Page 67 of The House Swap

‘Oh, you don’t have to⁠—’

‘Nonsense,’ Sue said, shutting down Poppy’s protest. ‘The crumble needs another five minutes. There’s time. He’s very proud of what he’s built, you know. Just wait until you see it.’

Ian chuckled softly, rising slowly. ‘It’s nothing fancy,’ he said modestly. ‘Just a small cellar under the house. Keeps the temperature steady.’

The word cellar had Poppy’s stomach tightening.

She hadn’t noticed a cellar door when she’d arrived.

‘Go on,’ Sue encouraged, smiling brightly. She was already on her feet, waiting for Poppy to get up. ‘You can pick a nice bottle to have with dessert. Ian knows all the different grapes. He’ll bore you senseless talking about them if you let him.’ She smiled fondly at her husband. ‘Won’t you, love?’

Poppy hesitated, aware she would look ridiculous if she refused to go with Ian. She had no logical reason to refuse, other than a gut feeling, and if she acted on that, she would be throwing Sue and Ian’s hospitality back in their faces.

‘Okay,’ she agreed, keeping her tone light.

She slid across and off the bench seat, following after Ian, tension already thrumming through her, as they stepped out into the living room, the beaded curtain clattering softly behind them as it settled, then out into the hallway. He led her past the front door, towards the end of the villa where Poppy presumed the bedrooms were. The air was cooler here, and the light slightly dimmer.

Finally, he stopped beside a wooden door. Above it, fixed to the wall, was a small metal rack. A single brass key hung from one of the hooks. Reaching up, he took it down.

As he bent slightly to slide the key into the lock, Poppy felt a trace of unease. If the cellar was used to store wine, why did he need to keep the door locked?

A memory surfaced of the notorious serial killers, Fred and Rose West, who had presented themselves as a normal, friendly couple, before luring their female victims to a gruesome end. And, although again she told herself she was being ridiculous and her imagination was now running riot, she couldn’t quite shake the thought.

Something wasn’t quite right with Sue and Ian.

The door swung inward to reveal a concrete staircase descending into the darkness. Reaching inside the cellar, he clicked on a switch, and a single bulb glowed somewhere below, throwing weak yellow light up the shadowy walls.

The air drifting up was noticeably cooler and it smelt strongly of damp stone.

‘Mind the first step. It’s a bit steep,’ Ian instructed, already starting down the steps.

Poppy moved closer to the doorway.

The staircase looked narrower than she expected, the walls close on either side. From this angle, she could see shelves running along the basement walls below, and rows of dark glass bottles lying on their sides.

Perfectly normal. Completely harmless.

Yet, absurdly, her mind lurched in a totally different direction.

Although the Pritchards’ villa sat within a small cluster, as far as Poppy was aware, the other properties were all empty. The only other one occupied was Jem’s, but she already knew that he wasn’t home.

Ian was at the foot of the stairs now.

‘Come on down,’ he urged. ‘You know, cellars are the best place to store wine. The stable temperature helps preserve them.’

Poppy willed herself to move, but her legs were leaden and she felt as though her feet were glued to the ground.

Sue suddenly appeared behind her, close enough that Poppy could feel the warmth of her presence at her back. She gave Poppy a nudge. ‘Go on. We don’t bite, you know.’

It sounded ridiculous, but something made Poppy want to run. Not possible, though, as Sue was right behind her in the doorway, while Ian stood waiting at the bottom.

‘Are you coming?’

His voice echoed slightly in the enclosed space, and her pulse kicked up a notch.

Realising she had nowhere else to go, she stepped onto the stairs, aware her legs were shaking.

As she descended, Ian watched her, his gaze sweeping down from her face and across her body, in a way that made her skin prickle.