A Stranger's House Read online

  Titles in the London & Cambridge Mysteries series:

  You Think You Know Me

  A Stranger’s House

  One Dark Lie

  Copyright © 2016 Clare Chase

  Published 2016 by Choc Lit Limited

  Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB, UK

  www.choc-lit.com

  The right of Clare Chase to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the UK such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London, W1P 9HE

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available

  from the British Library

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-78189-259-6

  MOBI ISBN 978-1-78189-260-2

  To Mum, who convinced me to move to Cambridge. (Do you remember the walk along Brookside?!) And also to Dad.

  Contents

  London & Cambridge Mysteries series

  Title page

  Copyright information

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Thank You

  About the Author

  More Choc Lit

  Introducing Choc Lit

  Preview of One Dark Lie by Clare Chase

  Acknowledgements

  Huge thanks to my beloved family as ever, Charlie, Georgie and Ros, as well as my wonderful parents, brother, wider family, friends and colleagues, for all their tremendous encouragement. Special thanks, too, to the Westfield gang for the best book signing ever!

  I’d also like to thank the writer friends I’ve made, IRL and online, for all their friendly support, and the book bloggers I’ve got to know, whose generosity has been amazing.

  And so to Choc Lit, and warm thanks to the readers on the Tasting Panel – Hrund, Olivia, Sigi, Siobhan, Linda Sy. & Jen – who gave A Stranger’s House the thumbs up! Massive thanks also to the entire Choc Lit team who are truly fantastic to work with; their friendly, professional and attentive approach is second to none.

  And last but definitely not least, thanks to my fellow Chocliteers. It’s wonderful to be part of such a kind, sociable and supportive gang.

  Author’s note

  I’ve tried to remain generally true to the layout of Cambridge, but as locals will notice, I’ve altered the arrangement of houses on Midsummer Common that face the river. North Terrace, which exists in reality, is replaced by my fictional row. I’ve also inserted a new college, St Audrey’s, in the centre of town!

  Chapter One

  I stood in the shade cast by River House. There was a lot of it, thanks to its three storeys, but it didn’t affect the temperature much. A wave of heat rushed over me, which was partly down to the oppressive weather, and partly to anxiety. The place looked formal and unfriendly, with its sombre navy door and lion’s head knocker. The rooms inside were in shadow, so glancing through the windows gave nothing away. I wasn’t even sure if Nate Bastable had arrived yet. Could a place look that deserted and yet contain a living being? Images of Bookman’s Cottage filled my head, though I tried to push them aside – its bright, informal feel, so familiar after ten years of living there with Luke. The idea that I might never call it home again was almost too much to take in. For a second my eyes prickled. I blinked quickly; time to take a deep breath and get ready to make a good impression. Staying at River House was my chance to get away from the village gossips and hunker down.

  I put the lion’s head into action, without really expecting a response, and jumped when the door opened almost immediately.

  Nate Bastable was nothing like I’d expected. I’d never met the owner of a house-sitting business before, but within seconds I realised I’d conjured up a detailed picture of what one would be like, and Nate wasn’t it. He was wearing a charcoal-grey shirt – its sleeves rolled up – and scruffy jeans. His dark hair was tousled and, although he was a good few inches taller than me, there was nothing lanky about him. Rough and ready was the phrase that sprang to mind. I’d expected the owner of a house-sitting business to be ready, but ready with polish and a duster, rather than anything else. And if he was going to be rough at all, then I’d imagined this would be with something like a Brillo pad. Nate Bastable was smiling at present, but he looked like someone you’d back in a fight.

  For a moment I felt self-conscious, and peered behind him, hoping Steph had made it to River House before me. She’d insisted on coming along to introduce us, which I’d felt was mollycoddling at the time.

  At that moment I spotted her, standing in a doorway in the shadows. ‘Ruby!’ She darted forward and hugged me round the middle, since she can’t reach any higher. Not that I’m a giant, only five ten, but she’s four eleven to the top of her bouncy, ginger curls.

  After she’d let me go she stood back, and her sympathetic expression hardened slightly. I could imagine why. She doesn’t approve of my black jeans and DMs at the best of times, and probably thought them especially inappropriate for a first meeting with a new employer. I hadn’t compromised on the number of earrings in each ear either. No point in pretending to be something I’m not.

  ‘I presume you have brought some other clothes with you?’

  I took a deep breath – there wasn’t time to count to ten – and twisted slightly so she could see the rucksack on my back.

  After a second she seemed to recover enough to do what she’d come for. ‘Ruby, this is my cousin, Nate Bastable. Nate, this is my best friend, Ruby Fawcett. I know she looks like a squatter, but it’s just a front.’

  I’d get her for that later.

  There was a twinkle in Nate’s blue eyes as they met mine, but then his expression changed, and I had the sensation of being read; as though all I’d been going through was laid bare. To be fair, he probably wasn’t relying on mind reading, thanks to Steph and her motor-mouth. A wave of humiliation washed over me, heating my neck and cheeks. I’d only just clapped eyes on the man, but I was already quite clear I didn’t want him knowing what was in my head. Yet somehow I couldn’t pull my gaze away.

  ‘Come on in,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll show you round and then we can sort out signing the paperwork if you’re happy with the contract. There are a few instructions from the owner too.’

  As he backed into the hall, I took in my surroundings. An umbrella stand contained a wa
lking stick I thought might be made of cherry, with a dog’s head at the top. Black beaded eyes looked mournfully out at us. ‘Spindly as hell, isn’t it?’ Steph said, following my gaze. ‘No one could use it for actual support. I think the house-owner’s big on antiques.’

  I noticed she’d taken off her Birkenstocks, leaving her feet unadorned except for some coral nail varnish. Through a doorway, in what looked like a drawing room, I could see an expensive-looking rug in front of a fireplace. I wondered for a second about taking off my own footwear, but the removal of Docs is hard to achieve in a dignified manner, and Nate was still wearing his boots. He led us into the drawing room, and I made sure I walked on the floorboards.

  ‘Take a seat,’ he said, handing me a file full of information. ‘I’ll get us all a drink. Coffee?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Steph and I both nodded and he headed back through the hallway.

  I perched on the edge of a delicate-looking Georgian sofa, and Steph took the piano stool. The nice glossy folder in my hand felt like the sort of pack you might get at a holiday let, but that was where the similarity ended. The first sheet told me I was to sleep downstairs in the room we were currently occupying. I glanced up and spotted my bed: an ancient-looking, folding contraption. It was narrow and covered by a woollen blanket; not the upmarket, soft sort, but the kind that was old, matted and prickly. Not good qualities in bedclothes. Still, there was a thinnish sheet to go between me and it, and I hadn’t been sleeping well lately anyway.

  I got up for a closer look. Why had the house owner jammed it between a glass cabinet and an armchair like that? I was going to have to go through major manoeuvres each time I wanted to go to the loo. Plus, the chances of me not putting an elbow through one of the cabinet doors were pretty slim. Perhaps I could get Steph to help me move it somewhere else. It was light enough to drag, but I didn’t fancy the owner’s reaction if I scuffed his beautifully varnished oak floorboards. Between the sofa and the baby grand might be better. It would make it more obtrusive, but it wasn’t as though I’d be inviting people in for tea.

  The bed’s foot stopped just short of the posh rug, and as I stared down at it, I noticed a dark stain on its fringe. I was pretty sure it was dried blood. If it had been in the kitchen I wouldn’t have turned a hair, but it’s less easy to injure yourself in the middle of a sedate drawing room.

  ‘What is it?’ Steph asked.

  ‘Just a stain.’ I peered back at the instructions again. Apparently the house owner, Damien Newbold, felt it was a much better deterrent having someone sleeping on the ground floor. Hmm.

  I explained the arrangements to Steph.

  She’d got up to join me and peered down at my so-called bed. ‘Blimey. I hadn’t noticed it squashed in there. You think he wants you to know your place then, this Damien guy?’

  ‘Looks like it. Though he claims it’s just to make sure I’m handy should he ever be bothered by intruders. Shame I haven’t done any self-defence classes. If I do come across a burglar I’ll just have to throw the blanket over their head and hope the dust sets off an asthma attack.’

  Nate was taking a while with the coffee. I suddenly wondered if he was stalling on purpose, to give me time to read and digest my instructions without pressure. I sat back down and reapplied myself to the task. Damien Newbold wanted his pound of flesh all right.

  The last page of the instructions included things like the code for the burglar alarm, the login details for broadband, and information on bin day.

  Eventually Nate returned with a tray loaded with three mugs, a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar. He put the lot down on an occasional table between me and Steph, took a mug and went to perch on the sill of the window facing Midsummer Common. ‘What do you think of the list of duties?’ he said.

  ‘I’m not sure I’ve taken all of them in yet.’ I put down the papers and picked up one of the remaining coffees.

  He gave a hollow laugh. ‘There aren’t normally quite so many pages. The standard company rules are fairly straightforward, but everyone booking has the option of tailoring our service to what they need. Damien Newbold appears to have taken full advantage.’ His blue eyes met mine again. ‘Does any of it bother you?’

  I shook my head. ‘It’s no more than I’d be doing in my own home.’ Well, that was a big, fat lie. I would have categorised several of the weekly cleaning jobs as five-yearly tasks.

  There was a trace of amusement in his eyes; he clearly recognised bullshit when he heard it. I was glad really; only a weirdo would do that much housework voluntarily, and that wasn’t the impression I wanted to create.

  ‘So, I think Steph mentioned that this job is for ten days in the first instance.’ He paused for a moment. ‘You’ll have seen your bed, and the instructions about sleeping downstairs.’

  I nodded.

  ‘I’m afraid the burglar alarm is an old-fashioned type that doesn’t have a night setting but you’ll need to activate it when you go out. And there are locks for each of the windows, which I know will be a pain in this weather. Lots of fiddling about. And you’re aware of the agreed number of hours you need to spend here in the house each day?’

  Twenty-one. I’d noticed that. I nodded again.

  His expression turned serious. ‘I don’t want you to take this job unless you’re completely happy. It’s not too late to say no.’

  But it was. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I couldn’t stay with Steph, bang opposite our old house. Not after what had happened. I’d already spent five nights in a B&B in Newmarket, but that was unsustainable on cost grounds and the owner had clearly picked up on my state of mind too. Her look of concern over breakfast each morning made me squirm. Great; the prickling sensation was back in my eyes, and Nate was looking right at me.

  But at that moment he stood up, walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up a set of keys.

  ‘If you want to go ahead, then let’s sign the contract and I’d better give you these. Yale and mortise for the front door, and mortise only for the back. There are bolts on the inside to use at night too. The keys for the window locks are on the sills.’ He put the main set down on the tray next to the milk jug.

  I found a pen in my rucksack, signed the contract that was at the front of the file and passed it to Nate. I watched as he rested the paper on the edge of the occasional table and added his signature. For just a second, a frown crossed his face, but then it was gone.

  ‘Let me know if you have any trouble connecting to broadband,’ he said, folding the contract and putting it in his pocket. ‘I gather you need to be wired up for your regular work. Steph said you write books about social issues? Sounds interesting.’

  I glanced at her, wondering if she’d just happened to mention the particular topic I was working on at that moment. She was looking at the floor. I could feel myself flushing again.

  ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘But it’s nothing terribly intellectual or world changing. I write for the general reader and use lots of anecdotes alongside the facts and theories.’

  He looked at me again, and then suddenly he leant forward and shook my hand, something he hadn’t done when I’d first arrived.

  ‘My business brochures say all my house-sitters are personally vetted,’ he said, ‘so I felt it was essential I should at least take the time to say hello. I imagine you’d prefer to know who you’re working for too. I’m glad we’ve met.’

  He took his coffee mug out to the kitchen and then reappeared in the hall where Steph and I joined him. I’d been nervous about the meeting, but he was obviously about to go, and in the end he hadn’t faced me with any difficult questions. Perhaps he valued Steph’s judgement enough to take me on trust.

  ‘I’ll come out with you,’ Steph said to Nate as he opened the door. ‘See you off.’ She turned to me. ‘Back in a sec.’

  I stood and watched them go. The heat outside was like a wall, and the bright sunlight was startling to my eyes after the dim interior. Steph trotted along after Nate, turning right al
ong the footpath that separated River House from Midsummer Common and then right again down the passageway between my new bolthole and the next villa in the row. I paused for a moment, looking down at the long grass a few feet in front of me, still in the unshifting air, and then glanced up towards the area of the Common where sweating men, bare to the waist, were preparing for Strawberry Fair, Cambridge’s free festival. Barriers were being erected between the smart houses of the well-to-do of the neighbourhood and the beginnings of a large marquee. Out in the centre of the grass more workers were wrestling with the front panels of what was set to be a large stage.

  I was reluctant to close the front door, quite sure that Steph would be making the most of her opportunity to chat to Nate, now that I was no longer in earshot. If I could just think of an excuse to go and interrupt them … some last-minute query would do it. But anxiety and the need for speed made my mind go blank. I decided to follow them anyway, hoping for inspiration along the way, but as I neared the alleyway – Midsummer Passage – my mind was still empty and I couldn’t see them up the lane ahead. That left Brunswick Lane, which cut off to the right, behind River House. I was just about to round the corner, turning a right angle past the back wall of Damien Newbold’s garden, when I heard Steph’s voice, and froze.

  ‘They were trying for a baby, you know.’

  Hell, Steph. I definitely wouldn’t have thought that came under the category of essential information relating to Ruby Fawcett. I crept forward so that I could peer at them.

  ‘It’s probably six months since they decided to go for it, but no luck so far, of course.’

  Hmm, nice level of detail.

  ‘Probably just as well as it turns out.’

  You are my best friend Steph, but sometimes I hate you.

  ‘Will she be okay here, on her own?’ Nate said, pushing a lock of almost-black hair out of his eyes. ‘I had my reservations about it as soon as you explained the background. It might not be the best thing for her right now. It’s tough being housebound for so many hours a day.’