Read Online Home through the Dark by Anthea Fraser - Free Book Online

wondering, was the Picardy at last, a dreary-looking place with a frontage of dirty windows set into the yellow brickwork. For a moment a strong urge for self-protection almost made me drive past. But I knew I’d never rest until I’d made some enquiries which might shed some light on that cryptic message I’d unwillingly received. As I sat in the car trying to summon up the courage to go in, a coloured man went up the steps with a girl clinging to his arm. I gave them a chance to get clear of the hallway, then I tied the scarf round my head, locked the car and quickly crossed the road.
    It was the smell I noticed first, of stale food, dusty heat and dogs. The hall carpet was threadbare and there was the distant sound of a vacuum cleaner. Behind the desk a pale, untidy woman was reading The News of the World. Cautiously I moved towards her.
    â€œYes, dear?” she said without looking up. “Want a room?”
    â€œI – no, thank you. I was wondering if you could help me.”
    She looked up then. “Not if you’ve come to ask questions, dearie. More than my job’s worth.”
    â€œNot really, no, but I’m worried about my friend – a gentleman who was here last week.”
    â€œOh?” Her little eyes were trying to penetrate my sunglasses.
    â€œI – think he was in Room 127.”
    â€œNot 127 again! You the young lady what was looking for him on Friday? Can’t tell you any more than I did then. He went off with his friend and later the other young gentleman came back to pay the bill and collect the cases. I’ve seen nothing of either of them since.”
    â€œHe – didn’t leave any forwarding address?” I persisted, and immediately realized the idiocy of the question.
    â€œWhat? Here?” The woman gave a bray of mirthless laughter. “You must be joking! Look, dear, I’m sorry if he’s let you down but I can’t help you and that’s all there is to it.”
    Losing interest, she returned to her paper and after a moment I turned and left her, bumping into another couple in the doorway as I went out.
    Back in the car I went on driving for a while in the same direction, trying to itemize what new information I’d gleaned. There was very little of it but suddenly another picture clicked into focus in my mind, one that I had seen without registering as I made my discomfited exit from the hotel. That blue car which had been parked some way behind my own – surely I’d seen it before? And almost simultaneously came the certainty that it belonged to Marcus Sinclair.
    I jammed my foot down on the brake, made a wide U-turn and drove swiftly back, but the road alongside the Picardy was now deserted. If I had recognized his car, I could be more or less sure that he had recognized mine, and therefore me, despite my attempt at disguise. But what had brought him to this unlikely neighbourhood I could not imagine, unless his low, cultured voice had been the one I’d first heard over the telephone. I had been too disturbed myself to notice his reaction to the mention of the Picardy that morning, but overall the only logical explanation for his presence there was that he had followed me. I felt a little tremor of alarm. Perhaps Sarah was not so wide of the mark in her assessment of him after all.
    For the rest of the drive home I kept a lookout for the blue Triumph but there was no sign of it, nor was Marcus’s car parked outside the Beeches when I reached it.
    I made myself a cup of tea and sat down with it at the kitchen table to assess the position. No doubt my telephone caller had been the “friend” who had left with Room 127 and later returned for his case. But who was the young lady who was anxiously making enquiries last Friday? Not, presumably, the one who should have received my message, because she would have known what had happened to him. There must therefore be two girls and a man connected with