A Dream of Wessex (6 page)

Even the mosque, whose dome and minarets dominated the town, would suffer only surface cracks should an earthquake strike.

In the distance, the Blandford cannon boomed, and Harkman sat down on the dry grass to wait for the tide to flood into the inlet. Here the water was always deeper than by Dorchester Harbour, and when the effect of the wave arrived twenty minutes later it was no more than about half a metre high. The little yachts were able to ride it out without difficulty, and across the water Harkman could hear the shrill, excited cries of children.

This was, in fact, not the wave at all, but the first ripple caused by the monstrous arrival of the main wave at Blandford Passage. But it was enough to remind Harkman of his intention to buy a skimmer the next day, and as more and more waves swept slowly down the inlet as the tide rose he was wondering if by the following evening he would have the nerve to make his first attempt at the Blandford wave.

That night, though, as he lay in his room at the Commission hostel, Harkman’s thoughts were of Maiden Castle, and of a pretty dishevelled girl with evasive eyes.

Julia was woken by Greg’s hands moving over her body. She lay with her back towards him, feeling him press himself against her. It was always like this in the mornings: Greg woke first, aroused, and before she was barely conscious he would want to make love. Each night, as sleep came on her, she would dread the morning, knowing the inevitability of his demands.

Still dreamy with sleep she tried to slip back, as if this alone would push him away from her.

Greg reached over her, put a hand under her cheek and turned her face towards his. He kissed her, and she felt his hot breath and moist lips on her mouth, his beard rasping on her cheek. She was limp, unresponding; she could not even make her eyes open.

‘Julia ... kiss me,’ he said hoarsely, but his mouth was against her ear now, and the words were a gassy, hissing intrusion. He thrust his hand through her legs from behind, and clutched at her sex. She turned towards him then, forcing him to take his hand away, and he put both his arms around her, kissing her voraciously. She stayed unresisting, and in a moment he pushed his way into her. She was dry and unaroused, and the gasp she gave he mistook for passion, and his movements became urgent and possessive. Through long habit she moved with him, but she felt nothing, only discomfort.

The pleasure of it was his alone; she could not remember the last time she had enjoyed sex with him.

By the time he had reached his panting, noisy climax she was fully awake, and she lay under his weight feeling tense and very aware of her own sexuality. She could feel him inside her, shrinking wetly, and she contracted her muscles against him, reaching for sensation ... but Greg, not noticing, pulled himself away from her without a word and lay beside her on his face, breathing deeply.

Every day it was the same! She responded to him, but too late, and when she was ready he was finished. She reached down and felt herself damp and warm, and the pressure of her hand brought an involuntary contraction of the muscles.

She looked at Greg beside her; he was not asleep, but his desire was exhausted. She would not stir him, would not try to. Greg made love his own way.

Julia waited for a few minutes longer, but Greg did not move again, so she slid out from beneath the rough sheet and walked across to the door of the hut. As she opened it, bright sunlight dazzled her.

She found a towel, wrapped it around the lower half of her body, then walked the short distance to the communal showers. The water was lukewarm and salt, but it refreshed her and flushed away the last remnants of her unfulfilled desire. By the time she returned, Greg had left the hut. She glanced around the dirty, untidy interior, wishing she had more will to clean the place up.

When she had had some food she went in search of Tom Benedict, who was one of the older members of the Castle community. She found him by one of the kilns, raking out the cinders from the fire-tray.

‘Can I speak to you, Tom?’

He turned to look at her, and she saw that his eyes were red and watery, and that he held the rake in both hands, hunching a shoulder awkwardly. He let the rake go, and reached out a hand towards her.

‘Julia. Help me up, will you?’

‘Are you ill, Tom?’

She took his hand, and felt the large, bony knuckles bulging through his papery skin. His fingers were callused and dirty.

‘I’m fine, Julia. I slept badly, that’s all.’

He was standing now, but he did not release her hand. She led him to the bench beside the kiln and they sat down. He was wheezing.

Julia had been busy at the stall for the last two or three weeks, because the influx of tourists was at its peak, and she had not seen much of Tom, except late in the evening. Of all the people at the Castle, she probably knew more about Tom than anyone else because he had befriended her soon after his arrival. In the couple of years he had been at the Castle he had grown steadily more withdrawn, but she knew that he came from the mainland, that he had been happily married for many years, that he had a daughter who worked in Nottingham. There were two grandchildren, too. He had never directly explained why he had joined the Castle community, but from various things he said Julia understood that after the death of his wife he had had to live with his daughter, but had not got along well with her husband. Being older than most of the others at the Castle he had taken a long time to settle down, but he was now accepted by everyone. Several members of the community, Julia in particular, looked to him for guidance or advice.

‘You shouldn’t be working,’ Julia said. ‘What’s happened to your arm?’

‘I must have slept in a draught.’ His weak eyes were looking into his lap as he said this.

‘It’s been hurting for some time, hasn’t it?’

‘Just a day or two.’

‘Have you seen Allen?’ He was the community doctor, but he was a remote and difficult man.

‘I saw him.’

‘No you didn’t, Tom. I know you too well.’

‘I’ll see him today.’

‘You ought to go into Dorchester. Go to the hospital.’

Julia stayed with Tom for half an hour, trying to persuade him to have medical treatment. It seemed to her that he was more frightened than obstinate, and Julia decided to speak to Allen herself, if Tom wouldn’t do it.

Her problem, though, had been put out of her mind. She had approached Tom with the half-formed resolution to try to talk to him about Greg, about the misery of a loveless, passionless partner, and the stirrings of her body. She could not speak directly of these, of course, but even to talk about unspecified discontents would have been good enough.

Later, she went to the eastern end of the village to help out for a while with the children. Being on this edge of the village, and near the ramparts, the schoolhouse overlooked the sea. The community included about thirty children, and whenever Julia wasn’t at the stall in Dorchester she went to help at the school.

Education at Maiden Castle only had the appearance of being casual; the classes were held in the open air whenever the weather allowed, and the attire of both teachers and pupils was informal, but ever since the Commission had sent inspectors to the Castle three years earlier, the content of the lessons had adhered to State doctrine. Children were educated at the Castle until the age of ten; after that they had to attend the State school in Dorchester.

Julia’s assistance was generally confined to recreational activities, and on this particular morning she was given charge of a bunch of nine year olds, and organized them into two teams for football. Before long, she had become an active participant in the game, kicking the ball wildly whenever it was in reach, much to the amusement of the more ambitious children. Football was taken very seriously at Maiden Castle, and Julia’s ineptitude revealed itself several times when puffing toddlers whisked the ball away from her just as she was about to kick it.

After an hour of this she noticed that the impromptu match had a spectator: a man, standing alone, watching her.

She left the game at once, and went over to him. He was standing as she had seen him when he arrived on the hydrofoil: at ease and watchful, his jacket over his shoulder. He was grinning as she trotted towards him, and his frank look made her uncharacteristically self-conscious about her appearance. She was hot and untidy from running around, and wished she could brush her hair.

‘I can wait,’ he said. ‘I was enjoying watching you.’

‘No, I was only helping. You’ve come about the tide-skimmer.’

‘I didn’t think you’d remember.’

She had wanted to forget. As soon as she’d spoken to him at the skimmer-shop she had regretted it; Greg was possessive in ways other than sexual, and as soon as she had looked at this man she had recognized a response in herself, and a response in him.

‘You’re ... David Harkman,’ she said, hesitant with the name as if its use would convey some deeper significance to him, similar to the one it held for her.

‘Yes. And you’re Julia.’

He looked very cool. There was always a breeze on top of Maiden Castle however hot the sun, but she felt red-faced and sweaty in his company. She swept back the hair from her face.

‘Did you come over in a boat?’ she said.

‘No, I walked around the shore. I wanted to take time from the office.’

‘You work for the Commission.’

‘I work in the building, but I’m not really on the staff.’

She was watching his face, sensing some recognition, a familiarity. There was no way they could have met before, no possibility of contact. And yet, the evening on the quay when he had arrived, yesterday by the skimmer-shop, now today... A nagging recognition of him. Even his name was no surprise. Harkman, Harkman ... it was a part of her. .

Trying to put the uncertainty aside, she said: ‘Would you like to see some skimmers?’

‘I’d like to try one or two, if that’s possible.’

She glanced at his clothes. ‘Is that how you normally dress for wave-riding?’

He laughed as he followed her along the edge of the sports field. ‘I’ve brought a swimming costume.’

‘We don’t normally bother with those here.’

‘So I see.’

During the summer months the people at the Castle normally wore very few clothes. Most of the children went entirely naked, and several adults too. In the workshops, clothes were worn for protection, but those who worked in the fields generally only wore a single garment, Julia wore her brown smock by habit, but only because she liked to have pockets. Walking next to David Harkman, she was aware of his machine-made clothes, the pressed trousers and polished shoes, the pale blue shirt. He looked unusual in the Castle surroundings, but the people they passed barely afforded him a glance.

They were walking towards the southern side of the Castle, where the encircling ramparts were laid in a more complex pattern than elsewhere. Julia led the way down into the first dip. They walked along the bottom of this for a short distance until they came to a break in the next wall. Here the ancient Wessex-men had had one of their gates, and it made walking through to the next dip a simple matter.

They came eventually to a recent construction: a large wooden building. It was open at the front, and looked down through another gap in the ramparts to an inlet of the bay below.

Julia walked inside, and at once they were assailed by the unique smells of the workshop: the heady, acidic cellulose paint, the fragrance of sawdust, of wood-glue. The paint-shop was in a separate part of the building, screened from the drifting, settling sawdust, but the paint smell was everywhere.

‘Is Greg here?’ Julia shouted to the group of men and women busy in the workshop, cutting and planing wood, sawing, sanding, hammering.

‘In the paint-shop.’

At that moment Greg came out of the curtained area, wearing a white mask over his nose and mouth. When he saw Julia with Harkman he pulled the mask down, nodded to Harkman.’ Greg, this is David Harkman. He’d like to see some skimmers.’

‘What sort of thing are you looking for, Harkman?’

‘I don’t know. I’d like to try a few.’

‘Heavy? Light? What size engine?’

‘I’m not sure. It’s a long time since I did any wave-riding. What do you think?’

Greg looked him up and down. ‘What do you weigh? About eighty kilos?’

‘About that.’

‘You’ll need quite a large craft. If you’re just getting back into riding, though, I wouldn’t go for one with a big engine.’

‘Have you got anything that might be right?’

‘Let’s have a look.’

Greg walked out of the workshop, and towards a smaller building at its side. Julia and Harkman followed. There were about two dozen completed craft in the shed, stacked one on top of the other.

‘None of these has motors,’ Greg said. ‘But if you pick one out, I can get one fitted.’

For the next few minutes, Harkman and Greg took several of the skimmers from the stack, and carried them outside. Greg’s advice was curt, and had a patronizing undertone that Julia had rarely heard in him. For all his unsatisfactory sexual demands, Greg was usually a generous and quiet man, and the only explanation was that he had detected something of her own awareness of Harkman’s presence.

She watched as Harkman chose five of the skimmers. As he lifted each one to feel its balance she noticed that Greg was watching critically. He seemed ready to assume that Harkman was a complete novice.

‘How much do you charge for one of these?’

Greg started to say: ‘It depends ...’ but Julia interrupted. ‘Find one you like first,’ she said. ‘They’re all different prices.’ ‘Can I try these two?’ Harkman said, indicating his choices. ‘I’ll get some motors,’ Greg said, and walked back to the workshop. It took about half an hour for him and another man to install the engines, and explain the controls. The craft were carried down to a tiny beach beside the Castle ramparts.

As Harkman laid them out on the sand, Julia took Greg to one side.

‘I can deal with him now,’ she said.

‘I think I’ll stay around,’ Greg said.