Chapter Fourteen

22 December, Afternoon

After visiting the generator in the morning, in its little house behind the kitchen, Lori decided she still wasn’t going to tangle with it. The wood-burning stove took care of everything but the lights and the fridge, and they could manage without both. Milk, butter and cheese were keeping cool in the unheated laundry-cum-boot room on the north side of the kitchen, and she would improvise with vegetables and using the stores in the nearest village as a pantry. The envelope with Lark’s present – a crystal figurine of a ballerina that was so not Lori – had proved to contain a hefty cheque, rather than the expected Christmas card. Guilt money.

This time, instead of folding it up to return it later, Lori had cashed it straight away at the bank in Abergavenny and taken her niece on a mini spending spree. A local budget shop had contributed tinsel and streamers, balloons and four large bags of LED fairy lights, which were now twinkling away merrily around the barn. She’d topped up the lighting with a couple more battery lamps and an industrial supply of batteries. They’d found a potted Christmas tree in the corner of the local florist, just a little taller than Misty and, ambling around the stalls in the market, some colourful carved wooden ornaments to decorate it. They’d made a great find in a charity shop – a windup radio – that would also charge Lori’s phone. Not that there was much of a signal in this area of the Beacons. Some cosy new Christmas Eve pyjamas, a pair of stripy wellington boots for Misty and three different kinds of hot chocolate, a small iced cake, some mince pies and a box of dates had been added to the haul. They’d had to go back to the car twice to deposit their swag. Lori had sneaked a couple of Bailey’s miniatures into her basket in the supermarket. And she’d surreptitiously assembled some small presents to go in a stocking for Misty. She had a pair of oversize bedsocks in her rucksack. One of those would do. They’d ended up in a local child-friendly pub for an early Christmas dinner. Turkey, with all the trimmings.

Now Lori was sipping hot chocolate and watching the sunset from the Cwtch, a reading nook in the gallery at mezzanine level towards the front of the barn, with a fabulous view. Misty was sitting on the floor, leaning on a stool and deeply engrossed in filling in a complicated scene in her Christmas colouring book, lit by one of the new lamps, her face intense, and with the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth.

The sun was going down in a blaze of pink and red, with ribbons of dark purple cloud streaking across the sky. Lori settled herself more comfortably in the low-slung leather seat, her mind on a knotty problem she had hit in the plot of the current work-in-progress. She couldn’t help a low-pitched sigh. This week had been set aside as precious writing time, holed up in the guesthouse, away from the day job. She had not intended to spend it babysitting her niece. She would probably get a little writing done, once Misty was in bed, but nothing like the amount she’d planned. At this rate she was never going to achieve the dream of getting published.

This afternoon they’d enjoyed a short ramble through the woods on the hill behind the barn and then decorated the tree. Griff had prowled all round it, then graciously condescended to leave it alone, preferring his perch on the beam. Lori was hoping that he’d remain in a tolerant frame of mind.

Lori looked over at her niece, still intent on her colouring. Lark was missing all this. Precious time with her daughter that could never be retrieved; but Lori knew her sister well enough to realise she wouldn’t change. After the holidays something would have to be done. They would be at the barn now until after Christmas, rather than returning to the cottage on Christmas Eve, as she’d planned to do when she was staying at the guesthouse. The cleaning up and painting she’d scheduled for Christmas Day would have to wait.

She made a face into the dregs of her hot chocolate. She was going to make it a good Christmas for Misty, even if they were kind of camping out.

They’d drawn up a sign and hung it outside the barn, so Father Christmas would know that they were there. Christmas lunch was probably going to be fancy pasta from her parents’ Christmas hamper, with a sauce out of a jar, but she was pretty sure Misty wouldn’t care. And they had crackers and a proper Christmas pudding. All in all Misty was an easy-going child, considering the way she’d been brought up so far, but it couldn’t go on.

Lori looked down at Misty’s bent head. None of this was her niece’s fault.

The sun had finished its light show and darkness was setting in. Lori shivered slightly, putting down her mug as Misty looked up with a beaming smile, colouring complete. She held it out to be admired.

‘It’s lovely.’ And it was. Neatly, if imaginatively, coloured and nearly all within the lines. ‘And now I think it’s time we went down and gave Griff his tea.’

They’d had fun today, and would have more tomorrow.

He’d experienced worse cold than this. When he’d made the trip to the Artic Circle the weather had been biting.

But then you had proper equipment, and the chance of hot food.

He’d managed to sleep for most of the night, huddled in the dust sheet, and spent the day again exploring his prison, wrestling with the cuff and chain and occasionally shouting in the hope of attracting attention. His throat was sore and when he tried it, his voice had turned husky. There had been another heart-stopping moment when he’d heard noises from outside, but again they’d come to nothing. He’d thought, at one point, that he made out the sound of a car engine, very faint and distant, but then that too had died.

Now the light was fading and he was facing another night in captivity.

And no nearer to figuring out who was behind all this.

And even less idea why.