The House Sitter

by Jill Barry

  The husband nodded. “Action Man stuff.”

  “At times, the military have sole use of the ranges. That land is strictly monitored. They’ve even built themselves a mock village, for training purposes.”

  “But the soldiers aren’t a nuisance?”

  “I’ve never heard anyone complain. There are certain days when you can’t use the road across MOD land, but everyone says you become accustomed to the sound of gunfire. Eventually.” She saw the husband’s eyes narrow.

  “I’m Valerie, by the way,” said the woman. “And this is Brad.”

  “It’s lovely to meet you both. My name’s Delyth.”

  “I knew you had to be Welsh as soon as I heard that pretty accent. Do you speak the language? We’ve not heard anything but English so far.”

  “The lady probably hasn’t got time to stand nattering, Val.”

  “I’m truly in no hurry,” said Ruth. “I can give you more of a run down on Three Roads if you wish.” She smiled at Valerie. “In English, of course.”

  The woman tilted her head back and laughed, gaudy earrings glittering against a cloud of improbable magenta hair. “If you’re sure you can spare the time, I’m gasping for a cuppa. What do you think, Bradders?”

  He shrugged. “Fine by me. As long as you’re sure we’re not putting you out, Mrs. . .? Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” His Adam’s apple wobbled. Ruth thought how unattractive he was.

  “My name’s Delyth and you’re not putting me out at all.” Ruth cleared her throat again, stroking the fingers of her left hand down it in one slow movement. Displaying a slender gold wedding band to establish her status.

  The agency door flew open to reveal a tall, slender woman, smartly dressed in charcoal-grey trouser suit and heels. She wore her beige-blonde hair knotted high upon her head; the severe style softened by stray tendrils. Ruth stepped back, turning away as though switching her attention elsewhere. The woman gave the group a friendly greeting before hurrying off towards the car park.

  “There’s a lovely teashop just round the corner,” said Ruth, when she was certain no one but the two house hunters could overhear.

  Leading Delyth’s new friends to the watering hole, Ruth fielded their irritating inquiries.

  “So, do you work, Delyth?”

  “Sometimes. I’m registered with an agency that provides temporary household staff, carer companions and that kind of thing.”

  “I can imagine you being brilliant at looking after people.” Valerie tucked her arm into Ruth’s. Somehow Delyth managed not to cringe.

  “I’ve always tried to do my best,” she said. “Now, I hope you’ll like this place.” She led the way around the corner and pushed open the first door along, holding it so the couple could walk inside.

  “Oh, this is gorgeous. I’m a sucker for old beams and tapestry.” Valerie looked around and settled her ample behind on a cushioned wicker chair. “Sit here beside me, Delyth. Teas all round?”

  “Yes please. Earl Grey with no milk for me.”

  “Okay, hun. And Welsh cakes. We must order a plate of Welsh cakes.” Valerie looked expectantly at their companion. “Unless you’re fed up with them?”

  “No indeed. I rarely make them now I’m on my own. Except when the children turn up, though that’s not often these days.” She gave a small, wry smile of resignation.

  Valerie blinked and patted Ruth’s hand. “I know, sweetheart. And I have to say I think you’re so brave over your situation.” She sat up straight. “Takes some getting used to – going it alone, I mean. With Brad and me, it’s a case of second time around and making a fresh start.”

  “How wonderful for you both. So, do you mind if I’m totally frank with you? About The Sugar House, I mean.”

  “I think we’d prefer it, wouldn’t we, Val?” Brad glanced up at the approaching waitress and placed their order.

  Ruth waited until the girl hurried away although she’d never set eyes on her before. “In that case, I’d steer well clear of Three Roads if I were you.” Privately she gloated at the ease in which her Welsh accent engaged and enriched when required. “The village has a certain charm but once you buy into it, should you change your mind and decide to move out, it’s not that easy.”

  “Because of its location?” Brad shrugged. “I don’t think that’d worry us. We’re cheesed off with noise pollution and filthy pavements. Scum dossing in doorways.”

  “I can imagine,” said Ruth. “I think, what I’m trying to say is, the village has a character all its own.” She looked from one to the other to check she held their full attention. “I’m sorry but I find it rather hard to explain. There are some very pleasant people living there, but by its very remoteness, Three Roads tends to attract what you might call loners.”

  “I see.” Brad shrugged his shoulders. “Sounds good to me. Can’t abide nosy neighbours. So, are there any facilities at all? John Lewis? M & S?” Smirking, he righted his turned-over teacup and ripped open a sachet of white sugar.

  Ruth chuckled. “Hmm, let me think. I haven’t been over there for a while. Used to have friends in the village but they moved back to England. I got to know them through the arts centre here but they never really fitted village life.” Ruth looked at Brad. “The expectation is sometimes overridden by the reality, I suppose.”

  “We’re certainly not looking for somewhere like the area we live in at the moment.”

  “Understatement of the year, Bradders!” Valerie nudged Ruth’s arm. “Poundland on Thames, we call it.”

  “I do know Three Roads has a derelict church but I’m afraid there’s no local shop. There used to be a youth club.” She hesitated, “I don’t know whether that’s still going.”

  “No problem. Neither of us has children living with us,” said Valerie.

  Ruth noted she expressed no disappointment over the derelict church. “The mobile library used to call every fortnight but these days, what with cuts, who knows? Someone did once try to start a community shop but I heard it fell through in the end.”

  “Can you get a newspaper delivered?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Ooh, I’d be lost without my puzzles and celebrity gossip.” Valerie grinned at her husband.

  He rolled his eyes. “Come on! You could buy a bumper book of crosswords and we’d do a regular big shop. It’s a matter of being organised, ladies. Keeping a list of essentials so you don’t run out of toothpaste.” He pulled a face at his wife. “And we’re not ones for pubs and bowls clubs and the like.”

  “In that case, I’m sure you’d be fine.” Ruth bent her head to check something in her handbag while the waitress placed tea paraphernalia on the table.

  Brad thanked the girl. As he turned his attention to Ruth again, she dabbed her nose with a lace-edged handkerchief until the waitress was safely across the room.

  “The good thing is, it’s only fifteen minutes in the car to the nearest small town. That’s Knightly, as I said. It has two medium-sized supermarkets and a small Friday market and an arts centre with a cinema.”

  “I’m inclined to ask for a viewing of The Sugar House as long as Broadband isn’t a problem.” Brad, perhaps remembering his manners, offered the sugar-scattered Welsh cakes to Ruth.

  “Delyth, what exactly did you mean about Three Roads having – what was it that was hard to explain?” Valerie poured tea for everyone.

  “I don’t think for one minute it’ll put you two off but it’s only fair to mention it. There’s a desolate feel about the place. Possibly – and you may laugh at me – possibly because a murder once took place there. It happened many years ago.”

  “I doubt there’s anywhere in the world without bloodthirsty goings on in its murky past. Our part of London’s not as safe as it used to be, believe me.”

  Valerie nodded.

  “It’s not about security.” Ruth leaned forward and paused for effect. “It’s more like something inexplicable lingering in the atmosphere.”

  “I’m not
with you,” said Brad, picking up his cup.

  Ruth watched as he slurped his tea. Valerie put down her half-eaten Welsh cake and gazed at her. Waiting.

  “It’s just that the alleged murderer was not the most popular man around, even before the crime occurred. I should tell you, despite suspicion, there was no evidence to condemn him. The man didn’t hang. He didn’t go to jail. And he never, ever, went to church, which in those times was regarded as something of a sin.”

  “When you say many years ago, how far back are we talking?” Brad mumbled through a mouthful of cake.

  “1930s or thereabouts.”

  “Goodness!” Valerie looked surprised.

  Brad turned to his wife. “Bear in mind how attitudes in London and other big cities would’ve differed from those in isolated areas, Val.”

  “Exactly,” said Ruth. “So, years later when this man died and it came to burying him, the villagers were up in arms at the thought of a murderer interred in their churchyard.”

  “Understandable, I’d say, but not much they could do about it, I guess,” said Brad.

  Ruth frowned. “Better brace yourselves, because apparently they took matters into their own hands. A couple of days after the burial took place, a group of them entered the churchyard in the small hours and dug up the coffin.”

  “Oh, my gawd,” squealed Valerie. “That’s too gruesome for words!”

  “Remember it happened a very long time ago.” Ruth patted Valerie’s arm. “So long ago, the villagers used a pony and cart to take the coffin away from the churchyard and bury it on the nearest waste ground.”

  “Come to think of it, I have a certain amount of sympathy for those guys.” Brad eyed the cake dish. “They probably didn’t like the idea of their forebears lying next to a murder suspect’s grave. I wonder if he really was the killer.”

  To Ruth’s satisfaction, Valerie shuddered. “I don’t want to know! But where was this waste ground, Delyth? Outside of Three Roads I hope?”

  Ruth paused. “If you fall in love with the village, I very much doubt you’ll give that old tale a second thought. But the story goes, The Sugar House was built upon the very parcel of land where the murderer was laid to rest.”

  “Are you serious?” Brad stopped lounging and sat up straight.

  “I heard it from a very reliable source.” Ruth waited a beat. “I’m not saying the area is haunted. Even if there have been reports of shadowy figures that disappear when you look at them.”

  She saw Brad’s Adam’s apple wobble as he swallowed hard.

  “But it’s what I meant when I referred to sensing something in the atmosphere.” She paused again. “Something you can almost touch.”

  Chapter Four

  As soon as she’d resumed her own persona, Ruth drove home, elated after the satisfying hour spent in Delyth’s fantasy world. It had been pure serendipity to find the London couple just asking to be duped. That airhead, Valerie, made her views clear as an icicle to her tedious spouse, by stating she’d gone right off the idea of viewing a house whose every creaking stair tread or rattling window catch would give her the heebie jeebies as she described it.

  Ruth told herself she mustn’t attempt the same trick again. Not for at least a couple of weeks anyway. After she locked the back door of her cottage, she spent time sitting quietly with Dylan curled upon her lap, as the cat craved company for once. She also jotted down the date of her visit to Llanbrenin Wells, precise details of the outfit she’d worn, and the time of arrival at the teashop selected from five possible cafés for her cosy chat with the house hunters. The couple wouldn’t fit into Three Roads anyway. Ruth felt certain of that. She’d done Brad and Valerie a favour, if they only knew it.

  Next day, she planned to call upon the Deacons, taking with her a couple of pots of homemade produce. Eddie had a penchant for her beetroot chutney and Suzanne liked Ruth’s piccalilli, even though her own cooking skills, with the exception of baking, were imaginative. Ruth had enjoyed many a scrumptious kitchen supper or Sunday lunch with the couple and didn’t intend relinquishing this perk without a struggle.

  In return she raided the jars jewelling her pantry shelves where blackberry jelly and gooseberry jam rubbed shoulders with tangy chutney and pickled shallots. On the run up to the festive season, she always produced sugar-free mincemeat and luscious lemon curd. This friendly bartering system worked perfectly, and Ruth didn’t want it ruined. If the Deacons had any viewings lined up, she needed to discover details in order to plan the next stage of her operation.

  Dylan jumped from her lap to answer a sudden call of the wild, leaving his mistress to wander over to the wine rack given to her by the couple a few years before. Eddie used a merchant’s delivery service, choosing far superior vintages to the ubiquitous supermarket choices Ruth’s budget allowed. This was another luxury she’d miss horribly in the event of The Sugar House changing hands.

  Her lips twitched when she imagined Brad and Valerie going into the BCB office and giving their preferred criteria for a property. Probably the sales negotiator would pull up the Deacons’ house, proudly presenting it like an old-time magician pulling a rabbit from a top hat. What would the employee think when Valerie blurted out the macabre tale besmirching the agency’s property of the week? The Londoners would have accomplished a task Ruth daren’t risk, even though it was tempting to contemplate wandering in, wearing her Delyth disguise, on some other occasion. She’d need to give that thought.

  She selected a bottle of claret. Eddie had chosen a couple of mixed boxes last time he placed an order. Suzanne was drinking less, he said, before teasing Ruth about keeping him company on the rocky road to ruin. She’d always had a sneaking feeling he might be attracted to her.

  Suzanne reminded Ruth of one of those cool, Alfred Hitchcock blondes, if a tad faded around the edges. It would never surprise her to discover Miss Goody Two Shoes had dismissed the habit of conjugal relations along with the curse. But Suzanne never went away, leaving Eddie to his own devices, though he had on occasions travelled on golfing jollies. Maybe it was something to address, though Ruth had no particular wish to seduce Eddie. Unless, of course, it proved advantageous.

  No screw tops from this merchant. Ruth popped the cork, still pondering the next stage in her plan. Slowly she poured the velvety rich claret into a cut-glass goblet – also a gift from the Deacons – and walked across to her armchair. She’d bought a succulent fillet steak for her dinner, the perfect partner for garden vegetables straight from her freezer. She deserved a little treat.

  “We really should invite Ruth round for dinner on the weekend.” Suzanne peered at her husband over a pair of rainbow-framed designer spectacles.

  “Feeling guilty, my darling? I mean over that garbage she spouted. Moving in with us one day, my arse!” Eddie looked up from his book and shifted against the pillows. “When she was here this morning, I thought she looked decidedly green round the gills.”

  “Tell me about it! That was a very awkward moment.”

  “Bloody hellfire, what possessed you, Suze? You must’ve been well on the sauce to agree to something as daft as that.”

  “I’d more or less forgotten about it. Can’t help thinking she’s built it up in her mind.”

  “Hmm. I’m not dismissing all she’s done for us since we moved here. Having her to house sit and look after Sparkles when we go away has been a godsend. But as for taking her in to live with us – over my dead body.”

  “Eddie, you know I hate that expression.” Suzanne shivered and snuggled further into her lacy bed jacket. “But if we ever did need someone – you know, one day a long time from now – you’d have to consider her.”

  “If that day should arrive, we won’t be living here. We need to look forward not back, girl.”

  “You must admit she’s trustworthy. She’s never let us down.”

  “That may be but we’ve done plenty for Ruth in return. Wined and dined the woman, taken her with us to the arts centre, dozens and doz
ens of times. Treated her to the ballet when that fantastic Russian company performed at the Millennium Theatre.”

  “I suppose I must confess to having a mad moment. I seem to recall you were away on that golfing weekend in Portugal at the time. Ruth and I were sharing a bottle of wine and I jokingly said something about you and me becoming decrepit long before she would. When I said maybe we’d be asking her to move in and look after us, she obviously took me seriously. I’m so sorry, Eddie.”

  “Just forget it. I think we made our intention to move on one hundred per cent crystal clear.”

  “Will you miss her?”

  He shrugged. “She’s not bad company. She’s helped us out now and then when the laptop’s played up.” He paused. “She makes a mean chutney.”

  “Damned with faint praise. Poor Ruth. She’s an excellent house sitter. Sparkles always seems happy to be left in her care.”

  “No question about that. And the woman’s a genius in the garden. Lord knows I’ve tried with potatoes and so on, but no way would I risk frittering away good money, trying to grow soft fruits in this climate.”

  “Ruth’s vegetable plot is sheltered, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. We’d need a poly-tunnel and I’ve never got around to sorting all that. It certainly won’t happen now.”

  “You’re not what I’d call green-fingered. But I love you anyway.” Suzanne leaned over and kissed her husband on the lips. “Night-night, darling. You go on reading if you want.”

  He pulled her close. Moved his hand down her cleavage. “You feel good.” He nuzzled her neck.

  “I’m really not in the mood, Eddie. Sorry, sweetheart.”

  He sighed. “Maybe in the morning?”

  “We’ll see.” She sometimes wished her husband’s libido didn’t make its presence known quite as much as it did. Maybe once the house viewings began, he’d have too much on his mind to think about sex.

  She kept her eyes open and watched him sink into his crime novel again. Not for the first time, she wondered what Ruth did about her natural instincts. She was still an attractive woman, if somewhat scrawnier than Suzanne. Ruth had brought a male friend with her to a party at The Sugar House a few years back. Maybe she visited whatever his name was, now and then. He’d seemed a nice enough fellow from what she recalled but Ruth was a private sort of person, certainly not inclined to discuss sensitive matters of the heart or of any other part of her anatomy.