The Valley by Unknown Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Unknown
everything was perfect for the few weeks of the year they spent there. And Christmas, it seemed, was special, because the owners not only came over, but also liked to show their gratitude to their loyal agent by inviting him and his family to their Christmas Eve dinner, and this year I had been added onto the invitation.
The Castle was tucked away in its own small valley behind a headland that kept it invisible to outsiders who never penetrated beyond the Lodge. It was a hideous Victorian mansion decorated with fake battlements, and looked completely out of context with its surroundings. The owner, a rich aristocratic insurance broker from London called Rupert Gore, came to the front door to welcome us. As well as him and his wife and their two children, there were three other families staying with them and they were all waiting for us in what they called the sitting room – a vast formal reception room with two huge fires, one at each end.
Right from the start, both the Gore parents seemed to regard Max as a favourite son. Rupert Gore quizzed me on Max’s life at Bristol, whilst his wife, Mariel, doted on Max, acting like a godmother, genuinely concerned that his lack of a real mother might be depriving him of some vital maternal influence.
If there was anyone I felt sorry for it was the Gores’ real son and heir, a shy and rather gauche eighteen year old who seemed slightly in awe of Max. His twin sister and her school friends seemed much more fun. As Max was drawn into long discussions about shooting and fishing by Rupert Gore, I found myself surrounded by three good looking girls, all hanging on my every word. After dinner someone suggested that we dance a few reels. When I announced that I had never danced Scottish reels before, there was almost a cat fight over who should be my teacher.
It was four o’clock in the morning by the time we left. Max’s father had already driven home, so Max and I walked back along the loch shore.
‘This is paradise,’ I said, gazing out across the water to the moody black mountains beyond.
‘Yes,’ Max said, ‘but it’s someone else’s paradise.’
CHAPTER 4
The morning after I left Max at the far end of Wandsworth Common, I made a conscious effort to get up on time and bicycle to the PropFace office – as if it was just another working day, and I was just another commuter. It was already Friday; Lucy had disappeared on Monday night; and it had been nearly a week since I had worked a full day inside the office. It was time to return to normal life.
I was just packing my laptop into a pannier bag when my doorbell rang.
‘Who is it?’ I asked through the intercom.
‘Joy Clarke.’
After a brief hesitation I buzzed her in, calculating that it would be better to talk to her within the privacy of my flat rather than standing outside the mansion block’s main entrance, with all my neighbours walking past.
She appeared at my door with Steve, Milburn’s young, thuggish-looking sidekick.
‘We’ve bought you a present,’ she said, sweeping past me. Steve followed, holding up a clear polythene bag. Inside it were the bedclothes that Milburn had stripped from my bed.
‘I’m afraid we’ll have to hang onto your clothes,’ Steve said, passing me the bag. ‘You can claim compensation if you don’t get everything back within six months.’
‘And my laptop?’
‘It’s still being examined,’ he said, gesturing towards the spare laptop poking out of my bag. ‘Can’t you go on using that one?’
‘No,’ I said angrily, and was about to ask him whether he knew how much a decent laptop cost, when Joy interrupted.
‘I’ll help you get it back, John, if you help us in return. I’d like to ask you a couple of quick questions, if that’s all right?’
‘I’m in a hurry.’
‘It won’t take long.’
‘Do I need a lawyer?’
‘I doubt it,’ she replied, ‘but you have the right to one. In fact, Steve, why don’t you give John the full
The Castle was tucked away in its own small valley behind a headland that kept it invisible to outsiders who never penetrated beyond the Lodge. It was a hideous Victorian mansion decorated with fake battlements, and looked completely out of context with its surroundings. The owner, a rich aristocratic insurance broker from London called Rupert Gore, came to the front door to welcome us. As well as him and his wife and their two children, there were three other families staying with them and they were all waiting for us in what they called the sitting room – a vast formal reception room with two huge fires, one at each end.
Right from the start, both the Gore parents seemed to regard Max as a favourite son. Rupert Gore quizzed me on Max’s life at Bristol, whilst his wife, Mariel, doted on Max, acting like a godmother, genuinely concerned that his lack of a real mother might be depriving him of some vital maternal influence.
If there was anyone I felt sorry for it was the Gores’ real son and heir, a shy and rather gauche eighteen year old who seemed slightly in awe of Max. His twin sister and her school friends seemed much more fun. As Max was drawn into long discussions about shooting and fishing by Rupert Gore, I found myself surrounded by three good looking girls, all hanging on my every word. After dinner someone suggested that we dance a few reels. When I announced that I had never danced Scottish reels before, there was almost a cat fight over who should be my teacher.
It was four o’clock in the morning by the time we left. Max’s father had already driven home, so Max and I walked back along the loch shore.
‘This is paradise,’ I said, gazing out across the water to the moody black mountains beyond.
‘Yes,’ Max said, ‘but it’s someone else’s paradise.’
CHAPTER 4
The morning after I left Max at the far end of Wandsworth Common, I made a conscious effort to get up on time and bicycle to the PropFace office – as if it was just another working day, and I was just another commuter. It was already Friday; Lucy had disappeared on Monday night; and it had been nearly a week since I had worked a full day inside the office. It was time to return to normal life.
I was just packing my laptop into a pannier bag when my doorbell rang.
‘Who is it?’ I asked through the intercom.
‘Joy Clarke.’
After a brief hesitation I buzzed her in, calculating that it would be better to talk to her within the privacy of my flat rather than standing outside the mansion block’s main entrance, with all my neighbours walking past.
She appeared at my door with Steve, Milburn’s young, thuggish-looking sidekick.
‘We’ve bought you a present,’ she said, sweeping past me. Steve followed, holding up a clear polythene bag. Inside it were the bedclothes that Milburn had stripped from my bed.
‘I’m afraid we’ll have to hang onto your clothes,’ Steve said, passing me the bag. ‘You can claim compensation if you don’t get everything back within six months.’
‘And my laptop?’
‘It’s still being examined,’ he said, gesturing towards the spare laptop poking out of my bag. ‘Can’t you go on using that one?’
‘No,’ I said angrily, and was about to ask him whether he knew how much a decent laptop cost, when Joy interrupted.
‘I’ll help you get it back, John, if you help us in return. I’d like to ask you a couple of quick questions, if that’s all right?’
‘I’m in a hurry.’
‘It won’t take long.’
‘Do I need a lawyer?’
‘I doubt it,’ she replied, ‘but you have the right to one. In fact, Steve, why don’t you give John the full