Free Thirteen Steps Down by Ruth Rendell

sweet filling food, a thick soft mattress,
    lazing around, doing nothing--why were all the nice things bad for you?
    The cat and its eyes were banished for the duration of the musical.
    Above his head, outside his front door, he could hear no sound, and
    when the television was off the silence was disturbed only by the sighing
    of traffic on the Westway. He feltbetter. He congratulated himself on hiswhat was the word?-resilience. But in bed, with the bedside lamp off, he
    thought ofthe cat and the door again and, although there could be
    nothingto see, kept his eyes shut against the darkness.

    Chapter 6

    The next morning he woke up to awareness that he had been frightened
    the night before and for a moment he had to think why. But fear and the
    memory of fear began to fade when he saw the sunshine and heard
    children playing in the garden next door to the guinea fowl man. Otto
    must have opened the door himself and it must have shut behind him of
    its own volition. He got up, had a shower and, telling himself it was a
    good start to a workout program, set off for a walk. But before starting he
    went rather cautiously along the passage toward the door of the room the
    cat must have come out of. Sure enough, the doors down here had
    handles. He left, unreasonably relieved, more as if he'd just had a
    wonderful piece of news instead of only finding out what he already knew
    was true.
    Now for a walk. Blow the cobwebs away in more senses than one, let
    unlight and energy into his life. There was a big Catholic church near the
    convent and, about to march on pastit, he stopped for a moment to
    watch the people going in to mass. A lot of people, more than he'd have
    thought likely. A kind of regret came into his mind and a wistfulness.
    Those people wouldn't have his problems, his doubts and fears. They had
    their religion, they had something to turn to, something or someone to
    bring them comfort. If they saw a ghost or heard footsteps and doors
    closing, they'd call out the name of their god or utter the appropriate
    curse. In stories, that usually worked. He had had religion when he was
    small and his grandmother was alive to take him to church. But that was
    long ago and it was all gone now. He'd not thought about it since and
    didn't believe in any of it. If he went in there and along with them asked
    someone up in the sky for help, he'd feel such a fool, he'd be
    embarrassed. Much the same went for asking their vicar--their priest?
    Mix couldn't imagine how he'd explain to the man or what the man
    would answer. It was beyond him.

    On Monday and Tuesday he was busy at work and for once was relieved
    he had work to do. There was a new treadmill coming to a ground-floor
    flat in Bayswater that he had to set up and demonstrate. Half a dozen
    steps on that and he was breathless, in spite of his walks. Then all the
    calls for help with brokendown equipment to answer, e-mails,
    complaining or demanding. On the second evening he managed a visit to
    Shoshana's Spa and Health Club, where he told Danila he was making
    a survey and a servicing plan. This was to put her off the scent. Because
    he was really looking for Nerissa. He was on the point of asking Danila
    about her, which were her days for coming to the club, was she a regular
    visitor, that kind of thing, but he decided it would sound funny. It would
    sound as if his contracting to look after the club's machines was no more
    than a ploy to meet the famous model--as indeed it was. He handed over
    acopy of his contract and left.
    On Wednesday evening he went to the Coronet cinema with Ed and
    Steph and afterward to the Sun in Splendour for a drink. When the men
    each had a gin and tonic in front of them and Steph a vodka and
    blackcurrant, he asked her what he'dbeen planning, in fact rehearsing,
    saying to her all day. The elaborate, hedging-of-bets, covert way of asking
    a simple questiongot lost and he came out with a few simple words.
    "Do you believe in ghosts, Steph?"
    She