River of Destiny (33 page)

She had made her way home and gone up to her bedroom where she had crawled, still fully dressed, under the bedclothes. Jackson had returned some time later but he didn’t come up to see her. She hadn’t told him about her role in the events of the day before till the next morning when she had found him in the kitchen. His anger at what he saw as her betrayal of him had simply added to her misery and rage.

She turned and looked at Leo’s bedroom. Part of her wanted to smash it up, to damage his things, to rip up his pictures, to go out in the dinghy and put an axe through the
Curlew
’s hull so she sank. Absent-mindedly she scratched her face. Another part of her was already planning a far more satisfactory revenge. She was going to destroy her rival for his affections: Zoë.

Daniel was waiting for her. He stepped out of the shelter of the barn and seized the cob’s bridle with one hand and her wrist with the other. Emily opened her mouth to scream, but he was too quick for her. Dragging her from the horse he clamped one hand across her lips.

With a panicky neigh the horse bolted.

‘You vicious bitch! You couldn’t let an innocent animal live. You thought I loved that horse so she had to pay with her life!’ He released her with disgust. ‘How could you? Have you not one smallest bit of compassion in your heart?’

Emily recovered her composure remarkably quickly. ‘Do as I ask and there will be no need to prove to you just how little compassion I have!’ she retorted. ‘You need to learn to obey when the squire’s lady gives you a command.’

He stared at her through narrowed eyes. ‘You can’t force a man to service you. Not even your poor husband. What would happen if I told him what had been going on? What do you reckon would happen to you then? He’d throw you out, that’s what. Like the cheap doxy you are. You leave me and mine alone, my lady,’ he emphasised the last two words with heavy sarcasm, ‘or you will regret crossing me for the rest of your days. You’ve already cost one man his job.’ He moved away from her. ‘Leave us alone, do you hear me? If you threaten me again there will be trouble; I mean it. I will go to Mr Crosby and tell him everything! And don’t imagine that he won’t believe me, because he will. Every word.’

He strode away towards the forge leaving her standing where she was on the muddy track. He did not look back.

Zoë was sitting on the long sofa, her feet propped up on cushions, when Ken appeared the following evening. She was reading, the book in a pool of light from the lamp behind her, the rest of the room in semidarkness as the light faded in the sky. He glanced round the room cautiously. She saw the look. ‘What? What are you looking for?’

‘Nothing.’ He came and sat beside her, pushing her legs over a little to make room. ‘I’ve been hearing the horses too.’ He gave a self-conscious half laugh.

Zoë hitched herself away from him. ‘What kind of horses?’

‘How do I know? A horse is a horse to me. It’s just noises. Just the sound of hooves, that kind of sneezy sound they make, the chink of harness. I wonder if we are going mad!’ He bent his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

‘It’s happening more and more often, isn’t it?’ she said dully.

‘At first I thought it was your imagination.’ He grimaced. ‘But there is something in here, isn’t there? Not the kids. Nothing to do with them. There is something restless about this place, as if it’s waiting for something to happen.’

She stared at him and her mouth dropped open for a moment. ‘You feel it too?’

‘You know I do.’ He stood up. ‘Shall we make a project of finding some blinds or curtains or something for these windows? I feel really exposed in here as it gets dark.’ He looked towards them with a shudder.

‘Agreed,’ she said. ‘As soon as possible, right? I don’t like the idea of people being able to look in on us. Anyone could be out there. That Jackson guy. I really didn’t like him. Or any of those kids. Or burglars, for goodness’ sake!’

‘Or Leo,’ Ken said softly.

She gave him a sharp look and hoped he didn’t see the colour she could feel flooding into her face. ‘Why Leo? What on earth makes you say that? He’s not a peeping Tom!’

‘No,’ Ken said. ‘No, I’m sure he’s not.’ There was a long pause. ‘But he walks across the grass to the path down to the boats. I’ve seen him. If he uses his eyes at all he could hardly miss this great floodlit area of glass and everything we are doing behind it.’

‘I suppose not.’ She pulled herself to her feet. The conversation was becoming uncomfortable. It was the moment to mention Leo’s hatred of all the floodlights, but she sensed it would not go down well.

She headed for the kitchen, and just as she reached the door she heard the noises herself. There were horses in the great room and over by the woodburner a hazy shimmering impression, just for a moment, of shadowy sheaves of hay, and harness hanging from pegs in the wall and the windows were no longer windows but huge double doors opening onto a yard which was bathed in moonlight.

‘Ken.’ Her voice came out croaky with sudden fear. ‘Can you see it too?’

But it had gone. The room was as it ought to be and the only sound was from the TV as Ken picked up the remote and started flicking through the channels.

Later, in bed, he reached out for her. ‘Darling, I know I haven’t been very attentive lately.’ He sounded embarrassed.

She rolled away from him. ‘It doesn’t matter. I haven’t been in the mood either.’ It was true, of course.

She felt him edge away from her again. He turned over onto his back and sighed. ‘Old age, I suppose.’ He gave a bitter snort of laughter.

‘Speak for yourself!’ She meant it to come out humorously but somehow it didn’t. ‘We’ve been under an awful lot of strain, Ken,’ she went on after a moment. ‘What with the move and everything. And neither of us has been sleeping properly. Look at your sleepwalking, for goodness’ sake. We’re tired and worn out. All we need is a bit of time.’

‘You don’t still want to move away, do you?’ he said after a pause.

She lay still, staring at the ceiling. She wasn’t sure what to say. To move would mean moving away from Leo. ‘Perhaps we should give it a bit more time, as you said,’ she whispered at last.

He didn’t reply. She sensed he wasn’t asleep, but she said no more and lay, eyes closed, trying to steady her own breathing.

The irony was that every bit of her body contradicted her claim to be tired. It was tingling with longing, alive, every portion of her skin reacting to the touch of the sheet, of her own arm as it brushed against her breast, the movement of one thigh against the other, the corner of the pillow nuzzling the back of her neck, but it wasn’t Ken she was thinking about as she lay still beside him, terrified he might sense her arousal, it was Leo.

It was much later, when his body had at last relaxed into sleep and his breath was punctuated by a gentle snoring, that she gave up trying to sleep herself and climbed cautiously out of bed. She stood for a moment looking down at him in the dark, then she crept towards the door. Closing it carefully behind her she held her breath, listening. She was, she realised suddenly, scared of going downstairs in the dark, as much afraid of what lay down there as of waking Ken. She didn’t want to put on the lights. She knew the light switch, bringing on banks of lights, both up here and below, made a loud enough noise to be heard in the bedroom if one was awake. The question was, was it loud enough to wake Ken?

She looked over the balustrade. There was no moonlight in the windows; the gardens were pitch black beyond the glass. A week or so ago she would have run down the stairs in the dark without a second thought, but now she hesitated. It was completely silent downstairs. They had let the woodburner go out so there was no sound of shifting logs, no night sounds of wood or metal settling into the cold. She shivered. She hadn’t dared to reach for her dressing gown in case she woke Ken; she was wearing a short silk nightdress which barely covered her bottom. She crept along the landing to the top of the staircase and peered down, reaching for the banisters. Then slowly she reached for the top step with her bare foot.

She was halfway down when she heard a sound. She froze. After a moment she heard it again. A gentle rattle broke the silence. It came from the direction of the kitchen. She realised her hand was clutching the wooden handrail so tightly it was hurting her fingers. She took another step down. Something about the noise made her suspicious. It had no ghostly feel. It sounded very real. And then as it came a third time, she realised what it was. Someone was trying the backdoor latch. She ran the rest of the way down and across the floor into the kitchen and paused there just inside the door listening. After a moment it came again and this time she could hear someone turning a key back and forth in the lock. She gave a grim smile. Thank goodness for the new lock. She was about to tear the bolt back and throw open the door when she became aware of how scantily clad she was. If it was Jackson she had no desire to confront him all but naked. The next best thing was to find out who it was. If she scared them off the chances were they would run round the front of the house and the floodlights would come on. If they didn’t she could bring them on manually with the switch beside the back door.

Not turning on the kitchen lights, she banged hard on the door and then ran to the window so she could look out unseen. At first she thought nothing was happening, then after several seconds she saw a small figure running across the lawn. She was keeping to the dark area beyond the reach of the lights, but nevertheless just about visible. It wasn’t Jackson. It was Jade.

‘Gotcha!’ she murmured. ‘Little monkey!’ She switched on the floodlights and watched the whole area swim into view. Jade had judged her flight perfectly. There was no sign of her.

‘Zoë?’ The voice behind her made her jump out of her skin. She spun round. Ken was standing in the doorway, his hand on the kitchen light switch. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Don’t turn it on,’ she cried. ‘It was Jade. She was trying to get in with a key. They have obviously still got one.’

‘Good thing I fitted the bolt and changed the lock, eh?’ Ken came to stand beside her at the window. Outside the floodlights went out leaving the garden pitch black. ‘A word with her parents tomorrow, do you think? On the phone.’

‘She’s supposed to be ill with chicken pox,’ Zoë said thoughtfully. ‘Presumably she’s not feeling that ill.’ She went over to the light switch, then she paused. ‘I hate the thought of turning on the lights and being watched from outside as if we were a theatre set. Can we get blinds for the kitchen tomorrow as well?’

‘Sure.’ He was still staring out into the dark. ‘I thought it wouldn’t matter not having curtains and blinds in this place,’ he said wistfully. ‘It is supposed to be so private, but it isn’t, is it?’

‘Isolated is a better word,’ Zoë put in. ‘It is just us. This strange community on the edge of the river. Four houses, miles from the world. No village.’ She thought back to Leo’s description of the lost village on the hill and she shivered. There were goosepimples all over her arms and shoulders. ‘I’m cold. I’m going back to bed. We’ll deal with it all in the morning.’

Ken was about to follow her upstairs when he saw a bent horseshoe nail lying on the floor. He stopped dead, looking at it with distaste. After a moment he bent and picking it up between finger and thumb he threw it in the bin with a shiver. Upstairs, he went into the bathroom. When at last he emerged he lay down beside Zoë but he made no move towards her. It was a large bed. There were a least three feet between them. Zoë was lying with her back to him. Her eyes were open and she was staring at the window. There were curtains in their bedroom but they were open and she could see the stars, far away between the swathes of cloud.