From the Smallest of Beginnings

By A. P. Cruickshank

Little did Stephen Thornycroft realise when he chose to help Susan Grey that within just a few days he would become entangled in a catalogue of horrifying events that would ultimately leave his survival in the balance.

As fate intervened, bringing Stephen and Susan together, they realised that the network of evil confronting them was not only brutal but inexorably closing in on them.

It was only a matter of time before they had to accept there could be no escape; that there could be no turning back from the terrifying responsibilities they faced.

A compelling read that leaves you wondering - what if? It's a real cliffhanger. S.H.M.

A book I was unable to put down. S.F.L.

The suspense is almost unbearable. C.W.

This is an extremely profound and poignant read; could it be foretelling the future? I found it gripping. R.A.O.G.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Legend Press
• Release date: Dec 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781785074691

Book preview

forgotten.

Day 1 – Friday

Shit! was the only discernible word that came to Stephen Thornycroft’s lips when he simultaneously heard and felt the full impact of the car behind crunching into his rear. To make matters worse his battered, old 206 was shunted into the back of a brand new, top of the range Mercedes.

They had been travelling bumper to bumper at twenty miles an hour, top speed for that time on a Friday morning in Taunton and Stephen had been trailing the sort of car he had always dreamed of owning, but knew with certainty he never would. When the Mercedes suddenly stopped, he reacted immediately and felt his heart pumping as he realised how close he’d been to disaster. But then, from behind came the added momentum that propelled him head first into the machine of his dreams.

Stephen sat paralysed, head slumped forward, eyes closed, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel.

He knew he should have sent it, but had put it off with absurd excuses and, as so often happened, he ended up doing nothing. The result; he was wedged in the middle of a mangled car sandwich with no insurance.

Shit!

Stephen turned off the engine, got out and walked towards the car behind, reasoning that in the first instance, it was probably safer to confront the instigator of the shunt rather than the other victim. The car was a new Family Four Ferry and the driver was an attractive brunette. When the girl saw him approaching, she began to open her window as if to say something but then, without warning, she made a hurried U-turn across the central reservation and sped off.

With mounting panic, Stephen watched in disbelief as the car and brunette disappeared out of sight and he kicked out at an imaginary target. If there was no girl, how could he prove the accident wasn’t his fault? Reaching for his iPhone Invictus to record the registration number, he remembered he had no mobile. After somehow losing three in three months, he simply could no longer afford one and he had to run back to his car to write the number down. That done he was about to give chase when a hand came through the open window and removed his keys from the ignition.

Where do you think you’re going then? Stephen realised the man confronting him must be the driver of the Mercedes and by the sound and look of him, he was irate.

I’m sorry, Stephen answered awkwardly, but that girl, he said pointing in the direction of the vanishing car... then added defensively, She ran into the back of me and pushed me into you. Look, I’m really sorry."

I don’t care how sorry you are. What I want to know is who’s going to pay? Stephen saw the man was looking disparagingly at his battered Peugeot. I just hope you’ve got insurance.

Stephen nodded furiously, replying that of course he had but as the girl was at fault, it would be her insurance that would pay.

Then you’d better find her, the man said unequivocally, because if you don’t… and he left his words hanging.

After exchanging details and returning the car keys, the other driver drove off leaving Stephen in a cold sweat. How the hell could she drive away leaving him to deal with a guy who resembled a relation of the Godfather?

As he turned the key to start the 206, Stephen, smiling bitterly, accepted it was just one more example of how his life was inextricably falling apart.

*   *   *

That evening, as he sat with yet another can of lager, ignoring the flickering TV screen, Stephen accepted he had to sort himself out.

With alcohol fuelled self-pity and far more honesty than he intended, Stephen slurred angrily,

You’re useless. You do as little as possible but expect everyone to solve your problems when you end up in the shit... and when you do get a chance to do something positive you just screw it up... oh... and then blame everyone else but yourself. You’re completely bloody useless.

As night fell, Stephen sank into an ever-deepening misery. He was prepared to admit that he’d screwed up and that his life had been a never-ending series of failures, but what he couldn’t understand was how he had become quite so hopeless quite so quickly.

As his mood became more self destructive, he listed all his advantages; middle class, highly respectable family; sensible degree of materialism, plus, the big one, private education. Fast-tracked to success but never even making it to the starting blocks. Even if he wouldn’t admit it, most of all to his parents, dropping out of university had been completely stupid.

To cap it all, two days after walking out from yet another mind numbing job, after yet another argument with the boss, he was left with precisely two hundred and four pounds to his name. Was it any surprise he didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning?

Stephen had had enough of everything and everyone and decided he really couldn’t care less. He staggered to the front door, put on his coat and walked unsteadily to the Prince Charles where he proceeded to drink a significant part of his two hundred and four pounds.

—Ж—

Day 2 – Saturday

8.45am. Realising he was late for work, Stephen groggily crawled out of bed and made for the bathroom. It was only as he was stood under the shower that he remembered; firstly, it was the weekend and secondly, work was not on his agenda for that day or any other day for that matter.

Later, as the first coffee began to hit home, he phoned his insurance company but chose not to mention that he’d just been involved in an accident. He extended his cover for another six months, paying with a credit card that he knew would only cause him even more money problems later on, then decided he had to go to the police. Avoiding them was simply putting off the inevitable and if he didn’t admit he had driven with no insurance, more than likely he would end up in serious trouble.

There was also one other consideration and for Stephen it was a crucial one. If he didn’t go to the police, he would have to deal directly with the driver of the Mercedes and that was something he really would rather avoid.

It was whilst he was reliving his unpleasant encounter with ‘Mercedes man’ that he remembered the card he’d been given when they exchanged details. Finding it in his jacket, he saw in large black type, ‘Joseph F. Galardi’ and directly under the name, ‘Managing Director’. The name of the company S2P was printed across the centre of the card. Towards the bottom were the words, ‘Solutions to Problems - Advisory Services’; there was no address, just telephone numbers and e-contacts.

The more Stephen thought about Joseph Galardi, the more convinced he was that he should avoid disappointing the man at all cost.

As he was pouring his second coffee, the doorbell rang. He looked out of his first floor lounge window from where he could see the front porch of the apartment block and road. All he noticed was an unfamiliar black Jaguar parked outside. Stephen then spotted a youngish man wearing all black walking around looking up at the apartments. He didn’t recognise the car or visitor so decided to ignore him but then the bell rang again. Accepting he wasn’t going to leave, Stephen told the man over the intercom how to find his apartment and then pressed the security buzzer.

Are you Stephen Thornycroft? The question came before the door was half open.

Yes, Stephen answered warily.

I have a message from Mr. Galardi.

Stephen’s heart sank. It wasn’t even twenty-four hours since the accident.

Mr. Galardi, the man in black stared belligerently at Stephen, asked me to pass on the following message. Early this morning, at additional cost to himself as it’s a Saturday, he received a quote for the repair to his brand new Mercedes Benz car. The total cost is three thousand nine hundred and eighty seven pounds and thirty seven pence.

Stephen felt his legs go weak.

Mr. Galardi also said that if you are unable to find the driver of the other vehicle and persuade her to agree it was her fault, he will expect your insurance to pay up in full.

Stephen managed a mumbled thanks and closed the door as the man turned and walked towards the stairs.

Shit. Shit, shit!

*   *   *

Good morning sir, what can I do for you?

Stephen approached the desk tentatively.

Er..., I need to report an accident.

The police officer’s badge identified him as Sergeant Paul Vickery.

Right Sir, I’ll need a few details. Firstly, your name, address and the…

A myriad of questions followed before they got to the most sensitive of matters; insurance.

It ran out last Tuesday and until the accident I hadn’t realised it had expired.

Stephen knew it was a lie but it made him feel better not having to explain that in reality he had deliberately chosen to break the law.

In that case Sir, you may well face charges. Sergeant Vickery continued to write as he spoke. Driving without insurance is a serious offence, however, you have admitted your error and I am sure this will be taken into consideration.

Stephen was beginning to regret his decision to reveal all, but accepted it was a little late to feel sorry for himself. He gave the registration number of the Family Four Ferry and explained what had happened. When the Sergeant realised one of those involved in the accident had left the scene without exchanging details, his manner changed appreciably.

Will you excuse me for a moment, he said and disappeared into a room behind the counter taking the registration numbers with him. After a couple of minutes he reappeared.

Did you say the Mercedes driver was a Joseph Galardi?

Yes, Stephen replied, I have his card if it will help, and he passed it over.

Sergeant Vickery again disappeared and when he returned said,

We will be making enquires in due course but as there is no injury this will be considered a minor accident and therefore not a priority. However, the fact that one of the drivers left the scene does make it slightly more serious but I must warn you, it will still be considered a low category offence.

Sergeant Vickery then lent towards Stephen and said in a whisper,

I realise that without information on the driver of the Family Four Ferry, your situation is rather worrying so I have decided to... ‘unofficially’ tell you that it was a hire car.

He then pushed a piece of paper across the desk with the name of a hire company written on it.

I am also inclined to help due to the fact that the third person involved, a Mr. Galardi, is a person well known to the police both here and in London and I suggest you should resolve the problem of the damage to his car as soon as possible.

*   *   *

Stephen really didn’t know what to make of his ‘interview’ with Sergeant Vickery. It was obvious they weren’t that interested in the accident, which reinforced the general opinion that due to cutbacks, police forces across the country were concentrating their ever diminishing resources on more serious crime. However, he realised that to be given details of the hire company or for the police to make any comment, even off the record, about Joseph Galardi, was extremely irregular and decided that he should visit the car hire company to find out more.

*   *   *

Good morning, I wonder if you could help me, Stephen asked the receptionist as he sat in the chair provided. You see yesterday, I was involved in an accident with one of your cars and wondered if you could provide me with some details.

Oh no…, I’m sorry, the girl answered apologetically. We’re not allowed to give out client information.

Stephen’s heart sank.

Could I ask you to just check that the car involved was one of yours then? He gave her the registration number and she turned to her computer.

Was it a royal blue Family Four Ferry? she asked.

Yes, with a female driver. Look, I don’t want to be difficult but the driver of your car caused the accident and failed to stop.

The girl look concerned.

I’d better get the boss, she said pointing to an office behind her.

She then deliberately turned the computer screen away from Stephen before getting up, knocking on the door and entering. Returning almost immediately she said, smiling uneasily,

He’s out. Probably an early lunch so unless you come back later, I’m afraid I can’t help. I’m really sorry but to give you any details would be more than my job’s worth.

Stephen had hit a brick wall but decided to try one last time.

I completely understand but I do wonder how your boss will react if the car has been abandoned. I mean, the details you have on the driver could well be false, leaving your company liable as you own the vehicle.

Stephen felt uncomfortable pressuring the receptionist but he was desperate to get any information that might help.

What’s your name? he asked.

Tessa.

Okay Tessa, I intend to find the driver because without her I have a serious problem. So, just in case your boss isn’t at lunch but has just popped out for a few minutes, would you please look again and if he’s not in his office, could you please check the toilets...? Just in case.

As soon as Tessa had knocked and entered the manager’s office, Stephen moved round to the other side of her desk. He picked up a pen and began to copy the details from the screen onto a jotting pad. After what seemed like just a few seconds, he heard a door shutting and quickly returned to his seat. As Tessa reappeared, she said apologetically,

I’m sorry, Mr. Simpson is definitely out. I can only suggest you come back later.

*   *   *

As he sat in his car, Stephen looked at the pad and smiled. Susan Grey, Chesterton Hall, Draycott, Somerset. He decided to take a look on the way back to Taunton.

He remembered the village of Draycott, nestled in the shadow of the Mendip Hills and therefore hoped to find the Hall with little difficulty. However, after an unproductive ten minutes driving around, he decided to ask at the local pub, The Red Lion.

He was the only customer in the Lounge Bar, so after ordering coffee, he asked the woman serving him about Chesterton Hall. She told him she’d lived in the village for years but didn’t know of any hall, which left Stephen mystified. As he was about to leave, feeling more than a little frustrated, she returned from serving in the other bar and said,

You know, there is a large house three quarters of the way up New Road but it’s been abandoned for... ten, maybe twelve years.

Stephen asked if it might be Chesterton Hall.

I suppose it’s possible but that name doesn’t mean anything to me. Mind you, last I heard, one of those weird religious groups, you know communes, was living up there. I remember there were some very strange stories about the place but as I say, it was years ago so I could be completely wrong.

As he walked to his car, Stephen was puzzled. Why would Susan Grey give the name of a derelict building on a car hire form?

He drove carefully up New Road. It was little more than a country lane with a steep incline and he continued on for about half a mile until he saw a farm gate on the left followed by an overgrown track on the right. The lady in the Red Lion had mentioned that the place had been derelict for years so he decided it might possibly lead to the Hall.

After parking the car, Stephen walked along the unkempt track but found the going extremely difficult. He had negotiated about fifty yards and was questioning what the hell he was doing there when it opened out into a clearing. A building and two large dilapidated iron gates were visible about a hundred yards further on. Rather surprisingly, he also noticed a worn path leading to a side gate and realised the entrance must still be in use.

Stephen looked around uneasily. He had never considered himself a coward but also knew he wasn’t that brave and at that moment, every instinct was telling him to get away from there. Unfortunately, if he did, he knew he would never find the girl and would be left to deal directly with Joseph Galardi and his four thousand pounds.

Moving hesitantly along the well-trodden path, he arrived at a gate house and gently pushed against the battered side gate. As it swung open, its rusty hinges screeched, violating the intimidating silence and a hesitant Stephen stopped. Eventually, he reached a wide overgrown driveway leading up to an imposing mansion.

So where do you think you’re going?

Stephen’s heart pounded and he froze as the heavily accented voice stated aggressively,

This is private property. Stephen turned cautiously and saw the twin barrels of a shotgun pointing directly at his face.

I’m, er... sorry, he stuttered uneasily, but I’m..., looking for a girl...

Stephen knew he had to have a reason for being there, so added implausibly,

I met her on holiday in Greece and she said she lived around here. Look, I’m really sorry.

It was quite obvious the man didn’t believe him, so attempting to offer further apologies, Stephen began to back away.

I’ve made a mistake. I’m out of here, okay.

The man took a step towards Stephen.

Jacques!

A woman appeared from behind the gate-house and Stephen watched in utter disbelief as the man lowered the shotgun and stormed off in the direction of the large house.

Don’t you know this is private property? The woman spoke with exaggerated friendliness, in a similar French accent to the man. The owners do not like visitors so please leave and never come back.

*   *   *

As he sat, breathing heavily in the car, Stephen was not only irate but utterly bewildered by what had happened. Why would French people be patrolling the grounds of a derelict mansion in a sleepy Somerset village and why would he be threatened for being there?

Stephen decided enough was enough. The last thing he wanted or needed was to get mixed up with a bunch of foreigners who were quite obviously prepared to intimidate people who got in their way. The bottom line was that his search for Susan Grey would have to come to an end. However, without her, he was still left with the problem of what to do about Joseph. F. Galardi.

Just in case the damaged 206 played up, Stephen decided to travel back to Taunton on the A38 rather than on the motorway and his fears were realised as he arrived in West Huntspill. The temperature gauge began to rise and steam blew from under the bonnet. He could see the entrance to the Cider Apple pub on the Huntspill Causeway just a little further on and so drove cautiously, before turning into the car park. He remembered his father telling him that if a car was overheating you should never open the radiator cap so he decided to turn off the engine and leave it to cool. Stephen’s first idea was to head straight for the nearest bar but it quickly dawned on him that he had no money left for drinking.

Looking around for something to do whilst he waited, he noticed a road at the rear of the pub and a sign pointing to West Huntspill village. Deciding a bit of fresh air might clear his head and get the frustration he was