Питер Джеймс - Wish You Were Dead [story]

Who was this person with the torch? Why were they doing this to him and the two others in here he had seen — a man and a woman? Who were these two people?

He kept on trying to free himself, to yank the chain from the wall, on and on and on, until he was dripping with sweat and too exhausted to continue.

And all the time he was thinking, over and over again. Wondering. Who the hell were his captors? Why were they doing this to him? What did they want?

And an even bigger fear. Kaitlynn. Was it possible these maniacs, whoever they were, were doing the same to her? And to Roy Grace and his family?

He wrenched again, with all his strength, pulling at the ring, and ignoring the worsening pain in his wrists from the ties.

Soaked through, his hair stuck to his head, and feeling like a drowned rat, Roy squelched back into the dining room. From a distance, he could see his plate had been cleared away. Madame was no longer there. Her husband sat, silently and without moving, in his wheelchair.

Partly, he was relieved he did not have to eat any more of the foie gras, but at the same time he was starving and annoyed that the brioches had gone.

Cleo turned to him as he stood over her. ‘Any luck, did you get through?’

He shook his head. ‘We’ve got a sodding flat battery.’

‘What?’

‘The car wouldn’t start — the electrics are dead.’

‘How — I mean, it’s almost brand new, and it was fine all the way here, wasn’t it?’

‘Either the battery wasn’t charging, which means the alternator has packed up — which could explain why my phone wasn’t charging — or there’s a short. Right now it’s kaput!’ He shrugged and went over to the man in the wheelchair.

‘Monsieur le Vicomte,’ he said, ‘do you have the number of a garage? We have a problem with our car.’

Their host tilted his head up a fraction. In slurred, broken English, he replied, ‘You have problem with your voiture — your car?’

‘Yes — oui . It won’t start. The battery is flat. Do you by chance have a charger? Or jump leads?’

The Vicomte gave him a weird shrug, with just one shoulder, as if the other wouldn’t move. ‘There is no garage who will come at this hour. Tomorrow — in ze morning — I call for you, if the phone works. Tonight, you do not need your car, surely, Monsieur? Relax and enjoy the wines from our ancient cellar!’

‘I need to drive to get a phone signal — to call my nanny’s boyfriend, who should be with us. Jack Alexander. We do not understand why he is not here.’

‘Jacques Alexander?’

‘Yes — oui .’

The old man shook his head. ‘Tonight non, rien , nothing. I am sorry. Tomorrow we try, yes?’

Roy was surprised that he spoke better English than Madame had said. ‘Thank you — merci .’

Madame appeared through a doorway, holding a huge silver tray loaded with plates of food. There was a wonderful smell.

Roy went over to the table and told Cleo what had been said.

‘There’s nothing else we can do, darling,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to wait until the morning. Go up and change — you’ll catch your death of cold.’

Nodding reluctantly, he hurried back up the landing, the delicious smell of food following him, and yet again hauled himself up the tower’s spiral staircase. He could have sworn it was even steeper and that there were more steps than before.

In their room he towelled his hair, dug out a fresh pair of jeans, a shirt and dry trainers from his bag. When he returned to the dining room a few minutes later, Cleo and Kaitlynn had salmon steaks, French fries and bowls of salad in front of them.

Moments later Madame came back in with the same tray loaded with plates of fillet steak and fries for himself and Bruno.

The steaks were perfectly cooked and delicious — and the chips were amazing. They were followed by more of the wonderful cheeses they’d had earlier, that Madame said were all local. Then a dessert to die for — meringues swimming in a pool of warm, thin, creamy custard. ‘ Îles flottantes! ’ Madame said proudly.

‘Jack will be really sorry to have missed this feast!’ Kaitlynn said bleakly. ‘That dessert is his favourite dish in the world. God, I am so worried about him.’ Tears rolled down her cheeks.

‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ Roy said, and immediately realized how lame that must sound to her. It sounded pretty lame to him.

‘This is not like Jack,’ she said. ‘Something’s happened. I just hope to God he’s OK.’

‘Should we ask the witch to keep some food for him, Roy?’ Cleo asked, in a shifty whisper.

Roy looked at his watch. It was now nearly 9 p.m. Whatever was delaying Jack, he was probably going nuts trying to contact them and not getting through. Although he felt shattered from the long drive, he knew he owed it to Jack — and to Kaitlynn — to keep trying.

The woman agreed, reluctantly, to leave out some bread and cheese and cold meats. Then, turning down her offer of coffee, the four of them thanked her for the meal, and left the table. At some point — Roy had not noticed when — the Vicomte had wheeled himself out of the room.

As they reached the bottom of the staircase, Kaitlynn hurried on up to check on Noah, who had dropped off to sleep quickly after having his supper earlier. Roy turned to Cleo. ‘I’m just going to give it one more go. I’ll try to start the car again. If not, I’ll walk down the drive until I get a signal — sounds like the rain has stopped.’

‘You look tired out, my love. Come to bed, you can’t do anything more tonight.’

‘I’ve got to keep trying,’ he said, quietly, so Kaitlynn wouldn’t hear. ‘You’ve seen how upset that poor girl is, and I’m worried too. Just give me ten minutes — one last try, OK?’

Reluctantly, she said, ‘Go for it.’

‘I’ll see you upstairs as soon as I can.’ He kissed her, then walked across to the front door. Now that the rain had stopped, he would take a look under the bonnet and see if he could fix the problem. Just possibly a battery lead had been shaken off from the bumpy drive up here, although he thought that was unlikely. But surely in such a remote place as this, the owners would have a charger, or at least some jump leads?

If he couldn’t fix it, he’d have a look in some of the outbuildings — there must be garages here for their cars and lawnmowers. One of them would have a charger or leads, surely? If not, he decided he would walk down the drive until he got a signal on the phone.

The two cats, with the eerie yellow eyes, that he had seen outside the front door earlier when they’d arrived, were sitting either side of the door again, this time on the inside. They looked like they were guarding it.

Roy approached the door warily, half expecting them to spring at him at any second. But they did not move. They just glared in silence. Behind him, he suddenly heard a panting and scraping sound.

He turned and saw the elderly dog pulling itself along on its front legs, dragging its hind legs behind. Both cats shot off across the hall as he pulled the heavy door open. The dog hauled itself out and passed him, bumping down the steps, then went off into the darkness, scrunching along the gravel. The poor bloody thing was clearly very ill, he thought. Much as he loved animals, shouldn’t it have been put down by a vet?

He stepped out. Then frowned, switching on his phone torch. He could see the circular carriage drive, with the lake and broken statue of the cherub beyond. But he couldn’t see their Citroën.

It had gone.

Roy did a double-take. He shone his torch around. A near full moon was breaking through ragged clouds, sending an eerie glow, enough to see the driveway was empty. For a moment he wondered, had he come out of the same door as before?