“Get her out of Berlin. Out of Germany, if you can,” she said, meeting Audrey’s eyes with a hard compassion. “I fear this is only the beginning.”
Chapter 4
Kate
ALNWICK, ENGLAND | NOVEMBER 2010
A few hours outside of London, Kate glances at the clock on her car’s dashboard.
“Okay, Oz,” she says. “Hold on. I’ll find us somewhere to stop.”
Ten minutes later, she pulls off the A1 into the small town of Knottingly, where she lets Ozzie out for a quick stretch, then picks up a takeaway salad and coffee at a quirky café. Ozzie’s face appears in the open window as she approaches the car with her lunch. His tail beats a thwump-thwump-thwump against the seat.
In the car, she munches her salad, Ozzie drooling over her shoulder. He loves fruits and vegetables, the oddball.
“Yes, yes, here you go.”
She tosses a chunk of cucumber into the back seat, where it’s instantly swallowed whole. She takes a sip of coffee, which is remarkably good, and checks their status again on the SatNav.
“A couple more hours, Oz. I’m ready to be off the road as much as you are.” She pauses, then fishes in her purse for her mobile, finding it at the very bottom under the detritus of makeup compacts, lip balm, crumpled receipts, and tampons. “All right, let’s do this,” she mutters, dialing her husband’s number. It rings several times before going to voicemail. It’s a workday for Adam, but it’s also possible he’s just avoiding her call. He’s been staying at his brother’s place for the past few weeks.
“Hey,” she says. “It’s me… I’m out now. And my stuff. Most of it, anyway. The shipping company will be by on Thursday to pick up the last few boxes, and my bookshelf.” She’s unsure what more to tell him. There hasn’t been anything left to say for a long time. “My new contact info is on the kitchen counter, if you need it.” She hesitates again, knowing that this is the moment she would normally have signed off with a message of love. She can feel the edges of the hole it leaves, ragged as bite marks. “I’m…” Her nose tingles. “I’m sorry, Adam. Okay… Bye.”
She takes a moment to settle her nerves, then tosses the gear into drive once more.
The view outside the windows becomes wilder and more beautiful as they drive farther north. This landscape is all new for Kate, and she wants the unfamiliar right now. She glances over her shoulder at Ozzie, who’s sitting with his nose smeared against the glass. His eyes are wide, as though he knows they’re on an adventure in uncharted territory.
Kate skirts past Newcastle Upon Tyne as her thoughts swirl. She stayed up late last night to finish the last of her packing. Before leaving early this morning, she double-checked each room, then stopped to look around the empty kitchen, noted the faded rectangles on the walls from picture frames that once hung there. The residue from happier, more hopeful times. There’s nothing keeping her in London, and she feels a thread from her parents’ lives tugging her to the Oakwood, so she’s letting it. Instinct is as good a guide as any once you’ve lost your compass.
A while later, she finally spots the signposts for her destination: Alnwick. She turns onto the high road that runs through the centre of the old town. Low stone walls line either side as they cruise through the village, and Kate is pleased when they reach a traffic light so she can take in the streetscape. It’s filled with an array of boutique shops, pubs and restaurants, some businesses, and charity shops. After the frantic bustle of London, she already feels more relaxed. Safer, somehow. Her shoulders drop a little. They’ve been hitched up to her ears for the past few months.
She drives through the heart of the town and past the grand gates of Alnwick Castle. After another minute or two of twists and turns down a narrow county road and over an old stone bridge, they reach the very edge of the village. She slows down, eyeing the building in the field on her left with mounting curiosity. Though it’s partially obscured by trees, it looks enormous. Her SatNav announces that they’ve arrived at their destination as she reaches a break in the low stone wall, beyond which stretches a long gravel drive lined with gold and auburn-leaved oak trees. She spots a sign on the wall next to the gates.
THE OAKWOOD INN, it proclaims in aged copper lettering.
“Well, Ozzie, this is it,” she says, turning the wheel.
The gravel crunches as she drives along, the green lawns sweeping out in either direction. A dark wooded area forms a dense wall of evergreens behind the inn and an autumn mist hangs over the trees, lending the landscape a mystical sort of ambience.
Kate pulls up in front of the hotel, and her mouth falls open a fraction as she peers up. It’s built in the same beige stone as the buildings back in the town, with three storeys that rise into the overcast sky. The angled roof is all charcoal shingles and Gothic eaves. It looks like a miniature castle, a grand and proud lady who’s been sitting on this plot of land since before there were fairies.
“Whoa,” she breathes, staring at the dark upper-floor windows and feeling as though she’s been transported into the pages of a Brontë novel.
After a moment, Ozzie shifts in his seat, alert to the change in energy now that the car has stopped moving, and Kate is pulled from her reverie. She steers into a spot in the car park—there’s only one other vehicle there—turns off the ignition, and gets out. The temperature dropped as the afternoon wore on, and the clouds overhead block out the weak autumn sun. Kate stretches her arms up, extending her compressed spine like an accordion, then retrieves her purse. She clips Ozzie’s leash to his collar and he bounds out of the car, shaking himself off as though he’s just stepped out of a lake. He pants with excitement at all the new smells.
“Not bad, eh?” Kate says, scratching his ears.
A sign indicates the reception desk is at the front of the house. Kate guides Ozzie to a path up to the navy blue door, where lush ivy creeps across the wall above. She notes the silence; the air is dense out here. There’s no noise from the town a short distance away. She doesn’t even hear any birds. She breathes in the smell of smoke and leaves and damp, smiles at the absence of petrol fumes.
She presses down on the brass handle and steps over the threshold, tugging Ozzie’s leash in tightly. Although Sue said the job and house were dog-friendly, Kate wants him to make a good first impression. He seems to sense this, because he sits down smartly on the entryway rug and cranes his neck to look at her with his large brown eyes. Kate would swear he’s smiling.
“Good boy, Oz, good boy.”
The foyer is an impressive welcome to the house. A wide, majestic staircase straight ahead leads to a landing and the second floor. The stairs are dark walnut with a thick botanical-patterned runner. Overhead, a large gold chandelier illuminates the entryway and the hall that extends toward the back of the house. Kate glances left into a sitting room filled with overstuffed navy armchairs and a sofa clustered around a floor-to-ceiling brick fireplace, the logs crackling away in welcome.
A small reception desk is pressed against the wall beside the door, piled with neat stacks of tourism brochures. Beyond the reception is what she suspects may be a hall closet, then another door, through which she spots a larger, ornate desk with a lamp casting a dim glow over a mess of papers.
The air smells warm, like coffee and sugar, but she feels an unidentifiable draft. She taps the silver bell on the reception desk to alert Sue to her presence. There’s a scuffle on the floorboards down the hall and she straightens, expecting the manager, but a small black terrier emerges from the shadows and trots up to her and Ozzie, whose tail begins to wag as he sniffs the newcomer.
“Well, hello, you,” Kate coos, bending to pat the terrier.
“Can I help you?”
Kate’s head whips up at the voice. A woman is walking down the same hallway whence came the terrier. She’s elderly, and a little stooped. Kate reckons she must be into her nineties. One hand grasps the rounded handle of a cane as the other extends out to the side for balance. Kate remembers her grandmother walking like that, and her heart twinges at the thought.
Kate stands and offers her hand to the woman, noticing as she does so that she has the most remarkable eyes. So light blue they’re grey, and spaced just a little too far apart. Her thin white hair is longer than most women her age, and pulled back into a soft bun.
“Hi, I’m Kate Mercer. I think we spoke on the—”
“Who?” the woman asks.
“Kate Mercer,” Kate repeats, louder.
The woman scowls. “I’m not deaf. What is your business here? We’re closed for the season, I’m afraid.”
“I’m sorry, are you Sue?” Kate asks, sure that she isn’t. The accent is different. It’s English, not Scottish, but there’s something off about it. At any rate, there’s clearly some confusion.
