She took herself to bed, missing her dog as much as her husband, finding the bedding to be uncomfortably heavy for August, the water in the bathroom sadly tepid, the window impossible to open. The house itself seemed old and exhausted, reluctant to co-operate with the efforts to bring it back to life. There was a musty smell throughout the upstairs floor, with a hint of mice. There 63seemed little need for a house-sitter, anyway, given the absence of any valuables except for the piano. The fact that she had jumped at the offer, that she had rushed all too willingly back to her former habits, meant that everything that now happened was her own stupid fault.

With this unnerving thought, she firmly fitted a chair under the door handle, in the time-honoured manner so popular in films. It worked exceedingly well, she discovered when she tested it.

Sunday morning dawned bright and cheerful, sunshine flooding the bedroom. ‘Must face east, then,’ she murmured to herself. Which meant the attic window looked west, the room much less light. That might mean that Grace was still asleep – there were certainly no sounds issuing from the attic. Thea hoped so, for no reason she could explain. She found herself filled with resentment – blaming the woman for the poor night’s sleep she’d endured, the shortage of food, the need to make decisions and ask questions. She wanted to be rid of her, to have a nice dull day with her sketchpad or a book in the garden, or a pleasant stroll around the lanes. Somehow all her curiosity had evaporated during the night, leaving only a residue of irritation and worse.

In a deliberately soft voice, she called ‘Hello?’ up the attic stairs, more than half hoping the woman would not be awake yet. When there was no response, she hurriedly went downstairs.

‘To hell with it,’ she said aloud. ‘I’m going out.’

64It was ten to eight, the village wrapped in a Sunday silence. With no sense of purpose other than to shake off dark feelings, Thea crossed the road to a point where the street widened to provide a short stretch apparently designed to offer parking space. There were two or three vehicles on it. She then walked towards the church and the village hall. Shortly after the church there was a side road, which she decided to explore. Within a few yards she found herself staring at an image from a fairy tale. An old barn was barely visible behind a dense screen of small trees, nettles, brambles and long dusty grass. Ivy grew up the peaked roof facing her. It was totally inaccessible to anyone not wearing protective clothing and carrying a billhook or scythe. There was a farm of some sort up to the left, presumably claiming the barn as part of its outbuildings – but why let it get so derelict? She had passed another barn closer to the church, without really giving it any attention – but this one was far more arresting.