Candleland Read Online Free PDF Page A

them who they’d be staying with or who owned the house. Larkin had asked him but he wouldn’t give a straight answer. He tried again.
    â€œYou’ll see,” was the only answer he received.
    Moir came round enough to swing himself out of the car and make his way to the house while Larkin took the bags from the boot. Larkin saw the front door being opened by a female figure who hugged Andy and kissed him on the cheek, then beckoned the others in.
    The woman, Larkin noticed as he got nearer, was in her mid to late forties, possibly, since the only indicator of age was the slight collection of lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her long, hennaed hair was pulled from her face, falling down her back. The velvet scoop-necked top and long, flowing batik skirt showed off her firm, full figure. She looked like the kind who had been pretty as a girl and had matured into a deeply attractive woman. Even Moir, who a moment ago had been comatose, was taking interest.
    â€œHi,” she smiled, extending her hand, “I’m Faye.”
    â€œStephen Larkin.”
    â€œI thought so. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
    â€œReally?” Larkin was taken aback. “Andy’s never mentioned you before.”
    Her smile became wry. “I doubt he would. Come in.”
    Larkin entered. The hall was large and tall, with a wide staircase going up to the first floor. What appeared to be a study was on the right and old panelled doors led off to the main downstairs rooms on the left. Under the stairs was another door, presumably leading to the cellar, Larkin surmised, and beyond that, the kitchen. As far as Larkin could tell, the house had all its original features with anything additional in keeping. This hadn’t been done in an obvious, heritage way, just a comfortable functional, homely way.
    â€œCome through,” said Faye over her shoulder as she entered the kitchen. “Leave the bags, we’ll sort them in a while.” Moir shut the front door and they all followed Faye.
    The kitchen, with its centrally placed, old, scarred pine table, cooker and dressers, seemed, on first glance, the obvious heart of the house. On the stove were steaming pots.
    â€œI thought you boys would be hungry after such a long trip. Sit yourselves down.”
    â€œThanks,” said Larkin. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble.”
    â€œNo trouble,” replied Faye. She gave a quick, bright smile. Maybe too quick. “Nice to have people in the house. Someone to cook for. Sort that out, Andy.” She handed him a corkscrew and he trotted over to the wine rack, selected a couple of reds, found glasses, opened and poured.
    â€œCheers,” said Faye. Larkin and Moir mumbled in response, Andy replied loudly, “Cheers, yourself.”
    â€œI hope you all find what you’re looking for.” She drank, they followed.
    Larkin and Moir sat down, Larkin looking at him. All the life seemed to have been drained from the man. Moir stared at the table, not so much avoiding eye contact as oblivious to it.
    Poor bastard, thought Larkin. Now that you’re here you don’t know if you want answers or not. Or even if you’ll find them. Then an unbidden thought came into Larkin’s head: Neither do I. He took another slug of wine, shook his head. One thing at a time, he thought, one thing at a time.
    Faye then went on to tell them to treat her house as their own, and that they were welcome to stay as long as they liked. “As long as it takes,” she said. “As I said, it’s nice to have the company.” They thanked her, solemnly.
    The meal was served – pasta, meatballs, salad – and they all ate and drank heartily, like hungry, condemned men. Conversation was light, superficial and strained, Moir casting a massive, inhibiting shadow.
    â€œSo,” Larkin asked of Faye, “how d’you know Andy?”
    A look passed between Andy and Faye,