River of Destiny (21 page)

It didn’t, of course. Somewhere near the top of the river-edge woods she stopped, panting, and leaned for several moments against one of the ancient pines, staring upwards into the lofty branches, her back towards the river.

She had stopped fancying Ken after he had the vasectomy. Up until then there had always been the faint excitement of the possibility that one day she might forget to take the pill and that somehow she might get pregnant.

From the very first moment they had started to get serious about their relationship and discuss the possibility of marriage Ken had made it clear he never wanted a family, and she, to a certain extent swept away by his other enthusiasms, had agreed. She was not naturally maternal, she had decided. She had been brought up an only child and, without nephews and nieces to coo over, had never felt the need to contemplate having a baby. When her friends produced children she viewed them with a completely dispassionate and slightly distasteful polite interest, and had realised without regret that the friendships concerned may well end up on a back burner for years, if not for ever. Room for friendship dwindled anyway, in the all-consuming flurry of bottles and nappies, leaving the non-maternal half of the relationship, in her experience anyway, feeling cheated and excluded.

She closed her eyes, trying to get her breath back. She had let herself go, these last few months, not running nearly as much as she used to, pounding round the streets of London. To start with after the move, there was just too much to do, getting the house straight and organising their new life and job hunting. She opened her eyes, staring up into the branches again. Job hunting. She had thought it would be so easy – Ken had told her it would be so easy. She had assumed that the local shops and galleries would be crying out for someone with her experience and fighting to employ her. No chance. The shops and galleries concerned were all very happy with the staff they had, staff who had probably been there for years. They all politely said they would keep a note of her phone number and call her if an opening came along or if they heard of anyone looking for help, but she knew they wouldn’t. They weren’t interested in a newcomer from London who anyway might not stay. She sighed. Leo had said he knew someone. Perhaps she could remind him of his offer of an introduction.

With a pang of regret she remembered that Leo seemed to have gone away again. She had glanced towards The Old Forge as she always did when she set out for her run, and his car was missing from its accustomed parking place. He must have left very early. She felt bereft, she realised suddenly, without him there. For all his irascibility his presence was reassuring in what seemed to be an increasingly unsettling world.

Unlike Ken. She gave a wry grimace. She had come out for her run without checking where Ken actually was. She hadn’t given his whereabouts another thought after her strange experience in the shower. All she had wanted to do was get out of that house and run and run with the wind in her hair and the cleansing sunlight all around her.

She went home by the lower route through the oak woods, feeling the crunch of acorns beneath her running shoes, following a footpath along the river which brought her pretty much near the bottom of the grounds and allowed her to divert down to the landing stage. Their dinghy was moored there at the foot of the steps next to Leo’s. So Ken wasn’t out with the boat. That was strange. Unconsciously she had assumed all along that that was where he was; sometimes in the summer when he hadn’t been able to sleep he had gone out to the boat and slept in the cabin there, claiming it was cool and soothing after the unaccustomed dry dusty atmosphere of the heatwave which had greeted them after their move.

Her shoulders slumped as she sat down on the boards, her feet dangling over the edge above the water. He must have taken the car. That was the obvious thing and she hadn’t checked the range of old cartsheds where they all garaged their cars. But where had he gone in the middle of the night, and why?

Uneasily she scrambled to her feet and turned back towards the house. Both cars were still there parked side by side, her little Audi and his Defender – he had bought it as soon as they moved, enthusiastically saying they would need the great heavy thing once they were living in the deep countryside. She had found it embarrassing – hardly environmentally sound – but she had to admit that a great many people seemed to drive them or cars like them in the countryside, and once it was covered in mud and dust it did begin to look more authentically rural.

She turned and went back to the house. There she reached for the phone. Ken’s was switched off. She tried Steve. He answered at once. ‘Steve, you haven’t seen Ken, have you?’ She tried to keep her voice casual. He hadn’t. There was no answer from the Watts’s phone, somewhat to her relief, nor as she expected, from The Old Forge.

She sat by the phone defeated, not sure what to do next. Could he have gone for a walk and had a fall? Surely he couldn’t have tripped as he was getting into the dinghy and fallen in the river. She felt a tremor of panic starting up somewhere under her breastbone. If he hadn’t left the property in a car or in the boat, he must still be there somewhere. Standing up she made her way back to his study and stood looking down at his desk, wondering what he had been doing last, and if there was some sort of clue lurking there amongst the neatly stacked papers. She reached for his computer mouse and saw one of the screens flicker back into life. Normally his work involved screens of graphs and figures and diagrams. But this was a website. He had been looking up nightmares.

Zoë stared at the screen, shocked. She ran the cursor down the page. Why had he been checking nightmares, somnambulism, sleep paralysis – for a new client? Somehow she doubted it. Had he been having nightmares and not told her? She glanced round his office but there was nothing else there to give her any idea where he was. Somnambulism – sleepwalking.

She felt a chill of fear settle over her. She wasn’t aware that he had ever sleepwalked, he had never mentioned the subject, but was that it? Had he climbed out of bed in the night and wandered off somewhere and if so, where?

Ken lay looking up at the sky frowning. He had no idea where he was or how he had got there. He had thought it was a dream, but it was beginning to feel more and more real. He was cold, unbearably, achingly cold, and his clothes were damp. With a groan he sat up and stared round, for a moment wondering if he had been with Sylvia. Their afternoon together had been passionate and amusing, and he planned to repeat the experience. His conscience had pricked him a little when he had seen Zoë so soon afterwards, but he had ignored it. The guilt would go away. It always had before.

There was, however, no sign of Sylvia now; he was alone. He was in some sort of ruin in the corner of a field. Behind him the remains of a collapsed flint and rubble wall seemed to be giving him some sort of shelter from the wind; he had been lying in a bed of nettles and wild grasses. He scowled ruefully as he felt the sting on his ankles and realised suddenly that he was wearing his pyjamas and that his feet were bare. ‘Oh Christ!’ It was a sob. It had happened again.

On the three previous occasions he had woken up at home. In his sleep he had ended up once in his study and twice he had gone downstairs and awoke in the great room, just standing there, at the foot of the stairs. He had said nothing to Zoë. The weird feeling of dislocation had terrified him, but it seemed to have a logical explanation. He remembered what it said on the site he had found on the net. Something like a house move could have triggered this. It was nothing to be afraid of. It was a sign of stress, nothing more sinister than that. ‘Christ!’ he said again. But this was sinister. Where the hell was he?

There was no sign of any other buildings. He was in a landscape of fields and hedges; no view of the river to give him a clue. He couldn’t be very far from home, surely. Not even in his sleep could he have walked barefoot for any distance. Could he? Painfully he staggered out of the nettles, feeling his feet jarring on stones and thorns, until he was at last standing on the grass of the field proper. He was shaking with cold and there was blood, he could see now, on his pyjama trousers where the brambles had torn their way through the cotton. He gave a sudden snort of humourless laughter. He often slept nude. At least he could be thankful that with the onset of the cold nights lately he had decided to put something on.

Zoë. He wondered suddenly what time it was. Had she missed him. If so she would be worried sick.

Rosemary and Steve were standing in the kitchen at The Old Barn looking at Zoë with some concern. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she had said to them. ‘Do you think I should call the police?’

As the door opened all three turned.

‘Ken!’ Zoë let out a cry of horror as he staggered into the kitchen. ‘Oh my God, Ken, what happened?’

An hour later he and Zoë were sitting at the kitchen counter over breakfast. Rosemary and Steve had left almost at once after he arrived, and Ken had disappeared upstairs to lie in a warm bath to thaw out. Only when he had returned downstairs and they were side by side drinking coffee and eating scrambled eggs and toast did Ken feel like talking.

‘It wasn’t all that far away in the end, but I was completely disorientated. I found my way back by sheer luck. I followed the sun and the lie of the land and intuition.’ He shook his head. ‘I still don’t know how I got there, Zo! I was so frightened when I woke up.’ He had never before admitted to her that he had been scared about anything.

‘It’s happened before, hasn’t it?’ she said gently. ‘I saw, on your computer.’

He nodded. ‘A couple of times I woke up downstairs. It freaked me out a bit so I thought I would check what it was all about last night when I couldn’t sleep. I felt tired in the end,’ he gave a hollow laugh, ‘so I crept into bed so as not to wake you, and that was the last thing I remembered until I woke up. This time I must have been over a mile away.’ He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands and looked at her in despair. ‘What’s wrong with me, Zo?’

‘Perhaps you should see a doctor?’ she said after a moment. ‘Just for a checkup.’

‘Why? It’s not the sort of thing you go to a doctor for! I haven’t got a headache. I’m not covered in spots.’ He sounded petulant and childish suddenly. ‘And if you think I am going to see a shrink, you’ve got another think coming.’

‘No, but you are not sleeping well.’ Zoë tried to keep the impatience out of her voice. His aversion to doctors was legendary. ‘There is obviously something wrong and if it isn’t something obvious, like worry about work or the move or us –’ she paused. ‘It isn’t about any of those things, is it?’ He shook his head miserably. ‘Then you need to find out what is going on. For goodness’ sake, Ken, don’t be such a wimp! You have to get this sorted. Supposing you sleepwalked over the side of the boat one day when you were sleeping down there?’

There was a long pause.

‘It wouldn’t happen on the boat,’ he said at last.

‘How do you know?’

‘Because it has something to do with this house.’

She stared at him. ‘What?’ she whispered.

‘I don’t know.’ He shook his head suddenly, violently, and clapped his hands to his ears, as if trying to rid himself of something whispering close beside him. ‘There is someone, something here, Zo, and it wants me to do something.’ He stood up suddenly, pushing the stool back hard so that it screeched on the tiles. He half-staggered towards the window and stood staring down towards the river. ‘Don’t you feel it?’ he wailed suddenly.

‘Yes, I do,’ she said after a long moment. ‘You are talking about our ghosts.’

‘No!’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts.’

‘You don’t believe in them, Ken. But you can sense them as much as I can,’ Zoë said thoughtfully. ‘Maybe if you acknowledged the fact you would stop sleepwalking.’

Emily was sitting on the horse, waiting for him in the accustomed spot. He was deliberately late and was surprised to see her still in the saddle. Walking across the field with long even strides he came to a halt beside her and put his hand on the bridle. She knocked it away with her whip. ‘You can go. I don’t need you any more.’

He stared up at her in astonishment. ‘So, you’ve found someone more to your taste at last, have you?’ he said quietly. He stepped back, his hand falling to his side.

She gazed at him for several seconds. ‘Your job is done, Daniel.’ She hardly ever called him by his name; it sounded somehow insincere coming from her lips. She hauled on the horse’s reins, turning its head away.

He stepped forward and grabbed at the bridle. ‘Don’t I get any more explanation than that, after all you have put me through?

She raised an eyebrow. ‘After all I have put you through,’ she echoed. ‘I would have thought it was more the other way round. After what you have put me through. After all, you raped me. You put your hands round my throat.’

He froze. ‘It wasn’t like that and you know it.’

She smiled. ‘But who are they going to believe, Daniel?’ She leaned forward and poked his hand away a second time with the tip of her whip. ‘We are going to forget what happened, both of us, and it will never be mentioned again under any circumstances. If it is, you will regret it for the rest of your life.’