Nyctophobia by Christopher Fowler

I’m going to make a study of the house, and I need a full set of keys to the other rooms,’ I said firmly. ‘I must be able to open every door.’
    ‘I’m afraid that is not possible,’ Rosita replied without looking up.
    ‘Why on earth not?’
    ‘Some of them are lost.’
    ‘You mean you haven’t been inside at all?’
    ‘We restored the rooms after the soldiers were garrisoned here during the war, then we closed them up. I told you, there was a full set of keys but some went missing.’
    ‘Well, how many rooms are sealed?’
    ‘The ones on the first floor. I can probably find the keys to the ground floor rooms.’
    ‘Very well, I’ll start with those.’ According to the floorplan, there were rear stairs leading up to the rooms above. ‘I’ll find a locksmith to deal with the others.’ I held out my hand.
    Rosita looked at the outstretched palm before her, then went back to kneading dough. ‘I’ll look for them after lunch, and speak to Mr Torres.’
    ‘Senora Delgadillo, Mr Torres is my husband. You don’t need to get his permission.’
    ‘I’ve always got permission from the master of the house,’ said Rosita stubbornly.
    ‘You have a mistress too. I’d like a full set of the remaining keys, as soon as you have a minute to find them.’
    I turned and walked out of the kitchen, but could feel a tic in my neck, my pulse rising in anger. The last thing I wanted was to start playing games with this woman. Of course, it wasn’t about her at all. I know that now.

 
     
    CHAPTER ELEVEN
    The Architect
     
     
    I T HAD BEEN arranged that Bobbie would take lessons from a woman who lived in Gaucia. Her name was Julieta Cortez. She was a schoolteacher in her mid-thirties, and had been made redundant after the local school reduced its size two years earlier. The plan was that she would come to the house every other day for four hours, and that in between these times she would Skype Bobbie with assignments and Q&A sessions. I agreed to supervise Bobbie’s coursework and tests to make sure she had done everything.
    The plan was to try out the system until the mid-term break and if Bobbie hated it or slipped behind in the curriculum, or felt the need to go to a school to be with children of her own age, then she could be boarded at the coast earlier, in Estepona. It had been Bobbie’s decision not to board, but she agreed to go if homeschooling proved too difficult.
    Julieta could not have looked more Spanish if she tried. She was pretty, with large dark eyes, but thin and sallow, as if she had never sat in the sun, and wore dark loose clothes, greys and browns, or sometimes deep greens. Like Rosita she rarely seemed to smile, but was always courteous and pleasant. On the rare occasions that she did find something funny her laughter seemed forced, as though she was laughing because others expected it of her. I worried that there wouldn’t be enough joy in Bobbie’s life, and then I worried about myself. I was sure I’d miss going out for a drink with the girls. Back in London, a few of us had met up every Thursday night. Somehow it didn’t turn out that way; I hardly missed them at all.
    It seems strange to say this, but there was always the house, the way it hurled sunlight so extravagantly into every room, making everything sparkle and come alive. It made up for so much that Bobbie and I always seemed to be laughing about something. At least it did in the early days, when I refused to believe what was happening.
    I’m getting ahead of myself, and this has to be laid out clearly.
    Bobbie arrived in September and a few days later I set out to make an inventory of the contents of the rooms. Rosita insisted she was still having trouble finding the keys to the servants’ quarters, and I hadn’t yet been able to track down a locksmith in Gaucia. Celestia told me that they usually had a man drive up from the coast, but he was on holiday. As a result, I had no choice but to accept Rosita’s promise that