The Cheesemaker's House Read Online Free

their tools,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Lovely lads though, not an ounce of lead in their collective pencils, but they wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
    â€œHey, Liz, that’s not fair,” Matt protests.
    â€œOf course it isn’t,” she replies, then turns to me. “Now Alice, what can I get you? Have what you like – if Richard’s going to fleece you for a job, you’d better start getting your money back now.”
    In the end we don’t even talk about the quote. We sit at the bar and have a couple of drinks, chatting with the others. Then Richard’s mobile rings and he wanders outside to answer it, leaving me all on my own in the middle of a slightly uneasy silence.
    â€œSo, how did you meet Richard?” Liz asks.
    â€œOwen Maltby recommended him.”
    â€œReally?” She sounds a bit surprised but before I have time to ask her why, Matt chips in.
    â€œI’d steer clear of that weirdo if I were you.” He says it as though he means it.
    â€œOh come on, Matt,” Liz carries on, “be a bit charitable – it wasn’t exactly normal him being brought up by his gran and that.”
    â€œUgh.” Matt shudders. “But he’s so creepy – all that so-called charming.”
    So called charming? What’s wrong with being charming? Just because Owen is gentlemanly and polite…I am about to wade in on his behalf when Richard breezes back into the bar.
    â€œCome on, Princess, I’m starving – let’s order something to eat.”
    Nine o’clock comes and goes and it becomes apparent Richard is in no fit state to drive me home. Even if he offered, I wouldn’t particularly want him to – I don’t want to end up in the nearest ditch. High summer or not the sky is already darkening and I decide that if I’m going to walk then I’d better make a move.
    I slide down from my barstool. “Right – that’s me done – I’m off home.”
    Richard looks up from his conversation about football. “Shall I take you?” he offers without a great deal of conviction.
    â€œNo, I’m fine on my own. I’m not exactly going to get lost, am I?”
    â€œWhat about the ghosties and ghoulies?” Matt asks.
    â€œI’m not worried about those,” I scoff.
    â€œWell what about Dick getting his leg over?”
    â€œNow that does sound scary. See you guys around.” I give Richard the briefest of pecks on the cheek and make my way out into the night air.
    First, it’s colder than I expected and second, I’m drunker than I thought I was. I tug my pashmina from the bottom of my handbag and wrap it around me before setting off down the road.
    I am fine within the street-lit security of Kirkby Fleetham but once I walk past the national speed limit sign I find myself in almost total darkness. Across the fields I can see lights coming from the farm buildings at the other end of the village green to my house and I focus on them. It’s only a mile or so and it won’t take me very long.
    The road dips away towards the beck and all of a sudden I lose sight of the lights. It is very dark and I start to think of Matt’s ghosties and ghoulies – and then of deranged axe-men hiding in the hedge and every tiny movement in the undergrowth makes me jump. It certainly isn’t the same as walking home between the pools of yellow streetlight in Reading; it’s not only the darkness, it’s the silence too – or rather every sinister rustle and squawk that breaks it.
    Finally I hear the comforting throb of an engine and as I approach Great Fencote a car rushes past and I press myself into the hedge. Something catches my pashmina and it rips a little as I tug it away. The sweat feels clammy under my top and my mouth is instantly dry but I convince myself it’s only a bramble or a piece of barbed wire. I wrap the pashmina back around me but