'Hello? Hello?'

'Mother, it's closed.' Delphine's fingers ached with cold. Her mittens were deep in her suitcase.

'Your problem is you give up too easily.' Mother switched from her knuckles to the heel of her fist.

'Please, let's just go. I said it's fine.'

'Don't be obstinate.' Mother dealt the door three crashing blows. 'Hello? Ah, it's no use. There's no one there.' She turned and sighed. 'Well? Are you coming? Philip is waiting with the engine running. It'll never restart in this weather so unless you intend to walk home . . . '

Delphine hurried towards the exit.

'Delphine! Don't run!'

Delphine sat next to Mother in the back of the car, listening to the motor strain as it climbed the gears. Road poured through the headlamps, pocked and bright between tall, dark hedgerows. Snow had fallen lightly; every so often the wheels slithered in a patch of slush.

'When we get in you're not to bother your father.'

Delphine bit back her disappointment.

'Yes, Mother.' She glanced out the passenger window. 'I'll say goodnight to him then go straight to bed.'

'What did I just tell you?' Mother grabbed Delphine's wrist. 'Delphine. Look at me. You are not to bother your father, is that clear?'

'You're hurting me.'

'Is that clear?'

Delphine was breathing heavily. 'But I only want to say goodnight.'

'He's been working very hard and he is very, very tired. Dr Eliot,' she flashed a glance at the back of Philip's head, lowered her voice, 'Dr Eliot said he needs rest. You can speak to him tomorrow.'

'He'll be happy to see me.'

Mother closed her eyes and exhaled. 'Of course he will. Look, you can speak to him first thing. Let's you and I keep to the sitting room tonight. I'll have Julia make cocoa and you can tell me what you've been up to at school.'

'I'll just poke my head round the door of his studio.'

'The matter is closed.'

'But '

'Delphine! If you say another word I'll have Philip turn this car around and you can spend Christmas at your Aunt Lily's.'

Delphine bunched her fists and glared into her lap. She knew Mother might make good on the threat if pushed. Over the past year, Mother had made it clear she did not want Delphine around the house. It would be just like her to seize upon one small outburst as justification for keeping Daddy to herself.

Philip swung the car round a sharp bend. Delphine had to grip the seat to stop her head settling on Mother's shoulder. She leant her hot brow against the cool glass as the car descended towards the village, and home.

When Philip pulled up in the drive the night was tangy with woodsmoke. He opened the door and Delphine's mother stepped out, tugging her coat about her with a flourish.

'What sort of idiot has a bonfire in this weather?' she said.

Delphine thought that this was the perfect weather for a bonfire. She followed a few paces behind as Mother walked up the garden path, paused, sniffed the air, then continued up the steps. The little Pan fountain had frozen over. The lawn was powdered glass. Delphine exhaled, lips spilling mist.

Philip killed the engine. In the quiet that followed, Delphine thought she heard a noise like hail, or the slow winding of a winch. Mother pounded the door knocker.

'Philip, would you come and let us in please?'

Philip whipped off his driving gloves and tugged a bunch of keys from his pocket. Mother stepped aside as he stooped for the lock.

'I can't imagine where Julia's got to,' she said, worrying at her coat cuff. 'She can't have gone home. I gave her clear instructions to wait till we had returned. Philip? What's wrong? She hasn't drawn the bolt, has she?'

'Just a bit stiff with the cold,' he said. He grunted, twisting the handle. The door gave. 'There.' He waited on the doorstep while Mother and Delphine stepped inside.

As soon as Delphine crossed the threshold she knew something was wrong. It took her a moment to realise the hatstand was missing. And the little table Mother liked to set flowers on. And the hall mirror.

Mother looked around with a slight rolling of the shoulders. Hanging thickly in the air was a smell like motor oil and toast.

Mother said: 'Where is he?'

A bang came from the landing. Daddy appeared at the top of the stairs, dragging the longcase clock that Mother's late Uncle Shipton had brought back from Denmark.* He was barefoot and stripped to the waist. His back was covered in red marks.

'Gideon,' said Mother, her voice strangely measured, 'what are you doing?'

Daddy went on dragging the clock down the stairs. As he drew closer, Delphine could hear him muttering to himself.

'Gideon,' said Mother. 'Where's Julia?'

Daddy grumbled something incomprehensible.

'Giddy? Where's Julia?'

'I said I sent her home.' It sounded like Daddy was breathing through gritted teeth. He pulled the clock down another step and the door on the front fell open.

'Please let's sit down, dear. It's terribly late to be rearranging things. Where's the hatstand?'

He muttered into his fist.

'What?'

'It's hooks.'

He widened his stance. With each fall, the clock jangled queasily.

'Hooks? Giddy, darling, what on earth are you talking about? Where's the hatstand?'

'It's too heavy. It's all hooks.' He spat as he spoke. 'I can't . . . I can't . . . '

Mother came to the edge of the stairs. 'What's heavy? I don't understand. Where have all our things gone?' She reached for his elbow.

'Don't touch me!' Daddy lunged over the bannister and swung at her with a wild backhand. Mother stepped back in a practised reflex, turning her face so his knuckles only grazed her cheek. Uncle Shipton's clock rattled down the last few stairs and hit the floor with a crunch of bust workings. Daddy clutched for her throat but she dodged and his fingers closed round the collar of her cream coat. She twisted out of it and lifted her forearm just in time to shield her head as he used the coat to lash at her.

Daddy lost interest. He bundled up the coat and strode down the last few stairs. As he stepped over the clock, Delphine tried to catch his gaze. His eyes were like chips of glass.

'Daddy?' She would snap him out of it. She stretched a smile across her face, took a breath and stepped towards him. 'Daddy, I'm home for Christm '

'Delphine! No!' Mother threw up an arm.

Daddy rounded on her.

'It's killing me! It's killing me!' He drilled at his temple with two fingers, gasping. 'Man's not supposed to live like this! It goes! It goes! It all goes in!'

Mother slammed against the wall, withering. Delphine looked to Philip, who stood dumbly in the doorway. Philip blinked, took a step forward.

'Mr Venner, I . . . '

Daddy shut his eyes. He ran a hand through his slick silvered hair, whispering.

'It's almost gone now,' he murmured. He stepped over Mother as he had stepped over the clock, carrying her coat down the corridor to the kitchen. When he opened the door Delphine heard the hail noise again, but louder; the oily smell grew stronger. Mother was on her feet, scrambling after Daddy, pleading, shrieking operatically. She grabbed at his back; he bore her like a rucksack as he walked out of sight.

Delphine felt a cold weight in her belly. She walked to the stairs. Her legs felt gluey and she had to grip the bannister. Philip was saying something but it was far away and muffled. The picture of Grandnan and Grandpapa was gone, leaving a dark rectangle of wallpaper. She staggered towards her room. The door was open. Perhaps she had made a mistake. Perhaps everything would be fine.

A shifting, aquatic glow lit the space. The room felt bigger than she remembered. Her bed was gone. There were splinters on the floor. Her books were gone. Her model castle was gone. In the carpet were four dents left by the legs of the toy chest. There was no basket. There was no Hannibal. There was no Nelson.

She stumbled to the window. The fields around the village were blue and still. Down in the back garden was a huge bonfire. She saw the outlines of mattress springs, picture frames, a bike wheel. All around, the snow had melted and where the grass had not been scorched away it shone a lustrous bottle green. Smoke formed a solid, curling pillar. Daddy slung Mother's cream coat into the flames, where it shrivelled. He dropped to his knees and gripped his head, shuddering.

No. He was laughing.

Delphine turned away, dazed and sickened. Her body felt light as a seedpod. She walked out of her room and down the stairs and picked up her suitcase. She walked out of the house to the car, opened the back door and climbed inside. She took out the brushes in their brown paper parcel. She lay down on the back seat and hugged them to her chest.

*Delphine saw the title, Murder On The Orient Express, and realised she had read it in a brief fit of grown-upness two months before. She had powered through three whole chapters before skipping to the end (the novel's primary focus, she had discovered, was not murder, but talking).

*Great Uncle Shipton had claimed he got the clock after agreeing to referee a swimming contest between four sailors usually a Dutchman, a Swede, a Norwegian and a Finn. The race was to run from Aalborghus Castle, across the Limfjord, and back again. The first man to touch the castle wall would win an antique clock. On the morning of the contest, Shipton and a crowd of spectators watched the sailors plunge into the freezing waters. Four heads bobbed as they crossed the narrow channel. Presently, there were three. Then two. Then one. Then none. Some time after midday, the organiser turned to Shipton and asked if he wanted to declare it a draw. Shipton agreed, and received the clock in recognition of his good sportsmanship.

CHAPTER 2.

O QUEEN OF AIR AND DARKNESS.

March 1935 Nothing lifted Delphine's mood, not even the monster. Brawny shanks, conch ears, wings like a ripped corset, lips drawn in an endless howl everything she wanted in a Hell fiend, except life. In its granite throat was a robin's nest. As the car rolled through the wrought-iron gates of Alderberen Hall, the little bird watched from behind a row of lichen-freckled fangs.

Delphine scraped an index finger round her nostril then wiped it on the seam of the leather seat. She sat hunched, her jaw tight. Mother had made her wear a bonnet with a bright green ribbon; she could feel it balanced on her head, conspicuous as antlers.

Beyond the car, the estate spread dew-soaked, teeming. Tall Scots pines twisted out of a flat expanse. In the glassy morning light, she could almost believe she was on the savannah. Chickweed strafed the thickening grass in great creamy splashes. The road swung through a blackthorn thicket spattered with white blooms. They entered the woods.

Through Philip's open window she smelt the sour sweat of nettles. Ferns lashed at the running board. A branch clattered against the windscreen. She caught a flash of dark red behind a rotten log. When she looked again, it was gone.

The woods thinned. Beeches lined the road, their branches hacked back to ugly stumps. Bracken gave way to grass. The driveway began a gentle curving descent.

She saw a boating lake with a little hill beside it. On top of the hill sat a dome of black brick rather like an igloo. Huge shadows rolled across the lawns. All at once she was looking at Alderberen Hall vast, brilliant sunlight blazing off the golden stonework of its east and west wings.

A fawn lifted its head at the rumble of the motor. It bounded away, beech trees chopping its movement into a zoetrope flicker. Delphine lined up a shot with her imaginary hunting rifle, picturing a second, invisible head in front of the first, aiming for the eyeball, holding her breath. Pinching.

'Pow,' she whispered. The fawn kept running, oblivious.

Mother shook a pill into her palm from a brown glass bottle. She put her hand over her mouth, as if receiving bad news.

Ahead, Alderberen Hall fattened, gaining detail. Heavy mullioned windows were set in walls of faded golden stone. Six classical columns stood over the entrance. The Hall was symmetrical, its east and west wings reaching forward like the paws of the Sphinx.

Philip switched off the engine and let the car coast the final few yards. Wheels crackled on gravel and stopped. Delphine got out. She waited, hands clasped over her tummy.

Mother took Philip aside. She stood close and spoke quietly. Delphine realised she was being excluded and edged closer, indignant.

'We'll send for you when we need you,' Mother was saying. 'Philip, I . . . the family appreciates your loyalty and discretion over these past few months.'

'Of course, Mrs Venner '

She took his hand in both of hers. 'I know we can trust you.' When she let go, he glanced down.

'Oh, I . . . ' He took a sharp breath. 'Thank you, Mrs Venner.'

'Take your aunt on a daytrip somewhere nice. Borrow the car, if you like.'

'Yes, Mrs Venner. Thank you, Mrs Venner.' Philip seemed unable to lift his head. His cheeks were pink. 'Uh . . . uh, so . . . '

'What is it?'

He kneaded his hands, his voice tailing off. 'I was just . . . I mean, so I know . . . to be ready, like . . . for, uh . . . Will . . . when will you be wanting me to pick up, uh . . . Mr Venner?'

Mother turned away.

'We will send for you when we need you.'

'Yes, Mrs Venner.' He began backing towards the car.

'Philip? Our cases, please.'

'Oh, sorry, Mrs Venner.'

As he unlocked the boot, Delphine wandered along the front of the house. Between the blocky east and west wings ran a long facade of smutted mustard-yellow brickwork. Up close, its palatial grandeur congealed into the grubby functionality of a sanatorium. A row of black-barred windows filled most of the she fancied fatal drop between the two storeys. Ivy clung to the brick in sickly clusters, too brittle to climb down.

'Delphine!' Mother's voice was sing-song but her eyes flashed with warning. 'Let's not keep our hosts waiting, dear.'

A maid stood in the doorway, one elbow propped against the frame. She was young and slight with white-gold hair. Mother turned to wave off Philip. The maid eyed the two suitcases out on the gravel. She trudged over and grasped the handles.