The Dungeon House (Lake District Mysteries) by Martin Edwards Read Free Book Online

creaking joints. Another reminder of the passing years. Back in the day, he could go on a bender, and then spring out of bed at the crack of dawn, fresh as a daisy and ready to take on the world.
    He splashed cold water on his face. What was Lysette playing at? At least with Amber around, she wouldn’t dare to get cosy with Scott Durham. Presumably Cheryl and Ben Kind were tagging along for the meal. Had she asked Durham to join them? Surely she wasn’t that stupid. Or was she tiring of the affair? Secrecy and lies, exciting at first, became squalid once laid bare. If Durham had asked her to move in with him, that would mean taking on the son, the wannabe Bon Jovi. She wasn’t the maternal type, her constant squabbles with Amber proved that. What ifthe boot was on the other foot, and she’d started getting too intense? Durham might easily have second thoughts. Lysette was high-maintenance, and commitment never came cheap. Plenty more fish in the sea, especially for a baby-faced artist with a winning smile, and a sob story about his wife’s losing battle with cancer.
    Stretching his arms, and sucking in air, Malcolm gave the face in the mirror a mocking grin. Not quite dead yet, eh? Like the song in that film. ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’. Even when you’re being crucified.
    Outside, the sky was streaked with orange and red. A shepherd’s delight sunset, the sort Durham drooled over. How much money did his paintings rake in? His cottage was no bigger than a phone box, he drove a rusty old Ford, his jerseys were holed by moths. Quite a come-down for Lysette. Would she really fancy slogging through the divorce courts, knowing he’d fight her every inch of the way?
    He lay down on the living room sofa, and stared through the window with heavy-lidded eyes. The garden was empty. You’d never guess that a few hours earlier, these grounds had thronged with people and life. Robbie and his crew had dismantled the gazebo, and shifted the trestle tables, while Durham had taken away his sodding loudspeakers. The spreading oaks cast shadows, the summer house was in darkness. The Dungeon House estate was still as a graveyard.
     
     
    When he woke again, he was starving, but his head hurt, and he had a sickly feeling in his stomach, so he made do with a round of unbuttered bread. He’d been kiddinghimself with that brief flash of optimism. How likely was it that Lysette had dumped Durham? Her fretfulness was provoked by a husband who couldn’t stay sober, not even when hosting a party for the neighbourhood. What if she came home this evening, and locked him out of her room again?
    No! He banged his hand down on the table so hard that for a moment, he thought he’d cracked a bone. Lysette wasn’t going to pull that trick again. He simply wouldn’t allow it.
    He blundered back to his study, taking the Chivas Regal and a tumbler for company. Pouring himself a generous measure, he spilt most of it on the Axminster. No problem, plenty more where that came from. He prided himself on keeping his cellars well-stocked. For as long as he could remember, he’d dreamt of becoming a sort of lord of the manor. When business was booming, once or twice he’d indulged a flight of fancy by lodging a bid for country houses at auction sales, but something always held him back. Nothing captured his imagination until his first viewing of the Dungeon House. Talk about love at first sight. The house stood on a wooded knoll between Holmrook and Ravenglass, and had once been a hive of industry, buzzing with men and machinery. Sandstone quarried here built cottages in Ravenglass, and other villages dotted around the Western Lakes. The Dungeon House was more than a home, it was a slice of history.
    Selling up was unthinkable. An Englishman’s home was his castle. But castles required a vast amount of upkeep, and he’d spent eye-watering sums on redecoration, roof repairs, and new central heating. To pay back sixty per centof what