Saffron Lane

Saffron Lane

ANNA JACOBS

This book is dedicated to the memory of Harry Meageen (1937–2017), a dear friend whom my husband and I will miss greatly. I’ll also miss his astute comments as a reader. We’re both so glad to have known him.

Contents

1. Title Page
2. Dedication
3. Part One
4. Chapter One
5. Chapter Two
6. Chapter Three
7. Chapter Four
8. Chapter Five
9. Chapter Six
10. Chapter Seven
11. Part Two
12. Chapter Eight
13. Chapter Nine
14. Chapter Ten
15. Chapter Eleven
16. Chapter Twelve
17. Chapter Thirteen
18. Chapter Fourteen
19. Chapter Fifteen
20. Part Three
21. Chapter Sixteen
22. Chapter Seventeen
23. Chapter Eighteen
24. Chapter Nineteen
25. Part Four
26. Chapter Twenty
27. Chapter Twenty-One
28. Chapter Twenty-Two
29. Chapter Twenty-Three
30. Chapter Twenty-Four
31. Chapter Twenty-Five
32. Chapter Twenty-Six
33. Chapter Twenty-Seven
34. Chapter Twenty-Eight
35. Chapter Twenty-Nine
36. Chapter Thirty
37. Chapter Thirty-One
38. Chapter Thirty-Two
39. Chapter Thirty-Three
40. Epilogue
41. About the Author
42. By Anna Jacobs
43. Copyright

Part One

Chapter One

Wiltshire, October

Just after midnight thunder boomed so loudly that Nell woke with a start. Lightning flashed and another clap of thunder seemed to shake the big old house.

She lay for a few moments listening to the storm then felt her partner jerk awake.

Angus didn’t try to speak till another clap of thunder had rumbled away into the distance. ‘Damn! The weather forecast didn’t say it’d be such a heavy storm; they just predicted rain.’

She flung aside the covers and went to draw back a curtain and peer out across the formal gardens at the rear. ‘It must have been raining for a while. There are puddles everywhere.’

As he joined her, a sudden squall pounded heavily against the windows, blurring the world outside. Once again conversation became difficult because of loud thunder.

‘It couldn’t have come at a worse time.’ He thumped one clenched fist on the windowsill.

She knew why. The roof at the north end of this big house had been leaking and he was juggling his finances so that it could be fixed properly, not merely patched up. The last two owners, distant relatives of his, had done a lot of skimpy patching. You didn’t always know where problems still lay until the weak spots began to fall apart.

Angus sighed and dragged on his tatty winter dressing gown, thrusting his feet into equally shabby trainers. ‘I’d better go and check the attics. The leak bucket will probably need emptying. You might as well stay in bed.’

‘No way! I’m awake now so I’m coming with you. You may need my help.’

They heard it before they got to the open space at the north end of the attic: water splashing almost continuously, a lot more of it than the occasional drip there had been formerly.

He switched on the single light bulb that dangled forlornly from the middle of the ceiling at that end. ‘Oh, hell!’

As thunder rumbled, lightning lit up the attic like a scene from an old horror film, the flickering black and white causing eerie shadows to jump around the walls. The sound of the rain beating down on the roof tiles in another heavy downpour drowned out the splashing for a few moments, then the rain eased off and they could hear the water coming down inside the attic again.