The Charcoal House

THE CHARCOAL HOUSE GILLIAN JACKSON Copyright © 2023 Gillian Jackson The right of Gillian Jackson to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published in 2023 by Bloodhound Books. Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. www.bloodhoundbooks.com Print ISBN: 978-1-5040-8596-0 This book is dedicated to two of my greatest encouragers, Rita Wilkinson, a lady I met when speaking at a WI meeting who has been a constant source of encouragement. Thank you, Rita for your support. And also, at the other side of the world, Kelly Ferret, a lady whose enthusiasm and messages lift my spirits. I’ll try to write more quickly for you, Kelly! CONTENTS Love best-selling fiction? Also by Gillian Jackson Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Epilogue A note from the author Acknowledgements You will also enjoy: A note from the publisher Love best-selling fiction? LOVE BEST-SELLING FICTION? Sign up today to be the first to hear about new releases and exclusive offers, including free and discounted ebooks! Why not like us or follow us on social media to stay up to date with the latest news from your favourite authors? Facebook Twitter Instagram ALSO BY GILLIAN JACKSON The Pharmacist The Victim The Deception Abduction Snatched The Accident The Shape of Truth CHAPTER ONE At the sound of the front door opening, Emma Porter jumped, snapping shut the wooden box which held the remains of her once-extensive collection of artist’s materials. A couple of white charcoal highlight pencils and a few stumps of willow charcoal were all that remained, bits and bobs rattling around inside as she stuffed the box into the back of her wardrobe. The sketch pad, falling from her knee in her moment of panic, held the result of the last hour, a dark representation of a house – a depressing place with no lights within and a heavy door to keep visitors out – or to keep Emma in? The image held no warmth or colour, no wrap-around garden with riotous displays of flowers, no trees for birds to perch in and sing, simply a muddy path winding up to the shadowy house. Why she’d sketched such a place was a mystery, even to herself. Perhaps it reflected her current mood, dark and gloomy, without joy or hope. Quickly she slid the pad into a large manilla envelope and tucked it behind the box in the wardrobe. Emma stood, trembling, and swallowed hard as she went downstairs to meet him. Life hadn’t always been this way for Emma, and her paintings were previously very different from the charcoal house. Emma’s talent had exhibited itself when as a young girl, each image reflected her enthusiasm for life. Landscapes and seascapes were her preferred themes, but always with a house secreted somewhere in the picture – a tiny beach house half-hidden by sand dunes or the shingle roof of a cottage nestling at the edge of a forest. Colour had previously defined Emma’s paintings. Glorious arcs of cerulean-blue skies or sweeps of emerald sea clothed with peaks of white frothy foam. She possessed a gift for capturing beauty, replicating nature and communicating the splendour of a moment in time. Sometimes the scenes were painted from an inside perspective, looking out, with window struts or billowing curtains framing the distant view. To Emma, placing a house in each picture gave it ballast, a solidity and a place of safety, but that was before – another life. Emma Porter was now Emma Beecham, married to Simon, and a shadow of her former self. * * * Emma and Simon’s first meeting was at a bus stop as she sheltered from the elements beneath her umbrella. But the lashing rain, blown almost horizontal by a gale-force wind, whipped the flimsy umbrella from her hands, turning it inside out as it bounced back along the street. As Emma wavered over whether to chase it and risk missing the bus or abandon it altogether, a car pulled up ten yards away and a man jumped out to retrieve the useless umbrella. He ran towards her, a knight in shining, if somewhat soggy, armour. ‘Thank you, but you really shouldn’t have bothered.’ Emma smiled shyly, noticing the man’s vivid green eyes set in a pleasant oval face and his sandy-coloured hair darkening as the rain plastered it onto his head. ‘I could hardly leave you without this, although I think it may be beyond repair.’ The man fiddled with the bent spokes, concentration creasing his brow. ‘Thanks for trying but you’d better get back in the car before you drown.’ Emma laughed, hoping mascara wasn’t running down her face. ‘Look, you’re soaked. I know your mother probably warned you about getting into a car with a strange man but can I give you a lift?’ He held his hand out. ‘My name’s Simon Beecham, so we’re not exactly strangers now, are we?’ A lopsided smile convinced her. ‘Emma Porter,’ she replied,