Four Warned Read online

  The gate to the driveway was usually left open for her, though on the rare occasion Daniel had forgotten, and she’d had to get out of the car and open it for herself. She couldn’t risk that tonight. If the gate was closed, she would have to travel on to the next town and stop outside the Crimson Kipper, which was always crowded at this time on a Friday night, or, if she could find it, on the steps of the local police station. She checked her petrol gauge again. It was now touching red. ‘Oh my God,’ she said, realising she might not have enough petrol to reach the town.

  She could only pray that Daniel had remembered to leave the gate open.

  She swerved out of the next bend and sped up, but once again she managed to gain only a few yards, and she knew that within seconds he would be back in place. He was. For the next few hundred yards they remained within feet of each other, and she felt certain he would run into the back of her. She didn’t once dare to touch her brakes – if they crashed in that lane, far from any help, she would have no hope of getting away from him.

  She checked her mileometer. A mile to go.

  ‘The gate must be open. It must be open,’ she prayed. As she swung round the next bend, she could make out the outline of the farmhouse in the distance. She almost screamed with relief when she saw that the lights were on in the downstairs rooms.

  She shouted, ‘Thank God!’ then remembered the gate again, and changed her plea to ‘Dear God, let it be open.’ She would know what needed to be done as soon as she came round the last bend. ‘Let it be open, just this once,’ she pleaded. ‘I’ll never ask for anything again, ever.’ She swung round the final bend only inches ahead of the black van. ‘Please, please, please.’ And then she saw the gate.

  It was open.

  Her clothes were now drenched in sweat. She slowed down, wrenched the gearbox into second, and threw the car between the gap and into the bumpy driveway, hitting the gatepost on her right-hand side as she careered on up towards the house. The van didn’t hesitate to follow her, and was still only inches behind as she straightened up. Diana kept her hand pressed down on the horn as the car bounced and lurched over the mounds and potholes.

  Flocks of startled crows flapped out of overhead branches, screeching as they shot into the air. Diana began screaming, ‘Daniel! Daniel!’ Two hundred yards ahead of her, the porch light went on.

  Her headlights were now shining onto the front of the house, and her hand was still pressed on the horn. With a hundred yards to go, she spotted Daniel coming out of the front door, but she didn’t slow down, and neither did the van behind her. With fifty yards to go she began flashing her lights at Daniel. She could now make out the puzzled, anxious look on his face.

  With thirty yards to go she threw on her brakes. The heavy estate car skidded across the gravel in front of the house, coming to a halt in the flower bed just below the kitchen window. She heard the screech of brakes behind her. The leather-jacketed man, unfamiliar with the terrain, had been unable to react quickly enough, and as soon as his wheels touched the gravelled area he began to skid out of control. A second later the van came crashing into the back of her car, slamming it against the wall of the house and shattering the glass in the kitchen window.

  Diana leapt out of the car, screaming, ‘Daniel! Get a gun, get a gun!’ She pointed back at the van. ‘That bastard’s been chasing me for the last twenty miles!’

  The man jumped out of the van and began limping towards them. Diana ran into the house. Daniel followed and grabbed a shotgun, normally reserved for rabbits, that was leaning against the wall. He ran back outside to face the unwelcome visitor, who had come to a halt by the back of Diana’s Audi.

  Daniel raised the shotgun to his shoulder and stared straight at him. ‘Don’t move or I’ll shoot,’ he said calmly. And then he remembered the gun wasn’t loaded. Diana ducked back out of the house, but remained several yards behind him.

  ‘Not me! Not me!’ shouted the leather-jacketed youth, as Rachael appeared in the doorway.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked nervously.

  ‘Ring for the police,’ was all Daniel said, and his wife quickly disappeared back into the house.

  Daniel advanced towards the terrified-looking young man, the gun aimed squarely at his chest.

  ‘Not me! Not me!’ he shouted again, pointing at the Audi. ‘He’s in the car!’ He quickly turned to face Diana. ‘I saw him get in when you were parked on the hard shoulder. What else could I have done? You just wouldn’t pull over.’

  Daniel advanced cautiously towards the rear door of the car and ordered the young man to open it slowly, while he kept the gun aimed at his chest.

  The youth opened the door, and quickly took a pace backwards. The three of them stared down at a man crouched on the floor of the car. In his right hand he held a long-bladed knife with a serrated edge. Daniel swung the barrel of the gun down to point at him, but said nothing.

  The sound of a police siren could just be heard in the distance.

  The Queen’s Birthday Telegram

  (from And Thereby Hangs a Tale)

  Her Majesty the Queen sends her congratulations to Albert Webber on the occasion of his 100th birthday, and wishes him many more years of good health and happiness.

  Albert was still smiling after he had read the message for the twentieth time.

  ‘You will be next, ducks,’ he said as he passed the royal message across to his wife. Betty only had to read the telegram once for a broad smile to appear on her face too.

  The festivities had begun a week earlier, building up to a celebration party at the town hall. Albert’s photograph had appeared on the front page of the Somerset Gazette that morning, and he had been interviewed on BBC Points West, his wife seated proudly by his side.

  His Worship the Mayor of Street, Councillor Ted Harding, and the leader of the local council, Councillor Brocklebank, were waiting on the town hall steps to greet the honoured guest.

  Albert was escorted to the mayor’s parlour where he was introduced to Mr David Heathcote-Amory, the local Member of Parliament, as well as the local MEP, although when asked later he couldn’t remember her name.

  After several more photographs had been taken, Albert was ushered through to a large reception room where over a hundred invited guests were waiting to greet him. As he entered the room he was welcomed by a spontaneous burst of applause, and people he’d never met before began shaking hands with him.

  At 3.27 p.m., the precise minute Albert had been born in 1907, the old man, surrounded by his five children, eleven grandchildren and nineteen great-grandchildren, thrust a silver-handled knife into a three-tier cake. This simple act was greeted by another burst of applause, followed by cries of speech, speech, speech!

  Albert had prepared a few words, but as quiet fell in the room, they went straight out of his head.

  ‘Say something,’ said Betty, giving her husband a gentle nudge in the ribs.

  He blinked, looked around at the expectant crowd, paused and said, ‘Thank you very much.’

  Once the people realised that was all he was going to say, someone began to sing ‘Happy Birthday’, and within moments everyone was joining in. Albert managed to blow out seven of the hundred candles before the younger members of the family came to his rescue, which was greeted by even more laughter and clapping.

  Once the applause had died down, the mayor rose to his feet, tugged at the lapels of his black and gold braided gown and cleared his throat, before delivering a far longer speech.

  ‘My fellow citizens,’ he began, ‘we are gathered together today to celebrate the birthday, the one hundredth birthday, of Albert Webber, a much-loved member of our community. Albert was born in Street on the fifteenth of April 1907. He married his wife Betty at Holy Trinity Church in 1931, and spent his working life at C. and J. Clark’s, our local shoe factory.

  ‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘Albert has spent his entire life in Street, with the notable exception of four years when he served as a private soldier