Freya's Quest (7 page)

‘Don’t worry, we’ll move it soon,’ he said, noticing my expression as he manoeuvred to within a foot of the wreck.

I tugged at my hair, separating a strand so I could fiddle with it in my fingers. I crouched lower in my seat, not answering. There were other things on my mind.

As we turned out of the outer gatehouse and we gathered speed, I found the courage to confront him. ‘Emily reckoned you were going to get comfort from Yasuko last night.’

‘What do you think?’

‘Don’t turn the question back at me.’

My eyes searched his face for clues.

‘I’m not going to lie to you. We have a history, certainly,’ he said without hesitation or embarrassment.

I folded my arms tightly under my breasts and looked out towards the pine forest, as he opened up the throttle a little more. At least he had been honest.

‘What were you doing with her last night?’

‘Eh?’

‘I saw the two of you going to the gatehouse.’

‘Oh, that. Nothing really. I went to her apartment to have a few words with her about what happened at dinner.’

‘That all?’

‘I think you’d better ask Yasuko.’

I huffed, and drew my arms all the tighter around me.

‘Come on, love, don’t be annoyed. I’ve known her a long time. I’m with you now, but I can’t just switch off.’

‘From now on you better had, or I’m off!’ I hoped I hadn’t gone too far with my play-acting. Upon reflexion, I realized my forceful response had been fuelled by a genuine anger. I vowed to maintain an emotional distance in future.

He shifted down the gears, which crunched in protest, and pulled the Land Rover over to the side of the road. ‘Listen,’ he said, undoing his seat belt and edging himself over onto my seat. ‘Don’t be upset. You’re my baby now.’

I felt his arm come around my shoulder and he drew my head into his chest.

He kissed me on the forehead and looked into my eyes. ‘Come on, let’s go. Let me prove it to you.’

I managed to muster a smile, but my self-esteem had drained away.

We started off again and skirted around the southern shores of Bassenthwaite Lake. Across the waters, the plantations were being felled, leaving denuded wastes over a hill on the lower slopes of Skiddaw.

We didn’t talk again until after we’d parked in Keswick.

‘Let’s see what we can find you, shall we,’ he said, before alighting from the Land Rover. He came around to me as I climbed out, gripped my hand in his and kissed me. ‘This place isn’t very big, but I’m sure we can find something to please you.’

We went into an outdoor retailer, and Dylan kitted me out with walking trousers, socks, shirt and boots. In another shop, he found a fleece jacket, cagoule, overtrousers and a small rucksack. Once we’d taken the bags back to the Land Rover, we returned to seek out conventional clothes stores.

He was making a great effort, and didn’t seem troubled about parting with his money. But I wasn’t that naive not to know he was probably trying to buy back my affections. Still, something about the way he sat and admired me, as I paraded past him in numerous outfits, gradually thawed my frostiness. And he knew how to exploit a woman’s fantasy. I’d only ever glimpsed such fashionable clothes in magazines before, never being able to afford them. When I couldn’t decide which ones to pick, he simply bought them all.

‘No, you can’t.’

‘I can and I will. There’s no point earning money if you can’t spend it. Anyway, I don’t want any girlfriend of mine being jeered at over such a silly thing as clothes again.’

I hugged him and kissed him. Underneath, I was cursing that my resolve to remain angry with him had ebbed away so quickly. Although it would ultimately help my cause.

‘Now, we can’t forget underwear, can we?’

‘No, I s’pose not. But I’m not sure how long I’ll be wearing it with you around!’

He smirked, then kissed me again, and put his arm around my shoulder as we walked onwards. Once in amongst the racks of lingerie, he watched me intently as I picked out what I considered to be the sexiest numbers.

‘Let me try these on.’

‘If you do so, madam,’ the salesgirl announced, creeping up behind me, ‘you’ll have to pay for them whether you like them or not.’

I stopped, and stared at the garments, then back at the racks, making sure I had made the right choice.

But Dylan turned around and caught the salesgirl’s eye.

‘Oh, pardon me, sir, I didn’t realize it was you. Same arrangement as before?’

‘Yes,’ he said, and winked at her.

She blushed so brightly her face soon matched the colour of her reddish hair.

‘Stick it all on my account.’

The salesgirl tried to answer, but I was hustling him over towards the changing compartments. ‘No peeking till I’m ready.’

He groaned as I pulled the curtains shut on him.

I put on the red stockings, suspenders, panties and bra. I tried to conjure the most seductive pose I could in the mirror, then poked my head through the curtains. ‘Come inside.’

Dylan looked around, then slipped into the cramped cubicle, taking no notice of the salesgirl’s embarrassment. He admired me intensely, making me spin around for him.

I toyed with the itching bra strap and awaited his reaction.

‘It’s certainly sexy, darling, but you don’t need to impress me with this sort of stuff. By all means I’ll buy it for you, but I’d rather you found something more comfortable for everyday use.’

I kissed him, not quite believing his thoughtfulness, and bundled him out again. Before I had fully changed, his hand appeared through the curtains with a selection of other garments, including a skimpy swimming costume. He had even judged the right sizes.

I took so much time choosing one last outfit that he left me to do some of his own shopping. This was a deliberate ploy. I needed some time alone in order to book out of the hotel I’d used as a base before meeting Dylan. They allowed me to leave my luggage in storage until I could collect it at a later date.

We met up again over tea in a café, where I gushed out how thankful I was at the money he’d spent on me. He then handed me another plastic bag.

‘What’s this?’ I said, delving inside to find bottles of shampoo, conditioner, facial cream and deodorant, and even a box of tampons.

‘Hope they’re the sort you usually use.’

I smiled at his consideration. I’d been too intent on all the luxuries to think about the essentials.

After a while, I said: ‘It’s such a beautiful place, the Lake District.’

He nodded, but remained silent.

‘How long have you lived up here?’

‘Since I was ten. I was from Wales originally. My late mother was best friends with Ronni….We came back here when my brother and father were killed down the pit.’

I was struck by the amount of tragedy in this man’s life.

He tailed off. ‘Can we talk about something else, please,’ he said, taking a sip from his tea.

‘Did Seraphina look anything like Emily and Janis? They’re beautiful.’

‘Yes,’ he replied, then realized he’d been drawn again. ‘Can we please leave it? It provokes too many bad memories. I’m with you now, let’s concentrate on us.’

‘OK,’ I said, drinking my own tea. I wasn’t certain whether Seraphina could still touch such a raw core of feeling seventeen years after the event; or whether he was simply trying to further the air of mystery he seemed to like to shroud himself in.

We walked back to where we’d parked the Land Rover and I loaded the bags into the back after he’d opened the door for me.

‘It’s a lovely sunny day, now. Fancy a bit of adventure?’ he said, as he climbed behind the wheel and turned the ignition.

My expression said it all, which was lucky as he revved the engine so loudly he wasn’t likely to hear my response anyway. Perhaps in his arrogance, he knew what my reply would be anyway.

We drove down to an old mill, the site of his car museum and restoration workshops. He waved to a couple of workmen in the nearby garage, who were working on the rear bodywork of a Triumph Vitesse.

Then he put his arm around my waist and pointed upwards. There was a helicopter on the roof. He looked at my astonishment.

‘We’re going in that!’

‘Yes, Freya. Thought you’d like a little more fun.’

‘You mean you can fly that thing?’

He grinned, taking out a flying hat and headset from behind his back. ‘A friend flew it in for me this morning. But yes, I’m a fully trained pilot.’

Was there no end to his talents? I thought, as we clambered up the stairs. I began to realize I was being seduced as much by his lifestyle as by his sexual and intellectual prowess. But somehow, I could not help myself being drawn in even deeper. Maybe I was thriving on the implicit dangers of getting close to this man.

Soon we were airborne and my thoughts were lost in the general excitement.

We spent the next hour on a grand tour of the Lake District. First came the bleak northern fells: mainly grassy, with the occasional outline of an Iron Age hillfort or old mine workings. Then came the more rugged central region. The glaciated valleys, dramatic combes and barren volcanic crags and cliffs contrasted with the peaceful expanses of lake and tarn. And with the lower, more afforested slopes, where farmsteads appeared as mere specks in the powerful landscape. Lastly, we flew over the verdant meadows and parklands of the southern expanses, before banking away towards the Irish Sea. Only the vulgar structures of coastal industry blotted the spectacular natural environment as we journeyed back again.

We flew inland, coming back across Bassenthwaite Lake and Skiddaw, the only features I could recognize. Dylan drew my attention to a great view of the ridges of Causey and Grisedale Pikes, as the sun began to sink behind their pointed summits.

But I was more interested in a large cliff, shrouded on both sides by plantations. I pointed to it, gaining Dylan’s attention. ‘What’s that white thing?’

‘It’s called the “Bishop of Barf”. It’s a statuesque rock that sticks out from the face. They paint it regularly to make it stand out.’

‘Oh, interesting.’

‘See the hotel at its foot?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I’ve booked us in for a romantic meal later.’

‘Excellent,’ I replied, embracing him. Inner relief swept through me. I’d nearly booked myself into this hotel, as it had been the nearest to Grimshaw Lodge. If I had done so, my mission would soon have been exposed.

After our meal, we returned up the road to the Lodge. He surprised me by stopping in a lay-by and pulling me into the forest. He started to make love.

‘We can’t do this here. Someone might see!’

‘That’s exactly what makes it so exciting!’

THE GARDENS OF the Victorian mansion must have been spectacular in their heyday. Its centrepiece had been the large conservatory. Dylan had restored the intricate glass panelling very faithfully; now it housed a heated swimming pool and sauna.

I found Yasuko swimming in the pool. She was wearing a nightshirt which covered her body and must have been very cumbersome to swim in. She climbed out on the other side of the pool and scurried off towards the changing rooms.

Dylan joined me. We both stripped naked and dived into the soothing waters. We frolicked around for over an hour, swimming, play-fighting and periodically embracing.

After lunch, the truck returned, with the same personnel, to recover the remains of my Fiat. We watched its crane lift the crumpled wreck aboard. It was a sad sight. We followed behind in the Land Rover. Our destination was Dylan’s car restoration business. On the outskirts of Keswick, we turned off the main road and drove up a track to the old bobbin mill.

We found Rupert with his head under the bonnet of the Bentley, in discussion with one of the mechanics.

‘Still here, Rupert,’ Dylan called.

‘Yes. Thought I’d get my Bentley serviced before heading to Scotland. I’ll pay, of course.’

‘Oh, I thought the Bentley belonged to Veronica,’ I said.

Rupert grinned wryly.

‘Heading up to the MacAlistairs, eh? Ronni said you were keen on Lady Jennifer. She’s a bit of a handful. You’ll need to keep your wits about you.’

Rupert nodded, then frowned.

‘Shame you and Janis haven’t worked out.’ As he said this, I had the impression he was rather pleased they hadn’t.

‘No. I can see now it was all her mother’s idea. I think I bored her.’

Dylan smiled, then led me away to show me around the four-storey main building. It had been converted into a small museum for British cars from the Fifties and Sixties, which were fast becoming classics. Some were in original condition; others, he told me, had been restored by his small team of mechanics and bodywork specialists. I’d always liked old cars and he smiled at how enthralled I was.

‘I notice most are basic models. I see you have some MGs and Triumph TRs here. But I was expecting more high-performance sports cars.’

‘Yes. I can understand that,’ Dylan replied. ‘But there are enough collectors for those already. The more mundane marques and models are being lost as we speak. Take this Humber Super Snipe, for example.’ He laid his hand on the bonnet. ‘85% of all the Rolls Royces ever built still survive. Less than 10% of Humbers do.’