Page 105 of Savage Redemption

“I know. I’m here to see Rosie.”If you ever get out of my way!

He nods, cocks his head to the side, and regards me critically. “So, you’re some sort of Mafia type, so I’m told.” His features break in a broad grin. “Young Rosie knows how to pick ’em. Still, makes a change from the usual crop of boring accountants and software engineers. Mind, I’m the only one with a licence to tote a gun in these parts.” He straightens. “Ah, well, best be getting on, then.” He raises his hand in a semblance of a salute,then strolls back in the direction of his bike, leaving me staring speechless after him.

Did that fucking peasant just take the piss out of me?

“And don’t you be worrying overmuch about Nathan,” he calls back over his shoulder. “He’s a mardy old sod at the best of times, but he’ll come around. Eva’ll see to that. Meanwhile, try not to shoot him, he’s a mate of mine. I’ll see you soon, I daresay. My place is Greystones, a mile or so that way.” He waves an arm generally to his right. “Get Rosie to bring you over.”

He hops on in front of his dog and throws the bike into reverse, only to suddenly execute a sharp left turn and disappear into the hedgerow.

I inch forward, half expecting to find him, his dog, and his bike crumpled in a ditch. I groan at the prospect, but I suppose I’ll have to do what I can to extricate him. Instead, I find him grinning at me from a concealed gate.

Bemused, I lift my hand in a wave and drive on, leaving Worzel Gummidge to get on with whatever business calls today.

A couple of minutes later, the huge wrought-iron gates loom in front of me, marking the very end of the lane, conveniently open and sporting an ornate sign proclaiming this to be the place. Black Combe. I drive through, my wheels crunching on gravel, and follow the gently winding drive. I round a sweeping bend, and the house comes into view.

Yet again, I stop and stare.

Constructed of Yorkshire stone, the dwelling looks to be several cottages and farm buildings combined into one, with half a dozen or so outhouses arranged around a wide gravelled forecourt. I suspect I see the hand of the renowned architect, Nathan Darke, in the inspired design. Traditional rural construction meets twenty-first century conceptual style.

The outer stonework has been retained, the mellow sandstone offset by pristine white windows and door. Much usehas been made of glass, the generously proportioned French windows offering views of the forecourt and lawn. An extension made entirely of glass graces one end of the home, and closer inspection suggests it houses an office. Maybe Nathan actually works from here, or more probably his learned wife.

The front gardens are dominated by the expanse of gravel, but with neatly tailored lawned borders and an ornamental fountain.

I drive slowly up to the entrance and park between a chic bright-red MG sports car and a classy Mini complete with private number plate. EVA 1. Sort of says it all. The MG must be Rosie’s. I’m no sooner out of the car when the front door bursts open and the lady herself hurtles towards me.

“You’re here,” she squeals. “I didn’t expect you for hours yet. When Tom phoned and told me you were on your way up the lane, I thought he must have got it wrong.”

Ah, the welcoming committee.I open my arms in time to catch her when she hurls herself against my chest.

“Are you okay? Truly?” She steps back to look me up and down. “I was so worried, after last time…”

“I’m fine. It all went to plan.”Well, almost.

“What happened? Why did it take so long? I expected you back last week.”

“I told you everything was all right.” I’ve phoned her every day, in fact, and told her the same thing over and over.

Mission accomplished, all safe and well. Home soon, but some details to tie up first.

She plants a kiss on my mouth, then grabs my hand and tugs me towards the front door. “Erin just woke up,” she tells me. “She’ll be excited to see her daddy.”

I suspect, after such a short acquaintance and an absence of over two weeks, she may not even remember me, but I can hope.

Eva appears in the open doorway as we approach, baby Erin perched on her hip. A bright smile lights up my daughter’s face when she sees us, but I hedge my bets by assuming it’s for her mother, not me.

“Look who’s here, sweetheart. Daddy’s back.”

The toothy grin widens. She babbles something that I suppose could be generously interpreted as ‘dada’.

“See. She knows you. We’ve been practicing saying ‘Daddy’.”

“We certainly have,” Eva confirms. “Nice to see you again, Adan. Welcome to Black Combe.” She flashes me a warm smile. “Come in. You must be exhausted after that drive.”

She leads the way indoors, along a spacious hallway and into an elegant but homely lounge. There, she passes Erin to Rosie. “I have some work to finish. I’ll be in my office if you need me but I don’t suppose you will. You’ll all want to get reacquainted, I don’t doubt. Shall I ask Glenda to rustle up some tea? Or coffee?”

“Yes, please. Tea for me,” Rosie replies. “Adan?”

“Oh, coffee.”Glenda?I don’t ask.

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