Free Faces of Fear by Graham Masterton

interest in him. He gave her a brief smile and Carl said, “What? What is it?”
    â€œNothing. I was just admiring the view, that’s all.”
    Carl made an issue of turning around in his white plastic chair. “Yes, see what you mean. Very scenic. Two trees, the side of a building, and a girl to make your hair stand on end.”
    â€œShe’s just been smiling at me, is all.”
    Carl laughed, and sat back, and took out a cigar. “You should go for it. You know what the girls call you, at the office? Gerry the Cherry. I mean, you’re not really a virgin, are you?”
    â€œGet out of here. I was engaged once, when I was in college. And don’t you remember Francoise?”
    â€œOh yes, Francoise. Who could forget her? Legs like the Eiffel Tower.”
    Gerry shook his head and devoted himself to his pork in mustard sauce. The Moulin du Vey was one of his favourite restaurants in Normandy: an old ivy-covered mill on the banks of the Orne, with a huge barnlike dining-room and a pretty gravelled verandah overlooking the river. It was a warm, lazy day, and he and Carl had driven out here to look for new country hotels to add to TransWestern’s inventory. Butterflies blew around them, and geraniums nodded in the breeze.
    It was the girl, however, who had completely caught his attention, and he found that he could hardly taste what he was eating or understand what Carl was talking about. She was sitting with a very smart middle-aged couple who could have been her mother and her father. Her hair was long and blonde and it shone in the sunlight like the gilded thistledown that blew across the surface of the river. She had one of those disturbing French faces that attracted Gerry because of one imperfect feature. Her eyes werewide; her cheekbones were high; her nose was short and straight; but she had a slight overbite, which gave her a look of vulnerability. She wore a white sleeveless blouse with embroidered lapels, and Gerry could see from where he was sitting that she was very full-breasted.
    In a strange way, she reminded him of somebody, but he couldn’t think who it was.
    Carl was saying, “When you take over a place like this, there’s always a problem with rationalizing the menus.”
    â€œYes. I know.”
    â€œYou have to find frogs with sixteen legs; otherwise you’ll never meet the demand. The trouble is, if they have sixteen legs, you can never jump up high enough to catch them.”
    â€œAbsolutely. You’re right.”
    Carl tapped his knife on his wineglass. “Hallo in there? Have you heard a single word I’ve been saying?”
    â€œWhat?” asked Gerry. Then, “Hey, I’m sorry. I don’t know what the hell’s the matter with me.”
    Carl turned around again, just in time to catch the girl giving Gerry a fleeting, secretive smile. “I know what the hell’s the matter with you. You’re in lust.”
    After lunch, Carl had to drive down to Falaise to see a man about a franchise, so Gerry took the opportunity to go up to his room and finish his report. He sat at a faded rococo desk in front of the open window, tapping away at his laptop, but it wasn’t long before he stopped tapping and sat back, listening to the endless sliding of the river over the weir, and the rustle of the ivy leaves against the open shutters.
    He wondered if the girl were still out on the verandah, talking to her parents. He stood up, and peered outside. The parents were there, talking and drinking coffee, butthe girl had gone. Gerry was just about to return to his report when he glimpsed a flicker of white, further up the river bank. The girl was walking through the apple orchard that had been planted almost down to the water’s edge, trailing her hands through the long feathery grass.
    Gerry watched her for a while, Then, decisively, he switched off his laptop and closed it. He hurried down the steep stairs to the