overturned. Whoever it was had been looking for something. An overwhelming sense of unease swept through her. All this had occurred, and she hadn’t heard a thing. How could that be? How did he get in? What was he after? With some trepidation she began a careful inspection of each room. Her jewellery, and their ornaments, clothes, cameras, tablets, computers and TVs were untouched.
Weird… nothing appeared to have been taken. What did he want? There’s money to be had in what he left behind.
Her first inclination was to call the police. But of late, they had been refusing many burglary calls. But we haven’t been burgled, nothing’s been taken. Humiliated, maybe, exposed and violated... but everything is still here. If nothing’s been taken, the police won’t be interested.
After checking all locks, bolts, and keys, she considered her options and selected a long, sharp knife and a heavy hammer. She placed them within easy reach. She made a call to Jack.
He answered. “Tamsin, I’m just about to get myself a pint. What d’you want?”
“We’ve been burgled.”
“What! Say that again.”
She repeated what she’d said.
“Fuck! I hope you’re not joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Tamsin, are you okay?”
She heard the urgency in his voice. “A bit shaky, but oddly okay. Nothing seems to be missing. Can you get back here now, at once please?”
“Call the police.”
“I’m not sure that will be a lot of use. We’ll discuss that later, but just get here please.”
“I’m on my way.” He slammed down his drink and rushed out of the pub.
Twenty minutes later, he burst through the front door. “It’s me, Jack,” he shouted.
“I’m in the lounge,” she called out.
Taking two steps at a time, he sprinted up the stairs, rushed into the lounge where she sat in the centre of a pile of rummaged personal belongings. She stood up, opened her arms and shrugged her shoulders. He grabbed at her and held her tight.
“Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Apart from being demeaned, I’m unharmed.” She stood back and gestured around the room, seeing his shock.
Manton shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.
“At least the paintings were not here. Thank God I got the Brodskys over to the auctioneers. If they’d been taken, I would have gone mental. Tell me what happened.”
For a moment, his last remark passed her by. She burbled through her account of events, the cold draft, the creaking door, the man in a balaclava, her terror, his hasty exit and her final opening of the door to find the place had been turned over. She paused for breath.
“And what do you mean at least the paintings were not here ? I could have been raped and murdered. Is that all you really care about… you bastard!”
Jack’s eyes darted nervously and she saw the cornered look on face. The expression of a person who realised they had made a big mistake.
“Oh c’mon, Tamsin. You know it’s not like that. It just seems that those paintings may have been what he was after, not you. Don’t you see that?”
“I do see that, but your priorities are all too evident. I’ll not forget that response.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Tams.” He raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. “What I meant to say was, that would’ve been almost as bad as if something had happened to you, God forbid. Hey, let me get you a drink.”
She gave him a steely look. Feeling too tired to pick up the argument, she let him push her down onto the sofa.
“Don’t move. I’ll fix you one.” A few minutes later he reappeared, holding a generous gin and tonic with lumps of cracked ice and lemon.
She gave an exasperated look. “Thanks.” She snatched at it and couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“You need it.” What she was experiencing was beyond him. “Just one thing, what was the name of that person who called while I was out?”
“Oh yes, his name was Toby Walker. He said he’d call again.”
His expression
Weird… nothing appeared to have been taken. What did he want? There’s money to be had in what he left behind.
Her first inclination was to call the police. But of late, they had been refusing many burglary calls. But we haven’t been burgled, nothing’s been taken. Humiliated, maybe, exposed and violated... but everything is still here. If nothing’s been taken, the police won’t be interested.
After checking all locks, bolts, and keys, she considered her options and selected a long, sharp knife and a heavy hammer. She placed them within easy reach. She made a call to Jack.
He answered. “Tamsin, I’m just about to get myself a pint. What d’you want?”
“We’ve been burgled.”
“What! Say that again.”
She repeated what she’d said.
“Fuck! I hope you’re not joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Tamsin, are you okay?”
She heard the urgency in his voice. “A bit shaky, but oddly okay. Nothing seems to be missing. Can you get back here now, at once please?”
“Call the police.”
“I’m not sure that will be a lot of use. We’ll discuss that later, but just get here please.”
“I’m on my way.” He slammed down his drink and rushed out of the pub.
Twenty minutes later, he burst through the front door. “It’s me, Jack,” he shouted.
“I’m in the lounge,” she called out.
Taking two steps at a time, he sprinted up the stairs, rushed into the lounge where she sat in the centre of a pile of rummaged personal belongings. She stood up, opened her arms and shrugged her shoulders. He grabbed at her and held her tight.
“Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Apart from being demeaned, I’m unharmed.” She stood back and gestured around the room, seeing his shock.
Manton shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.
“At least the paintings were not here. Thank God I got the Brodskys over to the auctioneers. If they’d been taken, I would have gone mental. Tell me what happened.”
For a moment, his last remark passed her by. She burbled through her account of events, the cold draft, the creaking door, the man in a balaclava, her terror, his hasty exit and her final opening of the door to find the place had been turned over. She paused for breath.
“And what do you mean at least the paintings were not here ? I could have been raped and murdered. Is that all you really care about… you bastard!”
Jack’s eyes darted nervously and she saw the cornered look on face. The expression of a person who realised they had made a big mistake.
“Oh c’mon, Tamsin. You know it’s not like that. It just seems that those paintings may have been what he was after, not you. Don’t you see that?”
“I do see that, but your priorities are all too evident. I’ll not forget that response.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Tams.” He raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. “What I meant to say was, that would’ve been almost as bad as if something had happened to you, God forbid. Hey, let me get you a drink.”
She gave him a steely look. Feeling too tired to pick up the argument, she let him push her down onto the sofa.
“Don’t move. I’ll fix you one.” A few minutes later he reappeared, holding a generous gin and tonic with lumps of cracked ice and lemon.
She gave an exasperated look. “Thanks.” She snatched at it and couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“You need it.” What she was experiencing was beyond him. “Just one thing, what was the name of that person who called while I was out?”
“Oh yes, his name was Toby Walker. He said he’d call again.”
His expression
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