He clinked her glass with his own, then leaned forward to kiss her lips. She responded, but not seriously, soon parting to sip the brandy.
Harcourt smiled, then drank from his own glass. His dress tie hung loose around his fly-collar, the evening suit jacket unbuttoned, the beginnings of a paunch grateful for the freedom. Lamplight from behind reflected unflatteringly through his thinning, blond hair.
‘I enjoyed this evening,’ Kate said quietly, her fingers twisting the squat stem of the glass. She eased off her left shoe with the toe of the right, repeating the manoeuvre on the other with her stockinged foot. Her legs stretched out beneath the long gown and her shoulders sank back into the soft cushions of the sofa.
‘There’s more . . .’ her companion intimated.
Her reply was playful. ‘Too much of a good thing . . .’
‘You deserve to be spoilt.’ He leaned closer to her again. ‘I’m in no mood to leave, not tonight.’
Kate raised her eyebrows. ‘The cat’s away, I take it.’
He shook his head. ‘Uh-uh. This rat’s away. I’m on business. Out of town as far as Helen’s concerned.’
Kate frowned. ‘I don’t like these games, Colin.’
‘I’m deadly serious, old thing.’
Despite the lightness of his tone, she saw that he was. ‘It isn’t what I want—’
The ringing of the phone from the hallway interrupted her. Harcourt looked at his watch. ‘Christ, it’s a bit late for phone calls, isn’t it? Leave it, let them go away and bother someone else.’
With a sigh, Kate struggled from the sofa. ‘It might be important. It’d better be, this time of night . . .’ she muttered, going through to the hallway.
Harcourt moodily sipped his drink as he listened to Kate’s voice from the open doorway.
‘McCarrick, hello?’ A pause. ‘Edith . . . is something wrong?’
In the sitting room of her small terraced house in the city suburbs, Edith Phipps clutched her nightgown tightly to her throat. She sat in a wicker chair by a table big enough only to hold a telephone and lamp. She looked around furtively, almost as if the night shadows might be eavesdropping.
Her voice was agitated when she spoke into the mouthpiece. ‘Kate . . . listen to me. I think something has happened to David.’
‘What are you saying, Edith?’ Kate McCarrick’s tone was as anxious. ‘Have you heard from him?’
‘No – I woke from a dream.’
There was a hint of exasperation in Kate’s question. ‘A dream? Edith, do you know what time it is?’
‘I’m sorry, Kate, I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep . . .’
‘You didn’t,’ the voice at the other end said as Edith continued speaking.
‘. . . but it was so vivid, so frightening. I saw David drowning.’
Kate was firm, her unease hidden. ‘Calm down, now. It was only a dream.’
‘No, it was much more than that,’ Edith insisted. ‘He’s in danger, I sense he’s in danger. Everything was so confused . . . David was under water, something was dragging him down. He was so afraid . . .’
‘Are you registering a precognition?’
‘Please don’t go official on me, Kate. I’m calling as a friend. There is something very wrong at this house David is investigating. I have this feeling of dread for him.’
Kate was aware that her own anxiety was growing, despite her irritation. ‘If you’re concerned, then so am I. Unfortunately there isn’t much either of us can do tonight. Listen, I’ll contact the Mariells first thing tomorrow.’ She noticed Harcourt in the doorway leaning against the frame, drink in hand, watching her. ‘He should have called me from there this afternoon, but perhaps he was too busy setting up equipment – I understand Edbrook is a large house.’
‘Can’t you call tonight?’
Kate forced herself to resist the medium’s urgency. ‘No, that would be ridiculous. It’s far too late to disturb them.’
‘Kate . . .’
She was adamant, but her voice softened. ‘Please don’t worry, Edith. You
Harcourt smiled, then drank from his own glass. His dress tie hung loose around his fly-collar, the evening suit jacket unbuttoned, the beginnings of a paunch grateful for the freedom. Lamplight from behind reflected unflatteringly through his thinning, blond hair.
‘I enjoyed this evening,’ Kate said quietly, her fingers twisting the squat stem of the glass. She eased off her left shoe with the toe of the right, repeating the manoeuvre on the other with her stockinged foot. Her legs stretched out beneath the long gown and her shoulders sank back into the soft cushions of the sofa.
‘There’s more . . .’ her companion intimated.
Her reply was playful. ‘Too much of a good thing . . .’
‘You deserve to be spoilt.’ He leaned closer to her again. ‘I’m in no mood to leave, not tonight.’
Kate raised her eyebrows. ‘The cat’s away, I take it.’
He shook his head. ‘Uh-uh. This rat’s away. I’m on business. Out of town as far as Helen’s concerned.’
Kate frowned. ‘I don’t like these games, Colin.’
‘I’m deadly serious, old thing.’
Despite the lightness of his tone, she saw that he was. ‘It isn’t what I want—’
The ringing of the phone from the hallway interrupted her. Harcourt looked at his watch. ‘Christ, it’s a bit late for phone calls, isn’t it? Leave it, let them go away and bother someone else.’
With a sigh, Kate struggled from the sofa. ‘It might be important. It’d better be, this time of night . . .’ she muttered, going through to the hallway.
Harcourt moodily sipped his drink as he listened to Kate’s voice from the open doorway.
‘McCarrick, hello?’ A pause. ‘Edith . . . is something wrong?’
In the sitting room of her small terraced house in the city suburbs, Edith Phipps clutched her nightgown tightly to her throat. She sat in a wicker chair by a table big enough only to hold a telephone and lamp. She looked around furtively, almost as if the night shadows might be eavesdropping.
Her voice was agitated when she spoke into the mouthpiece. ‘Kate . . . listen to me. I think something has happened to David.’
‘What are you saying, Edith?’ Kate McCarrick’s tone was as anxious. ‘Have you heard from him?’
‘No – I woke from a dream.’
There was a hint of exasperation in Kate’s question. ‘A dream? Edith, do you know what time it is?’
‘I’m sorry, Kate, I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep . . .’
‘You didn’t,’ the voice at the other end said as Edith continued speaking.
‘. . . but it was so vivid, so frightening. I saw David drowning.’
Kate was firm, her unease hidden. ‘Calm down, now. It was only a dream.’
‘No, it was much more than that,’ Edith insisted. ‘He’s in danger, I sense he’s in danger. Everything was so confused . . . David was under water, something was dragging him down. He was so afraid . . .’
‘Are you registering a precognition?’
‘Please don’t go official on me, Kate. I’m calling as a friend. There is something very wrong at this house David is investigating. I have this feeling of dread for him.’
Kate was aware that her own anxiety was growing, despite her irritation. ‘If you’re concerned, then so am I. Unfortunately there isn’t much either of us can do tonight. Listen, I’ll contact the Mariells first thing tomorrow.’ She noticed Harcourt in the doorway leaning against the frame, drink in hand, watching her. ‘He should have called me from there this afternoon, but perhaps he was too busy setting up equipment – I understand Edbrook is a large house.’
‘Can’t you call tonight?’
Kate forced herself to resist the medium’s urgency. ‘No, that would be ridiculous. It’s far too late to disturb them.’
‘Kate . . .’
She was adamant, but her voice softened. ‘Please don’t worry, Edith. You
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