PROLOGUE
As Alice Bennett stood across the road from the handsome Victorian building a slow smile spread across her face.
The rather grand entrance had half a dozen stone steps flanked by wrought-iron railings that led to the shiny black front door. Above the doorway was an arched, stained-glass window that Alice used to love. The colourful glass had a fairy-tale quality to it, like something you would find in a prince’s castle, and it would fire up her childhood imagination.
Adjacent to the door an intercom system displayed the numbers for the four interior flats the house had been split into since she was last here.
Taking in the red-bricked residence stirred up memories for Alice. It was like looking through her old photographs that were kept in a treasured leather-bound album.
Wisteria House, built around 1880, still had all the hallmarks of a grand Victorian residence, its well-maintained exterior spanning the decades, and proudly displaying the natural elegance and grandeur of days gone by. Days that used to be filled with parties and laughter. But it was all too quiet now.
Glancing around the familiar wide, tree-lined street, lost in memories, her eyes rested on the ‘To Let’ sign on the ground-floor apartment. It overlooked the well-kept front lawn but there were some climbing plants making their way up the corner of the building.
Following them upwards, she spied the window boxes outside the upper apartments, the one on the left displaying vivid pink and red flowers, the one on the right some slightly wispy greenery that may have been an attempt at growing herbs. As Alice wondered what the herbs might have been, a young woman appeared at one of the windows. She did a quick double-take at the older lady, before pulling it shut.
Her attention was pulled back to the front door as a tall, well-built man came out of the apartments. He looked lost in his own heavy thoughts, but even so Alice realised that she probably shouldn’t attract any more attention. She must look odd watching the building like this.
As a light drizzle of rain began to fall, she put up her large black umbrella, walking away from the apartments with determined steps.
It was time to bring Wisteria House back to life.
ONE
DECLAN
Flat 4
Declan drummed his fingers on the arm of the black leather tub chair in the waiting area at Jarvis and Green, Accountancy Services. When he glanced down at his leg, that was clad in the grey trousers of a sharp designer suit, he realised it was twitching. He wondered why the hell he felt so nervous. Wasn’t he a brilliant accountant, award-winning even? Just recently he had successfully allocated money to council services that had received praise from the locals, who were now enjoying a brand-new park with their children.
Working for the council was not exactly giving him the buzz he desired, though. Declan needed the thrill of a big company in the city centre and maybe a chance to make some serious money. He had no desire to stay in his rented apartment forever.
Declan cleared his throat as he entered the room, where two people sat behind a polished wooden desk. The woman, an attractive redhead, greeted him with a smile; the dark-haired older bloke was twirling a pen around in his hand, his face expressionless.
‘Take a seat, Declan,’ said the bloke, who had not introduced himself.
Declan was asked about his various accomplishments, as the interviewers’ eyes flicked over his CV. They asked him the usual stuff, including his future ambitions and asked him to name some of his biggest achievements to date. That was easy for Declan, but he was distracted by the vibe in the room. He got the feeling that the pair in front of him, especially the bloke, were just going through the motions. Either they had someone else in mind for the job, or had decided at first glance that he was not a good fit.
The final straw was when the bloke put his feet up on a nearby chair. The redhead glanced over and shifted a little uncomfortably in her seat, before plastering a smile on her face.
Declan felt the anger rise inside him, just as the guy’s phone rang. He took the call without apologising for the interruption.
‘Have you finished with that?’ Declan gestured to his CV on the table with a snap of his fingers.
‘What, oh yes, sure,’ said the redhead, glancing across at her colleague, who ignored her.
Declan reached over and picked it up, just as the guy finished his call.
‘Thanks for your time. Well, yours anyway.’ He smiled at the woman. ‘You gave a good show of at least pretending to be interested in what I had to say. Unlike you.’ He eyeballed the bloke, who quickly removed his feet from the chair, and gave a little cough.
The bloke attempted to say something as Declan headed for the door, but the tone in Declan’s voice made him think again.
Clutching his CV, he counted to ten as he descended the lift to the reception area, where he made his way across the highly polished floor of the glass-fronted building.
He breathed deeply and pushed down his anger. Maybe he ought to escalate a complaint to HR. Who the hell did that guy think he was, putting his feet up like that and taking a call in the middle of an interview without a sniff of an apology? He half expected him to pull a sandwich out of a drawer. What a tosser.
His irritation was still bubbling away, but Declan patted himself on the back for restraining himself. There was a time when he would have flattened him, no question.
Not that he ever went looking for trouble. He was easy-going by nature, but he had learnt to look after himself. He grabbed a takeaway coffee from a nearby café and decided to walk the ten minutes back to the train station, rather than take a taxi, to calm himself down.
