Read The Arsenic Labyrinth for Free Online

sight of the white walls of his room and the rumble of the basement plumbing was soured by dismay. So many years had passed since he’d last had the nightmare of being buried alive. He’d persuaded himself that it had gone forever. On his first night back in the Lakes, memories swarmed like mosquitoes to torment him.
    Forcing himself to quit the warmth of the bed, he padded across the corridor to the bathroom. The shower was temperamental. When he jiggled the switch, it did not respond. He tried again and, all of a sudden, was half-drowned by a hot gush. It reminded him of Megan.
    He wasn’t sorry Megan never wanted to see him again. She’d saved him the trouble of ending their relationship. He hated causing sadness and upset, hated it. Far better to steal away in the night without a word. That was more romantic; she could read into his departure whatever she wished. He never hurt people with malice aforethought. Nobody seemed to appreciate it, but he had his own moral code.
    Towelling himself dry, he heard the ceiling bumping under Sarah Welsby’s footsteps. For a moment he became Michael Caine in Get Carter , ringing Britt Ekland for a lurid chat while his eavesdropping landlady rocked in her chair. Guy could do with a Britt in his life, but for the time being Sarah would have to do.
    When he arrived at the breakfast table, she was frying bread in the kitchen while Clooney scratched at a post in the corner of the room. The cat threw Guy a derisive glance and then carried on. Guy was an equable soul, but nobody likes to be patronised. He was scowling at Clooney’s hindquarters when Sarah walked in, bearing a plate of hot toast.
    ‘You do like cats?’
    Guy nodded with vigour and attributed his grimace to a spasm of indigestion. No reason to miss out on hisfull English, though. They agreed that cats were wise and sophisticated creatures and Sarah confided that she’d spent a small fortune installing a state of the art infrared cat flap in the back door. Guy wished she’d invested in better plumbing. The love and money she lavished on the animal was out of all proportion, in his opinion. She needed a man in her life.
    Pity that even the meekest women were as unpredictable as weather. He’d blundered with Megan, telling her how his grandma believed a woman could ensure her partner’s undying devotion. Be a maid in the living room, a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom. This was a quote from a celebrity that he’d read in a newspaper – the bit about his grandma was just for colour, for he’d never known a grandma – but it made good sense. Unfortunately, Megan kept reading magazine articles about assertiveness and being your own person. Guy had no time for that stuff; he loved being other people. Their quarrel marked the beginning of the end.
    As Sarah chattered nineteen to the dozen, he contented himself with an occasional murmur of assent while concentrating on his food. The first mouthful of fat, succulent, pork and leek sausage, smeared with runny egg, made him sigh with pleasure and when he complimented her on the quality of her home-made marmalade her round face glowed.
    ‘The Germans aren’t up yet.’ She put on a half-shocked look.
    ‘Young love, eh?’
    She fiddled with strands of her disorganised hair. ‘A distant memory for me, Rob, I’ll be honest.’
    He put down his knife and fork and bestowed on her his undivided attention. ‘A woman like you must have – um, admirers, I’m sure.’
    ‘Admirers?’ She gave her habitual, self-deprecating, tinkly laugh. ‘Joking, aren’t you?’
    He shook his head and neither of them said anything for a while. He felt an urge to resume eating before the bacon rashers cooled, but at last she said in a tone of contrived brightness, ‘So what will you be up to today?’
    ‘Catching up with the past.’
    He said it on the spur of the moment. He’d returned to the Lakes in haste, without an agenda in mind. Life was a fast-flowing river, you could