by Peter James
‘The kitchen is stunning, too,’ she said.
‘Quite stunning!’ Paul Jordan echoed. His eyes darted to the doorway, to the figure of a man and a woman standing, watching them, then back to his clients.
‘Oh, look!’ she exclaimed, peering down. ‘Primroses are out on the front lawn! I hadn’t even noticed them! See them, Kevin?’
‘Well, it is Primrose Day today,’ Jordan said. ‘April nineteenth. Such a wonderful time of year this, everything coming up in the gardens and in the countryside. The perfect time to be moving into a new home, I always think.’
‘The lake is awesome – what a beautiful view.’ Her husband was peering out. ‘Ducks, coots, moorhens. Mallards, and what are those with the long necks?’
‘Indian-runner ducks,’ Jordan replied, again glancing at the doorway. The figures were still there.
‘So,’ Kevin Middle said, checking the compass app on his phone. ‘This way is facing north, right?’
‘Yes, indeed, Mr Middle, and the hill beyond the lake forms part of the South Downs National Park, so it can never be built on.’
‘Unlike the other directions?’
The views through the other windows were across rows of modern houses.
‘The estate is complete,’ Paul Jordan said, ‘So there won’t be any more building. I can genuinely say this is the best-designed modern development I’ve ever had the privilege of working on. I don’t think there’s a single house here that is unsympathetic to the location. The architect, in my humble opinion, is little short of a genius. This particular house is inspired, of course, on a smaller scale, by the original mansion that stood here. Cold Hill House. You’ll find an interesting history if you look online.’
The couple looked at each other, smiling. ‘What do you think, Sarah?’ her husband said.
‘Darling, you know what this room feels like to me?’ Sarah Middle said. ‘An artist’s studio! This would be such a wonderful room to paint in. The light in here is just amazing.’
‘You’re an artist, Mrs Middle?’ Paul Jordan asked.
‘My wife is very talented,’ her husband said, proudly.
‘Cold Hill village has a new gallery that specializes in showing the work of local Sussex artists,’ the estate agent said. ‘I’m sure they would be most interested in your work.’
Blushing, Sarah Middle replied, ‘I don’t know if I’d be good enough to have an exhibition. I’m a rank amateur, self-taught. I’m what professional artists call a Sunday painter. I do watercolours – I specialize in flowers. I love it but I’m not sure I’m really any good.’
Her husband put his arm around her. ‘Sarah, darling, don’t put yourself down, you’re very talented.’
She blushed. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, Mrs Middle, it’s very odd you should say that, about this room being a studio.’ Jordan hesitated. The figures were back in the doorway, watching him. ‘No, sorry, forget I said it.’
‘Odd?’ Kevin Middle quizzed. ‘What do you mean by that?’ He suddenly sounded like the lawyer he was.
The agent looked flustered. ‘Well really, I shouldn’t have – er – said anything.’
Even more the lawyer now, Kevin said, sternly, ‘Mr Jordan, you are trying to sell us this property – I don’t think you should be concealing anything from my wife and me.’
‘No – honestly – it’s not any nasty secret or anything of that nature. It’s just a little bit of history.’
‘History?’ his wife asked.
‘Yes – you see, the extraordinary thing is that this room actually was an artist’s studio! Quite a famous artist, in fact. He and his wife actually lived here, albeit briefly. What attracted them most of all was this room, which he made into his studio.’
‘Why did they move?’ she asked.
‘Well – they didn’t actually move.’ Suddenly, Jordan began stepping from foot to foot and didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. ‘It was the freakiest of coincidences – one you simply could not make up – and frankly wouldn’t want to. Shortly after they moved into this property, there was a terrible tragedy. A completely freak accident with the people who lived across the road.’ He pointed through the window, his discomfort becoming more and more intense and urgent. His face looked hot and clammy. ‘Shortly after the couple moved in here –’ he hesitated – ‘do you really want to hear this?’
‘Yes,’ Kevin Middle said, and his wife nodded in agreement. ‘We do.’
Jordan continued. ‘The Penze-Weedells, across the way, had one of these new electric cars, with all the automatic features such as self-park and autonomous driving. It went wrong one afternoon, shot out of the drive and hit a van owned by the couple who had only recently bought this house, head on. The husband was killed outright. His wife remained in what I think they call a persistent vegetative state for some time, before passing away, too.’
‘I think I read about this,’ Sarah Middle said. ‘It rings a bell.’
‘Of course!’ her husband said. ‘Jason Danes, right?’
Jordan nodded, glancing again, uneasily, at the figures in the doorway. ‘Yes. I imagine one day there will be a blue plaque outside.’
‘They lived here?’ Kevin Middle said. ‘What an amazing coincidence!’
‘It is,’ Jordan agreed. ‘Truly horrendous. Less than a couple of weeks after moving in.’
‘Oh no,’ Middle said. ‘I didn’t mean about the accident.’ He smiled. ‘You see, my wife and I are big Jason Danes fans. In fact, we were among his earliest patrons, we like to think.’
‘We went to his very first private viewing,’ Sarah Middle chipped in.
‘We did!’ her husband confirmed. ‘There was something about his work that reminded us of an artist whose prices were way beyond us – Lowry.’
‘We have over a dozen of Jason Danes’s works,’ his wife said, proudly. ‘He lived here? I can’t believe it.’
‘It would be so very fitting to hang them here,’ her husband said.
‘Of course,’ Jordan said. ‘Oh yes, of course, absolutely. What a tribute!’
‘Such a tragedy that Danes will never know our passion for his work,’ Sarah Middle said.
‘If he’d lived, he’d be up there, one day, among the greats, no question,’ her husband added.
Paul Jordan glanced again at the doorway. At the two figures who were still standing there. Watching them.
He smiled back at his clients, who were both in their late thirties. ‘Indeed. For sure. Oh, absolutely.’
And he knew for sure, absolutely, that one day soon they would both be meeting Jason Danes.
Acknowledgments
Writing novels may seem to outsiders to be a solitary task, and much of it really is. But my books would never happen without the hard work of many great people I’m blessed to have around me, and those I turn to for research help, who are invariably immensely generous with their time and in sharing their knowledge, in my quest to make my novels, although fiction, feel as authentic as possible.
Thank you in particular for research help on this book to Tom Homewood; Chief Superintendent Lisa Bell, Divisional Commander of Brighton and Hove Police; Michelle Brooker and all the staff at Lewes Library; David Graham; Canon Simon Holland; Jan van Niekerk; The Reverends Ish and Irene Smale; and Bishop Dominic Walker, OGS.
A massive thank you to Susan Ansell, Graham Bartlett, Dani Brown, Martin and Jane Diplock, Chris Diplock, Anna-Lisa Hancock, James Hodge, Sarah Middle, Helen Shenston, Mark Tuckwell and Chris Webb. To my agent, Isobel Dixon, and all at Blake Friedmann and to everyone at my UK publishers, Pan Macmillan – including Sarah Arratoon, Jonathan Atkins, Anna Bond, Wayne Brookes, Stuart Dwyer, Claire Evans, Daniel Jenkins, Neil Lang, Sara Lloyd, Louise Patel, Alex Saunders, Jade Tolley, Jeremy Trevathan, Charlotte Williams, Natalie Young, my copy-editor Susan Opie and my wonderful publicists at Riot, Preena Gadher, Caitlin Allen and Emily Souders. And an extremely special mention to Geoff Duffield, who believed in me from t
he very beginning.
I need to single out a few people above all others – my good friend, David Gaylor, my tireless assistant, Linda Buckley, my wife Lara, who has brilliant insights into characters and is my total rock. And of course lastly (although I’m sure they know, really, they come first!) our dogs, Oscar, Spooky and Wally and all the other furry and feathered creatures in our ever-expanding menagerie.
As ever, thank you, my wonderful readers! I always love to hear from you – your letters, emails, blog posts, tweets, facebook, Instagram and YouTube comments give me such constant encouragement.
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The Secret of Cold Hill
Peter James is a UK number one bestselling author, best known for writing crime and thriller novels, and the creator of the much-loved Detective Superintendent Roy Grace. Globally, his books have been translated into thirty-seven languages.
Synonymous with plot-twisting page-turners, Peter has garnered an army of loyal fans throughout his storytelling career – which has also included stints writing for TV and producing films. He has won over forty awards for his work, including the WHSmith Best Crime Author of All Time Award, Crime Writers’ Association Diamond Dagger and a BAFTA nomination for The Merchant of Venice starring Al Pacino and Jeremy Irons, for which he was an Executive Producer. Many of Peter’s novels have been adapted for film, TV and stage.
By Peter James
The Detective Superintendent Roy Grace Series
DEAD SIMPLE LOOKING GOOD DEAD
NOT DEAD ENOUGH DEAD MAN’S FOOTSTEPS
DEAD TOMORROW DEAD LIKE YOU DEAD MAN’S GRIP
NOT DEAD YET DEAD MAN’S TIME
WANT YOU DEAD YOU ARE DEAD LOVE YOU DEAD
NEED YOU DEAD DEAD IF YOU DON’T
DEAD AT FIRST SIGHT
Other Novels
DEAD LETTER DROP ATOM BOMB ANGEL BILLIONAIRE
POSSESSION DREAMER SWEET HEART TWILIGHT
PROPHECY ALCHEMIST HOST THE TRUTH
DENIAL FAITH PERFECT PEOPLE
THE HOUSE ON COLD HILL ABSOLUTE PROOF
THE SECRET OF COLD HILL
Short Stories Collection
A TWIST OF THE KNIFE
Children’s Novel
GETTING WIRED!
Novella
THE PERFECT MURDER
Non-Fiction
DEATH COMES KNOCKING: POLICING ROY GRACE’S
BRIGHTON (with Graham Bartlett)
First published 2019 by Macmillan
This electronic edition first published 2019 by Macmillan
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5098-1626-2
Copyright © Really Scary Books/Peter James, 2019
Jacket images © Shutterstock, Design by Neil Lang, Pan Macmillan Art Department
Roy Grace®, Grace®, DS Grace®, DI Grace® and Detective Superintendent Grace® are registered trademarks of Really Scary Books Limited.
The right of Peter James to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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