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Back The House by the Sea Save as PDF
Chapters (71)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  69. MORE FROM LOUISE DOUGLAS
  70. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  71. ABOUT BOLDWOOD BOOKS

‘Delete the email account,’ Joe said. ‘Don’t even look at it again. Set up another.’

We turned onto the coast road and drove along, the bay to our right, a cloudy, thunderous night weighing down heavy over the sea. I had a stone of anxiety in my stomach. How had ‘they’ found my email address? How did they know how to get to me, how to hurt me? How did they know so much about me?

Our headland came into view. Something was moving around the roof of the house. I couldn’t make it out. What was it?

Joe leaned forward, craning over the steering wheel, and in doing so misjudged the hairpin bend around the Arnone cottage so the Alfa Romeo bumped up onto the side of the road and then bounced off again. I grabbed hold of the door.

‘Sorry,’ Joe said, ‘sorry, sorry, sorry,’ as I rocked in my seat and the car lurched on its big new tyres.

We were both still staring at the villa, trying to work out what was causing the movement. We realised at the exact same moment.

‘Oh Jesus!’ Joe cried. ‘It’s smoke.’

50

Joe was out of the car before it stopped at the bottom of the track. I pulled on the handbrake and followed. He battled with the key and the new lock at the gates. I looked over him, upwards. A thin line of smoke was drifting from the villa’s red roof tiles into the glowering sky.

Joe let the lock fall and pulled the gate open. I followed after him, the gravel skittering beneath our feet. I could smell the dry, peppery smell of wood burning with a thick, ugly under-smell.

Joe reached the villa door ahead of me. I was anxious about the kittens – we hadn’t taken our usual trouble to shut them upstairs before we left. I was right behind Joe as he opened the door.

Before him, smoke was hanging viscous and dreamy in the hallway; the stairs drawing it up to the first floor. The kittens, one, two, three, darted out of the doorway and disappeared into the shrubs. Joe disappeared the other way, into the smoke.

‘No! No! Joe!’

My instinct was to go after him, but we needed help. My phone was in the car. I turned and ran back towards the gates. Figures were emerging from the rocks at the top of the path to the beach, holidaymakers who’d seen the smoke and come scrambling up to see what was going on.

They questioned me in Italian. I answered, frantic, in English and they made mimes of the telephone and I understood that the fire brigade had already been alerted.

I pointed back towards the villa. ‘Joe, mio marito, he’s inside! Help, please help! Aiuto!’

Two men ran past me towards the villa, followed by a young woman. Other people surrounded me, patting my arm, muttering reassurances.