Free Hiding From the Light by Barbara Erskine Page B

there.
    As he turned away to follow his dog up the cliff he shivered with fear. The evil was in the mist.
    Behind him it swept in along the coast and around into the estuary heading up river towards Mistley and Manningtree. Within minutes the whole peninsula was shrouded in cold, clammy fog.

10
     
Saturday night
     
     
    ‘You have done what?’
    Piers stared at Emma with disconcerting intensity.
    ‘I’ve made an offer. The cottage in Mistley.’ She had arrived back home just before ten to find him sitting alone in the roof garden listening to the soft strains of a string quartet, a glass of white wine on the wrought-iron table near him. The cats were asleep on the sofa swing. The hot night was velvet up here, not black, no London night was black. It was bitter, dark orange, scented with traffic fumes and chargrilling from dozens of terraces and rooftops and flowers from the park and the squares and a thousand small expensive gardens. A breath of cold wind trailed past them and was gone, leaving them staring at one another in silence.
    Piers sat down and reached for his glass. ‘Forgive me, Emma, but I thought I heard you say you had bought a cottage. I must be going mad.’
    ‘You did hear me, Piers.’ Her confidence was evaporating fast. She sat down beside him and kicked off her sandals. Her ankle was still slightly swollen. ‘You will love it, I promise. I had to make the decision. There was someone else after it.’ She rubbed her face with her hands, exhausted after the long drive. ‘Can I have some wine?’
    ‘We’d both better have some wine.’ Piers’s voice was tight with anger. ‘Then perhaps you can explain.’
    But how could she explain? The certainty. The fear of losing it. The knot of panic-stricken, illogical and desperate emotions which were tearing her apart made no sense to her, either.
    ‘You are out of your mind!’ was his terse comment when she had at last finished her rambling account of the day.
    ‘Probably.’ She stared after him as he went to lean on the parapet. ‘I had to do it, Piers. Don’t go on asking me why. I don’t understand myself. I know it doesn’t make sense. I know I’m mad. It’s just –’ She paused. ‘I knew the house. It was as though I knew every inch inside and out.’
    ‘And you decide to buy every house you’ve ever visited?’
    ‘No, of course not!’
    ‘Then why this one?’
    Emma shook her head ‘Because it was home. It was as though I had been there before. Not just in my childhood. I only ever saw the outside then, from the road. I knew every tree, Piers. Every beam in the walls. I can’t explain it.’ She was trying not to cry. Leaning back in the chair, she stared up at the sky. The silence lengthened.
    ‘I’m going to bed, Em.’
    She hadn’t realised that Piers had moved away from the wall. He was standing in front of her, looking down at her face. His own was deep in shadow, hiding his anger. ‘Where would you get the money from, Em? Have you thought about that?’
    ‘The money is not the problem, Piers. I have my father’s trust fund and I will use my own investments. I can afford it. I’m not asking you to contribute.’
    ‘I’m glad to hear it!’ He took a deep breath. Several seconds of silence stretched out between them. ‘Don’t forget that your ma and Dan are coming to lunch tomorrow. Perhaps they can talk some sense into that silly little head, eh?’ He stooped and kissed her hair. ‘See you in the morning.’
    She didn’t move. Blinking back tears, she stared up at the sky again. For all the affectionate words she had heard the steely undertone. There would be no compromise over this one. Why had she ever hoped there would?
    Sniffing miserably, she staggered to her feet and reached for the wine bottle. The wooden boarding under her bare feet was still warm. She could smell the luminous white flowers of the jasmine growing in the tub near the French doors. A dark shape flitted out of the shadows near her and