A Well Kept Secret Read online

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  A Well Kept Secret

  By

  A.B.King

  A WELL KEPT SECRET

  Copyright: A. B. KING

  Published on Kindle: May 2012

  Revised October 2014

  Publisher: The author

  Images: Design incorporates an uncredited royalty free image in the public domain

  Cover Design: By T A K Bridger

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted or circulated without written permission from the author or publisher.

  Also by A B King

  Disaster books

  CATACLYSM

  Genre - Disaster

  When an emerging volcano threatens to destroy Southern England a small group of people fight for survival in a world gone mad.

  Detective/Mystery Books

  A WELL KEPT SECRET

  Genre - Mystery

  Inheriting a large country house complete with a very acid housekeeper thrusts the new owner into an ever deepening mystery that centres on a twenty five year old crime that suddenly places him face to face with death.

  DEATH AT WILLOWS END

  Genre - Detective

  A reluctant private detective and an erratic young woman business executive try to unravel the riddle of her twin sister’s death.

  THE BROMLEY INHERITANCE

  Genre - Mystery

  When her parents die in mysterious circumstances a teenager has no-one to turn to but a stranger when death comes

  THE KISS OF LIFE

  Genre - Mystery

  A mysterious and beautiful young woman appears and vanishes. Is she real, or is she a spirit of someone who needs help. In a desperate race against time only one man can prevent a callous murder.

  THE VALENTINE STRANGLER

  Genre - Mystery

  He was the only one who could save his wife from a serial killer, but the police thought that he was the killer.

  THURSDAY’S CHILD

  Genre - Mystery

  Grant’s father had scarred him for life, and even from beyond the grave he was leading his son into the biggest danger he had ever been required to face.

  THE WISE CHILD

  Genre - Mystery

  Trying to discover her unknown origins brings a young heiress close to madness as the horrors of her past unfold. Only one man can save her, but will he be in time?

  Thrillers

  AN ILL WIND

  Genre - Thriller

  A number of people become trapped in a remote moorland hotel, only to discover that a killer is hiding amongst them, a killer determined that before another day can dawn, death will finally triumph.

  THE WRONG KILLER

  Genre – Suspense Thriller

  Alana’s sister had been brutally murdered, and then when she started to ask questions someone decided that she had to die as well.

  Fantasy books

  MOONSPEAR TO COMETFALL

  Genre - Fantasy

  Projected into a parallel universe as a slave on an unbelievably huge airship, Garnet must conquer a world in order to rescue the one person who means more to him than life itself.

  THE PEOPLE OF THE CRYSTAL

  Genre - Fantasy

  A crystal of unbelievable power becomes separated in time. All the parts must be re-united, and only one man can do this. But he is not the only one who wants it!

  SHANI

  Genre - Fantasy

  Faced with extinction from the results of a global catastrophe and the appearance of an alternative life form, the few remaining humans on Metanya have to rely upon an Earthman who has become marooned on their world.

  Supernatural books

  THE GREY LADY OF HAVENRIDGE

  Genre - Supernatural Mystery

  Inheriting a fortune and a remote Elizabethan house, a highly sceptical young school teacher realises that there is truth to the legend of the family ghost. Death stalks the ancient house, but who will be the final victim?

  THE CRY OF THE BEAST

  Genre - Supernatural Mystery

  A beautiful young woman who vanishes without trace, an unknown killer that stalks the night, it all centres on a man who must find the answer before it is too late.

  Children’s books

  THE SWORD, THE RING AND THE MIRROR

  In 6 volumes

  Genre - Children's Fantasy Adventure

  . A young boy called John is sent on a perilous mission into the Land of the Faerie in order to save the people of Happy Valley, but there is an evil faerie who will stop at nothing to see him fail.

  Synopsis

  When Martin Scanforth, a successful and recently widowed businessman visits an old Victorian mansion left to him by an uncle he has had no contact with since childhood, with view to disposing of the place, he soon discovers that matters are nothing like as clear cut as he imagines. Set in the countryside outside the small country-town of Wellworthy he discovers that there is an aura of mystery surrounding the death of his uncle which unsettles him. The house is being cared for by a frosty-faced sharp tongued housekeeper who was devoted to his uncle, and the mystery seems to envelop her as well. The more he probes in an effort to unravel the mystery of ‘Springwater House’ the more sinister it appears and it becomes clear that death is stalking the pair of them. But who is the killer, and what is the mystery that surrounds the old house?

  Index

  start of ebook

  Also by A B King

  Synopsis

  Chapter One. Saturday.

  Chapter Two. Sunday.

  Chapter Three. Sunday Night to Monday Morning.

  Chapter Four. Monday Lunchtime.

  Chapter Five. Monday Afternoon and Evening.

  Chapter Six. Monday Evening (continued).

  Chapter Seven. Monday Night.

  Chapter Eight. Monday Night to Tuesday Morning.

  Chapter Nine. Tuesday Morning and Afternoon.

  Chapter Ten. Tuesday Evening.

  Chapter Eleven. Tuesday Night.

  Chapter Twelve. Wednesday Morning and Afternoon.

  Chapter Thirteen. Wednesday Afternoon (continued).

  Chapter Fourteen. Wednesday Evening.

  Chapter Fifteen. Wednesday Night.

  Chapter Sixteen. Thursday Morning (early).

  Chapter Seventeen. Thursday Morning, (continued.)

  Chapter Eighteen. Thursday Afternoon.

  Chapter Nineteen. Thursday Evening (early).

  Chapter Twenty. Thursday Evening, (late).

  Chapter Twenty-One. Friday Morning.

  Chapter Twenty-Two. Friday Afternoon.

  Chapter Twenty-Three. Friday Evening.

  Chapter Twenty-four. Friday Night and Saturday Morning.

  Chapter Twenty Five. Saturday Afternoon.

  Chapter Twenty Six. Saturday Evening.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven. Saturday Night.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight. Sunday Morning.

  Epilogue.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR - A. B. KING

  Also by A B King

  Chapter One. Saturday.

  Dr. James Stevenson sat back in his chair, adjusting his glasses in order to take a good long look at the man sitting to one side of the desk in his private consulting room. The doctor, a tall, austere looking man with iron-grey hair and somewhat aquiline features, had known the patient for many years, yet never had he been as concerned about him as he was at this time. He had seen the signs developing for many weeks now and knew that unless something happened to ease matters, there was every chance that the man would suffer a complete nervous breakdown. It was his considered opinion t
hat the crisis point was fast approaching and needed to be dealt with as a matter of urgency. The difficulty as far as he was concerned lay in getting his patient to accept that fact. He put his hands together pensively under his chin as he decided upon the best way to deal with matters.

  “My earnest advice,” he said slowly, carefully observing the patient’s reaction as he spoke, “is that you should take a complete break. I know that I’ve said this to you more than once of late, now I honestly feel it is imperative that you should do so, and soon. Get away from everything for a while, and give yourself a chance to recharge the batteries. Take it from me; working yourself to death is no answer to the situation. If you go on as you have been doing, well, let me put it this way; the chances are that you will make yourself seriously, and I do mean seriously, ill.”

  The man addressed by the doctor made no immediate response as he rose from the chair he had been sitting on. He walked slowly across the room to gaze out of the window. He stood there, just staring out at nothing in particular and not really seeing anything. A tall, dark-haired well built man in his late thirties, with square-ish features, a strong jaw and heavy brows, he looked pretty much what he was, a confident, successful businessman, a person well able to cope with the ups and downs of life; a man who might listen, yet never be told, a man accustomed to making his own decisions in life, and having the nerve to back them up no matter what the risk. Strong, confident, determined, and yet there was also a dead look about his eyes that spoke of a deep inner suffering from which there seemed to be no escape.

  “A holiday,” he murmured without much expression in his voice as he turned to face the doctor after about a minute of sightless staring out of the window. “Frankly, a holiday is probably the last thing I need. No, keeping myself fully occupied during the day, and consoling myself with whiskey of a night is the only way I can cope. I appreciate what you are saying; it won’t work. Can’t you just give me something to help me sleep?”

  “I could,” the doctor agreed. “I could prescribe all sorts of things. Do you really want to go along that path? In your condition you could all too easily become dependent on them, just as I fear you are already getting a mite too dependent on the whiskey. Look, I know these last few months have been pretty hard for you, but you have to face up to things because there is no choice; life has to go on.”

  “Does it?” There was still no expression in his voice. He walked slowly back from the window to slump down into the chair once more.

  Although he was a few years the senior, Dr. James Stevenson had known Martin Isherwood from college days, and even though their careers had followed different paths, they had remained friends. James had gone on to medical school and had eventually graduated, and after a brief period as a junior house-doctor in a London hospital had returned to take up general practice in his old home-town. A few years later, following his own graduation, Martin had joined the engineering business founded by his father, who had died many years earlier, and had eventually taken over as managing director and principle shareholder. James had been the best man at Martin’s wedding, and at that point in his life it had seemed that luck had been smiling upon Martin, for he had been fortunate enough to find a wife in a million, as he proudly told all of his friends on many an occasion.

  Then only a few short months ago, and quite without warning, his wife Alicia had suffered a massive stroke. Within twenty-four hours, in spite of everything that medical science could do, she had died. The whole thing had come like a thunderbolt, shattering his idyllic existence to smithereens. She had been a perfectly healthy woman who hardly suffered a day’s illness in her life; suddenly, she was no more. There was no family history suggesting that such a terrible eventuality was possible, and all who knew her were equally shocked and distressed. Martin had been totally devastated, and it had taken him a long time even to accept that she was really dead. He was like a man living a waking nightmare, mechanically going through the routines of life, yet feeling somehow detached from it all. In place of his once happy and wonderful life there was no simply a black empty vacuum.

  Martin had buried his wife some three months since, but the agony of his loss would not leave him, nor would it diminish in intensity. During the day he threw himself into his work, and the pain receded a little into the background. At the end of the working day he would return to his home and the memories would come crowding back. He spent the nights endlessly pacing from room to room, yet there was no escaping from his tortured memories of one who had been more important to him than life itself. Consciously he accepted that there was no way the past could be undone, and that he needed to put everything behind him, yet somehow he simply could not come to terms with what had happened. Work, like drink and drugs gave only fleeting relief, and seeing his old friend James in his professional capacity was his last effort to break the cycle of the mental anguish and the resulting sleeplessness that was slowly destroying him. His

  with his loss. Nights were an ordeal he dreaded; he lay for hours on end pining for Alicia, and sleep, when and if it came, was at best fitful. His common sense told him he couldn’t go on like it, yet how to break the cycle seemed to be forever out of his reach.

  “I appreciate what you are saying,” he sighed at last. “I know that I need to be strong for Beverley’s sake. Believe me, I want to, I really do; if I could only sleep, maybe I can learn to live with the loss and perhaps get back to something like a normal approach to life.”

  James was scribbling something on a pad as Martin was talking, and then he tapped a few keys on the computer keyboard that sat to one side of his desk. A few moments later the printer came to life and the doctor picked up the paper it ejected, scanned through it, and then offered it to his friend.

  “Try these,” he said. “They are not the answer, but they may help in the short term. Only take them when you retire if you feel it is absolutely necessary. Just think over what I’ve said; get away somewhere, take a few weeks complete rest, give yourself the chance to grieve, because at the moment you are holding it all in, and it is eating away at your life like a psychological cancer. Believe me, Martin, it’s the only way you are going to get through this.”

  By the time Martin reached his home it was mid-evening. He had stopped off at a chemist’s shop on the way and waited whilst the pharmacist dispensed the prescription. He was in no hurry, because there was nothing to look forward to beyond an empty house that resounded with echoes of Alicia. He parked the car in the garage and let himself in through the front door. As always, the silence and emptiness hit him hard. Alicia had always been there to greet him when he returned, no matter what the hour. There had always been something refreshing and relaxing about her; and the cares of the day would soon wither away as he relaxed in her company. She had been more than just a wife; she had been his soul mate. She could tune into his moods and worries with uncanny accuracy, and just talking with her smoothed out the problems and brought him peace of mind. He had always loved her, yet not until she died did he realise the full extent of how much he loved and depended on her.

  They had had so many plans for the future, all the things they wished to do together. They were going to tour the world; they were going to visit relatives in Australia and New Zealand. They were going to found a charitable trust to help needy pensioners, together with various other projects. So many plans, hopes and ambitions, and now of course there was nothing. If he was honest, it was only the thought of Beverley being left to face the world on her own that stopped him contemplating something irrevocable.

  He closed the door behind him and paused on the threshold as he often did. The house seemed to echo with the sound of her happy voice, her gentle laugh, and her whispered comments. Everywhere he looked there were reminders of her presence, and each one of these pierced him through and through. He poured himself a straight whiskey and took it through the house and out onto the rear patio. He slumped down in a chair and gazed out over the garden. It was her garden, her hobby, her main
interest in life after the welfare of her family. He could almost see her there, waving to him in between attending to some task or other. It was still the same garden, yet in a way it mocked him, because the magic had gone out of it with her passing.

  He downed the drink, wishing as he did so that he had thought to bring the bottle with him. It wasn’t the answer, but he knew from experience that once he had drunk enough it dulled the ache down to the point where he no longer cared about anything. He sat there for close on an hour before stirring himself. He wondered through to the kitchen where his part-time housekeeper, Mrs Croft had left a cold supper for him. He hadn’t eaten all day, and knew that he should, only right then he couldn’t face it. He went upstairs and had a shower and later, clad in dressing gown and slippers, he returned to the kitchen, picked up the cold meal, and took it, along with the newspapers into his study.

  He had no real interest in the papers, they were a means of distraction. There was a decanter on a side table, and a second whiskey was soon to hand as he forced himself to read the Guardian and the local paper from cover to cover. The reading was mechanical, and most of what his eyes covered never registered. The international situation was tense, but then it always was. The financial markets were in crises, and there was nothing new in that either. The government was finally admitting that it had lost control of the immigration situation, a fact that had been common knowledge to everyone apart from the government for years. He finally threw the papers down in disgust and gazed unseeingly out of the window.

  Maybe James was right; he needed to get right away from familiar surrounding for a while, away from everything that reminded him of what he had lost. The question was, even if he could stir himself enough to make the effort, where could he be bothered to go? The thought of visiting one of the more popular holiday resorts was an anathema, but then neither did he fancy trekking through uncharted country, or going on a safari or climbing a mountain. He’s done all these things in his time, and he had done them with Alicia, and Alicia was dead and he didn’t want to do any of it any more. Certainly he didn’t want to go anywhere where he would have nothing to distract him from the constant grinding ache of bereavement.