Scott Mariani
House of Malice
ONE
It was Thursday, another in a string of sunny afternoons that October and exactly one month since Mandy Freeman’s whole life had changed.
She still couldn’t believe her luck, and was in a daze as she drove up the narrow street in the quaint Cotswold village of Fairwood.
‘This is it,’ she said to Buster, who was perched on the passenger seat of her little blue Kia. Buster didn’t reply, just lolled his tongue and panted. He was Mandy’s Jack Russell terrier. Ten years old, he’d been her near-constant companion since her early twenties. Now he was about to share the biggest adventure of her life so far. He looked as excited as she felt.
Mandy parked the Kia on a double-yellow line outside the broad windows of the solicitors’ offices. The sunshine was gleaming over the name ‘Flowers & Duffy Ltd’ that was painted white on the glass. ‘Here we go. Back in a minute, boy,’ she said, her heart skipping. She got out, slammed the car door and disappeared inside the building.
Gideon Flowers was there in person to greet her, a small grey man wearing a bow tie and the crooked grin that was his best approximation of a warm smile. ‘Welcome to Fairwood,’ he said as he handed over the keys. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy in Summer Cottage.’
Mandy spent as little time as possible over pleasantries, not because she didn’t want to chat to Mr Flowers but because she was so anxious to tear the half a mile beyond the village outskirts to her new home. Minutes later, she emerged triumphantly from the solicitors’ office clutching the keys in her fist, dived back into the car and took off up Main Street in the direction of her new home, with a smile a mile wide and her long black hair loose in the breeze from the rolled-down car windows. Buster sat looking out, enjoying the ride and tail wagging non-stop.
‘See this place, Buster?’ she said happily as they drove out of the village and through the winding country lanes, hedgerows and trees zipping past. ‘This is going to be our home from now on. All the rabbits in the world for you to chase. As for me, well, maybe now I’ll be able to get on with my book.’ She beamed irrepressibly at the thought, and felt like thumping the steering wheel for joy. Bye, bye, London. Bye-bye living cooped up in a box living next door to troglodytes and surrounded by dirt and noise.
God, it felt good to have escaped.
‘And our only neighbour is a whole field away,’ she said brightly. ‘An eccentric old lady with a house full of cats. What do you say to that, Buster?’ At least, that was what Mrs James in the wool shop had told her, a piece of information that had emerged from one of Mandy’s first exploratory visits to the village just a matter of weeks ago.
Peace at last. It was too wonderful for words.
In truth, she knew it would be a while before her excitement settled down enough to let her start writing again. But there was no doubt in her mind that coming to live in the former home of Ellen Grace was going to provide all the inspiration any writer could ever wish for.
Mandy had idolised Ellen Grace since the age of thirteen. She’d read her novels until the covers cracked and the pages fell out. By her twenties, when she’d decided to become an author herself, to one day aspire to Ellen’s phenomenal bestselling success had been her dream. She’d modelled her whole style on Ellen’s, studied every word she’d ever set to paper and analysed her plots, gleaning all she could about her heroine’s storytelling technique.
And now, as amazing as it sounded, she was moving into the cottage that had been Ellen Grace’s home when she’d penned her biggest bestseller of all, One Night In December. The epic historical romance was a personal favourite of Mandy’s — and of the twenty or so million other fans who’d loyally devoured everything Ellen Grace had ever written.
Mandy could see from the Sat Nav that she was just quarter of a mile from her destination. As a lumbering tractor pulled out of a side road up ahead and forced her to slow, she felt a stab of impatience and then decided to call Victoria. She couldn’t resist telling her the good news.
Her friend answered on the first ring as if she’d been waiting to pounce on the phone. ‘Well?’ she said, breathless with expectation.
‘Got the keys!’
Victoria let out a shriek. ‘Brilliant!’
‘I’m on my way there right now.’
‘Right now? Oh, my God…’
‘I can’t believe it’s happening, Vic. No stopping me any more.’
‘When do I see it?’
‘Soon, I promise. It’s just an empty house for now. Furniture’s not coming until tomorrow morning.’
‘I don’t care, I want to see it!’
‘Give me a little while to get settled in, then I’ll email you some pics. You’ll have to come and stay. You’re going to love it.’
‘I’m so pleased for you. This is just what you needed. You’ve had a rough year. Pretty soon you won’t even remember James.’
‘Who?’ Mandy said, and they both laughed. ‘Actually,’ Mandy said. ‘I think I might have met someone.’
‘As in, a guy?’
‘He lives in the village. His name’s Todd. First time I came to view Summer Cottage, I found this café to have lunch. Busy little place, only one table free. I ended up sharing it with him. We got on really well. In fact, we got on great.’
‘Tell me about him.’
‘He’s a photographer. Tall, dark, good looking, a year older than me—’
‘And he’s not married and not gay? Wow, what are the chances?’
‘Divorced four years, no kids.’
‘What was I telling you? It’s like, fate, or something. This was all meant to happen. First Ellen Grace’s old cottage falls into your lap at this amazing price. Now you meet the guy of your dreams.’
‘Let’s not get too carried away, Vic,’ Mandy said with a smile. ‘Anyway, I don’t believe in fate. It’s just luck, that’s all. The house happened to be put on the market at the same time my divorce settlement was going through. For once in my life things are coming together.’
‘And you deserve it, babe.’
The tractor turned off. Summer Cottage was just up ahead. Mandy hurriedly said goodbye to her friend, promised to be in touch again soon and ended the call. Moments later, the property appeared through the trees.
‘We’re here,’ she said to Buster.
TWO
Mandy smiled even more widely when she saw the name ‘Summer Cottage’ on the carved wooden plaque on the gate. This is really happening, she thought to herself.
Beyond the gate, a stone path wound its way between rose gardens on one side and a clipped lawn on the other, all the way up to the front steps of the house. Despite its diminutive-sounding name, it was quite a large, sprawling property: the only true, traditionally cottagey features it possessed were the thatched roof and the smallness of the leaded windows, many of which were charmingly surrounded with creeping ivy. Mandy couldn’t wait to get inside and revisit the rambling interior.
She knew the place’s history well. Built around 1682 and extensively restored from a near-ruin in modern times by its former owner, it was in stunning condition. What fortunes must have been lavished on it, she wondered for the hundredth time. And how simply incredible that she’d been able to afford the asking price, swapping a completely unremarkable one-bedroomed apartment in a featureless, increasingly run-down and crime-ridden suburb of London for this! The divorce settlement from James had conveniently paid off the mortgage on the apartment just in time; at which point six years of deeply unhappy marriage, and the betrayal of his infidelity, had suddenly paid off by turning her into a woman of property and very soon afterwards the owner of what had to be one of England’s most desirable period homes. Especially for her. The connection with the author Ellen Grace was an added bonus that Mandy was certain meant more to her than any other prospective buyer.