Sam: A Novel Of Suspense Read Online Free Page A

be looking after your needs during your stay.”
    “ If I stay.”
    “Of
course.  Now, can I get you anything?”
    Angela
shook her head.  “Just somewhere to sit, please.”
    Frank
nodded and led her to a small ante-chamber that consisted of two plush sofas
and nothing else.  He left her alone there and Angela started to think just how
surreal the whole situation was.  A couple of hours ago she’d been hanging
around a student bar in Wolverhampton and now she was sitting in a Warwickshire
mansion about to meet some mysterious stranger who obviously had more money
than sense. 
    Then
there’s the whole exorcism thing.
    Angela
had left the church for many reasons, but she knew that, deep down, it was also
because she feared being a part of the clergy as much as she disdained it.  She
was afraid of having to confront evil and tend to its victims. Her placement on
the isle of Jersey had been the straw that broke the camel’s back.  The blood that
soaked the church walls there was as much from the death of her faith as it was
the death of her parishioners. 
    Angela’s
weaknesses were too many to be responsible for others.  She was too susceptible
to taking the path of sin.  That had become abundantly clear on her final night
as a priest in Jersey. The church had been knocked down just two weeks after
she’d quit the calling she once thought would carry her forever.
    “Miss
Murs, I’m so grateful that you came.”  An attractive woman appeared in front of
her.  “My name is Jessica Bell-Raymeady, wife of the late Joseph Raymeady.”
    Angela’s
face was expressionless.  Neither name meant anything to her.  “Pleased to meet
you.”
    “Please,
follow me.  We can grab ourselves a drink in the lounge.”
    Angela
was wary of getting tipsy again, but if her host was drinking then what was the
harm?  It was strange, but she’d expected some toffee-nosed aristocrat to be
the owner of the house, but the woman in front of her didn’t sound like an
affluent person at all – not common exactly, but neither was she posh. 
Her appearance gave the same casual impression – a middle-aged, blonde woman in
tatty jeans and a loose sweatshirt. 
    Angela
followed the woman out of the anti-chamber and into a lounge room hidden behind
the grand staircase.  Inside there was a piano stage and a bar, as well as many
tables and chairs.  It actually looked a lot like a cruise ship lounge and
Angela wondered if it was ever used to its capacity.
    “Take
a seat, Angela.  Do you mind if I call you Angela?”
    Angela
shook her head.
    “Good. 
I’ll go and fetch some drinks.  What’s your tipple?”
    “Scotch,
if you have it?”
    Jessica
smiled.  “Of course.  I have a delightful bottle of Longmorn 16.  Will that
do?”
    “Supermarket
value whisky is fine by me, but hey, whatever you have.”
    Jessica
let out a short, sharp yelp of laughter.  The gesture was genuine, but there
also seemed to be a strained quality to it, as if the woman were dangerously on
edge.  “To be honest with you, Angela, it all tastes the same to me too.  My
husband was somewhat of a connoisseur, but I’m just as happy with a cheap
bottle of plonk and a pizza.”
    Angela
smiled and wasn’t just being polite.  The woman was not what she’d expected and
the surprise was more pleasant than disappointing.
    Jessica
disappeared behind the fully-stocked bar and then returned to join Angela at
the table she’d chosen to sit at.  Angela took a sip from the whisky she’d been
given and was not surprised that it tasted like any other brand.  In fact she
had preferred the taste of the £2 shot she’d downed at the student bar in
Wolverhampton.
    Jessica
was sipping from an extra-large glass of white wine and seemed to be lost in
thought.
    “So
what is all this about?” Angela asked the woman.
    Jessica’s
gaze snapped back to reality and a weary smile came over her face.  “It’s my
son, Angela.  He’s very sick.”
    Frowning,
Angela