Midnight is a Lonely Place Read Online Free PDF Page B

rotting leaves.
    ‘I’m afraid it gets worse.’ Bill grimaced. ‘And you’ll have to leave your car at the farmhouse. Roger or Greg will run all your stuff up to the cottage in their Land Rover.’
    The track forked. In front of them a rough wooden gibbet held two or three fire brooms – threadbare, broken. She brought the car to a standstill. ‘Which way?’
    ‘Right. My place is up there to the left – about half a mile. The farmhouse is down here.’ He gestured through the windscreen and cautiously she let in the clutch once more. The track began to descend sharply. They bounced again into the ruts as the wood grew more dense. Pine was interspersed with old stumpy oaks, hazel breaks strung with ivy and dried traveller’s joy and thickets of black impenetrable thorn.
    The farmhouse itself stood at the edge of the woods, facing east across the saltings. Behind it a thin strip of field and orchard allowed the fitful sunshine to brighten the landscape before another wood separated the farmhouse gardens from the sea. There was no sign of any cottage.
    She halted the car beside a black-boarded barn and sat for a moment staring out. The farmhouse was pink washed, a long, low building, covered in leafless creepers which in the summer were probably clematis and roses. Even in the depths of winter the place looked extraordinarily pretty.
    ‘What a lovely setting.’
    ‘Not too wild for you?’ Bill glanced beyond the farmhouse to the mudflats. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but mud and water and grey-green stretches of salting. A stray low shaft of sunlight shone from behind them throwing a sunpath over the mud towards the water. The rich colour lasted a moment and then it had gone.
    Bill opened the car door allowing biting, pure air into the warm fug. ‘Come on. It will start getting dark soon. I think we should get you settled in.’
    Kate surveyed her hosts as she shook hands with them. Roger and Diana Lindsey were both in their fifties, she guessed. Comfortable, quiet, welcoming. She found herself responding immediately to their warmth.
    ‘I thought you would like some tea here before you go up to the cottage,’ Diana said at once, ushering her towards the sofa. ‘Make yourself comfy – move those cats – and then I’ll give my son a call. He is going to take your stuff up there for you. It’s a long walk carrying luggage.’
    ‘And she’s got a heap of it,’ Bill put in. He was standing with his back to the fire, his palms held out behind him towards the smouldering logs. ‘Computers and stuff.’
    ‘Oh, my goodness.’ Diana frowned. ‘In which case you’ll certainly need help.’
    ‘Where is the cottage?’ Kate, while enjoying the soporific comfort of the tea and the warmth of the fire, was eager to see it. Over the last couple of days her excitement, though partly dampened by the thought of how much she was missing Jon – a thought she had deliberately tried to erase – had been intense.
    ‘It’s about half a mile from here. Through the wood. You’re right on the edge of the sea out there, my dear. I hope you’ve brought lots of warm clothes.’ Solicitously Diana refilled Kate’s cup, inserting herself between Kate and the staircase door where she had spotted a movement. The kids were spying. No doubt any moment now they would appear. She sighed. Kids indeed. She meant Alison and Greg. Patrick would no doubt be upstairs by now with his computers and would not reappear until called for supper. It was her elder son – a grown man, old enough to know better – and her daughter, who were, if she were any judge of character, going to cause trouble.
    She glanced over her shoulder at Roger. ‘Give Greg a call. I want him to help Miss Kennedy – ’
    ‘Kate, please.’
    ‘Kate.’ She flashed Kate a quick smile. ‘He could start loading her stuff into the Land Rover.’
    ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance.’
    ‘You won’t be.’ Was it Kate’s imagination, or was there a