lifted off a dusty section of battered oak panelling. Neil stood beside him and peered
at the section of wall he’d revealed. Then he wrinkled his nose in disgust. He’d seen similar images in anatomy books – a
human figure with the flesh stripped away to reveal the muscles and sinews beneath. It was well painted by a talented hand,
but still somehow primitive. The artist was no Leonardo.
Neil looked away. ‘Can I have a look at the attic?’
He saw Tony glance at his watch impatiently.
‘You can tell a lot about the construction of a house from the roof space.’
‘Really? I’ve never been up there.’
‘Got a ladder?’
‘No need. There’s a little staircase behind a door at the other end of the house.’
‘And you haven’t had a look?’ Neil was rather amazed at the man’s lack of curiosity. If the house had been his he would have
searched every inch of the place on the day he moved in.
‘I suppose the surveyor did. And the house clearers took some rubbish out of there but …’
Tony Persimmon walked down the landing and into another untouched bedroom, his footsteps echoing on the bare floorboards.
There was a door at the far end of the room that Neil assumed was a cupboard but when Tony opened it, he saw a steep narrow
staircase inside. The wood was dusty and splintered and as Neil placed a tentative foot on the bottom step, he hoped that
hungry woodworms hadn’t made a meal of it. But he had no need to worry – the steps held solid under his weight.
He turned, clinging to the filthy wall. ‘Got a torch, Tony?’
He waited a few minutes and when the torch was brought he grabbed it enthusiastically and pointed it upwards. And what he
saw made his heart beat a little faster.
‘What’s up there?’ Tony shouted.
‘There’s a door.’ He stood at the top of the steps and pushed at the battered oak panels. There was a large iron latch, riddled
with rust and age, but when he eventuallymanaged to lift it, the door opened stiffly with an ear-shattering creak.
He shone the torch around the attic.
It was much larger than he’d expected and, from the doorway he spotted at the end, he guessed there was a series of rooms
up here, possibly matching the floor below. This first chamber was empty. As he stepped into the room the cobwebs that festooned
the sloping ceiling grabbed at his hair. A fine place for Halloween, he thought as he looked around.
He made straight for the closed door at the end of the first attic room, hoping that it wasn’t locked.
To his relief the door opened stiffly but he was mildly disappointed to discover that this room was empty too. He stood there
for a while anyway, shining the torch upwards to study the construction of the roof.
Then he spotted yet another door at the end of the room. He walked towards it, his feet scraping on the dusty floor. When
he reached the door he tried to turn the rusty iron handle but nothing happened. It was locked.
He swore under his breath and retraced his steps.
Feeling for each rickety rung with his toes, he descended the staircase. Tony Persimmon was waiting at the bottom, shuffling
his feet impatiently.
‘The far door’s locked. Any idea where the key is?’
Tony shrugged. ‘The surveyor asked for it but the old lady said it was missing. But when we were clearing out we found a few
old keys in the kitchen.’
‘Do any of them fit?’
‘I haven’t had the time or the inclination to try,’ he said as though the subject of the attic was starting to bore him. ‘But
you can try them if you like.’
Once downstairs in the kitchen Tony pulled a small drawer out of the dresser and emptied its contents out onto the worktop.
A dozen or so antique keys lay there in an untidy heap and Neil began to sift through them just as Jill entered the kitchen.
When she spotted the mess on her worktop a look of irritation passed across her face.
‘What are you doing?’
He smiled at her innocently and
at the section of wall he’d revealed. Then he wrinkled his nose in disgust. He’d seen similar images in anatomy books – a
human figure with the flesh stripped away to reveal the muscles and sinews beneath. It was well painted by a talented hand,
but still somehow primitive. The artist was no Leonardo.
Neil looked away. ‘Can I have a look at the attic?’
He saw Tony glance at his watch impatiently.
‘You can tell a lot about the construction of a house from the roof space.’
‘Really? I’ve never been up there.’
‘Got a ladder?’
‘No need. There’s a little staircase behind a door at the other end of the house.’
‘And you haven’t had a look?’ Neil was rather amazed at the man’s lack of curiosity. If the house had been his he would have
searched every inch of the place on the day he moved in.
‘I suppose the surveyor did. And the house clearers took some rubbish out of there but …’
Tony Persimmon walked down the landing and into another untouched bedroom, his footsteps echoing on the bare floorboards.
There was a door at the far end of the room that Neil assumed was a cupboard but when Tony opened it, he saw a steep narrow
staircase inside. The wood was dusty and splintered and as Neil placed a tentative foot on the bottom step, he hoped that
hungry woodworms hadn’t made a meal of it. But he had no need to worry – the steps held solid under his weight.
He turned, clinging to the filthy wall. ‘Got a torch, Tony?’
He waited a few minutes and when the torch was brought he grabbed it enthusiastically and pointed it upwards. And what he
saw made his heart beat a little faster.
‘What’s up there?’ Tony shouted.
‘There’s a door.’ He stood at the top of the steps and pushed at the battered oak panels. There was a large iron latch, riddled
with rust and age, but when he eventuallymanaged to lift it, the door opened stiffly with an ear-shattering creak.
He shone the torch around the attic.
It was much larger than he’d expected and, from the doorway he spotted at the end, he guessed there was a series of rooms
up here, possibly matching the floor below. This first chamber was empty. As he stepped into the room the cobwebs that festooned
the sloping ceiling grabbed at his hair. A fine place for Halloween, he thought as he looked around.
He made straight for the closed door at the end of the first attic room, hoping that it wasn’t locked.
To his relief the door opened stiffly but he was mildly disappointed to discover that this room was empty too. He stood there
for a while anyway, shining the torch upwards to study the construction of the roof.
Then he spotted yet another door at the end of the room. He walked towards it, his feet scraping on the dusty floor. When
he reached the door he tried to turn the rusty iron handle but nothing happened. It was locked.
He swore under his breath and retraced his steps.
Feeling for each rickety rung with his toes, he descended the staircase. Tony Persimmon was waiting at the bottom, shuffling
his feet impatiently.
‘The far door’s locked. Any idea where the key is?’
Tony shrugged. ‘The surveyor asked for it but the old lady said it was missing. But when we were clearing out we found a few
old keys in the kitchen.’
‘Do any of them fit?’
‘I haven’t had the time or the inclination to try,’ he said as though the subject of the attic was starting to bore him. ‘But
you can try them if you like.’
Once downstairs in the kitchen Tony pulled a small drawer out of the dresser and emptied its contents out onto the worktop.
A dozen or so antique keys lay there in an untidy heap and Neil began to sift through them just as Jill entered the kitchen.
When she spotted the mess on her worktop a look of irritation passed across her face.
‘What are you doing?’
He smiled at her innocently and
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