Lightning Encounter by Anne Saunders Read Free Book Online Page B

touch. ‘There’s something in the glove compartment that belongs to you.’
    â€˜To me? To me?’ The glove compartment was operated by a small button. She pressed it. The flap fell forward, and Darling Ugly fell into her lap.

CHAPTER FIVE
    The troll doll was back in her pocket again. Now she’d got it back, things must start coming right again. She’d loved it, and examined it, and run her fingers through its abundance of coarse, orange hair. And then put it away, where it belonged, yet still keeping her fingers pressed against the slight bulge in her dress pocket.
    â€˜I see you had to operate.’
    â€˜A stitch here, a stitch there.’ He flashed her a brief deprecatory smile. ‘Nothing really. I’m only sorry he’s not in mint condition for your sake. Poor little chap got a bit trampled on. I almost didn’t see him.’
    â€˜I’m so pleased you did.’
    First examination had revealed a line of exquisite stitches encircling the doll’s right ear. She didn’t know which delighted her most, the doll’s safe return, or the thoughtfulness that had been sewn into every stitch.
    Her head went back on the leather upholstery. It was nice to be out of the driving seat, in more than the literal sense. She hadn’t made a very good job of directing her own life and, for the moment at least, she was happy to sign away her independence and let someone else take charge. And, although he aggravated her, and at times she almost hated him—not almost, did!—she was glad that someone was Ian Nicholson.
    The road zigzagged and turned, it had more twists in it than a corkscrew, it frequently disappeared, but always popped up again. Karen grew sleepy watching it. She thought, I’ve been having a reaction and this is the soporific afterwards.
    In all, the ride lasted no more than twenty minutes. She tried to keep her ears alert for Ian’s occasional commentary, and her lids up for the scenic attractions. The road was hedged in by fields, with steep paths sloping off in all directions. A farmhouse was stencilled, artistically, against the skyline; her view of it was abruptly cut off by the meandering road and they were careering through a dark ravine of trees, a canyon of a million sounds, leaves chuckled and whispered, they were so thickly pressed together there wasn’t a chink or a parting to let in the light. The road danced into the dazzle of the sun before they did, curving and leaping in rapid descent.
    A number twenty-nine bus passed them, making heavy weather of lumbering up the road they had glided so effortlessly down. Karen filed this piece of information without being conscious of doing so. If she wished to keep her tentative date with Mitch, the bus was the obvious means of transport.
    A house slid into view, then another, and another. This was the new and fashionable part of town. Each house was architect designed and completely unrelated to its neighbour. Wide, open lawns swept down to the road. Beyond the shops the dwellings began to lose in artistry and gain in character. The little brown houses, some with mullioned windows and thatched roofs, nestled in dreamy tranquillity.
    The road began to do erratic things again, namely vanish into a wood of tall pines. Unlike the other times it did not reappear, and then Karen spotted the stone gates. Ian drove through them, along a short drive, and stopped before a house that was a big cousin to the little brown houses.
    She was almost too tired to voice her delight. She tried, but only managed a croak, in any case she needed her energy for walking.
    The door, under a triangular porch, was inches thick. It groaned open to reveal a family room, with comfortable deep brown chairs. A yellow jug, filled with flowers, made a bright splash of colour on the wide, cottage-style sill. Beyond an open archway, stairs curved away and upwards. At the top was a long passage with three doors. On each door, at