Chapter One
Dr Georgina Cavendish sat at the old oak table in her kitchen, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, mentally preparing for the day ahead. Monday was her heaviest day, with back-to-back lectures and tutorials. If she were lucky, she’d manage to grab a sandwich in the fifteen minutes she had spare at lunchtime.
‘Penny for them.’ Her partner, Stephen, walked into the kitchen and headed over to the coffee machine. He poured himself a mug and leant against the worktop, smiling at her.
‘Just bracing myself for today’s onslaught.’
She loved lecturing, apart from having to mould the new first-year students into her way of working. They seemed to have no concept of good timekeeping, thinking they could wander into lectures or tutorials whenever they liked. Sloppiness in punctuality invariably meant sloppiness in their academic work, and that was unacceptable in forensic psychology. However, the current first years were almost house trained, making her life much easier.
‘Only a few more weeks and it’s the end of term. Then you can relax and look forward to Christmas in the Alps.’
She hadn’t yet told her parents she wouldn’t be around for their traditional family Christmas. She was waiting for the right time. Telling them she was going with Stephen might soften the blow. They thought he was wonderful. Came from the right family. Went to the right school. His parents were distantly related to Princess Diana’s family from Althorp, Northamptonshire. The last time she’d spoken to her parents, her mother had hinted at how much she’d love a wedding to look forward to. Even her father had nothing bad to say about Stephen; a miracle in itself.
‘True. I’m looking forward to having a rest.’
‘It depends on what you mean by “rest”.’ His eyes glinted.
‘You know what I mean,’ she replied, laughing.
‘I do indeed. Do you fancy going to the pub later? It’ll save cooking. I have a funding meeting all afternoon with our illustrious Head of Department. I’ll be wanting to murder a beer or two after.’
‘Sorry, not tonight. I’ve too much to do.’
She had a stack of marking, as well as wanting to work on her latest research project. An Associate Professorship was coming up later in the year, and she wanted to be the front runner. After all the publicity she’d brought the department following her research into familial depression and the development of anti-social behavioural traits, she deserved the promotion. University funding was directly linked to research, and applicants for the post would be judged on their contribution. She wouldn’t let the opportunity slip out of her hands.
When Stephen moved in six months ago, she’d worried working and living together would put a strain on their relationship. But they didn’t actually see much of each other during the day. They were both in the psychology department but taught on different programmes.
‘I’ll only steal you for an hour. It won’t interfere with the master plan.’ He flashed a disarming smile.
George almost gave in, being a sucker for his dimples, until she remembered the second years were submitting an assignment on mental health disorders the following day.
‘I’ve another set of assignments due in tomorrow, and I can’t get behind so early in the academic year. What about later in the week?’
‘When you’ll come up with another excuse.’ He placed his mug on the worktop. ‘I saw more of you before we started living together.’
He was right. They used to go out at least two or three times a week, either for meals or to the theatre or cinema. She’d had time for him then, even though she’d felt her work had suffered.
They’d only been seeing each other for eight months before he’d suggested they live together. George had agreed because it made sense on paper. They were similar in many ways. Both fiercely independent, due to being at boarding school from an early age. Workwise it was a lot easier. If they saw each other every day, she wouldn’t be distracted so much by having to go out in the evenings.
Because career came first. She loved being with Stephen but had no desire to move beyond living together. It worked for him, too. He was divorced with two children, who he didn’t see often because they lived overseas with their mother. Early on in their relationship, he’d told George he’d had a vasectomy, so having more children was out of the question. That suited her fine as she had no desire to be a mother.
On the surface, theirs seemed a perfect match. Even if some of his habits drove her crazy.
A few noses were put out of joint when they’d got together. Stephen always had a trail of students and staff vying for his attention. He was the archetypal tall, dark, handsome man. He was good company and had a great sense of humour. Until he didn’t get his own way.
‘I won’t. Promise. You go. I’m sure there’ll be someone you know in the pub. There usually is.’
Her suggestion wasn’t exactly unselfish. It would be much easier to get on with her work in silence, rather than having the TV or music blaring.
‘Suit yourself. Expect me when you see me, then.’ He marched out of the kitchen. His footsteps thumped up the stairs.
Even when Stephen was the one being unreasonable, he had the knack of making her feel guilty. She couldn’t live her life from moment to moment, like he did. Planning and being methodical was how she was wired. Those traits contributed to her success. She’d make it up to him when he got home later.
Her calm mood now shattered, she decided to walk to work rather than wait for a lift from him. She’d sneak a cigarette. It was her secret vice, something she indulged in only occasionally, and never when he was around.
She slipped on her calf-length, deep blue wool coat, knitted hat and scarf, and headed out of her eighteenth-century terraced cottage, which she’d bought with some of the money inherited from her grandma. She loved its intimacy. It was the perfect size for one. Well, now two. But there was still enough space for them both. She walked down the path and onto the pavement.
A typical chilly November morning, the sun was just beginning to rise behind leafless trees. Her cheeks tingled from the wind. She walked down the road until she came to another path, beside the winding river which divided Lenchester in two, and led to the university.
She followed the river, entering a tall wrought-iron gate onto the university grounds, and then lit up. Inhaling deeply, she allowed the smoke to permeate her body. Instant relaxation. As she blew the smoke out into the air, she noticed one of her colleagues coming along the path. Shit.
She cut behind a large oak tree, making sure to stay out of sight. Something caught her eye, and she turned her head. A pair of jean-clad legs poked out from the other side of the trunk. But that would be ridiculous. Who’d sit on the ground in this weather so early in the morning?
She went to investigate further.
A girl sat on the grass leaning against the tree. Her head was bowed, her hands clasped together, held up to her chest in a pleading pose.
Was she meditating?
‘Hello?’ George shivered as a gust of wind swept past.
The girl’s head tilted, and pair of lifeless eyes stared up into the overcast sky.
The cigarette fell from her hand. Was she? No—not possible. She stepped closer. The girl’s dead gaze stared back at her, unflinching.