Chapter 1

It was a typical small mining town: a row of old, stone houses straggling along either side of the road for over a mile. The houses, larger and further apart at the edges, became a terrace of cottages towards the centre where there was a small square with the obligatory war memorial and horse trough. In the period after the war a small estate had been built on the hill behind the main street, the flimsy red brick and tile contrasting unfavourably with the solid grey stone and slate of the original buildings.

At one time this had been a busy and bustling little town, if not particularly affluent - mining did not pay well. But the mine had closed some years ago and now it languished - just another anonymous little town of lost hopes and faded dreams. A place to pass through on the way to somewhere else. I had passed through it, and many others like it, many times in the past.

Today, however, was different. Today I stopped. Not because I was suddenly taken with a desire to investigate its shabby streets or anonymous history but because, as I approached the central square, my car died on me. Just like that. One moment I was humming along, thinking about nothing in particular, and the next - nothing.

I managed to coast almost to the square then climbed out, muttering curses, and pushed it the rest of the way off the main road. I manoeuvred it next to another car and straightened up, groaning. Having a large car was good but they were damned heavy to push. I mopped my sweating brow and wiped my hands as well as I could on some paper handkerchiefs.

My antics were watched with stolid indifference by an older man in a faded tweed jacket and flat cap who was perched on one of the bollards that lined the square puffing on a pipe.

"Bloody cars," I said to no one in particular.

The old man continued to watch me indifferently.

"Is there a garage here?" I asked him.

He took the pipe from his mouth and looked at it as if he'd never seen it before. "Aye, he said at last. "McCowall's." He waved his pipe at one of the side-streets that led off the square. I locked the car and started in the direction indicated. "He'll no be open." I stopped and looked him enquiringly. "Saturday," he announced as if that was enough of an explanation.

"Saturday?"

"Aye. He shuts Saturday afternoons."

"When does he open again?"

Again there was a long moment of silent contemplation. "Monday."

I was aghast. "Monday? You mean I'm stuck here till Monday?"

He gave a mirthless grin. "Unless you can get yon car going yourself."

I smiled ruefully. "Monday it is, then. Is there a hotel? Somewhere I can stay?"

The pause this time was considerable and accompanied by large clouds of smoke. "Aye. Two. The Lochview Hotel and the Kings Arms."

"How far?" I was falling into his terse style of speech.

"The hotel? About two miles up the road. The pub... over there." He pointed at a small street across the main road.

I grinned. "I guess it's the pub, then."

He smiled back, this time with something like genuine warmth, as if, somehow, I had made the right decision. "It's no much, mind."

I shrugged. "It's somewhere to stay."

He straightened and tapped his pipe against the bollard to empty it. "Right," he said, stuffing the pipe into his jacket pocket and walking off up the street.

I looked at his retreating back. 'How odd, ' I thought. Then I gave a mental shrug and hauled my bag from the car. This was really most inconvenient. I was supposed to be at my destination tonight and due to meet up with some people tomorrow. Now it would be Monday night at the earliest - assuming McCowall could find the problem and fix it quickly. I would have to make some phone calls and contemplate my options.

I found the Kings Head - an unimposing two-storey building which looked like it had originally been a private house. There was only one bar. I blinked as I entered. It was dark inside, partly because the windows were house sized rather than pub sized and partly because it had dark wood panelling around the walls and a dark wooden floor. Two old men were playing dominoes in one corner. They looked up briefly as I entered then continued with their game. A woman emerged from the back.

"Do you have a room to let?" I enquired. She regarded me suspiciously. "My car's broken down and I understand McCowall's won't be open till Monday."

"Oh, aye. Yes, we've rooms," she said, thawing somewhat. "Two nights is it?"

I grinned. "If my car can be fixed on Monday."

She grinned back and I realised she was a remarkably handsome woman. "Oh, Jack's a fine mechanic. Don't you worry."

She came out from behind the bar. She had a fine, trim figure - full breasted and narrow waisted. She noticed my attention and cocked an eyebrow. I blushed like a schoolboy being caught staring down his teacher's cleavage. With a grin she led me along a passageway and into a slightly more modern annex. I suspected she deliberately added an extra wiggle to her walk for the view from the rear was superb.

"Here we are," she announced, opening a door and ushering me in. "It's not much, I'm afraid."

The room was definitely not Holiday Inn. The furniture was old and mis-matched but it was clean and bright and spacious and it had a certain quaint character. I'd seen worse in so-called three star hotels.

"It'll do just fine," I assured her.

"Good. Bathroom's just down the hall. Is that all your luggage?"

"There's some more in the car."

"Best bring it in - just in case."

"I will, thank you. Two questions if I may. Is there a phone I could use and do you serve food?"

She smiled. "I suspect you've got a bit of rearranging to do."

"Just a bit," I said ruefully.

She looked at me carefully. "There's a pay-phone in the bar but, if you come down, I'll let you use the private one."

"Thank you. I'll try and keep it short."

"We don't serve dinner. You could get a meal at the hotel, but I suspect you won't want to walk that far." She regarded me appraisingly for a moment then grinned. Once again I was struck with the thought that she was more than averagely attractive. "We eat in about an hour. You're welcome to join us."

"That's very kind of you. I'll accept with gratitude."

"Fine. In an hour, then. Come straight through. I'll show you the phone."

I hauled the rest of my stuff from the car. I wondered why the landlady had mentioned it. Probably kids and vandalism, I thought. There wouldn't be many jobs now that the pit had closed and youngsters with too much time and not enough money generally meant trouble. With my stuff safely stowed in my room I made my calls. As I was speaking I had the curious sensation of being watched. I glanced round but could see nobody. Nonetheless, I kept them short and anonymous, saying only that I'd broken down and would not be there until late Monday at the earliest. Duty done, I retired to my room to freshen up.

As I was washing I glanced idly out of the window. The room overlooked a small courtyard filled with junk - an old wooden barrel half full of water, a cartwheel, a stack of sacks filled with something or other with numerous planks propped against them, parts of an old, rusty, iron bedstead, and so on. In between were tubs overflowing with plants and flowers. The contrast between the junk and the abundant foliage was disconcerting. It was almost as if they had been placed to disguise the junk. Directly opposite were two windows on the first floor and two on the ground floor. A quick calculation suggested these must be the owner's living quarters. The way the sun was shining, I couldn't make out much but there were suggestions of movement in the lower rooms.

Feeling somewhat refreshed after my wash, I made my way back down for dinner. The bar was empty and the front door closed. I slipped behind the bar and entered the passage with the phone. Uncertain of exactly where to go I called out a 'hello'.

"Through here," a voice called back.

I entered a large, comfortable sitting-cum-dining room, obviously the family's living quarters. At the far end was an old-fashioned kitchen range, unlit. It was encircled by easy chairs and a huge, over-stuffed, brocade sofa. Against one wall was a dining table with a number of mis-matched dining chairs. The table was set for four. A large dresser lined another wall. In between were the usual accessories of modern living; TV, radio and stereo. Lamps, ornaments, knick-knacks, pictures and scatter cushions gave the room the air of a well-used and pleasant family living room.