was flushed with excitement. ‘I’ll enjoy living here, I know I will.’

  ‘I feel it’s a happy house,’ her companion said.

  ‘Did you know my Aunt Flora?’ Amanda asked when they were once more settled in the kitchen. ‘I’d love to know more about her.’

  ‘No, she lived in the north-east. I knew her only through correspondence when I first rented, or when there was some repair needed. But her parents lived here and they were, presumably, your grandparents. There must be someone hereabouts who could tell you about them.’

  Amanda looked at the bright, intelligent face watching her and on impulse asked, ‘Will you help me find out?’

  ‘Certainly my dear, if I can.’

  ‘Perhaps I could come again soon?’

  ‘I’d like that.’ Mrs Falconbridge reached out and touched her hand. ‘Tell me about yourself, dear. A teacher aren’t you? Will you look for something near here? Eight miles is too far to travel each day.’

  ‘I don’t think I’d be lucky enough to find a job here, in the village school, do you?’ she laughed.

  ‘What age-group do you teach? There’s a vacancy coming up for a reception teacher. Would you qualify?’

  She felt as if fate were sweeping her along in a direction she hadn’t planned, to a destiny she could only have dreamed of. ‘Reception is what I do best!’

  2

  Visiting her house for the first time and then being told there was a chance of a job in the local school was almost more than Amanda could take in.

  ‘A vacancy at the local school? I don’t believe it! But I wouldn’t be fortunate enough to get it,’ Amanda laughed.

  ‘I’m not so sure. This is a village from where the young people want to escape, sad as it is. They look for somewhere more exciting once they qualify and I don’t think there’s more than one other applicant.’

  ‘Really? Then I might have a chance?’

  ‘Let’s go at once and get the details,’ Mrs Falconbridge said. ‘The head teacher is a friend of mine. In fact, why don’t we look at the place, see what you think?’ She seemed as excited at the prospect as Amanda.

  While Amanda waited for Mrs Falconbridge to get a coat, she looked at the collection of souvenirs that filled the shelves of the room. A photograph above the mantelpiece attracted her attention. It was of a young man, probably in his late twenties. A rather serious face looked out at her and the dark curling hair, reminiscent of Mrs Falconbridge, was untidy, as if the photograph had not been planned.

  The eyes appeared to frown slightly as if wanting to know who was staring with such interest. Amanda smiled at her fanciful imaginings, but she continued to stare at the photograph. The man looked interesting and she wondered idly if he were the son of her tenant. There was a definite resemblance.

  ‘I see you’re admiring my nephew, Rhys.’ Mrs Falconbridge answered the unspoken question. ‘I have others but I confess he’s my favourite.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Amanda stepped back from the mantelpiece. ‘I shouldn’t be so inquisitive.’

  ‘Nonsense, dear. I don’t mind a bit.’

  Amanda collected a camera from her car and as they set off down the road, she was given a running commentary on the owners of the houses they passed. At a place where the road crossed a stream, her guide returned to the subject of her nephew.

  ‘That’s Rhys’s house.’ She pointed to a low stone-built property set beside the fast-running stream and partly hidden by trees. Amanda leaned over the gate for a better view.

  ‘What does he do?’ she asked. ‘It looks the perfect place for a naturalist or an artist.’

  ‘What a remarkable guess. Rhys is both. He makes wild-life films.’

  ‘I’d love to meet him. I’m interested in wildlife too.’ She patted her camera. ‘But only as an amateur.’

  ‘He’s away at present, making a documentary on birds of the highlands and islands in Scotland. He’s due home soon, I don’t know when, but he’ll send me a shopping list when he’s on his way.’

  ‘How wonderful to have somewhere like this to return to,’ Amanda breathed. She looked at the low building, quietly hiding in the trees and dappled by the pale autumn sun. Attracted by its air of peace she wanted to walk around its grounds. Regretfully she left the gate and followed her new friend along the road.

  Mill Lane School was a traditional grey stone building set in an area of concrete. It was quiet now, it being a Saturday, and after taking a few photographs, Amanda went to look through the windows at the displays of autumn leaves and flowers filling the classrooms.

  Stretching up beside her to peer in, Mrs Falconbridge whispered, ‘There’s always an air of expectation in a schoolroom. It never looks deser
ted, only pausing for breath. It gives the impression that the door is about to open and a lively stream of children will burst in to fill the empty seats.’

  ‘Being a teacher is exciting, there’s the promise of new discoveries every day.’

  ‘I know, dear. I was a teacher myself.’ It was another thread in their growing friendship and when it was time to leave Amanda felt real regret.

  Her mind was filled with exciting new plans as she drove back to town and the bedsit that was no longer a prison. Very soon she would be living in a place of her own in a village called Tri-nant. The people would all be strangers but, with Mrs Falconbridge already a friend, they wouldn’t stay that way for long.

  * * *

  The application for the position at Mill Lane School was duly filled and Amanda waited in an agony of anxiety for a response. She was given a date and time for an interview and dared to hope the job would be hers. There was again that feeling of fate having something planned for her and she looked forward to the interview with impatient eagerness.

  A phone call the day before the interview gave her a superstitious twinge of apprehension. Mrs Falconbridge, her talisman, would be away from the village on that day.

  Amanda dressed with extra care, choosing a pale green suit which she knew was a perfect setting for her light hair and intensified the blue of her eyes. She bought a bunch of flowers which she intended to leave at Firethorn Cottage for her friend.

  Arriving in plenty of time, she parked the Austin beside the firethorn hedge and walked to the school. The day was rather gloomy, more November than September, she thought. Clouds seemed low enough to touch the tall trees that lined the narrow road.

  Mrs Falconbridge had been wrong and there were several applicants waiting. Amanda’s spirits dropped as each one entered the room and left it smiling in hope. When her turn came she stood tall and looked assured, but she walked into the room to face the interview committee with fading confidence.

  She was given the subject of drama in the infant school as a subject and as it was one of her favourites, she thought she had done rather well. Then it was her turn to come out of the room smiling and putting a dash of doubt on the faces of the other applicants.

  Unbelievably, she was called back and told the job was hers. Not only that, but because the transfer was within the area, she would be able to start after Christmas.

  Her feet danced along the road back to the car and she no longer noticed the dull weather. She had to tell someone and was tempted to write a note to go with Mrs Falconbridge’s flowers but she didn’t. It wouldn’t be as much fun as telling her. She took the flowers from the car and pushed her way past the lavender to the front door. Then, as she was about to place them on the floor, she changed her mind and went around to the back porch.

  As she stepped inside she paused. Her gaze had casually swept the kitchen window and had caught a movement. Someone was inside.

  Her first impulse was to knock and call her friend, but although the glance had been fleeting she knew it wasn’t Mrs Falconbridge. Hair on her scalp began to prickle and she quickly put down the flowers and, ducking under the window sill, crept back to the front of the house and peered in.

  The intruder was now in the dining room. It was a man, dressed in well-worn outdoor clothes. His back was towards her as he searched through drawers and cupboards. Searching for money, Amanda thought with disgust. It was something her brother had frequently done; invaded someone’s private domain and helped himself to whatever he wanted. She felt physically sick with fury.

  She ran to a telephone box, dialled 999 and waited in a fever of anxiety for the police to arrive. What would she do if the man left? She thought of her camera, collected it and set herself up out of sight, in the front garden, determined to at least get a photograph of the thief. Having a thief for a brother had not led her to have sympathy with them.

  She risked another look through the window and saw him write something in a notebook which he then put in his pocket. She took a couple of snaps without a flash. They would be better than nothing.

  He headed towards the door and there was no sign of the police. Slithering back into a bush she held the camera aimed at the door. As he stepped out she’d get him! Holding her breath and trying to steady her racing heart she watched through the viewfinder. It would be infuriating if all she managed was a blur!

  After he closed the door, he stopped as if posing and she clicked, hoping he wouldn’t hear the tell-tale sound. The flash she couldn’t hope to hide but he was looking down at something and didn’t appear to notice. Then she saw he was looking at the flowers she had left. He picked them up and put them inside. After re-closing the door he walked around and down the front path.

  As he reached the gate with Amanda tiptoeing behind him the police car pulled up. Amanda froze in fear, her lively imagination envisaging a fight.

  She covered her eyes with a slim hands afraid to witness a bloody battle. Her senses were fully alert but all she heard was a low, calm conversation. No shouts, no thudding blows or shouts of agony.

  She slowly uncovered her eyes. So, he was going to talk his way out of it, was he! She stepped out and two policemen and the burglar turned to stare at her.

  ‘What are you doing in there, Miss?’

  ‘I’m the one who reported a burglary,’ she said firmly. ‘He was going through drawers and I think he stole some money.’

  ‘If this was the man you saw, it’s very unlikely.’ The policeman smiled at the intruder.

  ‘Have you searched him?’ she demanded.

  ‘I’m Mrs Falconbridge’s nephew,’ the ‘burglar’ explained.

  For the first time Amanda looked at the face and not at the shabby clothes. It was the face on the photograph on the mantlepiece.

  ‘Rhys –’ she stuttered. ‘I thought – you looked so suspicious I was certain that—’ She felt colour rising on her cheeks. ‘Well, you certainly acted like a housebreaker!’ she snapped. ‘What were you doing snooping around while Mrs Falconbridge is out?’

  ‘Collecting my messages and keys. But who are you?’ he asked, his eyes beginning to glint with amusement. He drew himself up to his full six feet three inches and said, ‘It seems to me that if anyone is snooping, it’s you!’

  ‘Perhaps you’d give us your name, Miss,’ one of the policemen said, taking out a notebook. ‘Just for the record.’

  ‘Amanda Clifford and I own Firethorn Cottage. Mrs Falconbridge is a friend and I just left her some flowers.’ She explained about seeing someone inside and knew she sounded pompous and angry, but Rhys’s eyes watching her with that hint of amusement was making her strangely shy. To hide her discomfort she glared at him, her chin thrust forward, her full lips reduced to a thin, disapproving line. ‘I thought you looked like a tramp!’ she added defiantly.

  After a few more questions the police left and Amanda searched her mind in vain for another parting shot. She unlocked her car door and put her camera and bag on the seat.

  ‘I should drive carefully,’ Rhys chuckled, ‘now the police have your number.’

  ‘I always drive with care.’ But of course she stalled twice before moving off and at the corner the car again spluttered to a halt. Through the mirror Amanda saw Rhys walking towards her and although she tried to get away before he reached her, the car stubbornly refused to start.

  ‘Would you like me to try?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s all right, I’ve probably flooded the carburettor.’ She wasn’t sure what that meant apart from having to wait a while before trying again.

  ‘Why not give it a rest and have dinner with me?’ he suggested and before she could reply to the surprising invitation he added, ‘Of course you’ll have to cook it. I need to unpack and get my camping gear sorted out.’

  ‘You want me to cook your dinner?’

  ‘For yourself as well,’ he said reasonably. ‘My aunt usually has a meal prepared and you did say you were a friend. Won’t you help a friend?’

 
; Her anger dispersed and she laughed. ‘That’s the strangest invitation I’ve ever had. And I suppose dinner will be tinned food?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The car started when she turned the key and Rhys jumped in beside her. He still wore the heavy oilskin and his presence filled the small vehicle. She drove into his drive and stopped outside his garage.

  ‘Oh, I see you know where I live,’ he said curiously.

  ‘Your aunt and I walked around the village and she pointed out several houses and told me about the occupants. If I’m going to live here I’d like to know something about the neighbours.’

  ‘So, you’re going to move into Firethorn Cottage and throw my aunt out into the snow.’

  ‘Of course. But I’ll wait until it’s good and deep!’

  The garage doors were open and Amanda saw a muddy Landrover full of assorted boxes and camping equipment, including a small tent.

  ‘I’ll show you where the kitchen is then I’ll start unpacking.’ He opened the front door and she stepped into a dark, cold hallway. ‘I usually get a better welcome than this,’ he explained, opening curtains and letting in the dusky light. ‘Aunt Catrin comes in and turns on the heating and cooks a meal.’

  ‘Spoilt, aren’t you?’

  He went around turning on switches and soon the rooms began to benefit from the large radiators. He nodded towards a well-stocked pantry and left her to find a meal from the dry ingredients and tins. He chatted as he passed with armfuls of equipment, telling her about his journey from his last campsite.

  After studying the cupboard she chose a pie that only needed heating and several tins of vegetables. For dessert, yet more tins, this time fruit, which she would serve with custard, thrown together in a sort of trifle with bananas and a packet of macaroon biscuits. With tinned cream the scratch meal was complete. Not wonderful, but it would do. ‘I need milk for custard,’ she demanded and he called back a promise to ‘dig it out’.

  Rhys came into the kitchen and put his hands on her shoulders to see how she was getting on with the meal. ‘There should be milk and bread somewhere among this lot.’ He gestured towards the last armful he had deposited on the hall floor. ‘If you’ve finished messing about with the meal I’d be glad of some help.’