Betrayal (42 page)

The drive back to Morely’s Cross was quiet as each woman sorted quietly through her own thoughts.

              At tea Friday evening Ella spoke as she poured from the shining silver teapot. “Jan is going into Kingsbridge tomorrow.”  Smiling, she handed Lydia the tinkling china cup and saucer. “I thought we might go along,” Ella continued, pouring the hot amber liquid into her own cup. “She will be going into Lidstones, the butcher on the Fore Street. It is near to the shambles, which I thought you might enjoy.  We could have a cream tea at The Kings Arms Hotel; it’s just up the hill from the butchers, while Jan does her shopping.”

             
“Yes, I would like that very much.  Is Kingsbridge a big place?”

             
“No, very compact really; but it has lots of shops and restaurants and the Fore Street is quite charming. I try to go out with Jan when she goes into Kingsbridge.” Ella paused to sip her tea before she continued, “Though I think I must tell you as you complained of the hill in Totnes that Kingsbridge has a reputation for the steepness of its Fore Street, so beware.” Ella laughed as she set her rattling teacup down on the silver tray. “Perhaps we will have time to find Squeezebelly Lane.”

             
“What a delightful name! Is it as narrow as all that?”

             
“You’ll see,” Ella teased.  “Yes, I do believe you will like Kingsbridge. Now shall we finish up our tea? Would you like more tea, dear?” Ella asked, lifting the silver teapot.

             
Lydia shook her head, saying “No, thank you.”

             
“If we have enough time, perhaps we can take the ferry from Kingsbridge into Salcombe.  I don’t know if we will though; I shall have to check with our Jan first to see what her plans are,” Ella said, standing to remove the tea tray from the table.

             
“Here, let me get that,” Lydia said. “I’ll take this into the kitchen and ask Jan to come out to you.”

             
“No need, my dear. I’ll just ring for Jan.”

             
“No, Aunt Ella let me, please. I feel so useless here.”

             
“Well, then, of course, my dear.  I shall wait here.”

             
“Good, we’ll be right back,” Lydia called over her shoulder as she carried the rattling tea tray out of the room.

                                                                                    ***

Alan boarded the overseas flight Saturday evening. He was relieved when his flight was finally called. ‘There is nothing so boring as an airport when you are stuck there for hours and want desperately to be somewhere else’, he complained to himself. He had already finished reading the book he had brought to read on the plane and gone out and bought another one. He had paced the main terminal of Pierre Trudeau International Airport in Montreal, gone through the indignities of security checks several
times and was truly feeling fed-up by the time he boarded the airplane for his flight to Heathrow.

             
Immediately on boarding he set his wristwatch ahead five hours, a trick he had learned from his school days. It helped to reset his internal clock.  He reviewed his computer printout of the details for his car rental and hotel reservations.  He sat back in his window seat, his right arm across his stomach, and his left hand rubbing his chin. He needed a shave, he thought as he rubbed the fine blond stubble of his beard. ‘Time enough for that,’ he thought as he turned to look out the window.  He measured the plane’s slow taxi to the long take-off runway anxious to get this day over.  The twinkling lights of Montreal and its suburbs gave a surreal sensation to the circumstances. ‘What am I doing?’ he thought briefly, gazing down into the deepening darkness. Alan shook his head hard to dislodge his doubts.

The passenger in the aisle seat turned to see if Alan was okay. He was a tall man dressed in a dark business suit with a bright red tie. Alan frowned and turned back to the window cutting off any chance of conversation.

Soon the crew began to serve the evening meal.  Alan wasn’t hungry and was about to refuse when the stewardess offered him Filet Mignon with mushrooms and rice. Smiling, Alan nodded and was handed a tray. The meal was served on china from Staffordshire with crystal glasses for the wine. Briefly he thought about the folks back in Economy eating their mystery meat out of plastic serving dishes, struggling to cut it with plastic utensils.   He lifted his glass of wine and silently toasted the brave souls and wished them safe journey.

With the meal finished Alan settled to read his new book. It was the new one by Daniel Silva. After a few minutes though, his eyes began to burn. He placed the book in the seat pocket and closed his eyes. He had no interest in the on-board movie, deciding instead to try a get some sleep.

He leaned back in his seat wondering how Lydia would react when he showed up at Morley’s Cross.  Then, deciding that there was no gain in worrying, he drifted off into a fitful sleep.

The stewardess woke him at five-thirty with the offer of a continental breakfast of rolls and coffee. He ate hungrily.  Alan made his way to the lavatory, washed and shaved. Feeling fresher he asked for another cup of coffee.

When the airplane landed in London, and Alan had cleared customs he quickly made his way to the Avis Car Rental stall to pick up his car. Once inside the sedan he paused to draw a deep breath before checking the map for the best route to Totnes. He frowned as he tried to trace the route, M4 to M5 and then on to the A38. He shook his head, there had to be a more direct route then that. Perhaps he should ask. No, he had to get going. So Alan made his way out of the airport complex. After several wrong turns he found the M4 and he was finally on his way, to what he didn’t know. But he did know he had no choice in the matter; he had to find out more about the girl Elisabeth, and he had to see Lydia again.

***

             
Dan awoke Sunday morning to Tremayne’s mewling cry. The cat was standing on Lydia’s pillow kneading it with his claws. “Get away, cat,” Dan shooed, waving his hand at the little black cat. The cat stared at Dan, raising his hackles and continuing to squeeze Lydia’s pillow tightly between his claws.  “You’ll tear her pillowcase. Cut it out!” Dan yelled swatting at the mewling noise-box.

             
Tremayne hissed loudly, baring his teeth. The cat caught Dan’s out-stretched hand with its claws, drawing blood.

             
“Damn you!” Dan screamed. “Damn you to Hell!”

             
The cat, satisfied that he had defended his dignity, shook himself before jumping off the bed and slinking off to the kitchen and his food dish.

             
His sleep destroyed, Dan tossed the duvet aside and climbed out of bed. He looked with disgust at the bedside clock which read seven-fifteen. “Damn that cat,” he growled as he crossed to the bathroom. Revived by a long hot shower Dan dressed quickly to avoid the winter coolness of the bedroom.

             
In the kitchen he spilled some dry cat kibble into Tremayne’s dish, satisfied that the bothersome creature would be quiet for a few minutes. Tremayne, mellowed by his meal, rubbed himself vigorously against Dan’s leg then meticulously weaved between Dan’s long legs as Dan headed for the kitchen table, his coffee and toast in hand.

Looking down as the cat settled heavily on his foot Dan whispered “I miss her too.” He paused to sip his coffee before continuing, “But I know that she is not handling this right. I really wish she had waited until I could have gone with her.”

Tremayne looked up, mewling softly.

Dan leaned down to stroke the cat’s silken head, surprised as the little black cat pushed his head into Dan’s hand. “That’s right boy, it’s just you and me now,” Dan cooed. The cat’s loud purring reassured Dan that he was at last making friends with
Tremayne, but when Dan moved to resume his breakfast the cat slashed out with his claws catching the palm of Dan’s hand. “God damn you!” Dan screamed as he flung the cat away. “You’re going to the Vet.  I’ll not be treated this way in my own home. Don’t try and make up now, it’s too late.  There must be someplace I can board you until Lydia gets home and then we will look into a permanent solution; perhaps she has some friend who will take you. Get out of my way, I have rounds to make!” Dan cursed loudly as he made his way to the door.  He slammed the front door of 4235 Germain Street, climbed in the Camry and drove off cursing both Lydia and her cat.

***

             
Sunday morning after attending the small thirteenth- century manor church to celebrate the First Sunday after Christmas, Lydia and Henry went for a walk.

             
The day was bright, the sun warm enough to allow Lydia to unbutton her Hudson’s Bay jacket. As they walked up the laneway Lydia asked, “Have you always lived here?”

             
Henry shook his head. “No, I met Ella in London while I was stationed there. We made our home there for more than thirty years. We only returned to Morely’s Cross when my sister became ill.” Henry hesitated. “Your mother was alone here with Olivia, your father being gone ten years by then.” Henry paused, his face graying as if a cloud had passed over him.  “We were in India, Goa to be exact, south of Mumbai, to settle my brother, James’ estate.” Henry raised his face to the sky seeking to absorb the wintry sunlight. “Jimmy was living in Goa where he owned a small manufacturing company. When he got sick Ella and I went out to help. When he died, as executor of his will I had to settle his estate. By the time my brother died, his wife had become a brittle diabetic; nearly impossible to control her blood sugars.  Medical services in foreign parts, just aren’t up to scratch, you know. I’m not saying that the doctors didn’t do everything they could for her; they certainly did. I wanted to bring her back to England, but she wouldn’t come. India had been her home for twenty years and she just wouldn’t come.” Henry paused, kicking a stone from the road before continuing, “We brought Christine home with us. She was thirteen, too young to lose both her parents.” Henry sighed heavily.

             
“Morely’s Cross was my sister’s inheritance, you see, so we boys had to make our own way in the world. Christine stayed with Ella and me in London.”

             
Lydia was uncomfortable with her uncle’s emotional state and thought to change the subject.  “Why does Aunt Ella call you Squadron Leader?”

             
“More of a joke really,” Henry smiled shyly. “As a child growing up I always regretted being born too late to fight in the war, that is, the Second World War. I wanted to be a pilot.  After university I joined up and finally became one. When I met and fell in love with Ella I mustered out and got a job with British Overseas Airways and then British Airways until I retired.  Never served in any wars and now that I am an old man I am truly grateful for that.”

             
They turned around at the end of the laneway. The old man, stumbling on the gravel, grabbed for Lydia’s arm. “It is so good to have you home again. I thought not to have ever seen you again,” he said, squeezing Lydia’s hand.  “You are so much like your mother; it is almost like I have her here again.”  As they passed the small churchyard Henry steered Lydia away from the manor house. “I would speak with you, if I could. Talk of the dream disturbs Ella yet I feel you and I must speak of it. When did you first have the dream?”

             
“It started after my father was killed.”

             
“Killed?” Henry gasped. “Oh, yes, in the automobile accident. What were they like, these dreams?”

“At first the dreams were infrequent and merely puzzling.” Lydia said as they passed through the postern gate into the pasture. “But in the last few months they have taken on a frightening intensity.” Lydia paused.

              “Yes, yes, the severed head, I suppose. Nasty business that.  Is it as Elizabeth described?”

             
“How do you mean?”

             
“She once described it as dripping blood and tears.”

             
“Yes, yes, as horrible as that, and more.”

             
Henry stopped and leaning against the low wooden fence he asked, “Does it,” his face darkened as he struggled for words. “Does it speak?”  Henry labored to control the timbre of his voice, but his nervousness was evident.

             
“Only one word,” Lydia answered, staring at her feet. She wanted to tell her uncle everything, but feared she would seem a fool. She jumped when he placed his hand on her arm.

             
“The woman asks, ‘why’, doesn’t she?”

             
“Oh, yes, Uncle Henry, but how did you know?” Lydia sobbed.  “Did my mother tell you?”

             
“Yes, when she was a teenager.” Henry pulled his hand away, half turning his body away from Lydia. “She was childlike in her innocence and oh so frightened. I tried to tease her out of it as we had my sister. I am afraid I wasn’t very kind. Elizabeth tried to interest us in her dreams, her nightmares, but I was here so infrequently I didn’t want to get involved. I turned my back on her as I had done Olivia, demanding she cease her silliness.  But the dreams went on. I often heard her screaming in the night after my sister died.  With Jimmy dead and you lost to her I thought the dream was a manifestation of her depression. I comforted her, but pitied her slip into insanity more.”