PART 1

‘I think its along there,’ Pippa Caxton said to her mother, looking up from the much folded map to point to the mouth of a narrow lane that wound its way off between the trees.

‘I hope it’s not another dead end,’ Lyn Caxton said as she swung the wheel of the second-hand Volvo estate about. As it turned into the lane it wallowed slightly under the weight of the bags and suitcases packed into its luggage space.

Their GPS had given up on finding The Grange, Hexton Woods amongst the maze of twisting lanes some time ago. Since then they had fallen back on an old fashioned paper map, roadside enquires from passersby and the directions their new employer had sent them, which had seemed precise enough at first glance but evidently required more local knowledge to interpret than they had at their command. Although they were only in a rural corner of Hampshire an hour from London it felt as though they were lost in the wilds. Pinned to the directions was a printout of the advert that had brought them to this increasingly elusive location. A month earlier both its promise and oddness had caught Lyn Caxton’s eye as she scanned the situations pages…

* * *

Are you a responsible, professional class mother and daughter or female siblings in good physical and metal health? 2 positions as secretary/basic cook and housekeeper/ companion/informal tutor to a shy, academically challenged 18 year old girl are offered. Six months minimum employment. Generous accommodation and full board with guaranteed opportunities for self improvement and travel. Important Note: Due to a serious allergy problem in the household samples of hair from both applicants must be included with full printed CV’s to test for possible incompatibility. Apply to Mr V. Wolff, Box 265.

‘What do you think of this one?’ Lyn said, showing it to her daughter. ‘I’m not sure about the opportunity for “self improvement”, whatever that means, but it’s certainly different.’

‘Well I think we’re both in reasonable physical and mental health and you’re definitely a professional,’ Pippa agreed, scanning the advert critically. ‘But he expects a lot from two people, doesn’t he?’

‘It’s called multitasking,’ her mother said dryly. ‘Women are meant to be good at that.’

‘Okay, so you could do the secretary/ cook part with no trouble and I can clean a house, but I’m not so sure I could be a tutor to some slow eighteen year old.’

‘It says “informal.” If he’d wanted a professional he’d have specified qualifications. You could help her learn more about literature and art at least. And history.’

‘I suppose so. The bit about the hair is weird. Is that for the girl’s sake? I’ve heard of pet hair allergies but I didn’t know people reacted to other people’s hair.’

‘They seem to be discovering new allergies every day,’ her mother said. ‘Well, should we apply?’

‘It can’t hurt. We got to try everything, Mum. Beggars can’t be choosers.’

They were not actually beggars but with the economy so fragile times were hard. Carolyn had brought Pippa up very successfully as a single mother but now, with small businesses cutting back or going under, her freelance bookkeeping was not making enough to get by on, while Pippa had only found temporary low paid summer work after finishing high school. She had already put her university plans on hold for a year. She had also parted from her latest boyfriend leaving her stuck at home with no means to leave. Fortunately she and her mother had always got on well together, but she was aware of the strain she was under.

‘If we have six months full board I could rent out the flat,’ Lyn speculated. ‘I could still keep up with my core clients in my spare time and you could write some more, or do more illustrations for your portfolio.’

‘I wish I was better at something other than English and Art,’ Pippa said with exasperation. ‘Something people would pay me good money for doing.’

‘I thought we ruled out taking up pole dancing except as a last resort,’ her mother said with a wry grin.

Pippa grinned back, enjoying their running joke on the subject. ‘Mum, I thought we were saving the pole dancing option for you.’

The humour barely concealed Pippa’s secret pride that at thirty eight her mother could still seriously have been a pole dancer. For that matter so could she, had she been so inclined, having inherited her mother’s pleasing features, full bust, neat waist and thick mane of dark brunette hair. In fact her mother wore dark rimmed glasses she did not really need whenever she visited her bookkeeping clients to make herself appear more studious. Many people found it hard to believe such an attractive woman could be so capable with dry facts and figures.

‘Looks like we’d better give this a try instead, then,’ her mother concluded.

‘I’ll get the scissors,’ Pippa said.

Presumably both their hair and CV’s were satisfactory because a week later they received a reply from a Viktor Wolff offering them the position as housekeeper/secretary to himself and companion/tutor to his daughter Dawn. Again there was something odd about the phrasing of the letter, but the wages were good and they were too relieved at the prospect of a steady income to care. “Viktor” suggested Eastern European origins so English might not be his first language, in which case such minor lapses were excusable. They made a note to take their passports in case that was where the “opportunities to travel” referred to. After further correspondence with Mr Wolff a starting date was agreed and they set about renting out their flat.

* * *

And now, on a warm still day in early September, the gates of The Grange appeared before them at last, set in a narrow cleft in a shaggy wall of rhododendron. Beyond was a large garden in a hollow formed by more evergreen bushes and the heavy boughs of ancient oaks. In the centre was an imposing two storey early Victorian house of rich red brick. Half a dozen tall octagonal chimney stacks rose over sharply pitched roofs with gable parapets. Leaded windows were set between heavy stone mullions. A large conservatory of vintage design with a white cast iron frame extended from one side of the house while an extension wing ran off at right angles from the other.

Lyn parked the car on the gravel drive by the massive iron-studded oak front door, which was sheltered by a churchlike porch, and they got out.

Their arrival had evidently been observed because before they could pull on the heavy bell chain by the door it swung ponderously open. Peering out at them was a pretty girl dressed in T-shirt, shorts and sandals. She had deep dark eyes set in a rather doll-like face and honey-blond hair tied back in a ponytail. She was of compact build, half a head shorter than Pippa, and carried a prominent bust for her height.

She smiled even as she lowered her eyes diffidently. ‘Hallo,’ she said in a small voice. ‘You must be Carolyn and Phillipa. I’m Dawn. Please come in. You can take care of your bags later.’

They stepped into the cool gloom of the hallway. Underfoot were broad, plank-like floorboards worn by decades of use but which were now glossy from the application of a modern sealant and were exuding the aroma of a recent polishing. The walls were panelled in dark oak and hung with a few oil landscapes. In one corner a staircase with newel posts like tree trunks and carved barley sugar balusters wound up to the first floor.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ Lyn said. ‘We got lost over the last few miles.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Dawn said. ‘People often get lost around here. My Ma… my Father is in the Conservatory. Please come this way…’

They followed her along a corridor and through a door that opened into the large conservatory they had glimpsed from the outside. A lush grapevine wound and coiled its way across much of the inside of the roof, filling the interior with cool green shade, while around the walls stood an array of flowering plants in pots and planters. It was furnished with a wrought iron garden table, matching chairs and lounger. Sprawled in the latter reading a book was a big grey-haired man in a black shirt and trousers. As they entered he looked up, smiled amiably, put his book aside and rose.

‘Hallo’, he said in a deep hearty voice, holding out a paw of a hand. ‘You must be Carolyn and Phillipa Caxton. I’m Viktor Wolff. Welcome to my house.’

Lyn and Pippa both blinked as they shook his hand, which engulfed theirs.

Wolff was a head and shoulders taller than they were and deep and broad in proportion. A leonine mane of grey-shot hair added to the imposing impression he made. His eyes were grey, intelligent and deepset under a heavy brow, while his nose was straight and strong. A close-trimmed beard followed the lines of his square jaw. The links of a gold chain could be seen about his neck, plunging into the thick dark wisps of chest hair showing in the “V” of his open collar, presumably supporting some medallion under his shirt. He wore large intricately wrought rings on every finger of both hands which glinted against his bronzed skin.

‘Do please sit down,’ Wolff said, indicating the chairs with a gracious sweep of one big arm. ‘You must be thirsty after your journey. Fetch some drinks, Dawn. It’s too hot for tea. Bring some iced fruit juice.’

He spoke fluently but with a slight accent they could not place.

‘Yes, Father,’ Dawn said meekly and scurried away into the house.

Wolff resumed his seat and looked Lyn and Pippa over intently for a moment and then nodded half to himself. ‘Yes, you’re just as I divined you. I would have been happy with either a pair of sisters or a mother and daughter but now I could almost believe I have both.’ He fixed Lyn with his intense gaze and the corners of his wide mouth turned up. ‘It is hard to believe you are the mother of a mature daughter, Mrs Caxton.’

Lyn smiled coolly at the bold compliment. ‘Thank you, Mr Wolff. But it’s Miss Caxton.’

‘Ah, the spirit of independence,’ Wolff said with understanding. ‘You have made your own way in the world, I see. Well I hope you have imbued your daughter with the same strength of will.’

Pippa thought she had better speak up for herself. ‘I’m sure I can be a good friend and companion to Dawn, Mr Wolff. As I said in my CV I can introduce her to art, literature and history, up to “A” level standards, at least. And I can do whatever housework you need.’

‘You are not afraid of hard work and you are ready to make friends with Dawn,’ Wolff summarised. ‘Good! It is most important that you get along well.’ He rubbed his big hands together. ‘Excellent. I’m sure the two of you will be just what I was looking for.’

At that moment Dawn reappeared carrying a tray of tall glasses filed with iced fruit juice. She carefully set it down on the table and handed Pippa and Lyn theirs.

Wolff took up a glass and raised it. ‘Well, here is to your good health! May your time here be both memorable and productive.’

They drank. The juice was sweet and refreshing, a perfect tonic to the warm close air of the conservatory. Pippa and Lyn gulped it down gratefully.

Pippa saw Wolff was beaming at them over the top of his glass, but Dawn was frowning. Pippa wiped her brow, realizing she was sweating. It was hotter in here than she had thought. She saw her mother blinking as though trying to focus and shaking her head. Pippa looked at her own half empty glass in sudden horror.

Wolff smiled hugely. ‘You might as well drink the rest down. It’s too late to turn back now.’

Dawn’s pretty face was by now a picture of guilty misery. ‘I’m sorry. There’s no other way. You’ll understand…’

‘Silence, Dawn!’ Wolff snapped.

‘Yes, Master,’ she said, bowing her head.

Lyn was struggling to stand up but her legs would not support her. Terrified Pippa tried to reach out across the table but she could not move her arm. She tried to speak but all that came out was a feeble groan. Everything seemed to be growing dim and fuzzy.

‘This is much more civilized than having an unseemly struggle,’ she heard Wolff say as though from a great distance. ‘All will be explained when you wake up. Now you will both sleep…’

Blackness enveloped her and swallowed her fears.