The Phoenix Project

by Chrissie Loveday

  The Phoenix Project

  by

  Chrissie Loveday

  Can Rosemary build a new life from the ashes of her past?

  After the death of her parents, Rosemary Breedon discovers she was adopted, and decides that she needs a fresh start. A trained architect, she prepares to build herself a new home, with the help of her friend Drew Trevellas.

  But someone doesn’t want her plans to succeed. After her caravan is destroyed by fire she moves in with Drew. Soon tools and building materials start to disappear. Rosemary is plagued by emails, more thefts and threats, until part of the new house is demolished. Then the farmer next door is murdered and his partner is suspected of the crime.

  Who is doing so much damage? Who wants to frighten her away?

  Prologue

  Grace awoke suddenly.

  ‘Harry, get up! I can hear someone.’

  Her husband stirred reluctantly.

  ‘There’s somebody downstairs, I tell you, Harry. Are you going to look or do I have to go myself?’

  ‘Go back to sleep woman. You’re dreaming.’

  There was a crash followed by someone cursing.

  ‘There you are. I told you. Take the big walking stick.’

  ‘Blimey!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘What do you think I’m going to do? The bloke’s bound to be bigger than me. Unless it’s the dog,’ he added, hopefully. There was another crash and more muffled curses. ‘What’s the stupid mutt up to? Jess! What the heck are you doing?’

  ‘I’m coming with you. The dog never swears you stupid old fool.’ Grace clambered out of bed and shuffled into her slippers.

  The elderly couple went slowly down the stairs, clutching the handrail in case they fell. The idea of either of them appearing as an attacking force to be reckoned with, seemed quite ludicrous. Harry clutched his walking stick as a weapon, while his wife had picked up a large water jug. She had hesitated briefly before selecting that particular object, seeing as she’d heard that matching water jugs and bowls could fetch good money as antiques. Another thought flashed through her mind. If we’re murdered in our beds, antiques won’t be any good to us anyway. Not that they were in their bed any longer but where was logic in the middle of the night?

  They could hear Jess yapping and definite sounds of someone moving around. The dog had been shut in the old scullery for the night, so was unable to defend her owners, save for her warning barks. She usually slept in there and saw it as her territory.

  ‘Be careful, Harry, he could be armed.’

  ‘Hush your noise, woman.’ He gripped the walking stick firmly and pushed open the kitchen door. Stand still or I’ll fire!’ he shouted.

  The scruffy young man bending over the open freezer, filling a black sack with food, looked up.

  ‘Watch it, granddad, or I’ll clobber you with this leg of lamb.’

  ‘You horrible man. Get away from my freezer!’ Beside herself with rage, Grace rushed past Harry, raised her favourite china jug, decorated with a swathe of pretty pink flowers, and dropped it down on the intruder’s head.

  ‘I’ll teach you to try and swipe my food.’

  ‘What have you done, woman?’ her husband asked. The apparently lifeless would-be burglar was now lying on their kitchen floor. Harry poked at him with a slippered toe. ‘I don’t reckon he’ll be breaking into anyone’s house again. Ever.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ ‘You’ve only gone and done him in.’

  ‘I never have. I didn’t hit him that hard.’

  The pair stood over the unconscious form of the man. He still hadn’t moved. ‘Come on. Sit up, you idiot. Stop messing around … oh crikey. There’s a load of blood coming out of his head.’

  ‘What the heck do we do now?’

  ‘Get rid.’

  ‘S’pose there’s someone with him? An accomplice?’

  ‘What, waiting outside?’

  ‘Might be. He must have come in a car or something. We’re right in the middle of nowhere here. So if he’s come to take our stuff, he must have something to carry it away.’

  ‘Do you reckon he’s from that bunch of travellers?’

  Most mishaps and misdemeanours in the area were blamed on the illegal travellers’ camp along the cliff top. Local residents had been trying to get them moved on since the start of the summer. They’d arrived in the middle of the night and taken over a large area of what the authorities described as an “area of outstanding natural beauty”. The sense of injustice that they were living in one of the most beautiful parts of Cornwall, free of rent and rates, rankled with everyone, especially the law-abiding pensioners who paid up in full every year.

  ‘You’re probably right. He must have come from that camp thing. Especially if he was nicking food.’

  For an elderly couple who had probably just committed murder, albeit in self-defence, were surprisingly calm and matter-of-fact.

  Harry let out the dog and went to look outside. He could just make out a battered-looking van parked near the end of the drive, but no movement. Behind him, Jess, the elderly sheepdog, growled and backed away from another full black sack dumped outside the back door. Harry touched it and heard metallic sounds from inside. He opened the top and saw all their treasured dining room silver. Grace was not going to be best pleased. Still, if that had been left by the door, it wasn’t likely the man had an accomplice.

  He called back to Grace.

  ‘Looks like he’s a loner. There’s a load more of our stuff out here. And there’s a van parked up the drive.’

  He came inside and shut the door to. Grace was looking very white.

  ‘He hasn’t moved and I don’t think he’s breathing. Have I really done ’im in?’

  ‘Looks like it. But it was self-defence. They’d never get you for that.’

  ‘They charged that chap in Essex. He went to jail.’

  ‘But you’re an old woman so I’m sure they’d understand and be lenient. We can work this out, Grace. Don’t you worry yourself.’

  ‘I hope you’re right. I’m too old to go to prison.’ ‘Come on then. . If we’re going to hide him, we need to have it sorted before it gets light.’

  Harry went outside and found their old wheelbarrow and together, they heaved the body, surprisingly light, and pushed it to one of the old mine shafts. It was close to the house so luckily they didn’t have to go too far. With a bit of effort, they pushed away the cap the council had installed in the interests of safety and dropped the limp corpse inside. It fell a few feet and lay trapped. They pushed in a few of many rocks littering the area and hoped it was sufficiently hidden. Once the cap was hauled back in place and some brambles pulled over it, they were satisfied.

  ‘Lucky it was a bright moon so we didn’t need to shine a torch. Couldn’t have managed carrying that as well.’

  ‘Lucky there’s nobody around here, too. But what do we do with the van?’

  ‘I reckon we should drive it round to Hell’s Mouth and push it over. There’s enough old vehicles get dumped there by the local lads. What’s another one?’

  ‘Will I drive our car to fetch you back?’

  ‘You can pick me along the coast a bit. Just in case there’s anyone sees us. I can manage to walk to that spot You know, where there’s a gap near the track.’

  ‘What a business. I can’t be doing with all this upset at my age.’

  ‘You’re feeling all right, aren’t you, love?’

  ‘I do feel a bit woozy now you mention it. I expect it was waking up so suddenly and … well, it has been a bit of night hasn’t it?’

  ‘If you’re not up to driving the car, you only have to say. I can walk back once I’ve dumped the van.’

  ‘It’s all right. Let’s get it over with.
I’m just relieved that hooligan didn’t hurt our Jess.’

  They went back inside and Grace unpacked the black sack with her treasures in it. She took them into the dining room and laid them lovingly back in their rightful places on the sideboard.

  ‘I’d have been so upset if I’d lost them,’ she said almost tearfully. ‘It’s not as if they’re worth a lot. Sentimental value though.’

  ‘I know, love. But you didn’t lose them. Now, we’d better get this van sorted before it gets light. You sure you’re up to it?’

  ‘Course I am. I reckon we should take the cliff road and come out down that track. That way nobody will hear us or see the lights. Go on then. You go first with the van. You did take the keys out of his pocket didn’t you?’

  ‘They’re here. Right then. Drive with just sidelights to start with. You can wait for me in that place where people stop to look at the scenery. You know the one.’

  ‘I’ll see you there.’

  Everything went smoothly. Harry felt no fear nor, indeed, remorse for what had happened. That chap was one of the spongers on society. Paid no taxes and contributed nothing. Lived on handouts from my money and stole whatever else he needed. There were too many of them around, especially here, where otherwise it was such a nice place to live. His blood boiled every time he looked at the encampment, plonked sited in a beauty spot with one of the best views in Cornwall. They dumped litter and caused chaos, yet still claimed to be members of the ’Greens’.

  ‘Green my arse,’ he muttered. Anyone who cared about the environment didn’t dump human shit down the mine shafts. He turned onto the road and drove carefully to Hell’s Mouth. The van had certainly seen better days and was distinctly dodgy. He pulled up at the edge of the cliff and got out, leaving the engine running. He found a rock and jammed it against the accelerator pedal. The engine raced and he leaned in and managed to put it into gear before letting off the handbrake. The van gave a lurch forward and disappeared over the edge. There was a loud bang and it burst into flames. There must have been a spark caused by the van crashing against the rocks. Panicking now, he turned and ran along the bumpy cliff path, stumbling over rocks and brambles as he went. Fifteen anxious minutes later, he reached the parking place and his Grace.

  ‘Go, go, go,’ he almost shouted.

  Grace started the engine and drove back carefully. Still shocked by the turn of events, she would have preferred Harry to drive but he was looking rather shaken himself. Blood was trickling down his cheek where a bramble had ripped a long scratch.

  ‘You are all right, aren’t you?’ he asked his wife.

  ‘I still feel a bit strange. It’s all the excitement I expect.’

  She turned off the road and bumped along the cliff path once more. She turned off the lights, her eyes now accustomed to the darkness. Back in their own drive, she breathed a sigh of relief and drove into the garage.

  ‘I’ll make you a cup of cocoa and help you settle. You go on up, love.’

  ‘I will, if you don’t mind. I think I need to lie down. I’ll clear up the mess later.’

  Grace went up the stairs, hanging onto the handrail for support. Her head was spinning and she felt sick. The niggling tightness in her chest was becoming a pain she could barely cope with. She managed to kick off her shoes and lie on top of the bed. Pulling up the blankets was beyond her.

  ‘Here we go, love. A nice cup of cocoa … Grace? You asleep already? Never mind. I won’t wake you,’ he whispered.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and drank his cocoa. He pulled up the covers and went to the bathroom. Not wanting to disturb his wife, he slipped into bed beside her and lay with his back to her.

  It was seven o’clock before he woke and listened to hear her breathing. He didn’t want to wake her if she needed an extra sleep, after all they’d been through that night. He rolled over and felt her ice-cold body.

  ‘Oh no. Grace, love? Grace?’

  He sobbed as he got up and dressed.

  ‘Oh no, Grace. It’s all that bastard’s fault. I’d kill him if he wasn’t dead already. He sure as hell got what he deserved.’

  Heartbroken, he went down the stairs and phoned the doctor. He gazed at the broken china on the kitchen floor and the half-emptied sack of silver they’d dragged in. He swept up the fragments and put them in the bin, then shoved the sack into the dining room and closed the door. Nobody was going to lay any blame on his lovely Grace. He wiped his eyes and waited.

  Everyone in the village felt for the elderly farmer. Most of them turned up to Grace’s funeral and sympathised with Harry’s plight.

  ‘What will you do now?’ he was asked many times.

  He had no answer. Without Grace, he no longer wanted to stay in the village. They had no children and his future looked bleak.

  ‘Did you hear the council have managed to get an order to remove those travellers?’ someone said.

  Harry sat in the corner, half listening, half wondering why all these people were all in his house.

  ‘About time too. One of their women was bleating about her fellow going missing. The police weren’t concerned. Well, you know what they’re like. Unreliable. They suggested he’d probably run off somewhere without her.’

  ‘They said they’d found his van dumped over the cliff along at Hell’s Mouth. Someone went down to look but there was no sign of a body. All burned out it was, as they often are.’

  ‘Can’t imagine joyriders taking an old heap like that lot usually have. Probably dumped it themselves when it failed its test.’

  ‘Not that tests or licences mean much to their sort.’

  ‘Still, I reckon they bring these things on themselves. Nobody seems to know anything about it. At least you were spared their questions, weren’t you, Harry? You were here with poor dear Grace in her final moments.’

  ‘Maybe I should move to a smaller place now,’ he said in answer to one of the earlier questions.

  ‘That’s if anyone would ever buy this place.’

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Chrissie Loveday

  Chapter 1

  Rosemary Breeden wondered what she was going to do with the rest of her life. On impulse, she had driven down to Cornwall with some vague idea of recapturing the sense of happiness she had known as a child. – those times before her life had been turned upside down.

  Not only had her parents been killed in a fatal car accident, but she had discovered her whole existence so far had all been a sham. A total mockery of who she thought she had been for twenty-four years. Parents who weren’t who she’d believed them to be.

  Somehow, she had struggled through the final weeks of her studies, almost desperate to occupy her mind after her terrible loss. And, despite it all, she had managed to get a good degree. She parked the car in a small area of rough ground, overlooking a rocky beach. She believed they’d visited Porthcullion before, when she was a child. But now, nothing was familiar. She had booked a few nights’ stay in the little hotel high on the cliff, hoping it might refresh her mind and body. How could she face staying at her parents’ old home? Her home, now. Tears burned behind her eyes, in an all-too-familiar sensation. As if to twist the knife deeper, she pulled the well-worn envelope from her bag and read the words once more. Not that she needed the page in front of her. She knew it by heart.

  “My Dearest Rosie,

  I know this will come as a shock to you and I pray that you may never have to read these words. If you are reading them, it will mean that we are no longer a part of your life. You have been the most precious gift we could ever know or want. Though people have often remarked how
much alike we are, in truth, I am not your birth mother.

  I could not have loved you more had I been privileged enough to give birth to you, myself. Nor is Daddy your biological father. I could not leave this life without setting the truth straight and I know I should have told you many years ago. I could not bear to see your face and know the shock, disappointment or even the hostility you might have felt.

  Your true parentage is not clear. I understood your mother was young and alone and desperate enough to give up her child for adoption. Whether you will ever trace her or even want to find her, I cannot say. The adoption agency we used was in Truro but that does not necessarily imply that your birth mother came from the area.

  At least I have the satisfaction of knowing you were well-loved and cared for and that your future is financially secure.

  From your Mother, who will love you always.”

  Rosie sighed. She had never suspected any of this. Somewhere, possibly right here in Cornwall, was a woman who could be her biological mother. She may even have a father in the area. But did she really want to know who they were?

  She walked up the steep cliff path and stood gazing over a glorious bay, allowing the beauty to wash over her and even permit some sort of healing process to begin.

  A pretty young woman, barely conscious of her looks, Rosie was just over twenty-four years old, tall and slim, with short blonde hair and blue eyes. She often screwed up her eyes and wrinkled her nose when she was thinking – something her mother had often told her off for doing, but it was an ingrained habit she couldn’t break.

  She wandered down the lane. There was a derelict building a little way along the track. Perhaps it had once been a farmhouse but it was now a mess of crumbling walls and a collapsed roof. Poor sad little place, she thought. Someone should have bought it to renovate – as a business property development perhaps.

  Maybe it was just what she needed. After all, she had studied architecture at university and it would certainly be absorbing. Besides, it might make a place for a lovely new home. Not that she had to work if she didn’t want to. Her parents … rather, her adoptive parents – had left her a wealthy young woman. But here, she could get her teeth into such a project and maybe forget some parts of the dreadful year that had passed. She walked up the long muddy drive and speculated on the possibilities. It would be good to be involved in something. She glanced around, wondering how much of the land went with the … tumbledown sort of … well, ruin. With no roof, it was merely three and a half walls, with plants growing in between the stones. It looked as if it had been burnt at some point, as she saw what had been roof timbers lying at the bottom. Some of the stones appeared scorched at the top of the walls.