Nyctophobia by Christopher Fowler

Author:Christopher Fowler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Rebellion Publishing Ltd

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Enemy

TWO DAYS LATER, just before Mateo was going to London, I got another shock when my mother turned up virtually unannounced.

‘I’m in Malaga visiting a friend of Sandy’s about a new line of accessories,’ she explained on the phone. ‘I can be there in a couple of hours. I rented a car from Sixt, it’s a ridiculous little thing – why do Spaniards all have to be so short? – and I have to go almost right past your front door, apparently.’

I found it hard to imagine that Anne had even the vaguest idea of where we lived, but no doubt her rental was equipped with GPS. I knew that my mother would have a host of reasons that would prevent her from staying the night, but I offered anyway. ‘God no, darling, but bless you. I have to dash back, but I’ll stay for a spot of lunch. Can you manage that? Don’t go to any trouble, a bit of salad will be fine. Is Mateo with you?’

‘He’s going to be at a winery until about five,’ I said. ‘But if you stay you’ll see him, and Bobbie’s here.’

‘Oh dear, I suppose it’s always just the two of you during the day. Isn’t that lonely?’

‘Not really, there’s her tutor and the housekeeper, and the gardener.’

‘Heavens, quite the lady of the house. How times have changed. Are you managing? Not too much for you? Don’t tell me now, save all the news for when I see you. Won’t be long, ciao.’

I could feel myself becoming annoyed already. Anne knew which buttons to push and worked them mercilessly. You can afford to be gracious, I told myself, she’s lonely and bitter and won’t stay for more than a few hours. You can survive her for that long. But I called Mateo at the vineyard to warn him that she might still be here when he returned.

I spoke to Rosita and we hatched a plan for a summer salad with ham and chicken, the sort of bland non-Spanish food Anne secretly favoured, although Rosita insisted on adding padron peppers. The house was flower-bedecked and looked beautiful. My mother turned up just after noon in a canary-coloured Seat. She was dressed in a lacy, impractical white frock designed for someone considerably younger.

‘What a strange-looking house!’ she said, coming in and kissing the air in front of me. ‘With the cliff right at the back like that, and the funny little glass turret in the centre. But the planting’s lovely. I’d have thought it would all dry out around here. It must take an awful lot of upkeep.’

I took her on a truncated tour of the house, carefully avoiding the locked servants’ quarters, lingering instead on the furniture and paintings. I could tell she was pricing everything up as she walked about. I wanted Anne to be pleased for me, but knew that she was too selfish for that.

‘I hardly passed a single other car on the road,’ she said, feigning a fit of exhaustion.

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