111 West End

Chapter Eighteen: The Agent

Fifteen Years Earlier,

Natalie wore a faded blue boiler suit, covered with splashes of paint and smears of clay. She'd bundled her hair on top of her head in a messy bun, and a mucky rag hung from her back pocket. Ben wondered who or what she'd painted this time.

"Did I disturb you?" He followed her into the kitchen, dropping his keys onto the dining table on the way past and hanging his jacket on the back of a chair.

"I'm painting. At three-thirty this morning, inspiration struck. Besides, the house is too noisy and I can only relax inside the orangery."

"Guess what I brought with me?" He grinned at her and waved a plastic bag in front of her.

"Lunch." She grinned in return.

"Nope. It's better than that." He pulled the box out of the bag and placed it on the kitchen worktop.

Natalie stared at the Ouija board and shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"How else will we discover what Arthur wants?"

"So now you're on first-name terms?" She frowned. "I have to live here. Alone!"

"You don't have to live anywhere. You can always follow the doctor's advice and leave."

She sighed and crossed her arms. "I can't afford to move."

Ben figured she had little in the way of financial resources. After all, she was an artist. Whatever had possessed him to let his house to her? Oh, yeah. It was her vivid green eyes and attractive figure. "Surely your parents can help?"

"I have no family."

Ben stared at her, and for a moment, he felt a pang of sympathy.

"You should look for somewhere cheaper when your tenancy ends."

"Thank you, Ben. I may just do that," she snapped at him.

Ben shrugged. "Let's give this a whirl."

He set up the board on the dining room table and waited for Natalie to sit opposite him. He placed his finger on the planchette.

Natalie sighed and reluctantly placed her finger on the opposite edge.

"You call out." Ben didn't know how this worked. Or even if it worked. But 111 West End was his house and Arthur needed to crossover.

Natalie cleared her throat. "Doctor Arthur Bennet, are you here?"

The house remained silent.

"Call out again," Ben said.

Natalie wiped her palms on her boiler suit and, placing her finger back on the planchette, she tried again.

"Is there anyone there?"

Above where they sat, the ceiling creaked.

"Doctor, are you stuck here? Do you need my help?"

The door to the cellar rattled.

"Ben, you try."

"I don't know what to say." He straightened in his chair. "Arthur, do you realise this is no longer your house?"

Natalie tutted. "You can't ask him that."

Ben frowned and whispered, "Why not?"

The latch on the cellar door clicked, and the door silently swung open.