House Of Shadows: Discover the thrilling untold story of the Winter Queen

The line clicked as the call went dead.

Holly put the phone down slowly, found her bag and grabbed her tablet. She typed in the name Espen Shurmer and the time, the date and the name of the Ashmolean Museum. The information came up at once – a lecture and private view of portraits and artefacts from the court in exile of Elizabeth, the Winter Queen, sister of King Charles I, which preceded a major new exhibition starting at the end of May. Espen Shurmer, she read, was a Dutch collector of 17th-century painting and glass, and he had donated a number of items to the museum.

She felt a pang of regret as she closed the tablet. She would have loved to see an exhibition of seventeenth-century artefacts and talk to a renowned expert. But there would be no need. Ben would be back soon, she was sure of it. She had to be sure because there was Flo to console and there were her own fears to fight. The longer Ben was absent, the more those shadows grew like monsters, the fear that Ben would never come back and she would be alone again, totally alone this time, like they had been after their parents had died, only so much worse …

She fought back the panic. It was important to keep busy. She needed to make breakfast for Flo, then they could both take Bonnie for a walk, and by then Ben would be home …

But Ben had not come back by lunchtime when Holly drove down to the deli to fetch sandwiches, nor was he back by three when they came back from another walk in the woods with Bonnie. All day Holly had felt her anxiety rising and squashed it down relentlessly, but it grew inside her, filling the empty spaces, filling her mind so she found it almost impossible to concentrate on anything. When she heard a car coming up the track towards the mill she had to restrain herself from running outside to see if it was Ben.

‘It’s Mummy!’ Flo had none of Holly’s reticence and had bounded up from the painting they had been doing to rush out of the door, Bonnie at her heels. Holly followed them more slowly. She and her sister-in-law had always had a brittle relationship. Ben had been a link between them, but now he was missing, and Holly felt suddenly wary.

Tasha, looking as elegant as though she was stepping onto the catwalk, slammed the door of her little red sports car and came hurrying across the gravel on her vertiginously high heels.

‘What the fuck is all this about?’ She demanded without preamble, meeting Holly by the gate. ‘I’ve had to come all the way back from Spain! Where is he, the stupid bastard?’

Holly blinked. Tasha seemed to notice Flo for the first time and bent down to pick her up. ‘Hello darling.’ She held Flo and her sticky painting fingers a little bit away from her. ‘Don’t worry, sweetie, I’m here now.’ She gave Bonnie a vertical pat, designed as much to push her away as greet her. Tasha was not a pet person.

‘Let’s go inside,’ Holly said.

‘I don’t want to stay,’ Tasha said, taking off her sunglasses and fixing Holly with her big blue eyes. ‘I’m going home to Bristol. I’m not hanging around here waiting for Ben to turn up when he feels like it. Have you got Flo’s bag?’

‘It’s not packed,’ Holly said coldly, ‘since you didn’t let me know you were coming.’ She was too exhausted for tact. She and Tasha had never been close; she had tried to like her sister-in-law but it had proved very difficult.

‘Sorry.’ To Holly’s surprise Tasha seemed to deflate all of a sudden like a pricked balloon. ‘I really do appreciate you coming down, Holly, and looking after Flo. But I’m just so bloody angry! It’s just not on for Ben simply to walk out on all his commitments—’

‘Wait.’ Holly put a hand on Tasha’s arm. ‘What do you mean? Surely you don’t think he’s just upped and gone?’

‘That’s exactly what I think,’ Tasha said fiercely, scrubbing at her eyes. She pushed the dark glasses firmly back down on her nose. ‘He was spending all his spare time down here. He’s probably got another woman, for all I know.’

‘He was doing family history research,’ Holly protested.

Her sister-in-law gave a look of such searing scorn that she blushed.

‘Yeah, and I’m Marilyn Monroe,’ Tasha said.

‘I don’t believe it!’ Holly said. She was so outraged she forgot that Flo was listening, taking it all in with her blue eyes wide, so like her mother’s. ‘Hell, Tasha, you know Ben would never do a thing like that! He’d certainly never leave Flo alone! And besides, where would he go? He’d never disappear without telling anyone!’

‘You mean you think he’d never vanish without telling you,’ Tasha said, a hint of pity in her voice now that set Holly’s teeth on edge. ‘Oh Holly …’ She shook her head. ‘I know you think the two of you are really close but you don’t know Ben that well. Trust me.’ She took Flo’s hand. ‘Come on, sweetie, let’s go and get your stuff.’

Holly watched them walk up the path together and into the mill. Desolation swamped her, along with a terrible fear that her sister-in-law might be right. Secretly she had always believed she knew Ben better than anyone, even his wife. Had Ben hidden the truth of deeper fissures in his marriage? Holly could not believe it.

The sun, sparkling on the millpond, dazzled her eyes. Suddenly she felt close to tears. It felt as though she was trapped in a world where nothing was what it seemed and she was the only one trying to keep a tenuous faith. Beside her, Bonnie stood tense, her head tilted to one side, picking up on her mood once again.

‘Come on, Bon Bon,’ Holly said, suddenly fierce. ‘I know this isn’t right. I don’t care what everyone else says.’

Back in the mill she could hear Tasha moving about upstairs. The floorboards creaked and then Tasha and Flo appeared at the top of the stairs, Flo looking sulky and bumping her suitcase on each step. Tasha had Ben’s holdall in one hand and a cross expression.

‘I’m sure he’ll turn up, Holly,’ she said as she reached the bottom step. ‘Don’t worry.’

‘I know there’s something wrong,’ Holly said doggedly.

‘Look.’ Tasha put the bag down with a thump. ‘Don’t think I don’t understand. I do. You’ve always been a little bit clingy where Ben was concerned, haven’t you?’ Then, before Holly could open her mouth to give her a blistering put down: ‘Oh I understand why. I know about losing your parents and all that, and I don’t mind. Really.’ She gave Holly a little, patronising smile as though she had given Ben full permission to pander to his neurotic sister’s neediness. ‘But this has all happened before, hasn’t it? There was that time when you thought Ben had disappeared and he’d simply gone off for a weekend with his mates.’

Holly’s face flamed. ‘That was years ago and it was totally different!’

Tasha shrugged. ‘Whatever. The truth is you have a rather idealistic view of your big brother and you worry about him rather a lot. My advice would be to calm down. Like I say, he’ll turn up in a few days.’ She glanced around the living room. ‘Send on anything I’ve missed, won’t you,’ she said.

Holly took a deep breath and counted to ten. Then she surreptitiously slid Ben’s phone into her back pocket.

‘Of course I will,’ she said.

Chapter 4

The mill was as quiet as a sepulchre after Tasha and Flo had gone. The silence was so loud it hurt Holly’s ears. It was three thirty and she felt unbearably weary, but restless at the same time. Time felt irrelevant, suspended. She found she was waiting for her phone to ring or for a knock at the door, or for the sound of a voice, something, anything, that might herald Ben’s return.

She took her phone and went outside to try to get a better signal. She rang Guy’s mobile number but there was no reply. She could not get him on their landline either. He had not called her to find out what had happened or make sure she was OK. The knowledge that he didn’t care seemed unable to hurt her. Nothing penetrated the numbness and isolation that wrapped around her like a shroud.

She thought about ringing her grandparents but she didn’t want to worry them about nothing. She knew that if Ben had been with them he would have been in touch long before now. It was such a strange, frustrating, suspended place in which to find herself, one minute eaten up by worry, the next so furious with her brother she wanted to scream at him. In the end, since no one else seemed to be doing anything she thought the best thing she could do would be to go out and search the woods herself. She needed to be out in the fresh air again. She needed to be active. Claustrophobia pressed down on her. She felt sick. She pulled on her thin fleece jacket and went out, leaving Bonnie, who seemed disinclined for yet another walk, snoring on the sofa.

It was a bright day with a clear blue sky. Holly didn’t really know where to start so she set off down the track to the village, turning right over the bridge, past a bus stop where a girl stood, her long blonde hair blowing in the wind. She looked to be about nineteen, tall, too thin, wrapped in a long stripy scarf, smoking a cigarette and looking bored. She turned her head briefly as Holly walked past and nodded a hello, then dropped the cigarette and ground it out beneath her shoe.

The crumbling estate wall rose on Holly’s left and behind it was the old coach yard. This was where the majority of the building work was taking place, and Holly could hear the whine and bleep of a mechanical digger.

A hundred yards further on was the car park and courtyard where Fran had her deli café and tearoom. A dozen cars were parked in the cobbled yard and an ice cream sign swung by the shop door. Holly thought about dropping in but then she remembered Fran wasn’t back until the morning. She felt odd and disoriented. She had already been into the deli once that day, only a few hours ago, and yet it felt like it had happened weeks ago. She was so tired.

There was a small flyer on the telegraph pole by the side of the road. A dog named Lucky had gone missing and his owners were offering a reward for his safe return. Looking at the sad little furry face, Holly thought she could make up posters of Ben and stick them up about the place. It might jog the memories of people who could have seen him out and about in the woods. After all, he could have gone out for some fresh air and felt ill, or fallen over and knocked himself unconscious, or any number of other accidents. He could have a broken ankle and be unable to hop home. She knew the police had said they had searched the woods in the close vicinity but she suspected it had been a cursory search at best.

Although the sun was warm she felt cold. It took her aback to find the place so busy with bank holiday tourists. For some reason she had expected it to be quiet. She strolled along the path towards the wood, following several groups of visitors, families with children dragging their heels, couples hand in hand. Holly saw them all as though she was looking through one of her pieces of engraved glass, clear but slightly distorted. They ambled with no intent, admiring the view over the Downs where the weathercock pierced the sky and the dreamy curve of the hills broadened to fill the horizon. Holly felt shockingly lonely.

Her phone rang.

‘Hol?’ It was Guy. He sounded hung over. ‘What’s going on? Why the seven thousand calls? What gives?’

‘Ben’s still missing,’ Holly said bluntly. ‘He hasn’t come back since last night.’

‘What?’ Guy sounded puzzled, affronted even. ‘Well where is he?’

‘I don’t know,’ Holly said. ‘That’s the point. No one knows. Tasha says—’ She stopped abruptly but it was too late.

‘He’s got another woman,’ Guy finished. There was glee in his tone. ‘Good for him.’

‘I’m sure she’s wrong,’ Holly said.

Guy ignored that. ‘Are you heading back then?’ He said. ‘If Tasha’s been to pick up the kid—’

‘No,’ Holly said. ‘I’m staying here until Ben turns up.’

There was a silence. ‘What?’ Guy said. ‘Why on earth would you want to hang around?’

‘In case something’s happened to him,’ Holly said. ‘I wondered if you wanted to come down?’ She could hear the plea in her voice and hated herself for it. Whatever Tasha had said, she wasn’t normally so needy, but today it felt as though all her defences had been stripped away. It wasn’t that she particularly wanted Guy, she realised, just company and comfort. She wanted to share the burden of Ben’s disappearance. It was horrible feeling so alone.

She thought she heard Guy swear. ‘Hol,’ he said. ‘You’re over-reacting. Your brother’s not a child. He can take care of himself. For God’s sake come back—’

‘I’m worried,’ Holly said flatly. ‘I know something isn’t right.’

This time Guy definitely did swear. ‘For fuck’s sake, Holly! You’re not his keeper!’

‘Forget it,’ Holly said swiftly. ‘Forget I asked you to come down. And don’t expect me back either.’ She snapped the phone shut, cutting off Guy’s spluttering.

The brief flash of anger had lifted her spirits but they fell again immediately. She felt lost as soon as she stepped into the woods. The canopy of trees closed overhead, shutting her into green darkness. In all directions paths veered off and criss-crossed, losing themselves. She went two hundred yards along one and stopped, realising that she hadn’t even put her walking boots on. She felt tears of frustration and anger well up in her throat. She made her way back down to the road feeling shaky and upset.

What was she trying to do? She was one person trying to prove a point in the face of what seemed like massive indifference. No one else seemed to think that there was anything wrong and it was frightening to be wavering on the edge of believing it herself, thinking she was mad or deluded.

A wedding had just finished at the church by the little stone bridge. As the clock on the tower struck quarter to four, the church door opened and the wedding party spilled out into the churchyard, laughing and talking. Holly paused by the gate. A sudden breeze was plastering the bride’s veil against her lipstick and snatching at the guests’ coats like a demanding child. It picked up the confetti and whirled it around Holly’s head like blossom, and it tugged the bouquet from the bride’s hands, bowling it along the ground to land at Holly’s feet.

Holly bent slowly to pick it up. It was a posy of pink rosebuds, scentless.

Suddenly the wedding guests were all around her and the bride had come hurrying down the flagstone path towards her, laughing.

‘Thank you so much! I don’t know what I’d have done for the photographs otherwise!’

Holly handed the bouquet over, smiling. Her face felt a little stiff, as though it would not bend in the right places. No one seemed to have noticed though. They were all wrapped up in happiness. They didn’t know how out of touch she felt, how cut off. They went back towards the church door, where the photographer tried to arrange them in the neat rows required for the official pictures. At the same time she was aware of a sharp pain lodged beneath her breastbone. She did not begrudge these people their happiness but it made her loneliness feel suddenly unbearably acute.

‘Are you OK?’

Holly blinked. She was not the only onlooker. A man was standing to the side of the lych gate. Youngish, thirty-two or three – she was bad at guessing ages. She felt a flash of recognition, sharp and sure, as though she knew him, but as he came closer she realised that he was a stranger.

He was tall, dark and durable looking in a battered jacket, brown moleskin trousers and boots. His eyes were very dark, as dark as the hair that fell across his brow. An expensive-looking camera hung about his neck. Holly thought he was probably a tourist, out walking in the woods and attracted by the wedding as she had been. She forced a smile.

‘I’m fine, thanks. I just stopped to watch.’

He smiled back, but his dark gaze was keen. ‘If you’re sure? You look a bit … shaken.’

Behind them the group was re-arranging itself for yet another photograph. Holly put her hands in the pockets of the fleece and turned away.

‘Don’t let me stop you taking your pictures—’

The man grinned, obviously recognising the brush-off. ‘The sun’s in the wrong place. Besides, it’s too organised for me. I like spontaneity.’

Holly frowned a little. ‘Spontaneity. Yes. That’s nice. Excuse me …’

She had only gone twenty yards from him when she had to slow down because the tears were running down her face and dropping off her chin, and she couldn’t see where she was going. She felt bewildered and acutely embarrassed. She stumbled a little on the path, heard a step behind her, and felt his hand on her arm.

‘Look, can I help—’

‘No!’ Holly turned and glared at him and his hand dropped to his side. He took a step back.

‘Okay.’ His voice was quiet, oddly soothing. ‘Well … Take care—’

‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’ A shred of conventional manners stirred in Holly and she scrubbed her hands across her face, wiping away the tears. ‘I really didn’t mean to be rude—’

His lips twitched as though he were about to smile. He had a striking face, thin and brown, with high cheekbones and dark, watchful eyes beneath strongly marked brows. Holly found she wanted to go on looking at him.

‘Please don’t apologise,’ he said easily. ‘I’m the one making a nuisance of myself—’

Holly started to cry again. ‘Don’t be so nice about it—’

‘Look, this is silly. Why don’t we go and get a cup of tea until you feel a bit better? There’s a tea room just down the road, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, but—’ Holly felt horribly vulnerable. She didn’t want anyone to see her looking like this. But they were already at the courtyard and he was guiding her to one of the outside tables where she could sit in a corner, partially sheltered from view.

Holly sat down and watched as he went inside, to emerge a few minutes later, carrying two big blue and white striped mugs. The steam from them floated sideways. She wrapped her hands around hers and drank deeply. It was scalding hot, but comforting.

‘Thank you so much,’ she said. ‘What do I owe you?’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘In case you don’t take tea with complete strangers, my name’s Mark.’

‘Holly.’ She considered shaking hands and decided against it.

‘Nice to meet you, Holly.’ Mark sat back in his chair. ‘So do you want to talk about it?’

‘What?’ She stared at him, confused for a moment. Her eyes were smarting slightly. ‘Oh, no, thank you.’

‘All right.’ Mark said equably.

They sat drinking their tea in silence. Holly appraised him with an artist’s eye; his face was hard lines of cheek and jaw, like a stylised angel … He turned his head and their eyes met and again she felt that jolt of recognition, exciting, dangerous. Normally she would have run a mile from such instant attraction but today she felt different. Everything felt different.

She nodded towards the camera.

‘That’s a nice piece of kit. Did you get any good shots today?’

Mark smiled. ‘Yes, thanks. There’s plenty of potential around here. Are you interested in photography?’

‘Yes, I like it. I take pictures and sometimes I’m lucky. That’s different from being good though.’

Mark inclined his head. ‘So what do you do for a living?’

‘I’m an engraver. Glass.’ Holly realised she didn’t want to talk about herself. ‘What about you? Is photography your job?’

Mark grimaced. ‘Unfortunately not. I’m just an amateur. I used to work as a civil engineer, but I’ve done some travelling lately.’

Holly drained her mug. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘I was working in Asia for a bit, Norway. My sister lives there, so I stayed for the winter, crewing her husband’s fishing boat.’

Holly looked at him in surprise. She had seen enough TV programmes to know that was no job for amateurs.

‘Are you a good sailor then?’

‘No,’ Mark smiled. ‘A very bad one. But I had to do something to pay my way.’ He stood up, a little abruptly and Holly sensed that with him too there were barriers he didn’t want to cross.

‘Are you ready to go? I’ll walk you to your car.’

‘Oh.’ Holly realised he thought she was a tourist too. She hesitated, suddenly aware of how weird she felt. Everything felt odd, distorted in her mind, not quite real.

‘I’m staying near here,’ she said.

‘I’ll walk you back then.’

Holly was not sure that she really wanted company. ‘There’s no need—’

Mark slanted a smile down at her. She liked the lines that fanned out from his eyes when he smiled and the crease that ran down his cheek. She noticed these things about him quite objectively and yet at the same time not objectively at all.

‘I daresay you’d rather be alone,’ he said, ‘but I’d rather know you were OK. Call me over-protective if you like …’ He shrugged. ‘I could walk a few paces behind, if you prefer.’

The breeze was strengthening now and the day cooling down into evening. They left the car park and the tourists behind, passing the tiny village green with its scatter of cottages and the little stream. After all the noise and bustle the silence sounded loud. They did not speak.

Whenever Mark drew a little ahead of her, Holly watched him move; the easy, economical movements of someone comfortable in their own skin. His gaze was abstracted now as it rested on the path ahead, his face a little distant in repose. There was a tight knot in Holly’s stomach as she watched him. It felt a little like pain, but it was something different, hot and fierce, that curled inside her.

At the gate of the mill she stopped. Mark looked up and seemed to register for the first time where they were. He turned towards her, frowning.

‘Are you staying here?’

‘Yes,’ Holly said. ‘Would you like to come in?’

She felt his puzzlement, saw the slight narrowing of his eyes as they rested on her face. Much now depended on his interpretation of the invitation, and she had the feeling that Mark had probably had plenty of practice in that. She shifted slightly, keeping her gaze fixed on his. He was so cool, so distant. She needed to bridge that gap. She needed him. The thought of him turning away now and leaving her was unbearable. She wondered if he could feel her desperation.

He took her hand. His fingers interlocked strongly with hers, and still she did not know the answer and felt quite faint with the need to know. She stepped over the threshold and gently tugged his hand; he followed.

There was a message from Fran on the mat. It said: ‘I’ve just got back. Call me.’

Holly read it upside down, stepped over it and turned back to Mark. She could smell his skin, the faint scent of fresh air. He was cold to the touch. She pulled him inside, slammed the door and reached up to kiss him. After a second he responded and she felt sharp desire and such relief that she trembled. The loneliness, the fear, faded.

She kissed him again, driving out thought, losing herself in sensation, drawing back only so that she could lead him towards the stairs. She could feel his presence behind her, close as a whisper. She was still holding his hand. The late afternoon sun was streaming in at the big bedroom window, , the line of the hills spread out before them. Mark was watching her face.

‘Holly, what’s this about?’

She felt his breath feather across her skin. She could see the shadow of his eyelashes, spiky against the hard line of his cheek. His lips brushed her jaw. Again she felt that fierce rush of desire. She turned her head and Mark’s mouth was suddenly on hers again, one hand tangled in her hair, the other low on her back. Sensation flared. Mark’s hand brushed the thin cotton of her shirt, his palm against her breast. He was still kissing her. Such urgency. She had never even imagined it could be like that and she was fiercely glad; glad she was not alone any more; glad she could forget for a little while. She pulled him down onto the bed beside her and lost herself in him.