There was another brilliant flash and a crash that rippled on and on, as if the sky was now being ripped into a thousand pieces. Holding his breath, he ran back to the porch, stepping inside gratefully, and totally drenched. Then he raced back up the staircase, passing the stag that stood at the top like a sentry, and along the landing to the spiral staircase. Hauling himself up every step with the handrail, he reached the top of the tower. Drenched in sweat as well as rain, he stopped to get his breath back as he stood outside their room. Thunder again crashed outside. This time it sounded as if a million metal dustbins were banged together at the same moment.

Grabbing the keys from the dressing table, he walked carefully down, again using the handrail. As he stepped back out into the porch, there was another lightning flash. He counted. One . . . two . . . three . . . then boom.

That meant the storm wasn’t right overhead any more.

He dashed back over to the car, pressing the key fob button to unlock the doors on the way. But nothing happened. He tried again. Rain pelted down like he was standing under a shower, drenching him even more. Still nothing. Was the battery in the fob dead?

He pushed the key into the door lock and had to twist hard to turn it. The door unlocked with what seemed an unwilling click. He pulled it open, jumped in and pulled it shut against the weather. He was a little surprised that the interior light had not come on. Then he looked at his phone once more. Still no signal. He tried sending another text to Jack, but just like the previous three, he got an unable to send message.

He would have to drive down to the road to get a signal, he thought, and pushed the key into the ignition. But when he turned it there was just a dull click from somewhere in the car’s electrics.

He tried again. Another click. Nothing else.

Flat battery. Shit, shit, shit. Of all the times to get one . . . This bloody car was almost brand new, with less than three thousand kilometres on the clock. There had to be an electrical fault – a short of some kind. Hadn’t the rental company checked it out properly? Or had the heavy rain somehow got into the wiring? If they’d been in England, he could have called out the RAC. Was there an emergency help number somewhere in the car’s paperwork, which he’d shoved into the glove locker after they’d left the rental place?

Using his phone torch – and suddenly noticing, to his dismay, that he had less than 20 per cent charge remaining – he found a bunch of stapled papers. Scanning through, he found the emergency number for Europe.

Duh! No signal. He couldn’t bloody call it!

All the same, he tried.

With no success.

10