Hot Revenge Box Set 2

James joins us, stretching out his legs in the passenger seat as Richard takes us down the mountain and back onto the main
highway. Then, he curves around the base of the mountain before turning off to follow first a side-road; then a narrow country
lane.
We pass frozen fields, frigid and sparkling, lined by hedgerows of hawthorn and crab apples, bare of leaves but bright with winter
fruit. The fields give way to woodland, the trees stretching naked branches towards the thin sunlight filtering under the grey sky.
Crossing a humped stone bridge, we cross rushing water; the road narrow enough that Richard slows down, steering carefully to
avoid scraping the sides of his car.
Then, as we turn a corner, the woodland opens up to reveal a huge building; neglected and abandoned, four storeys high, built
from brick and stone. Even from here, I can see that the windows are barred, much of the glass broken.
“This is it.” Richard draws in towards tall steel-bar gates, razor wire looping over the top. One faded sign declares that
Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted. Another, the paint peeling from a security camera icon warns, This Area Is Under 24 Hour
Surveillance.
A blue-uniformed guard stands waiting then, as he sees us, pushes the gates open.
Richard winds down his window. “All unlocked?”
“Yes, sir. I opened up all the doors. Would you like me to accompany you and your party?”
“No, that’s fine. We can manage.” He drives through, pulling up onto cracked tarmac which vanishes under nettles and briars at
the edges. What parts of the surface aren’t potholed, are carpeted in lush green moss.
Stepping with care to avoid slipping on icy ground, I raise hands to my cheeks, “Oh. My. God.”
Ryan swings his head, slowly from left to right and back again, turning on the spot through three-sixty degrees. “I’ll give you that
one.”
Standing side by side, our fingers lace together as we survey the ramshackle building and the land it dominates.
The mill looms above us; the brickwork dark with soot, green-streaked from the guttering. Small trees sprout from cracks and
crevices. Ivy both scrambles up from the ground and, perversely, drapes over the wall from the roof. What might once have been
a flagpole juts out, rusty and bare. Pigeons emerge from broken, grey-glassed windows, to perch on cracked sills.

The building is ugly now, but my imagination dances at the thoughts of what it might become. Richard and James remain silent,
eyes creasing at our reaction.
Once of a day, this was an industrial landscape, but manufacturing and commerce abandoned it long ago, and this vast, sad,
beautiful, shabby, amazing place has all but returned to nature.
“It’s huge,” I breathe.
“About ten thousand square feet in all...” says Richard. His voice is matter-of-fact. “... when you include all the outbuildings.
Plenty of space for anything you’re likely to want to do. Live. Work. Run a restaurant... Hotel... Holiday retreat...”
Ryan toes at turf, scraping it to one side to reveal the round domes of old cobbles underneath. He turns to Richard, arms
outspread. “This? All of it? The building and the grounds?”
Richard, hands deep in the pocket of his long overcoat, nods. “Ah-ha. The mill, the sheds and annexes. About two acres of
grounds in total and the river frontage.”
“Plus...” adds James, turning up his collar... “... a lot of work.”
Richard’s mouth quirks. “Go take a look around. There’s a couple of areas that aren’t safe, such as the old pulping pits. And
some of the outbuildings are structurally unsound. But all such areas are either locked up or fenced off. So, if you can get to it,
it’s safe to enter.”
Ryan sucks at his teeth. “Pulping pits? What did they do here?”
Richard shrugs. “It was a papermill originally.” He aims a finger towards a corner... “...That’s the old wheelhouse...
We’re by the side of the river...
It’s a mill...
... Of course we’re by the river...
“... The wheel provided power at first, then electricity took over and the wheel fell into disrepair. The site was closed when the
environmental pollution regulations forced the owners to clean up their act and stop spilling God-knows-what into the water. So
now...” He waves an arm over the glorious ruins... “... Now we have this left. No-one wanted it.”

He reaches out, grinning, lifting my jaw with a finger. “Mouth closed suits you better, Kirstie.” Then, gesturing all around, “Have a
wander around, the pair of you. Take a look. See what you think.”
Hands linked, Ryan and I head for the wheelhouse. We find ourselves on a small terrace area by the water, next to a large brick
chamber reaching up twenty feet, and down below the river level. The wheel itself has gone, but the remains of gears and
mechanisms remain. Ryan regards the mess of metal and rust, chewing at a lip.
Despite the time of year, birdsong echoes around us, competing with the rush of the waters. Ancient willows stoop by the
opposite bank, trailing whippy boughs. Beyond that, the trees thicken to woodland and the noisy chaos of a rookery. Close by, a
squirrel scrabbles at frost-whitened turf, unearthing something, an acorn perhaps. Holding it between paws, he pauses to inspect
his unexpected visitors, chitters at us indignantly, then dashes up a tree.
Ryan shoves hand into pockets. “What’s your first impression?”
“I’m... stunned. It’s...” I swing, waving arms out over the river. “It’s amazing.”
“But would you want to do it?” he insists. “Would you want to live here if we took the plunge?”
“Are you kidding?” I gaze around me at this neglected and forgotten Garden of Eden. “This is my idea of paradise. You. Me. The
dogs. In a place like this? It’s heaven on earth.”
Ryan smiles his teeth very bright against his light tan and dark eyes. Taking my hand, “Come on, let’s take a better look around.
The main entrance is around the other side.”
*****