‘Lucky to get moved today, if you ask me,’ the housekeeper ventured.
‘But I did not ask you, Mrs Lewis,’ snapped Gallman. ‘Was there something else?’
‘Do you need me any longer?’
‘Why, do you have something else to do?’
‘Well, yes. I need to get home to start cooking ready for tomorrow. I’ve a lot of family coming round for dinner. There’s lots to do.’
‘Then you’d better go.’
‘Will you be all right on your own?’
Gallman’s scowl deepened still further. ‘Why should I not be?’
Mrs Lewis shivered. ‘Something about this place. Everything’s not as it should be.’
‘Nonsense. Go on, off to your family!’
‘Do you have family coming to you this Christmas, Mr Gallman?’
‘No I do not. The less I see of what’s left of my family the better.’
‘So, you’ll be all alone tomorrow?’
‘What of it?’
She had not known Gallman long, just a few days. At the beginning of the month his agent had hired her, and she had met him the following week, finding him bad-tempered and irritable. But the agent had persuaded her that the position would suit both of them, and she had started to get the house ready almost immediately. Six bedrooms, two reception rooms, an enormous library chock full of leather-bound books, half an acre of land now totally obscured by snow. A dream house, really. Not ten miles from the North Norfolk coast, with exceptional views, a nearest neighbour more than a mile away, it was old but serviceable. She shrugged her shoulders. Had he been more amenable to making conversation, had he been more – polite – she might have been tempted to invite him along, to partake of her Christmas dinner. And he could have stayed over until Boxing Day.
‘I’ll leave you my telephone number in case you need me over the holiday.’
‘Don’t bother! Just go on and leave me alone! I’ve plenty to keep me occupied.’
‘There’s a cooked chicken in the fridge. The potatoes are done, they’re in a saucepan on the range. Everything’s ready for you. I’ve even done the gravy.’ She pressed a scrap of paper into his hand.
‘I’m sure I’m most grateful to you, Mrs Lewis. Now, if you’ll do me the courtesy of getting off to your own home, I’ll be forever in your debt. All I want is to be left alone. Good day to you!’
Again Mrs Lewis shrugged, turned on her heels and left the room. Minutes later she had donned her hat, a stylish purple velvet affair, and a heavy overcoat and boots, and was preparing to walk the length of the drive to where he had said she might park her car.
At the front door, Gallman called her back. ‘You said “everything’s not as it should be”. What did you mean by that?’
‘I don’t know what I meant. Just – there’s an atmosphere. As though the house were already occupied.’
Gallman shut the door with a slam! Now it was quite dark. Time to put on a light here and there. Not too many, though. He was careful with his money. That was why he was a millionaire and why Mrs Lewis parked her car a hundred yards away and cooked his Christmas dinner for him. She was a servant, and he was a master.
Gallman watched the sky turn completely black, and put on a low-voltage light in the library. At last he was alone. At last he had managed to escape from the horrors of the town house, the house in which he had murdered his business partner, disposing of the body in a remote stretch of river where it would be discharged into the north sea. It had been surprisingly easy, all things considered. He had told all his associates that the partner had gone overseas to be with his family for the Christmas period. No one would miss him until well into the new year, for only Gallman knew that all his partner’s family were dead, just as most of his own were. All the partner’s money was now his, effectively. As soon as the partner was declared missing, Gallman would produce a suicide note written in the partner’s own hand, and that would be that. So easy.
Except that he had found it very difficult to remain in the town house while the murder business ran its course. Noises in the night, groaning and moaning, bloodstains on the sheets when he had the housekeeper change the bed, missing property, all fully explained by other, more mundane things, but Gallman was convinced that the house was haunted. The partner, you see, he would tell himself. The partner has not yet departed this world and intends making things uncomfortable for me. And within just a few days of murdering the man, Gallman made his mind up to move to the country. Within a month of making that decision, the contracts were exchanged and a date set for moving. Christmas Eve. Fait accomplis. No more noises, no more bloodstains, no more missing property. Just a few more weeks, and Gallman’s millions would be doubled, and the partner would be history. Ancient history.
He settled back in a big leather armchair and smiled for the first time in a month. His eyes closed briefly, then fluttered open as quickly. The big clock on the mantelpiece said 3:30. A roaring fire, lit by Mrs Lewis on his instructions, warmed the library and brought low, atmospheric illumination to the room. But within a minute or so, he was asleep.
‘Murderer!’ a voice whispered in his ear. Then, louder. MURDERER! He started awake, aware of the chill in the room. The fire was a smouldering pile of dying embers. No warmth to it now, just an eery glow. Gallman frowned. This could not be happening. It must have been a dream. He nodded slowly, as though confirming it in his own mind. A dream. A nightmare. He switched on the lamp that stood on the coffee table beside him. Not much use. Looked like a 10 watt bulb. He stood up, uncertainly, and that was when he saw the figure standing in the doorway. The partner.
‘No,’ Gallman uttered, his voice hoarse with terror. ‘I came her to get away from you. Ghosts don’t move house. They don’t exchange contracts and hire removal men. They don’t engage the services of housekeepers. Ghosts don’t do that. You’re not here.’
‘You don’t believe in ghosts, Gallman,’ the partner said, with a low chuckle. He started forward, towards Gallman. Slowly, shuffling steps. Whispering steps.
‘I killed you for your money. You have no family. No one will miss you. Why do you haunt me?’
‘I didn’t move here because you moved here, Gallman. I moved here because I’m inside your head. You can’t move away and expect to be rid of me. I’m here, always, in your head. You won’t be able to go anywhere without me.’
Gallman groaned. A cold hand of terror clutched his heart and twisted it, savagely, causing a pain like a shard of splintered glass driven deep into his flesh. He could live with a ghost. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was not being rid of him. Never being rid of him. Not ever. That knowledge caused him the most distress. He wasn’t afraid of ghosts. What could they do to him? They were just apparitions. They were – ghostly. But there was no substance to them. They didn’t wield axes or swords. They didn’t harm people. But something living in his head – no, he couldn’t deal with that. All of their combined millions wouldn’t compensate for that. The knowledge that everywhere he went, the partner would go with him. It was that which terrified him.
He staggered to the front door and threw it open. Fresh snow was driving downwards. The footprints made by Mrs Lewis were covered over. No moonlight, no streetlights. He reached for the phone in the hallway, retrieved the scrap of paper from his pocket and dialled Mrs Lewis’s number. If she would only agree to come back this evening, he and she could pass the time in each other’s company and the partner would not bother them. He was sure of it. Only conversation with another human being would obscure the voice of the partner in his head. If he could shut it out for tonight, tomorrow was another day. Maybe he could even persuade Mrs Lewis to invite him to her house to take dinner with her and her family. Maybe.
There was no reply. He hung up the phone and turned to shut the front door. As it slammed noisily shut, he became aware that Mrs Lewis was still there. She emerged from the kitchen, still wearing her apron, the one she had taken off when she changed into her outdoor clothes.
‘Still here!’ he said hoarsely.
‘Never went,’ she said, grinning.
‘I saw you walk down the drive.’
‘Thought you were watching. I doubled back. I thought you might be lonely, here on your own alone in this great big house.’
It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he wasn’t on his own. But he resisted. Said nothing. Mrs Lewis followed him into the library. The partner was still there, in the leather chair, smiling.
‘Not on his own any more,’ the partner said. Gallman turned round to see if Mrs Lewis reacted to the partner’s voice. The blood drained from his brain, from his heart, from his legs. He actually toppled forwards, caught himself on the arm of the nearest chair. A meat cleaver was lodged in the housekeeper’s forehead. A rivulet of dried blood covered her face, her neck, her pinafore. She was pale and lifeless. Beyond her, illuminated by the paltry ten-watt bulb, lay a trail of crimson footprints tracing her journey from the kitchen to the hallway and into the library. A mess of oatmeal-coloured matter the consistency of porridge poured from the wound in the top of her head, mixed with matted, blood-soaked hair and congealed.
‘He has no recollection,’ the partner said. ‘It was like that the day he killed me. Had no recollection of the actual killing until the following day, when he disposed of my body. He’s an evil bastard, that one. I wanted to warn you about him.’
‘Too late now.’
‘Lock all the doors and dispose of the keys. He’s weak already. It won’t take long to finish him off.’
‘Between us,’ Mrs Lewis agreed.
‘There’s no food, is there?’
‘No. I lied about the food. There’s nothing in the house.’
‘We can keep him here indefinitely, then.’
‘Probably no need.’
‘No need indeed. We’ll just keep him company. What he dreads most of all. Will you be missed at all?’
‘I live on my own. I lied about that, too.’
Gallman closed his eyes. Perhaps, if he slept, they would go away.
