A Painted Doom by Kate Ellis

hissed the words with suppressed
     anger.
    Nicola backed away. ‘Don’t you ever talk to me like that. I’m handing in my notice as of now.’ Her heart was thumping in her
     chest. He was still coming towards her. She backed towards the door. ‘There’s nothing for them to find. I don’t know why you’re
     so worried.’
    He was near her now. She could smell garlic on his breath, a souvenir of a good lunch. He raised his right hand and struck
     her hard across the face.
    She stared at him for a few moments, wondering how she could have been so stupid. How could she have wanted him? How could
     she have put up with his arrogant fumblings and the unsatisfactory couplings in the back of his car? How could she have deluded
     herself all those months?
    His mood had changed. He was looking at her now, a slight smile on his thick lips. With a sudden movement, he grabbed her
     round the waist and pulled her towards him, forcing his mouth onto hers.
    ‘Come on, Nicky, what’s the matter?’
    Nicola gave him a hefty push which took him by surprise. He staggered backward then, taking her rejection as a challenge,
     stepped forward again and put his arms around her shoulders. ‘What’s the matter? You’ve never objected before.’
    ‘You’ve never hit me before,’ she replied, wriggling out of his grasp.
    ‘I’m sorry, Nicky. I really am. It’s just that I’ve got a lot riding on that particular property; a big commission. My ex
     has taken me for every penny I’ve got and I’m in a spot of bother – just cash flow. But I’ve got a few people interested,
     so if the sale goes through quickly all my problems are solved.’ His voice softened as he did his best to sound contrite.
     ‘Sorry I lost my temper, Nicky. Can I take you to dinner tonight to make up for it?’ He looked at her appealingly, stroking
     her hair.
    ‘I’ve got choir practice.’
    Paul Heygarth smirked. ‘I can’t imagine you singing in a church choir. Give it a miss, eh?’
    ‘I’ll go where I want.’ She pushed his caressing hands away from her hair. ‘And I’m handing in my notice. I’m not putting
     up with this.’ She put her fingers to her cheek, which smarted under her touch. ‘I’ve given you too many chances, Paul. I
     won’t be back.’
    Nicola rushed from the office, her hand shielding her stinging cheek. She grabbed her handbag and her jacket from the coatstand
     in the corner and ran out into the street.
    Even if Paul apologised again, even if he got down on his knees and begged her, she was never going back there. Never.
    Wesley let Rachel drive to Derenham as she was better at negotiating the narrow Devon lanes than he was. They meandered up
     the Old Vicarage’s winding drive and she brought the car to a stately halt by the front door.
    Wesley climbed out of the car and studied the building. ‘Nice,’ he said. ‘What do they call this style? Strawberry Hill Gothic,
     isn’t it?’
    ‘Don’t ask me. But whatever it is I bet it’s on the market for quite a bit. Not many locals’d be able to afford it,’ she added
     disapprovingly.
    ‘Neither would police inspectors – unfortunately,’
    Wesley observed as he approached the front door, keys at the ready. He and Pam lived in a modern house with all the character
     of a cereal packet. Pam would have liked something a little more interesting – and so would he, one day. ‘The woman at the
     estate agent’s didn’t mention an alarm, did she?’
    ‘No, and there’s no sign of one. If a burglar came here, he’d think it was his lucky day.’
    Wesley placed the key in the lock and turned it. The door opened and they stepped onto thick ruby-red carpet.
    ‘Nice,’ Rachel muttered, looking around the hallway.
    ‘Bit gloomy. You take upstairs, I’ll stay down here,’ said Wesley, displaying his powers of leadership.
    ‘What are we looking for exactly, er, sir?’
    He saw a smile playing on Rachel’s lips. That was a good sign, he thought. Since the