Beneath the Shadows (16 page)

She looked at Ben, expecting laughter, but instead saw concern. She didn't know where her giggle came from, but it began to bubble out of her until she couldn't stop. Ben looked surprised, then the creases around his eyes deepened as he joined in.

Grace surveyed her mud-splattered coat and jeans. ‘God, what a state,' she exclaimed, wondering how it was that she was sitting in a field covered in dirt and snow, feeling the happiest she had been since she'd arrived.

‘You should see your face,' Ben chuckled. He offered her a hand, and she took it, pulling herself upright. Their bodies came briefly together, and Ben stepped swiftly away, bending down to reattach Bess's lead. ‘Come on, let's go. I need to make a phone call, then I'll come and join you for lunch.'

Grace trudged after him, her mood deflating. Now she was keen to get indoors.

 

Back at the cottage, Annabel's jaw dropped and James began laughing when they saw her.

‘What the hell happened to you?' Annabel asked. ‘Been rolling around in a pig sty?'

‘I got chased by a bull,' Grace replied, then wished she hadn't, as they both looked at her incredulously, and then at each other, before they dissolved into more streams of mirth. She didn't know why she couldn't join in when she'd found it funny herself at the time. Now she muttered, ‘Yes, it's hilarious,' and headed upstairs to get changed.

 

An hour later, the smell of roasting turkey wafted tantalisingly through the cottage. Grace was feeling much better after a bath and a change of clothes, and Millie had woken refreshed from her nap and was investigating more of her toys.

Annabel was up as soon as she heard the knock at the door. ‘I'll get it.' She disappeared into the hallway, then Grace heard her exclaim, ‘Ben!', as though genuinely surprised to see him.

Ben caught Grace's eye as he came in, and smiled at her.

‘Grace got chased by a bull this morning!' Annabel told him merrily.

‘Really?' He raised his eyebrows at Grace, but said nothing more.

She was keen to change the subject. ‘Dinner's ready.'

‘I'll give you a hand, Grace,' James offered.

As they concentrated on dishing up, Ben sat down on the floor, murmuring softly to Millie as he admired her presents. Annabel joined them and began to tell him about the ball.

A few minutes later, Grace and James put four plates of steaming food on the table. Grace strapped Millie into her high chair in front of her own small offering.

They took their places and started to eat. James speared a brussel sprout as he said, ‘So, Ben, it's been pretty handy for Grace that you've been able to help her get things moving here.'

James's tone made Grace look at him sharply. Ben nodded. ‘Yes, lucky for her and for me – she's kept me from being at a loose end.'

‘Annabel tells me that you're house-sitting?' James persisted. ‘How long will you be here for?'

‘Another few weeks,' Ben replied as he poured gravy over his meal. ‘The owners are due back in early February.'

Grace wondered if she would have finished the renovations by then. She imagined living in the village without Ben nearby, and was alarmed at how downhearted she felt. ‘Where will you go then?' she asked.

‘Back to Australia. Pick up where I left off.'

Annabel took the gravy boat from him. ‘And where was that?'

‘I work for a small architecture firm in Sydney. I've had some time off for long service, among other things, but it finishes at the end of February.' He sat back, studying them in turn. His eyes fell on James. ‘So what do you do?'

‘I work for a Swiss bank.' James straightened his shoulders as he spoke. ‘And spend most of my spare time on the ski slopes. I can't get enough of it. Don't suppose you have much chance to ski, living in Australia.'

‘Actually, there are some great spots in Victoria,' Ben replied, his arm hooked casually around the back of his chair. ‘But I live close to Sydney and spend more of my time surfing. I'm lucky enough to have a place near the water. There's something pretty magical about catching waves. I really miss it, actually.'

In the silence that followed, Annabel caught Grace's eye, raising an eyebrow almost imperceptibly, before she said, ‘Don't you have man-eating sharks in Australia?'

‘We do,' Ben grinned. ‘But so far I've been lucky.' He looked at James and Annabel. ‘So how long are you two staying?'

‘A few days,' James said.

Grace could have sworn that Annabel tried to bat her eyelashes. ‘Until New Year.'

‘Are you keeping an eye on the weather?' Ben asked. ‘Because it's forecasting snow at any time. You do know this village can easily get cut off in the snow?'

‘Oh, I'm used to snow,' James replied with a wave of his fork, before he turned to Grace. ‘Do you remember that year we stayed in the Cotswolds and it snowed the whole time? We made that snowman and put Annabel's underwear on it.'

‘Yeah, I remember not talking to you both for the rest of the day,' Annabel added. ‘That stuff cost a fortune.'

‘Ben has a good point, though,' Grace interjected, trying to include him in the conversation. ‘I hope we've got everything we need.'

‘We bought plenty of food yesterday – we'll be fine,' James said confidently. ‘Anyway, we could get out if we really needed to.'

Ben took a sip of his beer. ‘I wouldn't be so sure about that, mate. Don't underestimate the weather around here – it can make things pretty hairy.'

James looked irritated at being contradicted, and Grace tried to lighten the atmosphere. ‘All the better if they do get trapped in, Ben, because as you know there's a cellar full of crap below us that needs sorting through.'

Ben laughed, while Annabel gave Grace a dirty look.

‘You've not started that yet then?' Ben asked.

‘No,' Grace said, ‘it's so bloody cold.'

James got up. ‘You'll have to show me what's down there. Perhaps you'll find something valuable – who knows, you might be sitting on a goldmine. Anyone else for seconds?'

As Grace watched him walk across to the kitchen counter, she thought of the boxes waiting beneath them. Could there be something valuable down there? Why did she feel as though she were missing something?

‘I doubt there are any hidden gems in the cellar,' she said as James came back to the table, his plate replenished. ‘In the attic, maybe, or in here.' She gestured around her, trying to quash the sense of disloyalty she felt towards Adam's family while they talked like this. ‘Adam thought the grandfather
clock would be worth something.' As she spoke, she could hear it ticking steadily in the background, punctuating the conversation. That was one thing she couldn't wait to be rid of. What was it about the damn clock that got under her skin so much? She remembered it stopping in the dead of night soon after she'd arrived. Had that been one of her strange dreams? No – she clearly recalled watching as it began working again.

‘That clock is awesome,' James said. ‘My aunt and uncle used to have a clock like that, and I loved it when they let me look inside. I wound it up for you earlier.' He picked up on Grace's consternation, and glanced at the others, puzzled. ‘Was that the wrong thing to do?'

 

Ben excused himself soon after the meal, saying he didn't want to leave Bess on her own for too long. Grace and James washed up, then joined Annabel, who was applauding while Millie pulled a squawking plastic pelican round the room, its broad beak opening and shutting.

‘Shall we play a game or something?' Grace asked, looking to Annabel, as it was something of a family tradition. ‘I've got cards – how about Hearts, or Spades, or Chase the Ace?'

‘I'm too tired,' Annabel moaned, and James didn't even reply.

Grace was beginning to accept that Christmas was officially over when the phone rang.

‘Merry Christmas, love,' her mother said when she answered. ‘Have you had a nice day?'

Grace couldn't help but acknowledge how homesick she
felt upon hearing her mother's voice, but she tried to sound cheerful, not wanting her mother to worry. They chatted inconsequentially for a while, telling each other about their days. Then her father came on the line, and after wishing her a merry Christmas, asked, ‘So how are you getting on?'

‘Good,' Grace replied. ‘I had the kitchen wall knocked down last week.'

‘What on earth did you do that for?' He sounded horrified.

As she began to explain, she felt herself stumbling over the words. She knew him too well, and the silence on the other end of the line was a bad sign.

‘I'm not sure you're fully aware of what you've taken on, Grace,' he said when she'd finished. ‘These are big jobs – they'll all take time. Do you really want to be there for months?'

Grace felt her hackles rising. ‘I haven't just had the wall knocked down. You should see the amount of clearing out I've done. When that's finished I'll be able to get on with redecorating.'

‘Well, it's up to you.' She hated the way he did this – his words offering her a choice, while his tone conveyed exactly what he thought. ‘But remember, after this holiday you'll be on your own. You can't expect Annabel to be driving up to see you every five minutes.'

‘I don't expect her to, Dad! For goodness' sake! I thought you'd rung to wish us a happy Christmas, not to have a go at me.'

‘Calm down, love. I am wishing you happy Christmas. I'm simply looking out for you – I don't want you to run into any trouble while you're there on your own.'

‘Well, it feels like you're getting at me,' she said grumpily.

‘I'm not. Now, have you got enough money to be getting on with?'

That question couldn't help but make Grace smile. Annabel and Grace had a joke that even if they became multi-millionaires, their dad would still ask them if they had enough, as he had done when they were teenagers heading out for the evening.

‘Yes, I have enough,' she said, turning around to see her sister look up and grin. ‘Now, do you want to speak to Annabel?'

The rest of the evening passed in a weary haze of wine and television. When Grace climbed into bed, exhausted, she knew she would sleep the night.

Except she woke up three hours later, sweating, Annabel motionless beside her in the dark. The answer she'd been searching for earlier was right in front of her. She knew exactly what was troubling her about the cellar.

Grace crept downstairs, hoping she wouldn't wake James. There was no way this could wait till morning: she needed to look in the cellar right now.

Luckily James had left the TV on, so the flickering light filtered through the living-room door and flashed in staccato bursts on the passage walls. But as she got further towards the back of the cottage, it became gloomier, the light dwindling to nothing. She ran her hands over the cellar door until she found the handle and pulled it open, hearing it creak. Then she made her careful way down the steps, engulfed in blackness, knowing that once she reached the bottom she could switch the light on.

She was jittery, jumping at every slight noise or rustle, feeling her way along the wall, nearly retreating in panic as something soft brushed against her hand, until she
realised it was her dressing-gown cord. ‘Stop working yourself up,' she scolded herself in a whisper.

When she reached the bottom, she felt along the wall, and flicked the light switch.

The change from total darkness to the stark white light of a bare bulb was utterly disorientating. Grace closed her eyes for a moment, making a conscious effort to slow her breathing, and then opened them again, squinting.

Everything was as she remembered, including the bitter cold. She headed straight for the box of Adam's personal effects – the one she knew he had brought with him from London. She began taking things out, quickly and carefully, piling them on a nearby shelf.

She didn't have to dig down far until she found what she was looking for.

His passport. She opened the small purple booklet, to double-check, and there was his picture, the one that Grace had always laughingly told him looked like a police mug shot.

She stared at Adam's handsome face. A rush of tenderness weakened her legs, and she held on to a shelf to stop them buckling. This was evidence, surely, that he hadn't intended to run away? Or at least it made it less likely. But if that were so, then other possibilities, some unbearable, edged closer to being true.

Her mind swirling, she whirled around.

James was standing silently behind her.

She squealed with fright. ‘What the hell are you doing?' she shrieked.

‘What the hell are
you
doing?' he shouted back. Barefoot
and bleary-eyed, he was brandishing a large piece of wood. ‘For Christ's sake, Grace, you scared the life out of me. I woke up to a bloody door creaking, and then heard all this scraping and rustling. After what Annabel's been telling us, I was terrified I was about to confront the headless horseman rummaging about down here.' He laughed, but when Grace didn't join in he immediately sobered up. ‘What's wrong?'

She shook the passport at him. ‘They asked me to find this last year, when they were suggesting that Adam had done a runner – and I couldn't. But I didn't know the bloody cellar existed then, did I? It suddenly dawned on me that I never checked the boxes he put here. Perhaps the police will take his absence more seriously now – though I somehow doubt it.' She dropped her arm despondently.

‘Grace,' James began to rub his bare arms as he stood there in T-shirt and boxer shorts, ‘come upstairs and we'll talk about this. It's freezing down here.'

He held out a hand. She went across and took it, and he began to lead her towards the stairs. ‘Hang on,' she said, ‘we have to turn the light off.'

He waited as she flicked the switch, then they edged slowly back up in the darkness. Once in the corridor, Grace dropped his hand and closed the door gently, trying to stop it from creaking.

James followed her down the hallway, but when she began to climb the stairs, heading back to bed, he said, ‘Grace, wait a minute.'

She tried to look at him, though she could barely make out his face.

‘Come and sit with me for a moment.'

She went into the lounge with him. He pulled her onto the sofa and unzipped his sleeping bag, covering them both with it.

‘Lean on me for a while. Let yourself relax.'

Grace did as he bid, and felt her eyes grow heavy. The next thing she knew she had woken up with James asleep next to her, his arm still around her. Quietly, she disentangled herself and got up. James stirred briefly as she kissed his forehead and whispered ‘Night', before tiptoeing from the room. Out in the hallway, the grandfather clock greeted her with its steady tick. The thought of it stopping sent her hurrying upstairs without looking to see what the time was, falling gratefully into bed next to Annabel.

 

Grace was woken again what felt like five minutes later, to the sound of Millie crying. Grey light was beginning to poke through the curtains, but inside the cottage it was dim. She found Millie sitting up cuddling Mr Pink, and Grace only needed one look at her wide-eyed tear-streaked face to know that Millie wouldn't be settled back to sleep. She lifted her little girl out of the cot, trying to stave off her own tiredness by blinking hard and rubbing her eyes. They began to play together on the floor by the cot, but after a while Millie grew restless. Grace picked her up and tiptoed downstairs to get breakfast, trying not to wake James.

‘What time is it?' James asked from the depths of the sofa.

‘Too early,' Grace muttered, then walked back out to
check the grandfather clock, only registering the silence as she did so.

‘The clock's stopped,' she said in bewilderment. The hands were pointing to just past three.

‘It must be stuck, I'll look at it later,' James mumbled sleepily.

‘Thanks.' Grace went over to her mobile phone on the tabletop. ‘It's nearly eight o'clock,' she said, surprised. Then she pulled back the curtain and looked out. ‘And I think you could say that we're snowed in.'

She heard the sofa's springs creak as James pushed himself up, then he was behind her, peering through the window. ‘Bloody hell!'

The garden had disappeared. It looked as though someone had laid a sparkling white blanket from the level of the low garden wall right up to the cottage. Only the tips of the taller hedges poked through, and the bare trellis arch midway along the path.

‘I'll have to dig us out,' James declared. ‘We have got a spade somewhere?'

‘I … I don't know,' Grace said. ‘I didn't think about it –'

James made a noise of exasperation.

‘Do we actually need to go outside?' Grace queried. ‘Unless you're going to shovel your way right over the top of the moors, I think it's safe to say we're stuck.'

In reply, James threw himself onto a chair.

‘What's the problem?' Grace asked, amused. ‘You're always talking about how much you love the snow.'

‘Yes, because in Switzerland I can ski on it,' James grumbled. ‘It's completely different.'

‘You could take Millie sledging instead …'

‘Well, we can't do anything much until we can get down the path.' James began to pull on his jeans and a jumper. ‘I'll search around and see what I can find.'

‘Be my guest.' Grace felt annoyed as she carried Millie across to the kitchen area and sat her in the high chair. James always had to make big issues out of little problems. Adam would have found it the perfect excuse to cuddle up in front of the television. She briefly wondered whether Ben would be shovelling snow right now.

Daylight had finally conquered the night by the time Annabel appeared downstairs. ‘What's that noise?' she asked, tuning in to a recurring scraping sound.

Grace went across to the window and pulled back the curtain. ‘James found a shovel, so he's clearing the path. I'm not sure why, but he obviously thinks it's important.'

‘Wow!' Annabel stared out of the window. ‘I don't think I've ever seen so much snow.' She spun around, beaming. ‘Let's get our coats on and make snowmen all day, Millie.' She ruffled her niece's hair, and was delighted when Millie looked up and grinned at her.

Grace laughed at them both. ‘Sounds great. But can you give me some help first?'

Annabel's eyes narrowed.

‘Don't look at me like that. Last night I remembered I hadn't checked the boxes in the cellar for Adam's passport, and so I took a look, and sure enough – I found it.'

‘Really? Why on earth did he put it down there?'

‘I don't know. I wish he'd told me about the damn cellar in the first place. I have no idea why he didn't.'

‘Maybe he thought you knew about it,' Annabel suggested, shrugging.

As Grace considered that, her annoyance eased a little. ‘Perhaps. Anyway, I want it emptied while you two are here to help, it's too creepy to do it on my own.'

‘I don't believe you sometimes,' Annabel muttered, flinging herself onto a chair. ‘Some Christmas holiday this is turning out to be. Well I'm sorry, but you can count me out – it's bloody freezing and I bet there are rats down there. Get James to bring the boxes up.'

‘Look, it won't take long,' Grace tried to persuade her. ‘And you can sit at the top and sort the stuff out. We'll get through it in no time if we all pitch in.'

A few hours later, Grace felt like she was corralling unruly sheep. Annabel and James had agreed to help, but both would slip away endlessly – James to check on the football scores; Annabel for any reason that would avoid the task at hand. At least when Millie got up it meant that her enthusiastic auntie was happy to keep her entertained, leaving Grace free to go through things.

By mid-afternoon they had done well. There were piles of full boxes and binbags destined for either the tip or a charity shop. The cellar was now rimmed with bare, grimy shelves.

‘Okay,' Grace conceded, when she took stock of how much they had done. ‘Let's take a break.'

‘Finally, she lets us rest.' James sat down heavily on the stairs and leaned against the wall.

‘Let me tell you this before I forget,' Annabel said. She patted the three boxes in front of her. ‘These look like they contain personal effects, letters and suchlike, so you'd better
go through them. It's strange that they weren't in the attic with the rest.'

‘Perhaps Connie and Bill got too old to clamber about in the attic,' Grace replied, opening one of them and rummaging inside, finding exercise books, notebooks, more photograph albums, newspaper clippings and loose papers, all mish-mashed together. She sighed. ‘There's so much of this stuff. It's such a wrench, going through all their memories and deciding which ones are worth keeping – that's if I can even make sense of them. Sometimes I've no idea why they held on to something. I wish I wasn't packing away their lives with so little idea of what these things meant to them.'

However, if there was anything in the cottage containing more information about why Adam might have disappeared, then she was getting down to the last few places to look. The suggestion that these boxes might reveal something important gave her a renewed sense of purpose.

‘If I take these upstairs, can you two entertain Millie for a while?' she asked them.

‘Anything if it keeps me away from those damn boxes,' Annabel replied, while James added, ‘Sure.'

When Grace got into her room, she lifted the boxes one by one and tipped their contents onto the bedcovers, knowing that if she had to clear them away before she could go to sleep tonight it would make her work faster. She climbed up to sit amid the chaotic mountain of papers, and began rifling through. Anything she wasn't interested in got tossed back into an empty crate, and she began to stack the rest in piles by her bedside, next to her neglected copy of
Rebecca
.

Her spirits sank as the collection of papers she wanted to look at more closely grew larger. Bundles of letters, mainly, or notepads that had been scribbled in. Bank statements that she didn't feel she could throw away without checking. Old greeting cards. Photos – both in albums and loose. A couple of school yearbooks that might well contain something about Adam. As she was going through them, it became clear that at least one of the boxes had contained Rachel's effects. It made her think of Connie and Bill facing the same task, whittling down their daughter's belongings to retain the official documents that proved her existence, and the photos and letters that could help them recapture Rachel, even if only for a moment, as her image or words briefly fleshed out the spectre of her from the confines of memory. For all Grace knew, so many other things she had touched in the past few weeks had secrets of their own to tell, but they had died along with their keepers. All Grace could do was unwittingly dispose of the evidence.

She picked up a bundle of letters. They were written in the same handwriting, and she plucked one from the top and opened it. Without knowing the contents she couldn't determine their value, but she still felt as though she were snooping.

 

Dear Mum and Dad,

I hope you are both all right. I know you will still be getting over the shock, but
please
, please keep writing and telling me your news. I am doing fine in York. I've found a flat, and there's plenty of space for the baby, who is kicking me all the time now – it's a strong little thing, that's for sure.

When you see Meredith, please could you tell her that I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye. I've included a letter for you to pass on to her. I miss you all very much. I know it's hard, but I'm sure I am doing the right thing. Why don't you come and see us when the baby arrives?

All my love,

Rachel

 

Grace plucked the next one from the pile.

 

Dear Mum and Dad,

It's good to hear that they have fixed the road – it's hard enough driving up the bank without potholes to avoid! I'm glad to hear that the show went well too, Mum, I'm sure you did a brilliant job of organising it.