it in terms I knew he wouldn't be able to resist and that he'd never dare show the bitch. The final sentence read, "Admission by invitation only." A clever touch, that. It meant he'd have to bring with him the only evidence of contact between us.
The directions on the back led, if he cared to check it out in advance, to an isolated holiday cottage high up on the moors between Bradfield and the Yorkshire Dales; the opposite side of the city to Start Hill Farm and my dungeon. I anticipated that the cottage would be let over Christmas. But I had no intention of allowing Gareth to get that far.
It was a Christmas-cliche sort of night; bone-white crescent moon, stars twinkling like diamond chips on a cocktail watch, grass and hedgerows heavy with time. I pulled over on to the verge of the single-track moorland road that led up to the holiday cottage and a couple of farms. In the distance, I could see the dual carriage way leading into Bradfield like a ribbon of fairy lights strung across the Pennines.
I turned on my hazard lights, got out of the jeep and opened the bonnet. I placed what I needed near at hand, then I leaned against the front wing and waited. It was freezing, but I didn't care. I'd calculated well. I'd only been waiting for about five minutes when I heard the sound of an engine straining up the steep incline. The lights swung round the bend below me and I stepped out, waving furiously, looking frozen and worried.
Gareth's elderly Escort stopped abruptly in front of the jeep. I took a couple of hesitant steps towards him as he opened the door and got out.
"Some kind of a problem?" he asked.
"I'm afraid I know next to nothing about cars, but if I can maybe give you a lift... " I smiled.
"Thanks for stopping," I said. There was no flicker of recognition in his face as he drew nearer. I hated him for that.
I stepped back towards the jeep, gesturing under the bonnet.
"It's not a big problem," I said.
"Only, I need three hands. If you can just hold this part in place so I can get a spanner on this nut..." I pointed into the engine. Gareth leaned over the bonnet. I picked up the spanner and let him have it.
Within five minutes, he was trussed tighter than a turkey in the boot of his own car. I had his car keys, his wallet and the invitation I'd sent him. I drove back down through the city to the farm, where I dumped the unconscious body unceremoniously down the cellar steps. I didn 't have time to do any more then, not if I was going to get back to the jeep.
I drove Gareth's car into the centre of Bradfield, leaving it in Temple Fields in a back alley off Crompton Gardens. Nobody noticed me; they were all too busy partying. It was a mere ten minutes' walk across town to the railway station.
A twenty-minute train ride and a brisk fifteen-minute walk brought me back to the jeep. Cautiously, I approached. There was no sign of life, no suggestion that anyone had been poking around. I drove back to Start Hill Farm whistling
"Hark The Herald Angels Sing'.
When I switched the cellar light on, Gareth's dark-grey eyes flashed angry fire at me. I liked that. After the pathetic terror of Adam and Paul, it was refreshing to see a man who had some guts. The muffled sound that came from behind the tape on his mouth was more like an angry grunt than a plea.
I stooped over him and stroked his hair back from his forehead. At first, he jerked away from me, then he became calm and still, calculation in his eyes.
"That's more like it," I said.
"No need to fight, no need to resist."
He nodded, then grunted, signalling down towards his gag with his eyes. I kneeled beside him and picked at one corner of the surgical tape. Once I had a good grip, I ripped it free in one swift movement.
It's kinder than doing it gradually.
Gareth worked his jaw, licking his dry lips. He glared at me.
"Some fucking party," he snarled, his voice a little shaky.
"It'sexactly what you deserve," I said.
"How the fuck do you work that out?" he demanded.
"You were meant for me. But you took up with that slag. And you tried to keep it a secret."