The Knapthorne Conspiracy by Malcolm Ballard (best english novels for beginners txt) 📕

of her consumed him, her voice talking to him constantly, teasing him, mocking him and belittling his manhood. Ever since that night the memory of her naked body and the musky, exotic smell of her had tormented him by day and haunted his dreams, taunting him with his inability to satisfy her. The bitch needed to be taught a lesson for making fun of him and he drooled at the thought of it. Spurred on by the prospect of what was in store he pushed the van to its limits, speeding down the motorway towards Knapthorne in the light, early morning drizzle.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Bella had thought she was going to pass out and had risen, unsteadily, to her feet stumbling in her efforts to flee from the suffocating atmosphere of the room, desperate to get out in the open air. Absolutely dumbstruck she had left the house, with its bitter legacy of hatred and family strife, without a word to Frank Allsop, her mind in turmoil. Reaching her car she had leaned against it taking calm, measured breaths, never more glad to touch something solid, reassuring and reliable, a much-needed reminder of a constancy in her life. Kyle Lucas was her half-brother or something damned close! Patrick Foxton was his father even if Patrick wasn't her own. The thought of what had so nearly happened in the cottage sent a wave of nausea through her and she unlocked the car, eager to put as many miles between herself and Thornden as quickly as possible.

Driving away she thought she’d caught a glimpse of the old man peering at her from a window, probably wondering what on earth was going on. All the way back to Knapthorne she couldn’t stop thinking about the events of the past few days and how the wheel had turned full circle bringing the murky past of Patrick Foxton right to her own doorstep. Overriding everything else was the knowledge that she couldn’t stay at Willow Cottage any longer not with its past history and the memories of Kyle Lucas and she had burst into tears at the thought. How could she live under that roof any more? There and then she had decided that that night would be her last and she would leave the following day. The tears had continued to flow, blurring her vision, as she recalled the first time she had seen the cottage and how grateful she had been to her Uncle Foxy. Uncle Foxy. Her father, Rupert Foxton, Lord Easterbrook. What, if anything, had he known of all of this, she wondered? Surely he would have been ignorant of it all otherwise he would never have left her the cottage. Oh, it was all too sad! Her thoughts had returned to Frank Allsop and she couldn’t help thinking how life had been so hard on him. The memory of his spectral features at the window came to mind, as she approached the outskirts of Knapthorne. Whatever had he done to deserve so much grief and heartache?

Sleep eluded her that night. It had been impossible for Bella to switch her mind off as it continually replayed scenes from the past two months. Faces, places, highs and lows flashed into her mind, lingered, and went again just as quickly but there was a dark sense of foreboding underlying her inability to sleep. It was rooted in the reality of Ruth Flint’s murder which had taken place only a few yards away from where Bella lay. Knowledge of the deed disturbed her, not surprisingly, and she had found herself suddenly scared at being in the cottage alone and alert to every little noise. But what distressed her equally as much was the feeling that there was unfinished business related to the saga of Patrick Foxton. Instinctively she knew that it wasn’t over but her weary brain couldn’t summon up the energy to put a name to her fears. When dawn broke, Bella had trouble remembering what day it was and it took her a while to work out it was Saturday then she had gone down and made herself a coffee. Unusually, Ubix was nowhere to be seen and in her befuddled state she took it for granted that everyone and everything had deserted her. So what, she reminded herself, I’m outa here. In the past, if she’d have risen at this time she would have made an early start on the book but that was the furthest thing from her thoughts. Thinking that she might doze if she took her drink back to bed she did exactly that and slept through until eight-thirty. Feeling like something Ubix might have dragged in she eventually struggled out of bed, returned downstairs and pulled the curtains only to find that it was raining and, by the look of the sky, it was more than just a passing shower. On any other day she would have at least unlocked the front door but something made her hesitate then decide against it. The clock on the wall in the kitchen showed the time was approaching a quarter to nine as she put her empty mug in the sink. Lack of sleep had left her jaded and listless and she couldn’t wait to go up and have a shower. It might have been her imagination but she swore that she could smell the cigarette smoke from yesterday, probably from her hair. Bella shivered at the thought, pulling her robe more tightly around her, even more eager to get into the shower. Looking in the bathroom mirror, a few moments later, she felt as though the woman peering back at her had aged about ten years recently which only added to her general air of feeling sorry for herself. With a long face she hung up her robe then stepped into the shower longing for its efficacious powers to do their work. Realising this would be the last shower she would ever have at Willow Cottage she