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mistake.
    Drake lead them back down the lane, and they strolled toward a small church on the edge of the fog, the adjoining hall losing its solidity as the fog encroached leaving only half of it visible.
    The sound of voices drifted from inside the hall and as Drake opened one of the double doors, the voices went quiet. Chase felt a little apprehensive as she stepped through. Although there were only seven people gathered, she didn’t like being the object of such close scrutiny and she crossed her arms in front of her chest, as though to establish a barrier. Jane’s manner of dress didn’t help as people couldn’t help but stare.
    A couple of tables decorated with food and drinks stood in the middle of the room. It wasn’t much of a spread, a few sandwiches, pork pie, sausage rolls and a quiche was all she could see. Chase turned away, noticed a stocky man with unkempt hair and close-set eyes stood in the corner of the room. But it was the knife in his hand that alarmed her. He dragged the point of the knife across the wall, gouging out thick veins of plaster. Why didn’t someone stop him? Couldn’t they see what he was doing?
    “Ah, Miss Black, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
    Chase turned to see a smartly dressed, middle-aged man walking toward her with his hand outstretched. He had a neatly clipped greying beard that softened the shape of his face and was only a bit shorter than the hair on his head. His blue eyes were cold, in sharp contrast with the warm smile he wore.
    Shaking his hand, Chase was surprised by how cold his skin was. A chill ran through her.
    “My name is Nigel Moon,” he said. “And this must be your companion.” He brusquely shook Jane’s hand without enquiring her name and turned back to Chase.
    “How did you know I was Miss Black?” Chase asked, realising Moon had greeted her by name before being formally introduced.
    “I just presumed as you had entered the hall first that you must be our esteemed and, might I say, extremely attractive winner.”
    Rather than being flattered by Moon’s comment, Chase found herself feeling angry he could be so personal, especially as the assembled crowd were listening so intently. She felt in some imperceptive way that the comment was meant to make her feel uneasy; off guard.
    “I am the managing director of Storm, the competition organisers. I believe you have already viewed your prize? I hope it’s to your liking?”
    “Liking. Yes, it’s fantastic,” Chase gushed.
    “Well I hope you will be very happy living here.”
    “Hold on a minute,” Jane said, placing a protective hand on Chase’s shoulder. “What do you mean, living here?”
    “Pardon?”
    “You know, who said she’s going to live in the house?”
    Moon’s smile dropped imperceptibly. “Who wouldn’t want to live here?”
    “Chase.” Jane placed her hands on her hips, assuming her verbal fighting stance.
    “Jane, I’m sure Mr Moon didn’t mean it quite so literally.” Chase was eager to defuse the situation, but also embarrassed that Jane talked about her as though she wasn’t there; as though she couldn’t speak for herself.
    “On the contrary, Miss Black. It was in the competition rules that the winner undertakes to move into the house. Immediately , for at least twelve months. Otherwise they would forfeit the prize.”
    “Bullshit,” Jane said.
    Moon reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Of course you can re-read the rules if you like. It was a condition of entry that the winner had to be ready to move. Didn’t you read the rules, Miss Black?” He frowned.
    Chase felt like Moon was trying to belittle her with his patronising tone, and that he was boxing her into a corner. She suddenly felt hot and claustrophobic. “Yes, I read the rules.” But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t even remember entering the competition, never mind reading the rules. “If you could just let Jane see them?” What she really