Freya's Quest (2 page)

He rang a bell on the wall and led me over to the fire. He sat me down on a bearskin rug. The bear’s head snarled at me, so I rose again and steadied myself against the marble mantelpiece.

A woman came into the room. She was small in stature, oriental in appearance, her grim face partially masked in the shadows. She had long, dark hair and was wearing a kimono. She nodded at the man, then looked me up and down dismissively. She appeared to be about to question who I was when the man said: ‘Please bring me a couple of towels and some dressing gowns.’

The woman nodded and left.

‘What am I going to do now?’ I mumbled in desperation.

‘There’s only one thing for it. I’ll have to put you up for the night. We can sort things out in the morning.’

I attempted to say thank you, but I was trembling too much.

‘Don’t worry about it now. Try to warm yourself. We’ll have to get out of these clothes pretty damn quick, before we freeze to death.’ He began to strip off, revealing a strong physique. ‘Shock’s probably setting in now, too.’

I huddled by the fire.

Then the woman came back with the things the man had asked for.

He stood half naked before me, towelling himself down. He put on a dressing gown, then said to the woman: ‘Yasuko, take our guest upstairs and run a bath.’

She came towards me and draped a towel over my matted hair. I found myself being led upstairs, but it was too dark to make out much of my surroundings. She was carrying a candle to light the way and now I realized the storm must have caused a power cut.

Once inside the bathroom, I shivered as she turned on the taps and poured bubble bath into the filling tub. In normal circumstances I would have insisted on privacy. But I’d been through a lot that night. I was frozen and the damp had weakened me. I knew I had to discard my sodden clothes before I caught pneumonia. She helped me to undress, which wasn’t easy, as the fabric clung to my skin and my fingers were too numb to unfasten my bra strap. Once completed, I clutched at my long hair with my right hand and tried to cover what I could of my nakedness with the other.

Then she helped me into the bath, lighting smaller candles and placing them around its enamelled edge. As I sank into the soothing water, and I could hide beneath the bubbles, all embarrassment left me. She stood quietly in the background as I soaked up the warmth, the goose pimples fading as my body slowly came back to life.

When she realized I was all right, she left me to prepare my bed. She returned only after I had risen from the bath, in time to wrap a towel around me and guide me to my room for the night.

Once alone again, I dried myself, then slipped under the covers. As I was edging off into sleep, there was a knock at the door.

‘Hope you’re OK.’ It was my rescuer’s voice.

‘Yes.’

‘I forgot to ask,’ he whispered: ‘What’s your name?’

‘Freya.’

‘I’m Dylan,’ he replied. ‘Hope you sleep well. Welcome to Grimshaw Lodge.’

PEOPLE LAUGHED AT my tiny Fiat 500. But I kept it because it had character and was perfect for the London streets. However, due to faulty electrics, it often broke down in wet conditions. If I’d traded it in for a newer Ford or Vauxhall, as my friends had often suggested, I never would have found my way into Dylan’s world.

The Lodge was miles from anywhere. No one would be able to find me. But frankly, this suited me. And John, the man who had sent me, would be pleased. I’d spent three days trying to think up a way of gaining entry through the gatehouse, having quickly realized the walls surrounding the property were too tall and smooth to scale. And now I was here.

Still, I awoke the next morning confused and disorientated, haunted by the power of my nightmares about being crushed under the tree. The unforeseen change of plan had nearly killed me. I hoped that by the end of my quest the results would put this risk back into perspective.

I lay in a double bed and my first sight was a large marble fireplace, above which hung a mirror. All the furniture was pure white, matching the décor of the room and the elaborate ceiling plasterwork. Rustic scenes of Lakeland life filled simple picture frames. A crystal chandelier hung down from above. A semi-circular turret was a feature in one corner.

I pulled back the covers and climbed to my feet. I was naked, but a dressing gown had been left out for me. When I put the garment on, I immediately felt less vulnerable. I walked over to the window. I winced as the powerful sun hit my eyes when I drew back the silk curtains.

The courtyard lay in front of me, hemmed in by a castellated wall, old stabling facilities and the inner gatehouse. Beyond, a gravel road wound downhill, over a bridge unseen last night, to the tree-lined driveway. The outer gatehouse and the fallen tree lay hidden from this viewpoint. The night had made everything appear much bigger than it actually was.

A knock at the door broke my thoughts. I climbed back into bed. ‘Come in,’ I called.

The oriental woman entered, carrying a full breakfast on a silver tray. She was wearing another kimono, the same design as the night before, but different in colour and embroidered with dragons. Her black hair was tied in a long plait all the way down her back. Her face betrayed no emotion and she had a stern demeanour.

‘You shouldn’t have!’ I said, taking the tray with haste and tucking into the bacon and eggs.

The woman bowed and left, coming back with my clothes which she’d washed and ironed overnight.

‘Thanks,’ I muttered, my mouth half full. ‘Sorry, I can’t remember your name.’

The woman didn’t answer.

‘Are you Dylan’s housemaid?’

The woman remained silent, but shrugged her shoulders and held up her hands.

I first found her manners rather rude, then wondered whether there was some cultural etiquette at work.

Then she held up a silver case, which was fastened by a chain around her neck.

I read the word engraved on this: ‘Y-a-s-u-k-o?’

The woman nodded, then pulled out a notepad from one side of the case, and a pencil from within the notepad. She licked the tip of the pencil with her tongue, scribbled something onto the pad with her left hand, then ripped off the page and handed it to me.

Cannot talk, but understand.

Now I felt only embarrassment. ‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’

Yasuko remained impassive.

‘How long have you been here with Dylan?’

8 yrs
.

I was surprised. ‘You must’ve been very young when you arrived, then?’

Yes. 18
.

‘And where are you from, originally I mean?’

She gave me a cool stare, then wrote:
Tokyo. But too long ago to talk about
.

‘Oh, OK,’ I replied, quickly changing the subject. ‘Thank you for washing my clothes.’

She nodded and wrote:
Come down in own time
.

She left me to mull over what she had said, or rather written. I was already bemused by this strange household. But I wanted to make the most of my good fortune.

After eating, I soaked in the bathtub again, soothing the bruises down my left side from my tumble down the embankment. The bathroom was now seen in all its luxury, with its marble panelling and gold fittings. Then I dressed and combed my hair, thinking of how I could embellish my cover story before meeting Dylan again.

Eventually, I walked out of the bedroom door and onto the circular landing. This was in two halves, the middle section being solid masonry, the rest dropping over finely turned balustrades to the hallway below. I opened each door in turn, discovering three more bedrooms, similar to the one I’d slept in. Another little door led onto a minstrels’ gallery. I caught my breath as I found myself overlooking a baronial dining room.

As I returned to the central landing, Dylan came up the stairs to greet me. ‘I hope you slept well.’

‘Yes. Thanks for the hospitality.’

‘My pleasure,’ he replied, smiling.

He was even more good-looking in the daylight. I felt an immediate attraction to his dark, sultry appearance. He was the type of guy I’d fantasized about in my dreams on all those lonely nights back home.

‘How are you feeling? You had quite an ordeal last night.’

‘I’ll mend. Just a few painful bruises.’

He looked concerned.

‘Don’t worry. None of this was your fault, you know.’

‘Yes it was. If I hadn’t towed you back here, you wouldn’t’ve nearly been killed….Nor your car destroyed.’

‘True. But being stranded out in the storm could’ve been just as bad. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?’

‘OK. But let me extend my hospitality further. You can stay a few days, if you like.’

‘Really?’ I said, trying to disguise my delight.

Dylan smiled again, as if detecting my emotions despite my efforts. ‘Yes. Anyway, the phone lines are down, so we can’t summon help….And you’ve no car now, so….’

‘OK. Thanks. I accept.’

‘Hope there’s no one wondering where you are?’

‘No. I live alone and tend to travel alone, too. No one will worry till I fail to turn up for work. And I’m on a month’s break, so there’s plenty of time to play with.’

‘That’s good. Yet I’m surprised a woman as beautiful as you hasn’t a partner or husband to worry about you.’ He had taken hold of my left hand and was now rubbing his thumb over my bare ring finger.

I fought off a shyness that had plagued my adolescence and crept back in my adulthood only at moments like these. ‘There was someone special once,’ I finally plucked up the courage to say. ‘His name was John. We’re still friends – he’s actually my boss now. But we were just too young. I’ve had a few boyfriends since, but no one who quite measures up.’

This seemed to please him.

‘And you?’

‘No one special,’ he said, without elaborating, as if trying to keep an air of mystery about him.

It was my turn to smile at this growing warmth between us. ‘Now, I’m looking forward to the grand tour. What is this place anyway, some kind of medieval castle?’

‘No, it’s an old hunting lodge, dating from the 1840s, just as the Gothic Revival was gathering pace. Designed by a man named Anthony Salvin. Quite a famous architect in his day.’

‘Oh, I see.’ I began to survey the landing area again, an excuse to break away from his penetrative gaze. ‘I’ve already taken a look up here,’ I said, ‘except for this room.’ I gripped the handle of the door in the middle of the central area of masonry. I found it to be locked. ‘What’s behind here?’

‘That’s out of bounds, I’m afraid. It leads to the tower, where I do all my work. It’s my only private space here, so please respect that.’ He had taken on a serious tone and an expression to match.

I promptly nodded.

The galleried landing had steps leading down from both sides. These converged at a half landing, where a grander staircase swept down to the hallway. As we descended, I gazed up at the glass dome overhead, the ornate plasterwork etched in gold leaf, and the various paintings adorning the walls. I noticed one picture was a portrait of Dylan himself, dressed in Victorian attire and crouched, quill in hand, over a writing desk.

Dylan strode around his residence with an air of confidence and beaming pride, pointing out the finer architectural details as he went. He took delight in my awe of the building and my attention to his every word. His intense eyes, his brooding looks and the timbre of his husky voice created a magnetism which held me spellbound.

After the tour of the house, he led me around the beautifully landscaped gardens. Mountaintops, shrouded in wispy clouds, could be glimpsed above the green of the forest. A mature deciduous woodland surrounded the edges of the new plantation. The view of lake and mountain must have been spectacular before the conifers had been planted.

Dylan left me to wander around the grounds whilst he began the task of cutting up the tree. After several hours I was bored and decided to find out how he was getting on. As I approached, I could hear a chain saw. Dylan was dressed in goggles and protective gloves, his torso caked in wood chippings. He shut off the chain saw and started stacking logs.

He hadn’t seen me, so I weaved around the fallen trunk, and stood on the opposite embankment from the one we’d fallen down the night before. This was a much shorter slope, ending with a wide expanse of lawn that swept across to the perimeter wall.

I realized now the tree had come down because of the wind and the waterlogged nature of the ground, rather than a lightning strike. If Grimshaw Lodge had been built in the 1840s as Dylan had said, then these trees must have been planted around the same time. I was saddened for the uprooted tree nearly as much as for my poor Fiat. Rooks squawked from their nests high up in the branches overhead, sounding as disturbed as I felt.

I grabbed one of the fallen tree’s roots and leant against my arm, watching a family of rabbits in the distance. Everything was so quiet, save for the occasional sounds of nature. I’d been an urban girl for so long I’d forgotten how peaceful the countryside of my upbringing could be.

Then the chain saw started up again. As I spun around towards Dylan, I happened to look down into the hole left by the tree where there were signs of old burrows under the roots. Something glinted in the mud. Intrigued, I bent down and disturbed the dirt with my fingers. I gripped the metal object and pulled, astonished that a gold chain rose from the ground in my hand. I dug more, and a medallion was revealed. I rubbed at the grime and saw it was a strange object. Something dark lay in the middle, encrusted with dirt, with a gold disc around the outside. I stood up and the object caught the sunlight.