Free The Grave by Diane M Dickson Page B

choice.  There were so many bundles; a few notes from each one would
be unnoticed.  Though she didn’t know really where they were or how to get away
she wasn’t stupid.  Even in this day and age she had hitched at times and once in
a decent sized town then there were buses, trains, the whole of the transport
system.  With some money she could go anywhere and sort herself out. 
     
    The ghost of his arms around her, the memory of his body
against hers and the rush of love she felt for him were the cause of her tears
and the root of the struggle pinning her now to this room and this house.
     
    Back on the road Samuel glanced again into his rear view
mirror, at this time on a wet Lakeland evening the roads were relatively quiet,
he was probably being paranoid.  He had kept the cell phone calls short and
discarded the SIM quickly but the black Range Rover he had noticed outside the
garage was still there now.  After each bend and turn in the road it shadowed
his route.  His instinct for self-preservation didn’t like it, not one bit.

Chapter 24
     
    He had been gone a long time, the light was fading and the
rain was heavier now. She had thought he would be away just a few hours, back long
ago and felt sharp regret at the decision to wait at the house. A thrill of
fear shot through her, what if he’d left her, abandoned to whatever came and
even now was boarding the ferry to Holland or driving through the night to some
other salvation than this. 
     
    Her head and her heart had argued all day, she wanted to
flee, just go and find somewhere to rest and recover, to be alone and find some
quiet. A greater part of her, wanted to stay and wait for him.  More than
anything else she wanted to be with Samuel. The need to speak to him was a
physical ache, there was a desperate wish to ask him to explain, if he would,
and her hopeful spirit held to the belief that there would be an explanation. 
     
    The nursery, the beautiful woman in the photograph, she
could deal with those of course.  It was just grist to the mill in these days
of serial monogamy and transient relationships. The bag of money was more
worrying, but wasn’t it the reason she had approached him in the first place? 
     
    She had heard stories in the town; they said he was a rich
recluse.  It was common knowledge he always had money in his pocket and paid
for everything in cash.  In this day of plastic payment it was odd and coupled
with his rough appearance and solitary nature it singled him out and so the
rumours began. The girl in the supermarket mentioned it to her boyfriend, the
owner of the builder’s yard told his buddies while they drank tea together and
watched him choose his wire and fence posts, and so it grew.
     
    None of it seemed important now, more than anything else she
simply wanted his arms around her, his body warm against her skin and the
comfort of his physical presence. She paced the floor, tried to peer out into
the dark garden from her post in the centre of the room.  He had told her to
keep away from the windows and switching on the lights was out of the
question.  The shadows grew and the rain threw itself against the glass.  Closing
around her the night compounded her isolation. The world was filled with
foreign noise, every slap and rattle made her jump.  She wanted a drink but
didn’t want to make one, the noise of the kettle would be too loud and would
mask the other noises that she didn’t want to hear but couldn’t bear to miss.
     
    When the need to pee became undeniable she crept up the
stairs.  She was tentative and nervous and leaving the dark bathroom half fell
back down the open staircase clinging to the banister to steady her panicked
stumbling.  If she had made a bid for freedom earlier in the day, which had
been her first instinct, she would be in a place of light and movement by now,
maybe on a warm bus with a cup of harsh coffee and the company of strangers. 
Tears filled her eyes; she hated to be