Dry Bones Read Online Free PDF Page B

fanciful, but the feeling was very strong – a conviction that ghosts from the past were standing at his shoulder.
    He chucked the flint stone away and got back into the car to follow the lane another mile before he stopped to refer to the map. In fact, he had to stop several more times. A signpost made no mention of King’s Mowbray and a promising lane ended in a field. Eventually, he saw a woman walking a black Labrador. The village was straight ahead, she told him. The Heathcotes’ house lay about half a mile on the other side and he couldn’t miss it. Cornelia had said the same in her letter. The dog walker’s comment had sounded sarcastic, he thought.
    King’s Mowbray turned out to be a fair-sized village, sheltered in a dip in the land and with attractive old houses built of flint stone. They were all very well maintained and would certainly be very expensive to buy. The village might be out of the way, but the main-line station was actually still near enough to commute to London. In estate agents’ parlance, King’s Mowbray would be described as nestling in peaceful Wiltshire countryside, the properties up for sale termed rare opportunities, the area deemed highly sought after. He passed a very pleasant looking pub – the Golden Pheasant – and a lovely old church, also built of flint. The village shop had replica blown glass windows and glossy white paintwork. He guessed that its stock would be carefully geared to discerning customers.
    When he reached the Heathcotes’ house outside the village he saw why Cornelia and the dog-walker had described it as unmissable.
    The entrance to the drive was marked by a pair of attention-grabbing steel gates, the house name carved in bold letters on a slab of granite at the side. The long drive led to a large house of stone and slate and a great deal of glass.
    As the Colonel parked his car discreetly in front of the house, a manservant appeared at the door and came forward to take his suitcase. He looked Asian – probably from the Philippines.
    â€˜Please to come in, sir.’
    He took off his cap as he walked into an enormous and high-ceilinged room with plate glass windows. The vast expanse of polished wood flooring was interrupted occasionally by Scandinavian rugs, scattered like islands in an ocean. Three immense white sofas formed a horseshoe shape round a log-burning stove that was big enough to incinerate a body. Beyond them, he could see a dining table capable of seating at least twenty people.
    â€˜Hugh . . . how
wonderful
to see you!’
    Cornelia was descending a circular steel staircase at the far end of the room. Round and round and round. He waited until she reached the bottom and came towards him.
    Ten years since he had last seen her. If anything, she looked even younger. There was no doubt that very expensive clothes and make-up, hair cut and coloured by experts and, probably, the wielding of a plastic surgeon’s knife, all helped the fight against time. As she stood on tiptoe to kiss him, he caught the sweet and costly scent of gardenias.
    â€˜It’s good to see you, too, Cornelia. And looking more beautiful than ever.’
    She smiled and touched his arm. ‘You’re not looking so bad yourself, Hugh. You always were divine. I used to envy Laura like anything.’
    She was wearing what was clearly intended to be casual country dress: silk shirt, cord trousers, a blue cashmere cardigan draped across her shoulders, low-heeled brogues the colour of shiny conkers. He admired her beauty and elegance, but she held no physical attraction for him.
    â€˜Diego will show you to your room and then you must come and sit down and have a drink.’
    He followed the manservant up the spiral staircase. Round and round and round. As he had expected, the bedroom was starkly simple: a plain wooden bed, striped covers and cushions, more Scandinavian rugs on the floor, streamlined cupboards, an adjoining