Calling of the Grave by Simon Beckett

Author:Simon Beckett
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780553825596
Published: 2011-04-14T23:00:00+00:00

We shared the cooking that night. Dinner was grilled lamb chops from the freezer with minted potatoes and frozen peas. Not haute cuisine, perhaps, but it was simple and satisfying. Sophie produced a bottle of wine, and gave it me to open while she defrosted the chops.

'Padbury doesn't have much of a wine merchant's,' she apologized, pouring two glasses.

'It'll be fine,' I said. And it was. The alcohol took the edge off any remaining awkwardness, and I didn't argue when Sophie suggested leaving the dishes till morning. Taking what was left of the wine with us, we went into the sitting room. I put more logs in the stove and built up the fire using kindling and old newspaper from the wicker basket. You're getting good at this.

Soon bright flames were dancing behind the smoky glass panel, driving the chill from the room. Sophie and I sat at either end of the sofa. We didn't talk, but the silence was comfortable. I took another drink of wine and stole a look at her. She was drowsing, legs curled up on the sofa, head fallen back to expose the slender line of her throat. Her face was peaceful and relaxed, the firelight softening the bruising so it could almost have been shadow. The intervening years had been good to her, I decided. She wasn't conventionally beautiful, but the strong features would still turn heads. They would still look good in another eight years' time. Or eighteen.

She was breathing with the slow, steady rhythm of deep sleep, the almost empty wine glass still held loosely in her fingers. It had fallen slightly to rest lightly between her breasts. I was loath to disturb her but it was starting to slip, each breath dislodging it a little more.

'Sophie . . .' I said gently. There was no response. 'Sophie?'

She came awake gradually, eyes staring at me blankly before blinking as awareness returned. 'Sorry,' she apologized, sitting up. 'Please tell me I've not been drooling.'

'Only a little.'

She smiled and swatted at me. 'Pig.'

'Why don't you go to bed?'

'Not much of a host, am I?' she said, but she didn't argue. She stood up and put her hand on my shoulder as she swayed unsteadily. 'Whoa . . .'

'Take it easy,' I said, getting up to support her. 'Are you OK?'

'Just tired, I think. Must have stood up too quickly.'

She was still holding on to me. I had my hands on her waist, standing close enough to feel the warmth coming from her. Neither of us moved. Sophie's eyes were big and dark as she leaned into me. A smile curved her face.

'Well. . .' she said, and something hit the window with a bang.

We jumped apart. I rushed to the heavy curtains and yanked them open, half expecting to see Monk's nightmare face glaring back at me. But the window was unbroken and empty. All I could see beyond it was an amorphous sheet of white fog.

'What was it?' Sophie asked, standing close behind me.

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