Chapters (82)
- Cover
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
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She closed the car door with more force than was necessary and went up to the cottage. The car remained stationary for a moment and then Chris began a three-point turn. As she let herself in, he completed the manoeuvre and began along the lane towards the village.
I’ll speak to Camile if you like. She kicked off her shoes. No, thank you, Jan thought, annoyed. I’m not nervous. Although you’ll probably tell Camile anyway. And you did see something run from the cottage and disappear into the woods. I’m sure of it. But for some reason you’re denying it. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m not giving up that easily. I’m staying for now, thank you!
‘Sshh, Tinder!’ she shouted, going down the hall.
He was barking furiously from the living room where she’d shut him in. She opened the door and he shot out past her, straight to the front door. Still barking, he began frantically scratching to be let out. He knew there’d been something out there.
How she would have liked to let him out and then follow with a torch. But she wasn’t brave enough for that. Nowhere near. Whoever – whatever – was out there had started coming to the front door. But why? What did they want from her? Food? Or were they coming for her?
TWENTY-THREE
The following morning at 8.30 a.m. Ian parked his car in the firm’s car park, took out his mobile and called the Moller Clinic. Their website said they opened at 8.30 and, true to their word, Edie Moller answered in a kind, motherly tone. ‘Good morning. The Moller Clinic, Edie speaking. How can we help you?’
‘I’d like to discuss donor identification, please, for my wife Emma Jennings. I’m her husband, Ian Jennings.’
‘Yes, of course. Just give me a moment. I haven’t been in the office long so bear with me while I power up my computer. Then I’ll need to find your file.’
‘Of course,’ Ian said, and waited.
‘When we first started our clinic it was all paper files,’ Edie said, making conversation as her computer booted. ‘Now we have to store everything digitally. How things have changed!’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Ian agreed, while thinking that modern technology had probably been quite challenging for Mr and Mrs Moller, a couple in their sixties.
‘Jennings, Jennings,’ Edie said, as she searched the files. ‘Ah yes, here we are. Thank you for your patience. Were you enquiring about yourself or your wife?’
‘My wife,’ Ian said, then stopped. ‘Sorry, I don’t understand. My wife’s mother had the treatment so surely it would be listed under Emma’s maiden name. Jennings is her married name – my name – and we haven’t been to your clinic.’ Ian paused as his thoughts raced. ‘I really can’t imagine why you would have my details.’