to dinner in silence, just the two of them in the huge dining room, surrounded by antiques Russell had collected, random items he’d picked up whenever they took his fancy. A pair of Royal Worcester porcelain vases, a William IV brass barometer, an Aubusson tapestry. They didn’t give him the same satisfaction as the old cars, particularly the MG. People didn’t see his antiques. That was because they didn’t get many visitors any more at Riddings Lodge. He and his mother had held parties at one time, when they first moved to the village. They put on champagne receptions out on the lawn in the summer, elegant suppers here in the dining room in the winter. But he’d gradually lost touch with his old friends in Sheffield, and the neighbours no longer replied to his invitations. Snobs, all of them.
Martin and Sarah Holland were walking up through the village towards the edge. They, too, were silent, holding hands until the slope became too difficult or they had to use their torches to light the way. At the top, they stopped to get their breath, and looked down at the village. They searched automatically for the lights of their own house on Curbar Lane. Strange that they should feel so much safer out here, on the edge in the dark, than down there in their own home. There was an advantage to being in the dark. No one knew that better than the Hollands. Fourways was right next door to Valley View, and violence had come too close to their lives.
Across the lane, Vanessa Slattery had made up a bed in one of the spare rooms for her son. He’d insisted on staying overnight, saying that he was concerned about her being in the house at South Croft on her own. And it was true, it did help a bit. But what about tomorrow, and the day after? Alan had his job to go to, and she couldn’t expect too much of his time. She watched him patrolling the garden, putting on all the outside lights and checking every door and window before he locked the house up for the night. She was slightly troubled by the fact that he seemed to be enjoying this so much. She’d always known he had an aggressive streak, and it didn’t take much to bring it out. And he was likely to be far too free in what he said, even to the police, if they asked him questions about the Barrons.
Richard Nowak had drunk too much, and he intended to drink more yet before the night was over. Not vodka – he hated the stuff – but good single malt Scotch whisky. He had his own miniature bar at Lane End, and he made sure it was always well stocked. Alcohol was the only thing that helped him deal with the stress. And these people certainly made him feel stressed. God knew, he needed to unwind. His father Adam had already gone to bed, and Sonya was on the phone to one of her friends. She’d been on the phone all evening, and most of the day. Talking about him, no doubt. Complaining how awful her life was, hoping that one of her friends would give her the right advice. Of course, there was another day to face tomorrow. And who knew what might happen then?
Behind number 4 Chapel Close, Barry Gamble was in his shed. He felt he ought to be out and about in the village, but he knew Monica was keeping an eye out from the sitting room. She’d drawn the curtains back so that she could see the door of the shed, and she was sitting with her armchair turned towards the window. She didn’t trust him, that much was obvious. But all he ever intended was to make sure everyone was safe and behaving in a civilised manner. He thought of himself as the guardian of Riddings. The police were useless, after all. If anything was going on that shouldn’t be, he was the one who would know. But he was wasting his time trapped in his shed. All he could do was check through his collection, pausing for a moment at one particular item.
Another person was up and about in Riddings. If Barry Gamble hadn’t been stuck in his shed, he might well have seen the figure creeping cautiously along the edge of
Martin and Sarah Holland were walking up through the village towards the edge. They, too, were silent, holding hands until the slope became too difficult or they had to use their torches to light the way. At the top, they stopped to get their breath, and looked down at the village. They searched automatically for the lights of their own house on Curbar Lane. Strange that they should feel so much safer out here, on the edge in the dark, than down there in their own home. There was an advantage to being in the dark. No one knew that better than the Hollands. Fourways was right next door to Valley View, and violence had come too close to their lives.
Across the lane, Vanessa Slattery had made up a bed in one of the spare rooms for her son. He’d insisted on staying overnight, saying that he was concerned about her being in the house at South Croft on her own. And it was true, it did help a bit. But what about tomorrow, and the day after? Alan had his job to go to, and she couldn’t expect too much of his time. She watched him patrolling the garden, putting on all the outside lights and checking every door and window before he locked the house up for the night. She was slightly troubled by the fact that he seemed to be enjoying this so much. She’d always known he had an aggressive streak, and it didn’t take much to bring it out. And he was likely to be far too free in what he said, even to the police, if they asked him questions about the Barrons.
Richard Nowak had drunk too much, and he intended to drink more yet before the night was over. Not vodka – he hated the stuff – but good single malt Scotch whisky. He had his own miniature bar at Lane End, and he made sure it was always well stocked. Alcohol was the only thing that helped him deal with the stress. And these people certainly made him feel stressed. God knew, he needed to unwind. His father Adam had already gone to bed, and Sonya was on the phone to one of her friends. She’d been on the phone all evening, and most of the day. Talking about him, no doubt. Complaining how awful her life was, hoping that one of her friends would give her the right advice. Of course, there was another day to face tomorrow. And who knew what might happen then?
Behind number 4 Chapel Close, Barry Gamble was in his shed. He felt he ought to be out and about in the village, but he knew Monica was keeping an eye out from the sitting room. She’d drawn the curtains back so that she could see the door of the shed, and she was sitting with her armchair turned towards the window. She didn’t trust him, that much was obvious. But all he ever intended was to make sure everyone was safe and behaving in a civilised manner. He thought of himself as the guardian of Riddings. The police were useless, after all. If anything was going on that shouldn’t be, he was the one who would know. But he was wasting his time trapped in his shed. All he could do was check through his collection, pausing for a moment at one particular item.
Another person was up and about in Riddings. If Barry Gamble hadn’t been stuck in his shed, he might well have seen the figure creeping cautiously along the edge of
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