Something, a sound or movement from the direction of the forest, got her attention and her wave faltered. But there was nothing. Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned her attention back to the little girl. 'I sure wish you were mine,' she told the child, because she was secure in the knowledge that Jennie was too young to understand. 'One day I'm going to have a little girl of my own. Or a little boy. Then you can have someone to play with. And then there will be Tessa's little . . . something. Before me, of course. Doesn't that sound nice?'
Jennie smiled and said, 'Ba-ba.' Abruptly, the child's smile faltered and she turned her head to look apprehensively towards the forest.
With a worm of fear gnawing in her chest, Pamela got to her feet and picked up the child. 'That's twice now. Twice too many. Let's go back in, just to be on the safe side.'
The moment she began moving toward the mansion, however, another sound, this time unmistakable and clear, caused her to turn-
-and make an incoherent noise that was pure terror. Albert Askrigg had come bursting out of the wood and was running straight towards her, his eyes filled with naked, savage murder, a long knife flashing in his hand.
'Run! Run!' For a moment she had to coax her unwilling feet to move. And then, all at once, she was flying, running for all she was worth. But she could feel Albert Askrigg's heavy footfalls growing closer with each thud of her hammering heart.
Where were the police? Where was Theo? He was no longer on the balcony watching her. The day which had been clear, sunny and bright, was suddenly overcast- she felt a drop of moisture strike her face, causing her to flinch involuntarily. But no . . . the water hadn't come from the sky . . . For some reason she found that she had stopped running, and now stood beside the tarn. Jennie was no longer in her arms, or anywhere to be seen. And Albert Askrigg?
There was no sign of him. But still her chest felt constricted with terror. She was standing at the edge of the tarn looking into the water. Strange . . . something seemed to be moving down there. She knelt at the edge for a closer look, extended her hand towards its own mirrored image-
At once her wrist was seized by a hand that shot from the water, enclosing it in an unbreakable grip of iron! She tried to break free . . .
. . . but the hand that clutched her was not Albert Askrigg's. It was a young woman's hand, pale and deathly cold. At once, the young woman's face became visible, her eyes dead and staring. Pamela began screaming in horror-