In a Dry Season (20 page)

I realized I hadn't seen Gloria for a while and wondered if she were sick or something. She
had
been drinking quite a lot. I needed to go to the toilet anyway. As gently and politely as I could, I disengaged myself from the radiolocation lecture. It was cold and dark outside, so I put my coat over my shoulders, picked up the torch with its tissue-filtered light and headed out into the backyard.

Bridge Cottage had two outbuildings; one was the toilet and the other was used for storage. I could hear the radiogram playing “In the Dark” from inside the house as I made my way down the flags to the toilet.

Suddenly, I heard sounds nearby. I paused, then I heard them again, a grunt and a muffled, little voice calling out. I couldn't tell where it was coming from at first, then I realized it was behind the outbuilding. Puzzled, I tiptoed over and pointed my torch at the wall.

What I saw made my skin tingle. Even in the poor tissue-weakened light, I could see it was Gloria pinned to the wall by Mark, the Canadian airman. Her back was against the large V sign someone had chalked there during the summer Victory campaign. Her dress was bunched around her waist, and the pale white flesh of her bare thighs above the stocking-tops stood out in the darkness. I remember thinking she must be freezing cold. Mark was crushed forward into her, one hand over her mouth, the other fumbling at his waist.

Gloria was calling out in a muffled voice, “No, please, no!” over and over again, trying to struggle against him, and he was calling her filthy names. When he saw my light, he swore at me and took off around the front of the house.

Gloria leaned back against the wall, gasping and sobbing, not looking at me, her hair and clothes in disarray. Then she straightened her dress, leaned forward with her hands on her knees and was sick right onto the garden. It was warm and made the ice crack. I could see the chalk dust from the V on the back of her dress.

I didn't know what to do. I knew nothing about these things back then and I wasn't even sure what sort of scene I had witnessed—except that there was something very wrong about it.

All I knew was that Gloria looked hurt, upset and in pain. So I did what came naturally; I opened my arms and she fell into them. Then I held her close and stroked her hair and told her not to worry, that everything would be all right.

The birds struck up the dawn chorus first, then the milk-man's float rattled by, and soon Banks was listening to the myriad strange sounds of an unfamiliar street through the half-open window of Annie's bedroom. A baby cried for feeding; someone slammed a door; a dog started barking; a letter-box snapped shut; a motorcycle revved up. Everything sounded all the more foreign since Banks had got used to the silence of his new cottage.

Annie lay beside him breathing softly; she would be silent for a while, then let out a soft exhalation part way between a sniff and a sigh. There was enough light through the thin curtains for Banks to see her. She lay on her side, curled away from him, hands clasped in front, where he couldn't see them. The single white sheet had slipped down far enough for him to see the curve of her waist, follow it up to her shoulders and hair. She had a small mole about halfway. Gently, Banks touched it. Annie stirred a little but still she didn't wake.

Banks lay on his back and closed his eyes. His only fear last night, what almost held him back until that intimate moment in the backyard, when his arm moved of its own volition, was that he would feel the same way he did when he slept with Karen after Susan Gay's farewell party. He should have known better; he should have known this was different. He
did
know. But the fear was still there.

Their love-making had been a little tentative at first, but that was only to be expected. It never happened in real life the way it did in movies, with both lovers exploding together in a climax of Wagnerian proportions as fireworks burst, orchestras crescendoed and trains rushed into
tunnels. That was pure Monty Python. In real love-making, especially with people new to one another's bodies, there are disappointments, mistakes, hesitancies. If you can laugh at these, as Banks and Annie had, then you are halfway there. If you find yourself looking forward to the hours of practice it will take to learn to please one another more, as Banks did, then you are more than halfway.

Afterwards, skin warm and damp and tangy with sweat, she had rested in the crook of his arm and he knew then that he wouldn't wake with a burning desire to be alone.

Just for the briefest of moments he gave in to a wave of paranoia and wondered if this was a trap Riddle had set for him. A new approach. Give him enough rope to hang himself. Were there hidden cameras in the bedroom walls? Was Annie Riddle's secret mistress? Were the two of them plotting Banks's final downfall? The thoughts scudded across his mind like cloudshadows over the daleside. Then, as quick as it came, the paranoia was gone. Jimmy Riddle obviously didn't know who
DS
Cabbot was, or what she looked like. He clearly didn't even know her first name, otherwise he wouldn't have sent Banks within twenty miles of her.

Annie stirred and he ran his hand slowly all the way from her hip to her shoulder.

“Mmm . . . ” she murmured. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“I see you're awake.”

“Have been for hours.”

“You poor man. You should have got up, made some tea.”

“I'm not complaining.” Banks hooked his arm over her
side and rested his palm on her stomach, easing her closer. He kissed the soft flesh between her shoulder and neck then slid his hand up to cup her small breast. Last night he had discovered that she had a tiny red rose tattoo just above her left breast, and he found it incredibly sexy. He had never slept with a tattooed lady before. Annie sighed and pushed herself closer back towards him; curved bodies moulding to one another, skin touching everywhere it possibly could touch.

He stroked her shoulder gently to turn her towards him.

“No,” she whispered. “Like this is just fine.”

And it was.

“The other night,” said Gloria the next time I saw her alone. “At the Christmas party. I want to thank you. If you hadn't come along, I don't know what would have happened. I just don't want you to think it was something it wasn't.”

“I don't know
what
I think it was,” I said. I felt embarrassed, her talking to me like this. Cold, too. We were in the High Street and the icy wind whistled through my old coat as if it were full of holes. Which it probably was. I pulled the collar up over my throat and felt my bare hands freezing around the handles of the carrier bag. Foolishly, I had forgotten my mittens.

“I was just going to the toilet,” she said, “and he followed me out there. Mark did. I know I'd had a bit too much to drink. I didn't mean to, but I suppose I might have given him some encouragement. He called me a tease, said I'd been leading him on all night. Things just got a bit out of hand, that's all.”

“What do you mean?” I started shifting from foot to foot, hoping the movement would keep me warm. Gloria didn't seem to feel the cold at all. Still, the land-girls were provided with warm khaki overcoats.

“Earlier in the evening,” she went on, “he got me under the mistletoe. Everyone was doing it. I didn't think anything of it but . . . Gwen?” She chewed on her lower lip.

“What?”

“Oh, I don't know. Men. Sometimes, it's just . . . I don't know what it is, you try to be nice to them, but they get the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea?”

“Yes. I was only being friendly. Like I am with everyone. I didn't do anything to make him believe I was
that
kind of girl. Men sometimes get the wrong impression about me. I don't know why. It seems like they just can't stop themselves. They're so strong. And believe it or not, sometimes it's easier just to give in.”

“Is that what you were doing? Giving in?”

“No. I was struggling. I was trying to call for Matt, for anyone, to help me but Mark had his hand over my mouth. Maybe before, I would have given in. I don't know. But now I've got Matt. I love him, Gwen, I didn't want to cause a fuss, get Matt upset, start trouble. I hate violence. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come along. I didn't have much fight left in me. Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so,” I said. I had given up on ever getting warm now. Luckily, I was so numb I couldn't feel the cold any more.

“Can we just forget about it?” Gloria pleaded.

I nodded. “That's probably for the best.”

She gave me a hug. “Good. And we're still friends, Gwen?”

“Of course.”

After Banks had gone, Annie did her usual twenty minutes of meditation, followed by a few yoga exercises and a
shower. As she dried herself, her skin tingled and she realized how good she felt. Last night had been worth the risk. And this morning. That celibacy business wasn't all it was cracked up to be anyway.

They definitely needed more practice. Banks was a little reticent, a bit conservative. That was only to be expected, Annie thought, after twenty or more years of marriage to the same woman. She thought back to her love-making with Rob, and how natural they had become. Even when they had been apart for a year or two, they had picked up the rhythm again without any trouble when they got together in Exeter.

How could so many people have read Banks wrong? she wondered. Gossip distorts the truth, certainly, but to such an extent? Perhaps he was the empty canvas people used to project their fantasies onto. Whatever he was, she hoped he wasn't the kind who felt a moral obligation to fall in love just because he slept with a woman. When it came right down to it, she hadn't a clue
what
she wanted from the relationship, if indeed there was a relationship yet. She wanted to see more of him, yes; she wanted to sleep with him again, yes; but beyond that, she didn't know. Still, maybe it would be nice if he did fall a little bit in love with her. Just a little bit.

Most of all, she hoped to hell that he wouldn't regret what they had done for
her
sake, wouldn't feel that he had taken advantage of her vulnerability or her tipsiness or any of that male rubbish. As for the career business, surely he couldn't imagine she had only slept with him because he was her boss or because she was after advancement? Annie laughed as she pulled on her jeans. Sleeping with
DCI
Banks was hardly likely to advance anyone's career these days.
Probably quite the opposite.

For the moment, another beautiful summer's day beckoned, and it was a great luxury not to have to make any more serious choices than whether to go do her washing or drive to Harrogate and go shopping. She liked Harrogate town centre; it was compact and manageable. The cottage needed a tidy-up, true. But that could wait. Annie didn't mind a little mess; as usual, there were far more interesting things to do than housework. She could put the washing in before she went; there wasn't much.