Read Online Finders and Keepers by Catrin Collier - Free Book Online

here.’
    Harry looked across at the ivy-clad walls of the old pub. ‘You live here?’
    â€˜My mother’s the licensee.’
    Harry almost asked if she rented out rooms, then remembered he was still four miles from the castle and there might be something closer. He slipped his hand into his pocket.
    â€˜You can pay me when you pick up the wheel, sir.’
    â€˜Let’s hope I don’t have another flat. If I do, I’ll be the footsore one walking back.’
    â€˜It’s only four miles, sir.’
    â€˜You’re obviously more used to walking than I am.’ Harry had never regarded anything above a mile as a stroll. Reflecting how lifestyles influenced attitudes, he climbed into the driving seat, fired the ignition, waved his hand and drove back on to the road.
    When he left the last house in Abercrave behind him, grassy, rolling hills, speckled with sheep and an occasional hill farm, rose on his left. On his right, the road sloped gently down to the wooded banks of a river. He followed the twists and turns that led through the few houses that were Penycae. Shortly afterwards, a high wall of dressed stone appeared on his right and above it loomed the towers of Craig-y-Nos.
    His parents had taken him and his sisters on holidays around Wales that invariably included visits to castles. For a small country it had a lot to offer: massive grey stone Norman edifices such as Caerphilly and Oystermouth, which remained impressive even in roofless dereliction; smaller fort types like Carreg Cennen and Pennard perched on the tops of hills that afforded sweeping views of the surrounding countryside; whimsical concoctions along the lines of Cardiff and Castell Coch, both raised on Norman foundations with so little regard for the original buildings that it was impossible to see beyond the fairytale visions of William Burgess and the Marquis of Bute’s fanciful reworkings.
    But even his architecturally-untrained eye could see that Craig-y-Nos wasn’t old, not in castle terms.
    Half was early Victorian Gothic, its towers – one boasting a clock – capped by pyramids. The other half was turreted, and the two styles sat somewhat uneasily together. Yet there was no denying it was imposing, its four-storeyed façade as solid and substantial as that of an English mansion.
    He drove into the walled courtyard and switched off his engine. In front of the castle was an elaborate fountain in the shape of a wading bird perched on four gilded fish, forlorn and covered in green slime. He climbed out of the car and ascended a short flight of steps to the main door, rang the bell pull and listened as it clanged into the silence.
    He was debating whether or not to pull it again when the door opened. A blonde girl, who would have been beautiful if she hadn’t been scowling, looked suspiciously at him. She was wearing a doctor’s white coat over a plain black dress, and had a cotton mask pulled down around her neck. ‘Can I help you?’
    Harry removed his hat. He had expected a uniformed nurse or porter, not a slim young girl with a stern expression. Disconcerted by her icy stare he muttered, ‘I hope so.’
    â€˜This is a sanatorium. You are risking infection simply by standing there.’
    â€˜I’ve brought my grandfather’s clinical notes. Doctor Williams from Tonypandy recommended this place to my family. He has spoken on the telephone to Doctor George Adams.’ Harry hoped the name would get him further than the doorstep.
    â€˜If you’ll follow me to the waiting room, I’ll see if Doctor Adams is expecting you.’
    â€˜I’m not sure he is, but I’d be very grateful if he could spare me a few minutes.’
    She showed Harry into a stone cell set to the left of and just behind the front door. Bare and devoid of chairs, it was a tiny anteroom to a lavatory. The air had been warm and heavy outside the building; inside it was freezing. Harry