The Secret of Cold Hill

by Peter James

  ‘I know.’ He went through into the utility room off the kitchen, grabbed the torch from the shelf and went out of the back door, latching it. Emily followed.

  He headed past the bin store, to the back garden, and shone the beam all around. ‘I’m going to check the front too – make sure there are no speakers anywhere, put there by that bastard Fears, or any other locals trying to scare us,’ he said, determinedly.

  Finally, having done a complete and thorough circuit, and finding nothing, he went back inside.

  ‘Do you really have to work so late?’ Emily asked, following him back up to the studio. ‘I don’t want to go to bed alone. I’m scared.’

  ‘I’ve got to get this finished, and the sketch of the spaniel, by tomorrow afternoon, somehow. I’ve promised David, otherwise he won’t get the framing done in time. If I don’t deliver these to my clients, I’m not going to get paid – and they’re going to be mightily pissed off. I can’t let them down.’

  ‘Christmas is still a week away. You give him a lot of business – surely he can still do them if you deliver to him on Tuesday, or even Wednesday?’

  ‘He’s going on holiday on Wednesday until after the New Year – he’s allocated the time on Tuesday for them both.’

  ‘So, work through tomorrow night. But not tonight, please, Jason.’

  He nodded at the couch on the far side of the room. ‘How about you crash there while I work on? Actually, it would be quite nice if the two of us were up here – just for now.’

  She looked at him. ‘Because?’

  Because I’m shit scared of working up here alone tonight was the truth. But he didn’t say that. He said, ‘Because you’ll feel safer here.’

  To his relief, Emily agreed.

  37

  Monday 17 December

  At eleven the following morning, Emily’s business partner sat at the kitchen table with her eyes shut, while Jason and Emily sat facing her, apprehensively. Jason, bleary from tiredness, sipped a strong coffee. Emily was also exhausted from a largely sleepless night, because Jason had worked through most of it, needing the lights on, brightly. Just when she had finally drifted off, it seemed only moments later she was woken by the roar of machinery on the building site.

  Louise, a rotund woman with short, dark hair cut into a fringe, was dressed in a baggy, knee-length, cable-knit jumper over leggings and ankle boots. Usually she had an irrepressibly cheerful demeanour with a foghorn of a laugh, but this morning she looked deadly serious and focused.

  ‘Oh-oh-oh-oh,’ she said, eyes still shut. ‘So much activity. So much. I’ve got so many spirits all trying to communicate with you, all at once. They’re being very naughty, very rude. I’m trying to get some order here, but they’re not letting me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Emily quizzed.

  Louise did not respond. Instead, she shouted, nodding her head, ‘No, you! Back! Wait your turn!’

  Jason looked at her, very sceptical.

  Still with her eyes tightly shut, Louise said, ‘I’m getting a message for you, Jason. From a woman. She says she’s sorry that she damaged your painting last night. She is telling me she was angry that you put her portrait facing the wall – she says she recognizes she has anger issues ever since she passed into spirit.’

  How could she know this, he wondered?

  Emily looked at her husband. He frowned back at her.

  ‘I’m getting another person now,’ Louise said. ‘Another woman. She’s been in spirit for a long time. She is very angry indeed. She’s – she’s just full of anger. Now there’s a man interrupting. He tells me his name is Harry. He’s telling me he used to drive the digger. He’s giving me a message for you. He’s saying, “Ask anyone, they’ll know about the digger.” Does that mean anything to you?’ She opened her eyes and looked at them.

  Jason and Emily stared back at her, as pale as ghosts.

  ‘Digger?’ Emily asked. ‘Did you say digger?’

  ‘There is so much spirit activity. Was there a graveyard here before? That’s what it feels like. So much spirit activity. It really needs to be calmed down.’

  ‘When you say spirit activity, Louise, what exactly do you mean?’ Jason asked. ‘What do you mean by a spirit?’

  ‘A trapped soul.’

  ‘Soul?’

  ‘What I believe,’ Louise said, ‘is that all of us have guardian angels – guides – who look after us. If we die of an illness, or just old age, they take our spirits – souls – over to the other side. But sometimes, if a person dies suddenly – they’re murdered, or in an accident, for instance – and the guide is not around at that moment, then the spirit doesn’t realize the body has gone. It wanders around, lost, trapped here in this plane. It’s what we call earthbound. An earthbound soul.’

  ‘How long are they trapped here for?’ he asked.

  ‘Time is different in the spirit world,’ she replied. ‘We live in linear time, we go from A to B to C. You wake up in the morning, say at seven a.m., go for your bike ride, come home at eight a.m., have breakfast, work on a painting, have lunch at one p.m., and so on. It’s different in the spirit world; time has no meaning. For spirits it’s as if everything that ever was, still is. They go back in time and they go forward in time.’

  ‘Forward?’ he quizzed.

  ‘Oh yes, absolutely. That’s how they can sometimes show us things.’

  ‘How far forward, Louise?’ Emily asked.

  ‘I don’t believe there’s any limit,’ she replied. ‘They can go back years, decades, centuries – and forward just as easily, too.’

  Jason smiled. ‘So, when we die we see the future?’

  ‘I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Could be useful for giving horse racing tips to someone on the earth plane,’ he jested.

  ‘Oh, it’s been done,’ Louise replied. ‘But never with a good outcome – that’s a misuse the spirit world would frown on.’

  ‘Louise, if we have a spirit here in this house, what do we do about it?’

  ‘It will need rescuing.’

  ‘Rescuing? Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters?’ he said, jokily.

  ‘999 and ask for the Spirit Rescue Service?’ grinned Emily.

  ‘You phone your local vicar,’ Louise replied, firmly.

  ‘Our vicar?’ Emily said. ‘We don’t even know who that is.’

  ‘You could—’ Louise was interrupted by a harsh ringing sound.

  They all looked around, startled.

  It repeated.

  The doorbell, they realized.

  Signalling to his wife to stay where she was, Jason walked out and over to the front door, and opened it.

  A tall, lean man in his late forties stood there, wearing an Aran jumper with a minister’s white dog collar just visible, blue jeans and work boots. He had thinning hair and a handsome face with an insouciant, rather world-weary expression that reminded Jason of an actor whose name he could not immediately remember.

  He would be a good subject to paint, was his first thought.

  ‘Mr Danes?’ he enquired, with a posh public-school voice.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m the vicar of Cold Hill parish, Roland Fortinbrass. I just thought I would pop round and introduce myself, as you’ve just moved in. Is this a convenient time? I hope I’m not disturbing you from your work?’ He gave a warm smile. ‘I understand you are a very celebrated local artist.’

  ‘Struggling, rather than celebrated,’ he replied, hesitantly, and smiled. This was such a weird coincidence, his turning up just at this moment, he thought. Should he invite him in now, with Louise here, or ask him to come back later? He made a decision.

  ‘How nice to meet you. Fortinbrass, did you say? Like the character in Hamlet?’

  The vicar smiled. ‘Well, similar – he had only one “s” in his name – I have two.’

  ‘Ah, right. Please – come in.’

  Entering, the vicar said, ‘What a simply charming house – it reminds me so much of the o
riginal mansion that was here on this site. I hope you and Mrs Danes will be very happy here.’

  Closing the door behind them, Jason said, ‘Can we offer you some tea or coffee, Reverend?’

  ‘Oh no, thank you, I’m fine, and I don’t want to trouble you for longer than is necessary. This is just a very quick visit to welcome you to our little community.’

  ‘My wife and I went to the Crown yesterday, for lunch, and got the feeling some of the locals aren’t too happy about this development,’ Jason said.

  Fortinbrass smiled. ‘Well, you have to understand that country folk are very set in their ways. They don’t like – or get – change.’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘Allow me to speculate that the most vociferous among them was a certain farmer?’ Fortinbrass said.

  ‘Albert Fears?’

  ‘Well, I don’t like to name names, but I’m afraid yes, Albert is one of those who springs to mind. He somewhat insularly takes the view that to be a local, you have to be born here. Everyone else, in his book, is an interloper.’

  ‘We rather got that impression.’

  ‘Don’t let it worry you. It was the same with me, when I came here. Please don’t let it put you off. This is a very friendly community and we welcome new blood. Indeed, we badly need it – and especially, if I may say so, someone as famous as you. There is so much talk in the village – everyone is very thrilled to have you and your wife here.’

  ‘We’re extremely happy to be here.’

  ‘Without being too personal, Mr Danes, would I be right in saying you’ve chosen a new-build home because you have an aversion to dirt?’

  Jason looked at him, a little miffed at such a personal remark. ‘How do you know that?’

  Fortinbrass smiled. ‘Shall we say, as the vicar it’s my job to know about issues with my flock?’

  ‘I’m afraid neither my wife nor I are very religious.’

  ‘But you do believe in something, don’t you? A bigger picture?’

  ‘Well – yes – who told you that?’

  Again, that strange smile. ‘As I said, it is my business to know things.’

  Jason looked at him for some moments, puzzled by how he could know this. ‘Please come through and meet my wife, Emily – we have a friend with us, her business partner.’

  ‘What business is that, may I ask?’

  ‘Catering.’

  ‘Ah. Well, that could be very interesting for me, very interesting.’

  They entered the kitchen. To Jason’s relief, Louise had her eyes open and was chatting to Emily. He introduced the vicar to both of them.

  ‘How very nice to meet you,’ Roland Fortinbrass said, shaking Emily’s hand and then Louise’s. ‘I don’t know if any of you are musicians or have good voices, but we are short of members for the church choir, and we are always looking for musicians for our church band.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Emily said. ‘I’ve a singing voice that sounds like two cats fighting in a dustbin.’

  ‘And I’m tone deaf,’ Jason added.

  The vicar turned to Louise. ‘How about you?’

  ‘I live in Brighton, I’m afraid,’ Louise said. ‘I’m just here visiting Emily.’

  ‘What a shame.’ Looking at each woman in turn, he said to Emily, ‘Your husband tells me you are in the catering business? We must have a chat about catering for one of our church events, sometime. And if there is anything I can ever do for you, please let me know – you can always find me at the Vicarage – the house right next to the church.’

  ‘Actually,’ Emily said, shooting a glance at Jason, then Louise. ‘There is one thing.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I understand the Church of England has diocesan exorcists in every county.’

  Fortinbrass suddenly looked awkward. ‘Well, yes, although we prefer the title Ministers of Deliverance. Why are you interested, if I may ask?’

  ‘We think we need one to come here,’ she replied.

  38

  Monday 17 December

  As soon as the vicar had left, Jason went up to his studio and rang the number for Richwards Estate Agents. When the receptionist answered, he asked if he could speak to Paul Jordan.

  After a short time on hold, he heard the familiar, jovial voice.

  ‘Ah, Mr Famous Artist, sir! Very good to hear from you – how may I be of assistance? And how is everything in beautiful Lakeview Drive?’

  ‘Well,’ Jason replied, ‘not great, actually.’

  ‘Oh? Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that.’ The estate agent sounded genuinely concerned. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Well – a few things, really. If I remember rightly, when my wife and I bought the house, you said that we were the second people to be moving into Cold Hill Park – and I think you mentioned there was a family about to complete on the house directly opposite us?’

  ‘Number thirty-four?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes indeed, the Lloyds, very charming people.’

  ‘Well, my wife and I went for Sunday lunch at the pub in the village, the Crown.’

  ‘You did?’ Jordan sounded a little strange.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The Crown?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ah, OK.’

  ‘We happened to bump into our neighbours there – from the house across from ours – number thirty-six.’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Penze-Weedell! What a charming couple. I’m so pleased you’ve become acquainted with them.’

  ‘Yes, well, the thing is, they told us there had been three families who had also bought homes on the estate before us. We didn’t know that.’

  Hesitantly, Jordan said, ‘Yes. Yes, they did.’

  ‘Is it true all three of them have subsequently died in accidents?’

  There was a long moment before the estate agent responded. ‘Sadly, yes, I’m afraid. The Bradshaws, Ganeshes and Westermans.’

  ‘Three families from one small estate, all dead in the space of a couple of months? Isn’t that more than a bit of a coincidence? It feels pretty bloody weird to my wife and I.’

  ‘Well, yes, I would have to admit that’s how it might look.’

  ‘Might look?’ Jason said. ‘To us, it smacks of a hex on this place.’

  ‘Let me put your mind at rest, Mr Danes. Of course, it must seem like a hex or a curse – if you believe in that kind of thing. But the reality, tragic though it certainly might be, is somewhat more prosaic. The Ganeshes, from 7 Copse Walk, were up in Manchester, having a holiday visiting relatives, when the house they were sleeping in caught fire and they were trapped. The Bradshaws, from number thirty-four opposite you, a delightful family with two small children, I understand were poisoned by carbon monoxide from a faulty boiler, in a rented villa in Italy. And the Westermans, from 42 Copse Walk, very unfortunately, were both killed in a boating accident in the Caribbean – they were out snorkelling, and a waterskiing boat apparently didn’t see them and went over them.’

  Jason absorbed this, reflecting. He had to admit that the geographical distance between Cold Hill and the accidents did reduce the notion of a curse. But . . . ‘It’s still a very strange coincidence, wouldn’t you say? That they all lived here?’

  ‘Coincidences do happen in life, Mr Danes,’ Jordan replied. ‘Sometimes they are good, happy ones and just occasionally, like these, they are terrible. So sad. But to conclude from these that Cold Hill Park is under some kind of dark cloud – well, I couldn’t say that, no. It’s a beautiful development, as I think you and Mrs Danes recognized when you made your decision to buy there. Please don’t let something like this upset you, so soon after you’ve moved in.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us then – or at least before we exchanged contracts?’

  ‘None of these terrible accidents relate to their houses or the development,’ Jordan replied. ‘I didn’t tell you because, firstly, I didn’t think it was relevant and secondly, frankly, I didn’t want to spoil your enjoyment of your
new home in any way.’ He paused then went on. ‘Look, let me make a suggestion to you and your wife. I’ve been in this business a long time. Moving house is much less easy than people imagine. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve seen couples move into their dream home, only to divorce within a few years. It can be a very disruptive period, during which all that you’ve known and built together is suddenly gone and you have a whole new set of challenges. Please work through it together. You have a truly beautiful new home – for most people it would be a dream. I remember at your first viewing, the expression on your face when you walked into the loft – how you said you knew you could work there. Are you finding it inspirational?’

  Hesitantly, Jason said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well then,’ Jordan said. ‘There you are! And within a few months, there won’t be an empty house on the estate, that I can assure you.’

  Jason thanked him, meekly, apologized for taking up his time, and ended the call.

  Instantly he wished he had quizzed him more. But at the same time, he knew, he would probably have sounded ridiculous.

  He would take the agent’s advice, he decided.

  Work through it.

  He walked over and peered across the street at number thirty-four. There was a people carrier parked in front; a young couple were helping two small children out of the rear seats. They all walked up to the front door, the father thumbing through a set of keys, one of the children skipping along, excitedly. The father unlocked the front door and went in.

  Who were they? Jason wondered, feeling a little relieved. It didn’t look like an estate-agency viewing – and besides, it would be too soon after the owners had died for probate to have been granted and the property put on the market, surely? Relatives of the deceased seemed the most likely.

  Could they be the couple with the two small children he’d seen in the house before?

  He liked that as an explanation.

  39

  Monday 17 December

  Jason turned back to the painting of the two labradoodles. But as he tried to focus, he was distracted by the noise from the construction site to the west. His tiredness from his disturbed night seemingly accentuating every sound.