The House on Cold Hill

43

Early that afternoon Ollie glanced out of the tower window to the north, and for some moments watched Jade and her friend, Phoebe, standing at the edge of the lake looking playful and happy, throwing something — bread perhaps — to the ducks.

Throughout his own childhood, which had not been particularly happy, he had longed to be an adult and get away from the dull and stultifying negativity of home. But right now he envied them the innocence of childhood. Envied them for not having to deal with arrogant shits like Cholmondley. He knew childhood and growing up were fraught with their own traumas, but with everything that was bombarding him right now, he’d trade places in an instant.

What had the vicar’s first appearance been about? He’d seen him, he’d spoken to him, and yet — suddenly he was gone. Then reappeared. He thought back again to his conversation after tennis with Bruce Kaplan, trying to make sense of his theory. ‘We live in linear time, right? We go from A to B to C. We wake up in the morning, get out of bed, have coffee, go to work, and so on. That’s how we perceive every day. But what if our perception is wrong? What if linear time is just a construct of our brains that we use to try to make sense of what’s going on? What if everything that ever was, still is — the past, the present and the future — and we’re trapped in one tiny part of the space — time continuum? That sometimes we get glimpses, through a twitch of the curtain, into the past, and sometimes into the future?’

Had he been through some kind of time-slip earlier on? Or was his mind playing tricks on him, somehow reversing time inside his head?

Or was he cracking under the stress of everything?

Suddenly there was static crackle from the radio, which he had on in the background for company, and he heard the unmistakeable, deep, sonorous voice of Sir Winston Churchill.

‘Upon this battle depends the survival of Christian civilization. Upon it depends our own British life, and the long continuity of our institutions and our Empire. The whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us. Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this island or lose the war. If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be freed and the life of the world may move forward into broad, sunlit uplands.’ The static increased steadily in volume, drowning out some of Churchill’s words.

Shit, Ollie thought. Was he now inside some weird time loop?

Then he heard the voice of a radio presenter. ‘Well, Bill, can you think of any UK politician today, in any party, who would have that same quality of leadership that Churchill displayed? Anyone with those powers of oratory?’

Ollie switched the radio off then turned back to his desk and his most pressing problem. Cholmondley and Bhattacharya must know, like everyone, surely, that there were some weird and nasty people out there on the internet. Trolls. Facebook bullies. Malicious hackers. Did a disgruntled customer have a grudge against Cholmondley? Was a rival jealous of Bhattacharya’s success?

Or was it someone with a grudge against himself?

Who?

He really could not think of any enemies. Everyone had been happy with the sale of the website business. He was treating all the tradesmen at the house decently. He’d never screwed anyone over. Why would someone want to do this?

He stared, gloomily, at the screen. On it was the screensaver image of a close-up of Caro and Jade’s smiling faces pressed together, cheek to cheek. Normally, seeing it always made him smile, but at this moment he could find nothing to smile about.

His door opened behind him and Caro stuck her head in.

‘I’m just off to pick up Jade and then collect Phoebe,’ she said. ‘Be back in about an hour. Anything you need while I’m out?’

‘Pick up Jade?’ he said, puzzled. ‘What do you mean? And Phoebe?’

‘Yes, picking Jade up from her riding lesson — then we’re going into Brighton to collect Phoebe from her parents.’

‘Riding lesson?’

‘Yes.’

He shot a glance through the window towards the lake. There was no sign of Jade or Phoebe.

‘You’re taking Jade or you’re picking her up?’

‘I’m picking her up.’ She gave him a strange look. ‘Are you all right, Ols?’

‘All right? I — yes — about as all right as it’s possible to be at the moment. Why?’

‘We talked about it a couple of days ago — I told you I was going to try to book her into a riding school in Clayton, just a few miles away.’

He swivelled his chair to the left and looked out of the window again towards the lake. Jade and Phoebe had been playing there just a couple of minutes ago, he’d been watching them. Was the start of a nervous breakdown? Or something even worse?

‘When — when did you take Jade to the riding place?’

Caro looked at her watch. ‘Over an hour ago. I’m going to have to rush, I’m late.’

‘Drive safely,’ he said, lamely. ‘You’re picking up Phoebe, too?’

‘Yes, that’s what I said.’

‘She’s not — already — sort of here or anything?’

Caro frowned. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘No!’

‘You’re behaving very oddly. I’ll see you in a bit, OK?’

He was staring back out through the window at the vast lawn, which he would have to mow tomorrow, and at the ducks on the lake. There was no sign of Jade or Phoebe. No children. No humans. Nothing.

He’d imagined the vicar this morning. Now his daughter and her friend?

His computer made a barely audible ping. An incoming email.

He hit the keyboard and instantly held his breath as he saw the name. It was from Cholmondley. Perhaps, he thought, with hope momentarily rising, the classic car dealer had found out the source of the toxic email sent to him earlier, and was writing now to apologize for his outburst? After all, he was a businessman, and however angry he might have been, Cholmondley would know he had to keep his website up and running — and for that he needed him.

Then, as he opened the email, his heart sank even lower.

There was a short message from Cholmondley at the top, with a longer one from himself beneath, sent from his personal email address, with his electronic signature, and timed and dated just over thirty minutes ago.

Sent from this computer.

Once again, he saw to his horror that it was copied to the same wide number of Cholmondley’s rival dealers. And all the files for the website, which would have been the only leverage he had to get paid by the man, had been handed over. So now he had no hold over him. And reading Cholmondley’s reply, it was even clearer than this morning that he would never see one penny of the money he was owed.