The Phoenix Project

by Chrissie Loveday

  Rosemary suddenly felt as if someone was watching her, and shivered. She looked round but saw no one.

  Her mind was now racing with ideas and possibilities. If she were to sell her old home, she would easily have enough money to take on this place as a project. There were no ties to what had once been her beloved home, she insisted fiercely. Though the large house was all hers now, it mocked her and accentuated the sham that had been her life so far. Why hadn’t her mother ever told her that she was adopted? She kept on and on asking herself the same old questions. She had always adored her parents and would surely have missed them more than she could say but, somehow, it had all been spoiled by her mother’s letter. Why did she ever bother to leave it, she wondered?

  Three months later, she stood in pouring rain with a howling gale tugging at her clothes, wondering how on earth she had allowed herself to be so impulsive. But something … some unknown force – had led her here, and now she was committed to restoring the old farmhouse. She had bought the plot at a reasonable price, as much of the working land had been sold off already. She had also acquired a cheap caravan and moved it onto the site. Once the probate was completed for the estate of the man she had known as her father, she had a sizeable amount of money at her disposal. The solicitor had persuaded her to let the house in Bristol, rather than sell it. He had even organised an agent to look after it. Besides this steady and not inconsiderable income, she had been left other substantial investments, so she was financially independent and had money to spare for most projects she might choose to follow. She hoped this particular redevelopment would become totally absorbing.

  The few locals she had met so far had thought her totally mad, but had been friendly enough. One or two had been willing to talk about the old house and she gathered it had become derelict when the old farmer had left it after the sudden death of his wife.

  ‘People do say there’s bin ghosts seen there. She’m a sad old place. She’m seen better times, to be sure,’ said the elderly lady who ran the post office.

  Rosie was getting used to the Cornish way of attributing a gender to many inanimate objects. Fortunately, she held no truck with ghost stories and assumed that any sightings of figures in the wreck of the house had been little more than visitors poking around. She had seen nothing of the neighbours – not that anyone else lived within three hundred metres of the place. The isolation was something of a comfort to her, allowing time for her to absorb the healing process, without the need for explanations.

  Once the power and water supplies had been organised, she had moved onto the site. It was cosy in her caravan, as she worked on her plans for the restoration. She knew of the many restrictions imposed by local planners and wanted to be certain of a successful outcome. After spending many hours searching through Internet sites, the morning finally arrived when she was ready to prepare her planning application. She pushed her blonde hair away from her face and started work for the day. Her deep blue eyes scanned the computer, scrutinising every detail to ensure success. It seemed a million miles away from the work she had done at university but, as she told herself, it was all excellent experience.

  Gradually, the locals were accepting her and she was picking up snippets of information as to the history of her property.

  The old man who used to live there was long gone. His wife had died rather suddenly and he had given up and moved away. Nobody really knew what had happened to him. Once the land had been sold off, the place had fallen into disrepair and was left to rot into what it had now become. She shook her head at the sight of the burnt-out timbers.

  As the nights started drawing in, she took to visiting the local pub in the village for an evening meal. On one of these occasions, talk turned to the old house again.

  ‘Must be lonely for you up there every night,’ the publican, Bob Jones, ventured.

  ‘Not really. I like the solitude.’

  ‘Don’t you get scared?’ asked Drew Trevellas, one of the few customers of a similar age to her. He was friendly and seemed very pleasant.

  ‘What’s to be scared of? I don’t believe in ghosts, if that’s what you’re suggesting, and I have my phone and a laptop.’

  ‘I hope that caravan’s secure. We get some odd folks around. Traveller-types every now and again. In fact, there’s a new group of them along the cliffs. People are wandering around the place, always ready to lift anything that isn’t nailed down.’

  ‘I’ll buy a large bag of nails, first thing tomorrow,’ she said, with a laugh.

  ‘Well, don’t hesitate to call if you ever need any help,’ Drew offered. ‘Here, put my number in your phone. And I mean it. Let me know if you need a hand. I only live a little way down the hill from you.’

  It was a pleasant evening and Rosie began to feel the sense of community growing around her. She was even invited to join the regeneration committee, a group of local residents who wanted to improve the village. There were indeed areas that would be greatly enhanced by some drastic clearance and plenty of scruffy old chalets that, hopefully, were about to be replaced. A number of local drop-outs could be seeking a new place to live very soon – a fact that was also slightly disturbing.

  She walked back up the cliff path around ten-thirty. There was a glow from a bonfire in the darkness, as she approached the top of the steep hill.

  ‘What the …?’ she muttered.

  It was no bonfire but her own caravan burning fiercely.

  ‘Oh no!’ She pulled out her mobile. ‘Hallo? Fire brigade please. Yes. Please … quickly. My caravan’s on fire!’

  She was breathless, speaking as she ran towards her temporary home. She gave details of her address and brief directions. Once she had finished speaking to them, she called Drew.

  ‘Can you come up right away? My caravan’s been set on fire. I’ve called the fire brigade but I’m finally admitting to feeling a bit scared. I feel terrified, in fact.’

  ‘On my way,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Don’t go too near it and be careful in case anyone’s hanging around. How do you know it’s been set on fire? Mightn’t it be an accident?’

  ‘It seems to be burning from the outside.’

  She walked cautiously down the drive, looking around for signs of anyone else. She could see no one. She felt the heat as the blaze took hold of a new area and was forced to watch helplessly as her few possessions disappeared, disintegrating in the flames. All the work and research she had done on her laptop so far was lost, as were cheque books, credit cards and the precious last letter left by her one-time mother. How could anyone do this to me? She could hardly believe she had any enemies. A siren broke through crackling sounds of her temporary home as it burned, but it stopped before she could see the fire engine. A man came running down the drive.

  ‘Sorry, love, We can’t get the engine up the lane. Is there another way round?’

  Drew arrived, rushing after the fireman.

  ‘You’ll have to go along to the end of the bottom road and then along the cliff path. It’s bumpy but wide enough. Mind you, doesn’t look like there’s much you can do. There’s very little left.’

  ‘All the same, we’ll bring the engine round. Make sure it’s all safe.’

  He ran back, speaking into his radio as he ran.

  ‘Bloody typical. They don’t even know where to go. I knew it was a mistake to centralise all these services. Grief, what a mess,’ Drew said, as he got closer to the burning wreck. ‘There’s certainly a stink of petrol around here. What on earth will you do now?’

  ‘See if the hotel has any rooms, I guess.’

  ‘You’ll have to give up your plans though, surely?’

  ‘No way. Makes me all the more determined. There’s just one major problem. Everything’s gone. My laptop, credit cards, cheque book, all my research … you name it. Well, unless this fire-raiser stole them all first. That’s a point. I’d better cancel everything, just in case.’

  ‘You’re remarkably calm about all this,’ Drew observed. ‘
I’d be screaming and shouting by now if it were me.’

  ‘I’m all done with shouting and screaming. Too many things have happened in my life lately. This is just something new in a long line of disasters.’

  ‘You must tell me about them sometime.’

  He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. The fire engine arrived and doused the final flickering flames. The aluminium body of the caravan was bent and twisted and the bits that remained were covered in peeling burnt paint. The inside was little more than a sooty pile of debris.

  ‘There’s not much left, is there?’ the fireman remarked. ‘I think this was deliberate. Judging by the smell, there was definitely an accelerant used. And there are still traces of combustible materials beneath it. Have you got somewhere to stay? We’ll make it secure and our investigators will be here tomorrow first thing.’

  ‘She can come and stay at my place,’ Drew offered. ‘It’s OK, I do have a spare room,’ he added when he saw her expression. ‘It’s a bit late to try the hotel at this time of night.’

  ‘I simply don’t understand why anyone would do this. Nobody knows me, really. I came for holidays to this area when I was a kid but apart from that, I’m a total stranger. It can’t be anything personal. Maybe someone doesn’t like the idea of me fixing up this old place.’

  ‘I’ll get on to the police. They’ll run a separate investigation from our lads. Nasty business, arson.’

  The chief fire officer was horribly afraid that this was the start of a new batch of arsonists, but didn’t want to alarm them too much.

  ‘Hey, you’re shivering,’ Drew said, putting an arm round Rosie’s shoulders. ‘Here, have my jacket.’ The good-looking man was most concerned about her.

  ‘It’s OK. I’ve got one in the car. But, thanks.’

  ‘Where is your car?’ asked the fireman.

  ‘Parked over behind the old building. Lucky for me, I didn’t leave it any closer or I’d be without a car as well.’

  As they reached the vehicle, Rosie groped in her pocket and pulled out the car keys. Her hand shook as she pushed the key into the lock and suddenly, she felt sick. Just when she’d thought she was getting some sort of organisation in her life, this had to happen.

  Emotionally drained, she felt the blood rushing to her head and then pour out again much too rapidly. She felt herself falling and Drew’s strong arms supporting her as things came back into focus.

  ‘Hey, come on, you. You need to be in bed. It’s all right, officer, I’ll take her to my place. Can I drive your car? We need to make sure it’s safely parked. Doubt you’re capable of walking anywhere. Is that OK?’ he asked the fireman.

  ‘Sure. Let my guys know where you’re going. We’ll need statements in the morning. I’ll secure the site and wait for the police to arrive. Have some hot sweet tea,’ he advised.

  ‘Can’t think of anything worse,’ Rosie managed to mutter. ‘I hate tea or anything sweetened at the best of times.’

  Drew’s home was basically a chalet that had been rendered over and added to, in the uniquely Cornish style. Thus, an inexpensive holiday home was converted into a permanent dwelling. It was cosy. and surprisingly tidy for a single man living alone.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on and make some coffee. There might even be a bottle of brandy lurking in a cupboard somewhere.’

  ‘Not sure I can cope with any more alcohol. But, coffee would be great. Don’t know why I’m shaking so much. It’s lovely and warm in here.’

  ‘Shock. For some reason, there’s someone around here who doesn’t want you to go ahead with rebuilding Old Cullion Farmhouse.’

  ‘Is that what it’s called? Old Cullion Farmhouse?’

  ‘Dunno if it’s official. Everyone round here calls it that.’

  ‘So why would anyone object? It’s derelict and the owners are long gone. It’s a lovely spot and there’s nobody near enough to have their view spoilt. No neighbours to speak of, except the old farm next door.’

  ‘Danter’s place, you mean? They’re not exactly farmers, either. It was just a smallholding, years ago. They keep a few bullocks and sheep. I think they’ve got some hens too. Strange couple. Keep themselves to themselves. He’s quite a bit older than her.’

  ‘Do they have family?’

  ‘No. I think she just turned up about twenty-odd years ago. His mother had died and she moved in to look after him. Don’t think they ever bothered to get married. I was only a kid at the time and just remember the gossip. They sold off some land and the little estate down there was built. Gave them enough to keep them comfortable the rest of their lives, so rumour has it.’

  ‘What do you know about this farm – my farm?’

  ‘Not much. I think you might find some stuff in the library. Cornish Studies in Redruth has loads of old documents.’

  Drew yawned.

  ‘I dunno about you, but I need some kip. I’ll get you some blankets and get you settled. Busy day ahead, tomorrow– at least for you.

  She watched as he busied himself opening cupboards and pulling out blankets. He was a similar age to her and, she realised, very nice looking. His hair was almost black and curled appealingly round his collar. He eyes were brown; a monkey-brown that seemed to draw people in. He was tall and slim and had acquired quite a tan, presumably from working in the open. Best of all, he seemed very kind and thoughtful.

  At last he was done and invited her to come and settle down in the tiny back room that was almost filled with the bed. She peeled off her outer garments and settled down under clean sheets. She felt exhausted, as if she could sleep for a week.

  But it was not to be. When sleep finally came to Rosie, it brought troubled dreams. She awoke unrefreshed, her mind in turmoil. Who could resent her presence so much that they would burn her home, even if was only a caravan? Was it a deliberate attempt to stop her working on the old farmhouse, or simply opportunist vandals? Her mind raced on to the other mysteries in her life. Why had her parents never told her the truth about her adoption? Should she look for her birth parents, and where would she start? Well, whatever lay behind the arson, she was not going to be stopped from pursuing her intentions. Once the police had taken her statement and she had reported the loss of all her bank cards, she intended to replace the caravan and begin again.. Like the legendary phoenix, her life and her project would rise from the ashes.

  Chapter 2

  Rosemary awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and bacon. Despite tossing around for so long, she must have fallen into a deep sleep and hadn’t even heard Drew get up She sat up and looked around, then slid out of bed, grabbing a blanket..

  ‘That smells good,’ she remarked as she went through to his tiny kitchen. She pulled the blanket around her, shivering as the impact of the previous night dawned afresh. She had to face police and fire investigators, not to mention calling credit card companies and her bank. At least she still had her mobile phone, her car and a bit of cash.

  ‘Come on then. Sit yourself down and tuck in. You’re going to need your strength today. I’ll have to give you a key and leave you to make yourself at home. I have to go to a job today, unfortunately. I suppose I could phone them and …’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You need to work. You’ve been kind enough as it is. More than I could have hoped for, considering I’m a virtual stranger.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure you’ll be all right. Once I’ve finished this job, I should be able to help you a bit. I’ve got more work lined up for later on but there’s nothing urgent.’

  ‘That’s great, but if you do, it’s going to be on a proper basis. You know, a proper wage and work schedule. I’ll need a builder for the project and you could give me an estimate anyway.’

  She couldn’t work any other way, even if Drew did become a close friend, which she rather hoped he would.

  ‘So you’re still going ahead are you? Not put off by the fire?’

  ‘I’m even more determined. Nobody’s going to frighten me away. I just need to organis
e another caravan.’

  ‘Hopefully, your insurance will pay? I’m assuming you were properly insured.’

  ‘Maybe. I’m not entirely sure if they’ll pay for the loss. But I need somewhere to live and urgently. Once I’ve made a few phone calls, I’ll get myself sorted.’

  ‘You’re more than welcome to stay here. I can clear some stuff out and you can carry on using the back room. It’s little more than a cupboard, I suppose, but at least it holds a bed.’

  ‘Thanks but I need to organise something permanent as soon as possible. You’ve been very good to me and I couldn’t impose on you. This food is wonderful, by the way. Nothing like a fry-up is there?’

  ‘Essential in my book. Not that I have time, most days. Talking of which, I must be off. I expect the police and everyone will want to interview you. Sorry I can’t be here for moral support but if you’re sure you’ll be all right, I’ll push off.’

  ‘Thanks so much, Drew. You’ve been really great.’

  She got up and kissed his cheek. He blushed and she gave a grin. He handed her a key and she pushed it into her pocket.

  ‘Help yourself to anything you need. Shower and food and so on. There’s a clean towel for you in the bathroom. Can’t offer a toothbrush I’m afraid, so you’ll have to go and buy one in the village. Must go. Bye now.’

  Rosie sat and stared into her empty cup for several minutes. She wondered where she should start. There were so many things to be done. She shivered. Again, she wondered who could hate her so much that they would set fire to her home. Was it just her, or what she was planning? Whatever it was, she now had to begin again. At least she could remember most of the information about the building and, though she had lost her computer, she could get it all back in time.