“Hello,” Heather said again, deciding to front it out. “We’re from up the hill. Just having a wander about really. This is a beautiful piece of land.”

For a long moment, the old man didn’t respond—Heather had the strangest sensation they had frozen him solid with surprise—and then he seemed to jerk into life. He shuffled out the door, his head tipped to one side still so that he was peering up at them through one slightly bloodshot eye.

“It is, it is, and you’ve chosen a beautiful morning to explore it on.” His voice was friendly, warmed slightly with a hint of the local accent. “The woods really sing when the sun is out.”

“Do you know much about the area? About the old house on the hill?” Heather smiled. “I’m interested in local history, you see. I like to learn a little bit wherever I go.”

The man paused then, squinting at them in the bright light. There was something about the way he looked at her, as though he saw through her lies without even trying, that brought all Heather’s misgivings back in a rush. Then, dragging himself and the stick with obvious effort, he moved to one side and indicated the darkened hallway.

“Ladies, you’ve come to the right place, and it just so happens that Linda put a brew on before she left. Join an old man for a cup of tea?”

Heather glanced at Nikki, saw the tiniest shrug of her shoulder, and turned back to the old man.

“We’d love to, thank you.”

He shuffled back inside and they followed him down the shadowy hallway. Heather caught sight of various black and white photographs in frames hanging on the walls and an old, chintzy style wallpaper, and then they were turning right into a large living room. There were prints and paintings on the walls, and a large set of windows looking out across a wild lawn leading down into the woods.

“This is a lovely house,” said Nikki, who went over to the window to look out. “It must be a very peaceful place to live.”

“It is, it is at that. I’m Bert, by the way—it’ll be nice to have some company this morning. Linda, bless her heart, likes to tell me all the cleaning lady gossip but half the time I don’t know what she’s harpin’ on about.”

They both introduced themselves, and Heather felt a little flurry of unreality; standing in a stranger’s home, her mother’s house—and her ghosts—far behind her. The feeling was compounded when she turned to sit on the nearest sofa and spotted an enormous black dog in the corner of the room. He was huge and shaggy, with a long wolfish face like an Alsatian, and he was sprawled on top of a dog bed that was much too small for him. Heather looked back to Bert to ask about the dog—what sort was he, what was his name, would he be likely to eat them both—but the old man had pottered back down the corridor. Instead, she looked at Nikki, who was peering at the prints on the walls.