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Andrews UK - Stan Mason

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101 pages

English

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Charles and Jennifer Roach are a deeply devoted young married couple who live in Cornwall. On wintry night, when snow and ice covered every inch of the ground, they go for a walk with a neighbour's dog which rushes out into the road. At the same time, a large truck appears over the hill and the driver, trying to avoid the dog, crashes into Jennifer, killing her but he becomes a hit-and-run driver because he moves on without stopping. Charles is devastated at her death but later is surprised to see her apparition and hear her speaking to him. She tells him what is happening to her as she moves towards the next world and he decides to seeks the help of a medium. At the same time, the truck driver, on a journey northwards, knocks down another person and finds himself in serious financial difficulties with regard to his trucking business to the point of bankruptcy. He becomes attracted to an old flame on one of his journeys and when his wife finds out she leaves him. However he is more concerned with Jannifer who continues to haunt him. Charles becomes involved with the voluptuous Rhona Paphos who tries to recruit him for a senior appointment in her jewellery business at the same time falling in love with him. Her mother is a medium and she holds a seance for him. Charles is in a dilemma whether to leave his banking career behind and start a new life after settling Jennifer's journey into the hereinafter but destiny guides him the right way. However, all does not bode well for the truck driver as Jennifer gets her revenge before her transition to eternal peace.

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Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	20 janvier 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781783335558
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0250€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Title Page
REVENGEMENT

By
Stan Mason

Publisher Information
Revengement
Published in 2014 by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Copyright © 2014 Stan Mason
The right of Stan Mason to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Chapter One
The clock on the bedside table ticked loudly with monotonous regularity. It was three-thirty in the morning. Charles Roach and his wife, Jennifer, lay sleeping in a large double bed as the moonlight struck a path through a slit in the curtains.
In the confines of sleep, he twisted and turned in an agonised fashion, uttering slow moans, and then suddenly sat bolt upright in the bed crying out something incoherent at the top of his voice. His eyes opened widely, his mouth felt dry, and he was perspiring heavily. Jennifer switched on the light in alarm and turned towards him sitting up quickly.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked with concern.
He blew out his cheeks with relief and ran the palms of his hands over his eyes. ‘Oh, God!’ he uttered dolefully. ‘The dream was so vivid I thought it was real.’
She began to laugh at his dismay. ‘Dream!’ she echoed. ‘I think it was more like a nightmare. Tell me about it. It might help you shake it out of your mind.’
He shrugged his shoulders casually. ‘You know what it’s like with dreams... and nightmares. They’re so real in your sleep but you can’t remember them when you wake up.’
Come on!’ she chided disbelievingly. ‘Pull the other one! You had a nightmare. Everyone remembers those. What was it... the big bogeyman?’
He blew out his cheeks again as though having rid himself of the fear and terror. The nightmare had been about his wife but he couldn’t tell her about it. Even worse was the fact that he had experienced the same one twice before. It was etched for ever in his memory by now and, to be truthful, it scared him. He had dreamed that it was deep in the heart of winter. Snow had stopped falling and he and Jennifer were walking along a white wonderland when a mist came down. Suddenly, a man on a white horse came charging at them. He came far too close and Jennifer was knocked down roughly by the steed as it passed by. She fell and hit her head on a rock. Charles tried to revive her but she was stone dead! At that point, the level of sleep drifted away and he opened his eyes to reality.
‘Thank God she’s still alive!’ he muttered to himself on eah occasion, without revealing the essence of the nightmare. He prayed it was not the kind of premonition people often boasted about some time before a disaster occurred. Jennifer was six months pregnant and he would do anything in his power to protect her. Relating weird tales about her death, stemming from something conjured up in his sub-conscious mind during sleep, would fail to comfort her. It was far better that he remained silent and kept the secret to himself.
Jennifer put her arms around him and kissed him tenderly on the lips. ‘It’s three-thirty in the morning, darling,’ she said sweetly. ‘Would you mind arranging for your nightmares to occur somewhere in the region of seven-thirty in future so that we can both get a good night’s sleep?’
He began to laugh at her comment. ‘If it wasn’t so pathetic it would be funny,’ he responded. ‘Why should a grown man with no serious worries have nightmares, that’s what I want to know. Only children normally have that kind of bad dreams.’
She kissed him and rearranged the covers on the bed. ‘Never mind, my baby,’ she said with amusement. ‘Mummy will look after you.’ She paused for a moment placing her hand on her abdomen. ‘He kicked me then, you know. He’s complaining that you woke him up as well. Really, Charles, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!’
They both started to laugh and then they snuggled down in the bed, hugging each other, before switching off the light. Yet despite the light-heartedness, Charles was very concerned about the experience. He was happy about it at all!
***
Jim Purdy was a large man... six feet three inches in height and weighing over eighteen stone... and he sported a shock of black hair. His tired craggy face belied his real age and whenever he smiled his teeth reflected a yellow colour. His eyes appeared to be bloodshot through lack of sleep and worry and it would be a brave man to pick a fight with him. Most of the time he wore a thick tartan shirt and blue denims which had seen far better times. Until he started to drive a truck on his own account he was extremely flamboyant, considering himself a ‘Knight of the Road!’ Now that he ran his own business, he was tense and sombre with a world of worry on his shoulders. How personalities changed under the mantle of responsibility!
He had been commissioned to take a load of roofing slates to a location in Cornwall and two days later his truck plundered through the murkiness of a Cornish winter. The change in the weather had surprised everyone in the south of the country. It was one of the few occasions when heavy snow had fallen at this time of the year. The big lorry hastened its journey ferociously through the evil conditions, surging forward like a huge predator hunting eagerly for its prey. It was being driven far too fast on the slippery surface. The fog lamps... two yellow sightless eyes... penetrated the heavy mist, like two laser beams slicing coolly through a mountain of white marshmallow. Inside the vehicle, the speedometer showed the rate of acceleration far in excess of fifty miles an hour. Purdy was aware that he was exceeding the speed limit, running the truck with undue haste in deplorable conditions through a densely populated residential estate. His actions caused it to be an accident waiting to happen. He sat rigidly behind the steering wheel staring straight ahead at the white road in front of him. The journey had just begun and he had over two hundred miles to go for the delivery. The exigencies of the day had been extremely frustrating, sometimes traumatic, A further problem was the fatigue which tended to make him insensitive to caution. Earlier in the day, road works, traffic hold-ups, and the delay for a minor repair to the engine had pushed him to the brink. Then he had to wait for two hours at the depot to be loaded because of technical difficulties. He had become intolerant and angry, feeling that the world owed him a living. As an entrepreneur, a one-man transport business, operating very tightly financially... on a shoe-string... loss of time meant loss of money. Working for himself, he relied on a swift run to this part of the country, loading quickly, and returning rapidly to London. It would have afforded him the six hours sleep he needed before he embarked on his next delivery. The delays, which were beyond his control, had cost him all his slumber which meant that he would be forced to break the law by not taking sufficient rest. It wasn’t the first time either. Long ago he realised that he couldn’t afford to follow the rules and this was yet another occasion. The main problem was the large loan from the bank which hung like a yoke around his neck, gathering interest all the time. If he didn’t drive around the clock he couldn’t afford the repayments. This had been intimated by his belligerent, and often offensive, bank manager who contacted him about it in a bullying fashion month after month. All too often his bank account had been frozen whereby cheques drawn by him were no honoured.
So far, on this miserable day, it was debatable whether he would get to London in time to load a series of wall divisions to a site in Newcastle. He knew that driving without rest was a dangerous practice but he shrugged it off telling himself that ‘Needs must when the Devil drives!’ Time was of the essence and that was the primary reason for him to cut through the residential estate well in excess of the speed limit.
***
The architects of the Roseland estate never received an award for their professional designs or effort. Neither should they have done because the estate was simply an accumulation of houses and bungalows clustered together in an area comprising forty acres. The properties were quite ordinary to look at, some expressing themselves as extremely modest. However it was relatively close to the town centre with its maze of cobbled alleyways, walled gardens, and streets lined with elegant Georgian buildings. Within a reasonable distance, it was possible to see the harbour full of yachts and fishing vessels. There were narrow streets with Victorian-built villas and it was close to a sandy beach, landscaped by rolling hills dotted with interested properties, medieval churches and historic sites.
Charles and Jennifer were not natives of Cornwall. They had moved there to enjoy the quality of life and had bought a small bungalow on the estate. Their presence made an impression on the local community and they became known as ‘The Romantics’ living on the edge of the estate. They were always seen holding hands, kissing each other, and looking at each other in an aura of love. Evidence of their community spirit occurred when an elderly neighbour fell and broke his hip. After he was taken to hospital, they took care of his black-and-white Welsh terrier for him. Every evening, they walked the dog for a mile down the road, irrespective of the inclement weather. On this occasion, a light mist shrouded the area and a slight drizzle began to fall causing