Was it a knock that had woken her? Anna doesn’t like being alone in the big house at the best of times and knowing Shaun is on the other side of the world makes her more edgy. The clock says 3:13. Much too late for anyone to be calling, even if it was an emergency. Perhaps it was the wind rattling the window. The weather forecast had not been a good one.
But she is wide awake now. It is too far into the night to go straight back to sleep. She puts on her Féraud dressing gown and goes down to the kitchen. There is nothing like a cup of tea and a slice of chocolate cake to settle you when you are on edge. While she waits for the kettle to boil, she has the nagging feeling that something is not right. She can’t quite put her finger on it, but something feels different. She checks the front room. The study. The utility room. Nothing seems out of place, but it feels as if there has been recent movement. She is familiar with this feeling. It’s not something you can put into words. There’s an energy field, a cold spot, something along those lines. She shivers. She recalls reading that the saying about someone walking over your grave originates from the Middle Ages when the distinction between life and death was less distinct.
She checks the conservatory. The lemon tree seems to have been moved. She cannot be sure, but she does not remember leaving the patio doors unlocked. She is careful about things like this. Shaun’s work in security and surveillance has instilled this sensibility in her. But whether she locked them or not, they are unlocked now. And if they are unlocked, then someone could have got in. They could still be in the house. Instinctively, she picks up the nearest blunt object, the cast iron frying pan that she left on the hob. You can give a good clout with that.
She switches all the lights on and nervously patrols the rest of the house. She looks behind dressers, in cupboards, under the stairs. Nothing. She takes a torch out into the garden. Nothing. With a sense of relief, she pours the boiling water onto a camomile tea bag and sits herself down at the dining room table. She is about to call Shaun, but thinks better of it. There is no point in worrying him unnecessarily. He couldn’t fly back from Singapore just like that. Anyway, what is all the fuss about? There is no one in the house. There is nowhere for them to hide. She doesn’t want to let him know there has been a security lapse, even one so minor.
Anna goes back to bed, but she can’t settle. Rebel thoughts about an intruder keep up their campaign. She tosses and turns. She wishes Shaun were there. He would comfort her. Perhaps they might make love. Making love usually helps to calm her when she is troubled. They say climaxing re-balances the chakras. But Shaun is not there, she tells herself, nor is he going to be for a while, so she has to take command of the situation. She must pull herself together.
‘Shaun is probably having his chakras re-balanced out east,’ says annA.
‘There’s nothing to be gained by dwelling on it,’ Anna counters
‘But you’re resentful and jealous,’ says annA.
‘If you can’t do anything about something, you should let it go,’ her protector offers.
‘You could even the score.’
‘But what would that prove?’
‘Of course, you are on your own and you are scared,’ says annA.
‘Free your mind from the judgements of others and gently go your own way in peace,’ adds Anna. ‘Things will work out if you trust reason and logic.’
The see-saw continues to rock her emotions. The wind continues to rattle the window. Eventually, at around 6 a.m. Anna manages to get off to sleep. But, after a nightmare about being held captive in a dark, dank basement in Basingstoke by a one-eyed hunchback, she wakes up in a sweat. She does not normally inhabit such ghoulish dreamscapes. Her nocturnal world is typically occupied by colleagues from the office or friends from her decoupage class or the gym where she does her Pilates – in mash-ups of random everyday situations.
She showers and gets ready for work. She doesn’t feel like breakfast but forces down an oatcake with her cup of tea. She straightens her skirt and puts on a bright summer coat. She fobs her Mini Cooper, but it seems to already be unlocked. This is something she never does. The car is her pride and joy. She never leaves it unlocked. Not even when she has to go back into the house for something she has forgotten. She is spooked. The plain white envelope on the dashboard sets her heart racing even faster. It has her name in fine black italic capitals. With trepidation, she picks it up and examines it. Finally, she opens it. It is empty.
She needs to get to work. Her line manager, Maurice, will know what she should do. Even before she slept with him last Christmas, he was supportive, and afterwards, even though she didn’t sleep with him again. Maurice is a rock. He will put his arm around her and reassure her. He will tell her that there is nothing to worry about. He will probably tell her it is just someone having a prank. It happens all the time, he will say. She sets off, trying hard to keep this thought in mind.
Another thing she always makes sure of is that the Mini has fuel. She is so cautious that as soon as the readout gets down below 100 miles, she fills the tank. But, when the car shudders to a standstill going along the lane onto the by-pass, she sees the fuel gauge is registering empty. Why didn’t the warning light come on? To make matters worse, her phone has no internet and displays Emergency Calls Only.
Lovers’ Lane, as it is affectionately known, might not be what most people would think of as a sinister place. It has arable fields on both sides with well-tended hedgerows, and further along there is a pleasant area of woodland. Anna gets out of the car. The winds that were blowing through the night have died down and there is a stillness in the air. She cannot even hear the hum of traffic that you might expect to hear coming from the nearby dual carriageway. She is about halfway along the lane. She looks up and down. Should she head back home on foot to phone AA Roadside Assistance from there? Is she still with AA, she wonders? Shaun is the one who takes care of these matters and he has been away such a lot lately. She can’t leave the car where it is. It is blocking the highway, and she hasn’t the strength to push it to a passing place. Should she wait for someone to come along?
‘Hello, my lovely,’ says a voice from out of nowhere.
It is not the knight in shining armour or the good Samaritan she is hoping for. It is the one-eyed hunchback from her dream. He is carrying some kind of axe.
Stories she has heard of mad killers on the loose flash through her consciousness. The one who butchered his killers and kept them in the deep freeze. He escaped from prison a year ago. He is still on the loose. The one who skinned his victims? Was he ever caught, or is it just a character from a film she is thinking of? The cannibal murderer that was in the news recently.
The axeman is over her now. He has raised his weapon. Anna feels she is going to pass out. The last thing she remembers is …….
She is startled by a knock on the driver’s side window.
‘Is everything all right, love?’ the stranger says. This one is not carrying an axe. He is well dressed and has a winning smile.
‘What? How?’ she says, as she winds down the window. ‘Where am I?’
‘Are you all right?’ he asks in soothing tones.
‘What happened to ….. the ….. the ….. I was …… What’s going on?’
‘I’m sorry I startled you,’ he says. ‘It’s just that I need to get by …… and, well, my sweet, you are blocking the road.’
‘Sorry,’ Anna says, finally realising where she is. ‘I’ve …….. uh. I’ve run out of petrol.’
‘It may not be the fuel,’ the man says. ‘Start it up. Let me have a look.’
Anna turns the key, and the engine fires up.
‘Look! See! It started, first time,’ he says ‘And, you’ve got over half a tank.’
‘Thank you. Thank you. ……. How did that happen? I could have sworn it was empty. I don’t know what to say. I get anxious sometimes when my husband is away.’
‘You do seem a bit shaken,’ the man says. ‘I understand. I’m home alone too. Look! I live just along the lane, there. Why don’t you come in for a cup of tea to settle you?’
‘Yes. I think I’d like that,’ Anna says, meeting his gaze. He really is quite handsome.
‘I’m Hugo, by the way,’ he says.
Anna notices his shirt is almost the same blue as his eyes. ‘Pleased to meet you, Hugo,’ she says. ‘I’m Anna.’
‘My house is that white one on the right, past the row of poplars there,’ he says, pointing. ‘The one with the gables.’
‘I know that house,’ Anna says. ‘The one that used to belong to the mystery writer. I pass by it every day. It has a distinctive tree on the lawn. A cedar of Lebanon, I believe. I’ve often admired it.’
‘Cedrus Libani. It originates in The Levant. In the eighteenth century, they used to be planted in the gardens of every stately home in England, but they have fallen out of favour lately, probably on account of their size.’
‘I’ve read they can live to be over a thousand years old,’ Anna says.
‘Yes,’ he laughs. ‘This one will certainly outlive you or I. Just pull into the drive, and I’ll be right behind.’
Anna manoeuvres the Mini the two hundred yards to the white house, followed by Hugo in his black BMW. Under the shade of the cedar tree, they exchange glances. Anna feels something is in the air. It is a feeling she has had before, one involving weakness and knees, her weakness, her knees. Inside the house, one thing quickly leads to another. Before she knows it, they are in one another’s arms, kissing.
‘Perhaps you would like a glass of wine,’ Hugo says.
‘Maybe later,’ Anna says.
In her hurry to get upstairs, the magazine feature, The Secret Lives of the Ruling Classes, open on the hall table escapes her attention. This relates the gruesome tale of Lord Godmanchester, the 7th Earl, who in 1860 brutally butchered his lover with a broad axe and buried her beneath a shady tree, in many respects, similar to the one Anna can see through Hugo’s bedroom window as she slips out of her skirt,
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