Read Online (1990) Sweet Heart by Peter James - Free Book Online Page A

lake was flat as a drumskin. Mallards were up-ended near the shore and somewhere close by a woodpecker drilled a tree.
    She crossed the iron footbridge, looking down uncomfortably into the circular brick sluice pond. It reminded her of a mineshaft. On the other side of the bridge there were brambles and the remains of a fence which needed repairing. It was dangerous and someone could trip and tumble in. She walked quickly and turned to wait until Ben was safely past.
    The path was dry and hard and curved upwards, left, climbing through the woods above the lake. The undergrowth grew denser and the trees were slender, mostly hornbeam, birch and elms. A large number were uprooted, probably from the winter storms or maybe the hurricane of eighty-seven. They lay where they had fallen, leaning against other trees or entombed in the creepers and brambles and nettles of the wild undergrowth.
    Traces of a nightmare she had had during the night remained in her mind: a horse rearing up, opening its snarling mouth to reveal fangs chewing a piece of gum the size of a tennis ball, breathing hot minty breath at her then laughing a whinnying laugh. She had woken and tasted mint in her own mouth.
    Chewing gum. In the car. It —
    Her train of thought snapped as Ben stopped in front of her and she nearly tripped over him. He began barking, a more menacing bark than normal, and she felt a flash of unease. The bark deepened into a snarl and something moved ahead on the path.
    A man hurrying, stumbling, very agitated, holding a fishing rod with a bag slung over his shoulder. He was wearing an old tweed suit with leather patches on the sleeves and gum boots. There was a strip of sticking plaster above his right eye, and a solitary trickle of sweat ran down his face like a tear. He was about sixty, tall and quite distinguished, but his state of anxiety was making him seem older. Ben’s snarl grew louder. She grabbed his collar.
    ‘I wonder if you’d mind terribly nipping down and telling Viola I’ll be a bit late,’ the man said without any introduction, ‘I’ve lost my damned watch somewhere and I must go back and look for it.’
    ‘Viola?’ Charley said blankly.
    The man blinked furiously. ‘My wife!’ he said. ‘Mrs Letters.’
    She wondered if he was a bit gaga.
    ‘I must find my watch before someone pinches it. It has sentimental value, you know.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Charley said. ‘We’ve only just moved in.’ Ben jerked her forwards.
    ‘Rose Cottage, up the lane! I’d be very grateful. Just tell her I’ll be a bit late.’ He raised a finger in acknowledgement, then turned and hurried back up the path.
    Charley continued holding Ben. He was still snarling and his hackles were up, his eyes flickering with colour.
    ‘What is it, boy? What’s the matter?’ She pulled him and he followed reluctantly. She waited until the man was well out of sight before she dared release him.
    Rose Cottage. She had seen the name on the board at the entrance to the lane. It must be the stone cottage. Ben ran on ahead sniffing everything happily, his growls forgotten.
    She came out of the shade and the sunlight struck her face, dazzling her. Ben cocked his leg on a bush. The potholed ground was dry and dusty and the hedges buzzed with insects. A swarm of midges hovered around her head and there was a strong smell of cows, an acrid smell of bindweed and the sweeter smell of mown grass.
    The roof of the cottage came into view through the trees and a dog was yapping. A car door slammed, then a woman’s voice boomed like a foghorn.
    ‘Peregrine! Quiet —!’
    Charley rounded the corner. The ancient Morris Minor estate was parked in the driveway of the cottage behind the picket fence and beside it was an old woman who had a cardboard groceries box under one arm and was holding the leash of a tiny Yorkshire terrier with the other.
    Ben leapt forward playfully but the terrier replied with another volley of yaps. Charley grabbed Ben’s collar