by Lucy Appleby
Ryan pulled up in front of the offices of Bradley's Building Supplies. Thanks to his grandfather's direction and accounting skills, the company had grown considerably over the past 40 years and had established shops in eight major cities. Business was booming. As a family member, Ryan got 30% discount on anything he wanted, which was handy given that he had recently transferred his job from London and had just bought a property in the village - it was actually the old police station, redundant since a nice new modern one had been built further up the road. The old place had charm and character. He was very happy with it, though it needed some work including roof repairs, a new bathroom, and replacement fencing for the garden. He also planned to knock down the existing garage (it had been unused for so many years that there was an ash tree growing up through the roof!) and build a new one. Being a practical sort of guy, he wanted to do as much of the work as he possibly could, just for the hell of it. And why not, seeing as how there was no woman in his life to occupy his free time.
Women. After a bad experience with Sylvia, whom he discovered had been sleeping with not one but four of his colleagues, he decided to move out of London and return north, back to his Yorkshire roots. Here he would happily forget Sylvia Shagalot (the name he had coined for her, post separation) and his former friends and colleagues who had proved by their actions not to be friends in any sense of the word. Here he would make a new start and avoid looking at anything wearing a skirt. Women were off the menu.
Or so he thought, until he caught sight of Amanda Moore. She was a slender but shapely woman in her mid twenties, with a mane of tousled blonde hair that tumbled in glorious waves down her back. She had clear blue eyes the colour of a cloudless sky on a summer day. The first time he had looked into those eyes, he knew he was hooked. She had given him a warm and friendly smile, not in the least contrived, her lips curving prettily.
"Hi Ryan," she said, rising from her desk in the reception area. "You must be Bertram's grandson. I don't need an introduction - you look so much like him!"
"Without the wrinkles and the turkey neck, I hope." He smiled back. He couldn't help it. She had an infectious charm.
"There's not a wrinkle in sight, as far as I can see," she giggled. "Bertram is expecting you but he's still in a meeting. So can I get you some coffee while you wait?"
"Sure. That would be great."
"How do you take it?"
"Dark and strong and not too sweet."
"Hey - I like my men that way too!" She laughed briefly and then clasped her hand over her mouth. "Sorry - that was a joke of course. I'm a bit impulsive, I really should think before I speak."
"I wouldn't worry about that. There are far worse sins."
"There are."
Was it his imagination, or did he spot a fearful and guilty look in her eyes? Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. Whatever it was, it passed in a moment, and her face smiled at him once again.
"I'll just be a couple of minutes," she said. "Take a seat. The morning paper is on the coffee table if you want to glance through it."
"Sure. Thanks." He watched her leave her station and enter a small room. She moved gracefully. She had good legs, elevated in three inch heels. There came the sound of cups rattling on saucers, and soon a fragrant aroma of coffee made his nose twitch in anticipation.
"Here we are," she said, emerging from the room with a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of cookies. "There's no chocolate cookies left - you can blame your grandfather for that. He's very naughty!"
"I can believe that," grinned Ryan. "He always did have a sweet tooth."
They chatted amicably for fifteen minutes or so, and Ryan was quite disappointed when his grandfather was free of meetings and could see him.
"He's on the second floor, second office on the left. Nice chatting to you, Ryan." She smiled prettily, revealing a row of pearl teeth. There was a slight gap between the two front ones. He liked it.
"Yeah, likewise. Bye for now." He headed up the stairs. Don't get involved, his inner voice told him. Steer clear. Women are trouble. Especially the pretty ones. "Aw, shut up," he mumbled to himself, and went on his way.
Ryan was a regular visitor to Bradley's Building Supplies. His grandfather had asked for his advice on a new security surveillance system - the same system that was in operation in Ryan's former place of work in London. The system was fitted one weekend, much to Bertram's delight. In return for Ryan's assistance, he gave his grandson free roof tiles and fencing and plumbing materials.
"There you go lad. That will keep you busy for a while," said the old man.
"You're not kidding, gramps. Still, I'm looking forward to getting started. I'll work at it evenings and on my days off. And maybe later I'll take a couple of weeks annual leave. I have a fair amount to use up."
"Then use it, lad. But don't work all the time. Have some fun too. Go out and enjoy yourself."
"I'll get round to it," said Ryan with a grin. Right now, he was so focused on doing up his house, he had no interest in going out. His house project became an enjoyable hobby. "When it's all done, I'll invite you round for dinner."
"It's a deal. But make sure there's something chocolaty for pudding."
"All that sugar will rot your teeth."
"I don't care about that. I have a fine new set of choppers." Bertram did a funny flick of his tongue, and his new dentures wobbled and shot out.
"Gah! That's gross!" It was also hysterically funny, and Ryan bounded down the stairs with a big grin on his face.
As always, when on the ground floor he looked towards the reception desk for Amanda. She was speaking on the phone, but gave him a cheery wave. He waved back. Perhaps, when he was less busy, he'd ask her out for a drink. Just a drink. And maybe dinner.
But as the weeks lengthened into months, Ryan found his job and his house renovation taking up all his time. He didn't mind. He enjoyed it. Things were shaping up nicely. The roof was complete and the chimney stack re-pointed. The new bathroom was installed; he had tiled the walls and just needed to finish off tiling the floor, then the bathroom would be complete. The new fencing had been erected, and he had landscaped the garden, which was now starting to look like a garden and not an overgrown wilderness. The existing garage had been demolished and the offending tree removed. Foundations had been dug for the replacement garage, and the outer shell of the walls was in place. Yes, things were moving well. Life was good.
But still the image of Amanda hovered in the background, surfacing at night in all her naked glory to keep him company under the bedclothes.
Amanda chewed her finger nail. She had done this so many times before that one more time wouldn't make any difference. It was a lot of money though - five thousand pounds. What if the discrepancy were discovered? That would be highly unlikely she reassured herself. Bertram the company accountant was a lovely octogenarian who refused to retire; he was either asleep at his desk or rambling proudly about the giant cauliflowers growing on his allotment. He would never notice the discrepancy, particularly as he let her do the day to day accounting, a task she loved.
So she 'cooked the books' and took the money from the safe, and thinking it expedient not to spend any of it immediately, she decided to stash it in Martha's cottage. This seemed like an excellent plan as Martha was visiting her daughter in Australia and would be away for three months. She had left the key to her cottage in its usual place under the front door mat in case any neighbours needed access if there was an emergency. Amanda smiled to herself as she hid the money in a jar and put the jar in the back of Martha's oven. It would be safe there, and in the unlikely event someone at work discovered the money was missing, her own home could be searched from top to bottom and not a shred of incriminating evidence would be found.
Six weeks elapsed and nothing untoward occurred at work. Bertram was becoming increasingly forgetful and his 30 minute afternoon naps had begun to extend to three hour snore fests. Amanda considered the situation and decided it would be safe to spend some of the money. She owed herself a little treat. On Friday lunchtime whilst idly flicking through a magazine she came across an advert for a luxurious Caribbean cruise. On impulse, she picked up the phone and booked herself a passage on board the cruise ship. Perfect. Everything was absolutely perfect - until she went to Martha's cottage the next afternoon.
On lifting up the front door mat, she found to her horror that the key was missing, and in its place was an ivory envelope addressed to Miss Amanda Tressel. With shaking fingers, she picked it up, opened it, and pulled out an ivory sheet of paper covered in the same neat handwriting as her name on the envelope. She began to read.
I don't think you'll find it, the outcome is bleak
Unless you decide you will do as you're told
Outside you'll remain in the wind and the cold
The first thing to do is wear sensible shoes
Then go to the outhouse and look for more clues
The colour drained from her face as she read. This was terrible. Someone knew. Someone knew what she had done. Whatever was she going to do? She stared at the letter. Who could have sent it? And what was this nonsense about sensible shoes and going to the outhouse? It was then she remembered that Martha did have an outhouse round the back at the end of the garden. She went there, not knowing who might be waiting for her. But as the door creaked open she quickly realised the place was deserted. Look for clues, the letter had said. What clues? Glancing round she saw rows of plant pots and bags of compost, some rusty garden tools and a roll of old carpet. In one corner, covered in cobwebs was an ancient Christmas tree decorated with faded tinsel. There was nothing else, just a rickety old ladder leading up to a wide shelf. She climbed carefully, feeling unsafe in her pointy-toed shoes with the impractical stiletto heels. Having climbed over half way up the ladder, she could see the shelf - it was empty except for some old paint pots and a plastic carrier bag. Peering inside she pulled out a bottle of water, a shiny red apple, and a high energy chocolate bar. There was also an ivory envelope. As before, it was addressed to her. Grabbing the bag and its contents she descended the ladder and when safely at the bottom, opened the letter and began to read.
So pack food and water, then sign on the line
There's much to be done and a long way to trek
Up hill and down dale to arrive at the beck
Cross over the bridge and turn left at the path
And get there by three or else incur my wrath
"What the hell is going on?" she muttered. Was she meant to go to the beck by 3pm? She looked at her watch - it was just before 2pm. But what was meant by signing on the line? Puzzled she looked in the bag again, and there at the bottom was a piece of paper. On it was written these words:
I, Amanda Tressel undertake to follow all the instructions set out in these notes. I understand that failure to comply will result in six otb.
Otb? What could that mean, she pondered, then shrugged. She wasn't signing anything. Clearly someone knew she had stolen the money - or perhaps not - perhaps they only suspected. There was only one thing to do. She would attempt to follow the instructions to find out who was behind this, and maybe use her female charms to cut a deal. It was a plan. It would have to do.
Fortunately she had a pair of hiking boots in the back of her car. She put them on on looked around her. The road to Martha's cottage ended in a dead end. But where the road ended, a public footpath commenced, and it led up the hill. Up hill and down dale to arrive at the beck, the note said. So be it. She set off walking, feeling a combination of fear, annoyance and curiosity. The hill was much steeper than she remembered, and she was soon puffing and panting and cursing as she plodded onwards and upwards for what seemed like an age. It took her well over half an hour to reach the top. She sank down on the grass and gratefully drank some of the water. Whoever had arranged this little adventure at least had the decency to provide some refreshments.
Amanda consulted the last note. She could see that she must follow the path down this side of the hill down into the dale, and then carry on until she reached a stream. It couldn't be far now, surely. But it was. Although getting down the hillside was easier than getting up it, she walked another two miles or so before she found the stream. The note said she was to be there by three. Her watch, however, showed the time as being 3 45pm. She was late. Hell, she couldn't help it, she reasoned to herself. But there was a little niggle at the back of her mind about incurring someone's wrath. She tried not to think about it and marched on, crossing a little bridge and turning left at the footpath. As she did so, she couldn't fail to notice that a large birch tree at the side of the path had a familiar looking ivory envelope pinned to the trunk. Gulping down her apprehension, she tore it open and read the contents.
That you stole from the office, and then hid the dough
Five thousand pounds Stirling you wicked young trollop
You soon shall be punished your bottom I'll wallop
There is no escape now you just have to present
Your arse for chastisement as wrath I will vent
"Oh shit!" This was bad. Really, really bad. They really did know what she had done and were threatening to whack her bottom! How perverted was that? As though in answer to her thoughts, there came a rustling in the undergrowth within the bushes nearby. Not knowing who - or what - it could be, Amanda rushed ahead in a panic. She ran on and on, gasping for breath. She ran until she could run no more and pulled up in front of a gate by a farmer's field. Attached to the gate was another envelope.
You're wondering whether you'll come to some harm
You cant quite believe that your arse will be whacked
It wouldn't end there because then you'll be sacked
No job and no money so what happens then?
The answer you'll find is stored safe in my den
Den? What den? Oh this was a nightmare. She was sorry she had taken the damn money. She liked her job and didn't want to be sacked. This was all too horrible for words. And where was she supposed to go now? The note didn't give instructions. Despondently, she drank the rest of the water, opened the gate and took the little path through the field, presuming that it must lead somewhere. It did. A few minutes brisk walking took her to the edge of the field where there was another gate leading out onto a winding country road. She followed the road down into a little village. There was a row of buildings on the main street and pinned to the door of the first one was yet another envelope addressed to her.
There's nowhere to hide, and there's nowhere to run
So pluck up your courage and open the door
And pick up the note that you find on the floor
Obey my instructions or else you will find
That on top of your caning I'll tawse your behind
Caning? Surely not - it must be a misprint. With a sinking feeling Amanda opened the door. She found herself in a hallway. There was a door in front to her right, and another to her left. In front of the door on the left lay the familiar ivory envelope. How she hated these envelopes. Bastard, ghastly envelopes. What the fuck was contained in this one? She pulled out the sheet of paper and read.
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