my eyes nearly shut, I could believe Barrington and his brother, maybe his sister-in-law, too, were about to step out, dressed in the fashions of the day, to savour the clear spring sunshine.
But nobody stepped out, real or imaginary. Eventually I realized I'd waited quite long enough. So, trying to look bold and casual all at once, I got out of my car, walked along to number six, opened the door with Milo's key and went inside.
It happened as I closed the door gently behind me, shutting out the noise of the world, and looked along the hall towards the entrance to Niall's flat and the stairs leading up to the other floors. The place was dowdily decorated, with chips out of the paintwork and stains on the wallpaper. The carpet showed a grubby track of footprints to and from the stairs. There was no furniture at all. It was a predictably featureless no man's land, shared between Niall and his tenants. But, as I glanced round, a sudden visual sensation hit me of the same hallway, with cream walls, polished floorboards, a blue and gold runner to the foot of the stairs, a console table, a mirror, a chandelier, a grandfather clock, an umbrella stand holding several walking sticks and parasols, numerous gilt-framed oil paintings and a shadow thrown across the ceiling by the fanlight behind me of a bonne ted figure standing outside and raising a hand as if to knock
It came and went in a flash. I don't know what you'd call it. A hallucination, maybe. It shook me, anyway. I had to lean against the door for a minute or so to let my heart stop thumping and my hands stop shaking before I could carry on. Then I tried to put it out of my mind and concentrate on what I was there to do. I hurried along the hall to the door of the cupboard under the stairs, pulled it open, switched on the light and looked in.
The cupboard was full of the usual sort of stuff: old coats, pots of paint, brooms, brushes, buckets and bundles of yellowing newspapers, plus, of all things, a surfboard. I cleared a path through to the back as best I could and soon found the panel blocking off the space beneath the lowest few stairs. It was cobwebbed at the corners, which was a relief, because it suggested nobody had examined it since Mile's departure. Milo hadn't said so specifically, but I had the feeling Niall wanted what was hidden there. If so, he presumably had a pretty good idea what it was. How hard he'd tried to wheedle the secret out of his uncle I couldn't tell, but he certainly wasn't likely to relish the thought of a total stranger taking it from under his nose. Except that I no longer felt like a stranger. Something close to deja vu was clinging to me in that house. I'd never been there before, but everything about it seemed familiar yet different. It was as if I'd gone home to find somebody else living there. It touched a part of my memory that had been dormant so long I hadn't even known it existed, like having a dim childhood recollection stirred years later by a coincidental experience. And it was getting stronger more intoxicating yet also more stifling all the time.
I prised out the retaining nails with the pliers Milo had warned me to take along, pulled the panel aside and saw at once the small wooden box he'd described. I lifted it out with a sort of reverential slowness and slid the lid open just far enough to be sure there was something inside. It looked like nothing more than paper in the forty-watt half-light. I put the box down by the door and started the trickiest part of my task: replacing everything so that it looked undisturbed. I wanted to grab the box and run, but I knew I had to do a thorough job if Niall's suspicions weren't to be aroused.
As soon as I'd finished, I switched the light off, picked up the box, closed the door and started back down the hall. Then it happened again, only more intensely, more immediately. What I'd seen before was there again, in front of me, in colour and detail. And now in sound as well. The clock
But nobody stepped out, real or imaginary. Eventually I realized I'd waited quite long enough. So, trying to look bold and casual all at once, I got out of my car, walked along to number six, opened the door with Milo's key and went inside.
It happened as I closed the door gently behind me, shutting out the noise of the world, and looked along the hall towards the entrance to Niall's flat and the stairs leading up to the other floors. The place was dowdily decorated, with chips out of the paintwork and stains on the wallpaper. The carpet showed a grubby track of footprints to and from the stairs. There was no furniture at all. It was a predictably featureless no man's land, shared between Niall and his tenants. But, as I glanced round, a sudden visual sensation hit me of the same hallway, with cream walls, polished floorboards, a blue and gold runner to the foot of the stairs, a console table, a mirror, a chandelier, a grandfather clock, an umbrella stand holding several walking sticks and parasols, numerous gilt-framed oil paintings and a shadow thrown across the ceiling by the fanlight behind me of a bonne ted figure standing outside and raising a hand as if to knock
It came and went in a flash. I don't know what you'd call it. A hallucination, maybe. It shook me, anyway. I had to lean against the door for a minute or so to let my heart stop thumping and my hands stop shaking before I could carry on. Then I tried to put it out of my mind and concentrate on what I was there to do. I hurried along the hall to the door of the cupboard under the stairs, pulled it open, switched on the light and looked in.
The cupboard was full of the usual sort of stuff: old coats, pots of paint, brooms, brushes, buckets and bundles of yellowing newspapers, plus, of all things, a surfboard. I cleared a path through to the back as best I could and soon found the panel blocking off the space beneath the lowest few stairs. It was cobwebbed at the corners, which was a relief, because it suggested nobody had examined it since Mile's departure. Milo hadn't said so specifically, but I had the feeling Niall wanted what was hidden there. If so, he presumably had a pretty good idea what it was. How hard he'd tried to wheedle the secret out of his uncle I couldn't tell, but he certainly wasn't likely to relish the thought of a total stranger taking it from under his nose. Except that I no longer felt like a stranger. Something close to deja vu was clinging to me in that house. I'd never been there before, but everything about it seemed familiar yet different. It was as if I'd gone home to find somebody else living there. It touched a part of my memory that had been dormant so long I hadn't even known it existed, like having a dim childhood recollection stirred years later by a coincidental experience. And it was getting stronger more intoxicating yet also more stifling all the time.
I prised out the retaining nails with the pliers Milo had warned me to take along, pulled the panel aside and saw at once the small wooden box he'd described. I lifted it out with a sort of reverential slowness and slid the lid open just far enough to be sure there was something inside. It looked like nothing more than paper in the forty-watt half-light. I put the box down by the door and started the trickiest part of my task: replacing everything so that it looked undisturbed. I wanted to grab the box and run, but I knew I had to do a thorough job if Niall's suspicions weren't to be aroused.
As soon as I'd finished, I switched the light off, picked up the box, closed the door and started back down the hall. Then it happened again, only more intensely, more immediately. What I'd seen before was there again, in front of me, in colour and detail. And now in sound as well. The clock
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