13The house was a lumbering, redbrick fronted Victorian affair, with bay windows and steps leading up to the front door. Coloured green, in the centre of the woodwork a large, ornate brass knocker, with letterbox beneath. With no sign of any bell, Miles, giving a shrug, went straight to the metal knocker and brought down the clapper hard.
They both stood and waited. Behind the net curtains, grey and impenetrable, nothing stirred. They exchanged glances and Miles knocked for a second time, harder than before.
From somewhere deep within the building a door creaked, footsteps approached. Andrew experienced a curious tingling sensation at the nape of his neck, trepidation as to what he might confront when the door opened.
And then it did.
She stood there, a slightly built woman dressed in
