Lewi's Legacy (9 page)

He instinctively knew what she wanted, so he did her bidding, but this time not as an innocent boy. This time it was his turn to be the predator. No matter how rough he acted, she was obviously enjoying every moment, but he most definitely was not.

When they eventually finished, her voice was hoarse with emotion, as she kissed him fully. ‘That was just wonderful, my darling Louis.’ She said quite loudly.

At that moment the bedroom light came on, and standing in the doorway was Susan. She had obviously witnessed the whole thing, reflected in her expression of terror. Without speaking, Susan turned and ran into her room, sobbing.

Annie had been the victim of her own actions; she got the sex, but what about the consequences? As she slunk back to her own room, Louis lay on the top of his bed trying to imagine the faces around the breakfast table, and somehow he didn’t really want to get involved. He now just wanted out; out of all the web of deceit that poor Susan’s mother had spun from the beginning.

Louis didn’t see much of Susan after the event in his room with Annie, and he had no intention of repeating it with her. He did speak to Annie though, only just to tell her that he was leaving at the end of the week and he would leave it to her, what money she would give him as a final payment.

She gave him the keys to a new red mini and transferred a thousand pounds into his bank account. She also told him that the garage was for sale and that there were already three offers for it in the pipeline.

That statement from Annie made his leaving that much sweeter, knowing that as he drove away, the whole chapter was behind him and whatever was to become of the two women in his life, it was no longer any of his concern. The next chapter of his life was about to begin.

He had never driven so far before, and thanked his lucky stars for a good road map. He was heading for Dover and leaving the country of his birth. Scared, but also a little excited, he had two days to get to his father’s place, but ringing in his ears was the advice from dear old Bill,

‘Don’t worry son, we’ll get there, never fear.’

As he awaited his call to the car ferry he spent the time looking at the road map of France gauging the best route to Provence, and being one of the southern most areas, he realised that it was the furthest distance to drive.

He found a roadside café and motel at Orléans where he took an overnight break; he surprised himself in his efforts, getting that far without many problems, and he was still not even nineteen. On the second half of his journey towards Marseilles, in his excitement, he had to stop more often, checking the address with his map. As the highway rose to higher levels, and as it reached the top, he could make out the distant white buildings of that great city of Marseilles, and beyond that the blue haze of the Mediterranean Sea.

The road dropped down the other side of the hill and suddenly he entered the village mentioned in his dad’s letter. He turned off the highway into a small square skirted by small larch trees. Louis parked his car at the side of the square and switched the engine off. He sat there a few minutes opened the windows and took in the fresh air. Louis got out of the car and he stood along side of the mini looking around. There were a few people passing by, all of them looked admiringly at the little car with its foreign number plates.

‘Bonjour monsieur’ Louis heard a small voice, and turned around to see a little boy, of about nine or ten, looking up and smiling at him.

‘Bonjour mon ami’ he replied smiling back.

The boy, in a bright yellow shirt and a pink coat walked by him and touched the car and looked closely at the badge on the bonnet. ‘C’est magnifique, monsieur. Voila, Le Mini n’est-ce pas?’ his smile was so engaging, but he spoke so quickly and Louis didn’t understand all that he said. The boy picked up on Louis’s puzzled face and broke into English. Pardon Monsieur, you are Anglais oui?’ The boy asked. Louis nodded. ‘Are you looking for er..’

Louis pointed out his Father’s address on the back of his letter. The boy read it and shook his head. He then put his hand into Louis’s and led him across the road to ‘La Boucherie’ butcher’s shop, and pointed, ‘c’est mon pere, monsieur.’ The boy had still retained Louis’s address paper, and showed it to his father who was standing in the shop doorway watching them. As Louis observed the butcher standing there, it reminded him immediately of Danny’s father, the Tripe shop owner on the High Street of his home town.

The father beckoned Louis into the shop and he went into the back, returning moments later with a map. He spread the map on the counter and proceeded to mark the route out with a pencil. Louis looked where the pencil line stopped and saw the address he was looking for. The place was a bit isolated like a farm.

The Butcher gave Louis the map and smiled as he waved him away after Louis had unsuccessfully offered payment to him. He shook the butcher’s big hand, ‘Merci’, and then shook the little boy’s hand, at the same time pushing some Francs into it, and winked. The boy tried to wink and they both laughed. Louis climbed back into the car just as the boy shouted,

‘Regardez papa; le Mini rouge!’ Father and son both waved as he roared by.

Louis checked the map for the correct road number and turned into it from the little square. Very soon the road rose up quite steeply, and it wasn’t very long before he was taking the indicated turning into a rough track, and he could see that it was rising higher into the hills. He drove slowly as the surface was very uneven yet straight, so that he could make out a large house in the distance. The route was lined by poplars and as he drove so slowly he peered through them, to see neat lines of green bushes disappearing upwards into the distance.

In ten minutes he was outside the open gates of the large square villa, built in red sandstone. All the windows had bright blue shutters at each side, and he marvelled at its beauty.

‘Does my father live here?’ He asked himself as he stared at the building.

‘Yes he does Louis.’ Came the reply.

He turned to see two people standing not ten yards away smiling, one of them, smaller than the other was holding a blond baby. Henry walked quickly towards his son, arms outstretched. For a second Louis didn’t recognise the bronzed face but then ran to his dad hugging him.

‘Dad, is it really you?’ Louis buried his head into his dads brown neck and sobbed freely. ‘Is it really you?’

He stopped and remembered the other person, he pulled away slightly from his father, opened his arm to encompass her, carefully as she held their baby, and then all three of them cried, this time in joy. Henry introduced Collette to him. She was beautiful, dark long hair and dark skin, slim and petite. Then he introduced him to his step brother.

‘This is your brother, André’ he said to the young man.

The baby boy leaned over to Louis and held out both arms, and Collette gently transferred her precious son for Louis to take. André looked up at his brother with bright blue eyes and gave him a smile. Louis could not hold back his tears and they all laughed as André tried to wipe his brother’s tears away. This was Louis’s happiest day of his whole life, so far.

They walked into the house hand in hand, and Louis instantly felt part of his newly found family. ‘What do you grow here dad, on this farm I mean? Is it vegetables or something like that? He asked Henry.

His father smiled, and looked at Collette. ‘Well Louis, do you know what a vineyard is?’ Henry asked, and his son shook his head. ‘Well, we grow grapes here, and when they are ripened we crush them and then..’

‘You mean that you make wine here dad?’

‘And it is a very delicate white wine, would you like to taste?’ his beautiful step mother smiled in answer.

Louis looked at his father for approval as they climbed the terrace steps up into the house.

9
Sally goes home

The best car in the world

How fast the week went, Edmund’s life had particularly brightened with the company of Sally, his holiday collie. Each day was spent, every moment of it tending to her needs. No conversation needed, all she just wanted was the simple things in life as did he.

One particular day they took a walk to the Trim’s bungalow, in half an hour they were knocking on his front door, just as he drove into his gravel drive. They soon reached an agreement on the purchase of the Toyota pickup. Edmund offered his asking price with the proviso that Mr Trim would tax and MOT it for a year, and give the inside of the cab a good cleaning.

He was a tall and lively young man with no frills, living in an area where there was little scope for employment, he was a jobbing builder too, and was always in demand. Edmund estimated that he was about twenty eight, and struck him as being honest as well as friendly. Before he returned home, he said he was quite happy to wait for his purchase until Mr Trim had purchased his new vehicle, and this was to be about a week from that day. Edmund told the young man where he lived, and was surprised that he knew exactly where it was. He also refused to take a deposit on the pickup, even though they had only just met. He patted the collie’s coat and waved goodbye.

As they walked along the road, back to the cottage, Edmund realised that Sally was not going to be at home when the Toyota was going to be delivered, nor would she be able to go out on the first trip with him in it. It was still light as they got to the bottom of his lane, and Edmund took a snap decision. They turned into the surrounding thicket, and made their way to Sally’s pond. As they walked together the little dark cloud that was hanging over him had swiftly disappeared. Soon the stand of thick beech trees gave way to the open clearing with the magical silence of the black pond.

As he sat on the sturdy bench, he leant his arm across the top spar and felt the brass plaque in the middle at the back of it, newly cleaned. He got up off his seat and took another close look, particularly at the name, ‘Louis Owen’.

‘I know that name Sally, but from where?’’ he said as he stroked the sleek black coat of the collie.

She looked up at him with her beautiful brown eyes and proceeded to lick his hand. It seemed that she had him entranced.

‘What am I going to do without you next week?’ he asked her.

She barked an answer this time, and he knew it was time to get back. As he stood up and scanned the perimeter of the black water, a breeze rustled the leaves in the nearby trees. At that moment he knew there was nowhere else that he would have rather been.

Twice more before the week was up; they made the journey to the coast at Southbourne. It was unspoilt by the usual needs of the holiday maker, and instead only catered for the dog walker making it such a wonderful place to be. His favourite time to make the journey was at first light. As they travelled through Christchurch he would glance up at the windows of the houses most with curtains drawn, their occupants blissfully unaware that the best time of the day was passing them by. Edmund had made a very good friend of John, another retiree, who enjoyed his part time job setting out the tables and sprucing up the cliff top café called Riva.

At the end of their walk, it was common to make their way past the café, and more often than not Edmund would call in for a late breakfast. They sat outside admiring the view over the Isle of Wight and John would bring his breakfast and a special ‘doggy’ one for Sally. Often as they were eating, visitors would walk by and Sally was quite happy to receive a stroke, whether from children or other dog walkers. However she was never drawn into conflict. When certain dogs came by just looking for trouble, she would sit quietly close to Edmund until the danger was passed. Edmund was always surprised that the owner of the aggressive dog never made an effort to control it, nor give any apology for its behaviour. Edmund resigned himself to the fact that this was another example where changes in society like that, were getting more and more acceptable as the norm.

Saturday had arrived all too quickly. After one last visit to Sally’s pond, and on their return, she looked a little downtrodden as if she could feel his unhappiness that it had come around so fast. It was a bright day, so he took the cover off the little Morgan and she jumped in like a flash.

‘No Sally, we’re not off to the beach today, its home for you my girl.’ The dog looked up at her temporary master, which brought a lump to his throat.

It was a new route through Hordle to the village hall and the day’s craft fair. The whole area was full of cars so they had to drive two streets away before he could find a space. As he got out of the Morgan, Sally jumped out and sat on the pavement. He secured the rope lead to her collar, but instead of standing, she lay down on the pavement. He pulled on the rope but she wouldn’t budge. She then started to bark loudly and still refused to budge. He reached in his coat pocket for a tempting treat, and then noticed there were no car keys there.

He dropped the rope and walked to the other side of the car, and sure enough there they were still in the ignition. He walked around to the passenger side, and waved them at the collie, she barked and he picked up the lead and off they went.

‘How did you know, girl?’ He stared at her as she pulled on her lead oblivious of what he said, but he was in awe.

They soon reached the tiny hall and walked in. Edmund spotted Harry and Fay with a young woman at a table. Sally pulled on her lead as Fay got up to greet them. Harry looked a little tired, and as he tried to get up, Edmund gently put his hand on his shoulder to tell him not to bother. Fay brought Sally to the table and asked, ‘did you enjoy your little holiday together?’

Edmund nodded and smiled to the stranger. ‘Oh, let me introduce Lydiya to you, Lydiya this is our friend Edmund, he has taken our dog Sally for a week’s holiday.’

The young woman stood up and leaned over with her outstretched arm, and Edmund shook her limp hand. She must have been no older than twenty, slim, dressed totally in black, with gothic make up. Overall though, she was most attractive in her own way.

‘Harry, you were quite right about Sally and although it was only a week she spent at my place, she certainly put her stamp on it.’

Edmund went on to explain that only the first day, she had discovered a beauty spot on his land he didn’t know existed, and that he had named it after her. He went on to describe the amazing incident with the car keys, how she seemed to have a sixth sense about things.

Suddenly Lydiya broke her silence, as if she had just remembered something important. ‘I think that Victor has the sixth sense, you know. He seems to know what is happening before it does, but these were not nice things. It happened a lot when we were in Paris last year.’ She suddenly became sad as if she had lost something.

Edmund wanted to keep her talking. ‘So you were in Paris, what was Victor doing there, do you know?’

‘Yes he was working for my father.’ She answered

‘Doing what exactly?’ he asked.

She seemed to resent the line of questioning but reluctantly she answered. My father is the Russian Ambassador for France in Paris, but I don’t really know what Louis did for him. When Louis worked in London, I taught him how to speak Russian’

The few people remaining in the hall turned around and stared, Edmund guessed that the mention of a Russian Ambassador in a village hall was unusual enough.

Harry explained to Edmund that Lydiya had been down to their home in Burley a couple of times since Victor’s disappearance and this time had accepted their offer to stay for a couple of nights with them. It seemed that they wanted to hang onto anyone who knew their son, prior to his strange disappearance.

Edmund felt that it was time to go and he said his goodbyes and thanks for the loan of their dog, which was asleep at Lydiya’s feet. Half way to the exit he turned to wave at them, the elderly people responded, but not the girl, who just stared back at him. He felt a shiver down his back, sensing something very wrong with the situation, but he just shrugged his shoulders as he left the village hall.

‘That’s none of my business.’ He said to himself as he walked back to his little sports car.

It took a few days to get back to normal, and on his own again. He had to admit that a dog’s companionship seemed to be the right one in his particular situation, but how could he find another dog like Sally?

The day before Mr. Trim was due to arrive with the pickup; he decided to visit the little pond again. He picked up the shepherd’s crook standing by the back door, and instinctively looked towards the fireplace where Sally usually lay. In front of the hearth was the tin plate that she used to have her biscuits in, he walked towards the dish noticing there was still one left, so he picked it up and put it in his coat pocket. The morning sun streamed into the doorway and he imagined the collie running off in front.

‘Now which path did we take, girl?’ He said to himself.

He decided on the one opposite the door and within ten minutes he was lost. He carried on walking as straight as he could, but after five more minutes of struggling, there was no clear way forward. The thick clump of beech trees seemed to be closing in on him; maybe it was the wet mist mingling in between the thin trunks, or the sudden feeling of chill he felt. There was no sound, yet the silence was deafening. He stood a while listening and looking forward through the dense fog that had suddenly formed around him.

There seemed no way forward. He turned and put his hand in his trouser pocket, the stone was still there, but there was no warmth emanating from it. It was just cold. He pushed on the shepherd’s crook to make some speed, feeling like a failure. He couldn’t find the pond that was normally half an hour away. He pushed through some light bramble and finally he recognised a few marks on the way as he neared his cottage again.

As he sat in his old leather chair, he cast his mind over the last few days with Sally. He also couldn’t get that strange girl’s face out of his head, almost as if she was haunting him. He sensed that she knew more than she had made out. What work would a young English chap be doing for an Ambassador in Paris? Something just didn’t stack up in his mind about that.

The next day, as arranged, Mr. Trim brought the Toyota down Edmunds drive. He had left the kitchen door open, and the engine sounded exceptionally smooth as it drew it up outside. The bright red bodywork was a sight to see; maybe all that dirt had protected it. He climbed up into the cab, and a lot of cleaning had been done, no doubt.

‘Now that’s what I call a facelift Mr Trim.’

‘Please call me Rufus, and you?’

‘I’m Edmund, but I like my friends to call me Eddy. Come inside and let’s do the deal’

They sat at his kitchen table and Edmund pushed a fat envelope over to Rufus, and in turn he handed over the log book and all the other papers. Edmund noticed ‘one owner’ on the document, and Rufus nodded.

‘I’ve had her from new and there are plenty of miles in her yet.’ He said.

Rufus had done what was asked of him, providing a new tax disc and MOT certificate. Also he had a bill of sale for the two and a half thousand pounds.

‘Tell you what, if you put an address and sign the transfer documents I’ll send it away along with mine, if that’s ok Eddy.’

‘Mug of tea before you go, Rufus? I’ll give you a lift back to your place in the Toyota.’

‘I’d rather have a lift in the Morgan, if that’s all right Eddy, I’ve never been in one of them sports jobs.’ He asked and Edmund nodded.

‘Now, where does the name Rufus come from?’ Edmund asked his young guest.

He told Edmund that his ancestors came from Brockenhurst originally, and they had been connected to the New Forest since William the Conqueror. William wanted the forest as his personal hunting forest, so people like Rufus’s family were asked to keep the forest and its animals available for him and his knights to hunt. Rufus was the name that the first born was given for many generations and of course was the name given to King William’s son too.

‘Is he buried near here somewhere?’ Edmund asked.

‘Not his body. But there is a monument to him called the ‘Rufus Stone’ just off the A31 near Cadnam, you want to go and look at it sometime Eddy, take the Morgan. By the way, where’s the collie you had when you came around?’

‘She wasn’t my dog Rufus, I was looking after her for a friend in Burley, only for a week, but we did become good pals in that time. By the way did you ever meet the previous owner of the cottage?’