Distant Voices

by Barbara Erskine

  The Fate of the Phoenix

  This story, although complete in itself, was written as a short modern-day sequel to an incident in my novel Child of the Phoenix. There the first part of the story of the jewel is told against a thirteenth-century background of love and passion, betrayal and treachery, emotions which echo through time, to be heard today by any who will listen.

  The old man watched the golden cascade of the girl’s hair as she lowered her head over her sketchbook and he heard her pencil scratch the paper. Outside, through the window, he could see her boyfriend’s car. The old man examined the lines of the sleek Porsche. It lacked style in his eyes. It was aggressive and spurious, like the eighties age which spawned it, though the young man himself looked pleasant. He glanced at the girl again. It was as discreet as a widow’s veil, this long hair of hers.

  She had written asking if she could sketch the treasures in his collection, her enthusiasm and the freshness of her words leaping off the page at him. ‘I heard so much about your things from Grandmama. She thought you might show them to me.’

  Grandmama. The word echoed with mustiness and age. How could his beautiful Julia be a grandmama? If only he had married her when she had danced through his life, laughing. But he had been so wrapped in his studies he could not picture Julia Grant in his life of academe and so he had lost her. He could imagine her voice now, teasing, laughing with this golden child: ‘See if the old buzzard is still alive. See if he is still in love with his stones and fossils.’

  ‘I’m glad you decided to come.’ He smiled. ‘You are very different from your grandmother. I often wondered if she was still alive.’

  ‘Of course she’s still alive.’ She giggled. ‘She told me you were lovers.’

  Ridiculous, but he was blushing. ‘Not what you would call lovers,’ he corrected gently, ‘and it was a long time ago. I’m surprised she still remembers me. She was so lively, and I was such a fusty old bird, even then.’

  The girl smiled. ‘She loved you, you know. Poor old Grandpa knew he was always second best.’

  To cover his embarrassment he stood up, gripping his stick. He looked past her to the young man. ‘Let me show you something, Giles, while Vicky finishes her sketches.’ He led the way up the staircase to the gallery where he kept more of his treasures. In the doorway he realised Vicky had followed them and he saw their astonishment. It pleased him enormously when people were impressed by the collection.

  ‘It’s like a museum,’ Vicky whispered.

  ‘I’ve always been a collector.’ He led the way across the floor. ‘Julia thought I was quite mad.’

  He lifted the lid on a glass-topped case and stared down at the display of car badges. ‘All over eighty years old,’ he said proudly. He saw Giles bend closer and he smiled.

  ‘Mr Fraser.’ Vicky was examining a selection of carved stones. ‘Grandmama said to ask you what became of the phoenix.’

  ‘The phoenix?’ He stared at her. Then slowly he nodded. ‘So she did remember.’

  ‘She said you promised to put it back where you found it.’

  ‘I agreed to do it with her.’ He shook his head. ‘And I meant to, but she never came back; later I heard she had married; I lost interest in it after that and in the end I stored it away.’

  ‘Can I see it?’ There was a catch of excitement in Vicky’s throat. ‘You must see this, Giles. It is the most wonderful story.’

  She could hear her grandmother’s voice in her head now: ‘John Fraser was an amateur archaeologist even then, and he and I had been going out for ages when I pestered him into letting me go on one of his excavating trips. I thought a few weeks camping in Scotland might finally persuade him to ask me to marry him. It was not just going to be me and John, of course. There would be archaeologists, labourers to do the digging and two other women who were going to share my tent, so it was all going to be very proper and I would be chaperoned. Don’t laugh, Vicky! It was important then. We went to this old castle in the hills. I can see now why John found it so romantic and exciting, but then I was nothing but a silly little flapper, and I found it boring. I wanted to drive and picnic, I wasn’t interested in exploring ruins. It was such a desolate place. And John thought it was wonderful. He used to tell me to listen but all I could hear was the silence of the mountains and moors, broken only by the sound of sheep and eagles.’ She smiled wryly at Vicky’s rapt expression.

  ‘Anyway, the novelty of tents and uncomfortable camp beds soon wore off. As did the charm of the hot evenings. I was eaten raw by midges. John laughed at me and told me to wear a veil over my hat like the others. And something with long sleeves. He thought I would get used to it. But I didn’t.

  ‘Then, one evening when it was so sultry even I could feel the atmosphere of the place John told me about a siege hundreds of years before when everyone was killed or hanged and the women who were captured were put in cages.’ She shivered. ‘I didn’t want to hear about it. We had a gramophone and some records back at the tents and I wanted to go and dance on the shingle at the river’s edge but instead I sat smoking furiously to keep the insects at bay and waited while he finished some work. I was looking forward to the walk back across the fields with him. It was almost dark inside the castle walls and the others had all gone when John called me to him. He was in what used to be the chapel.’ Vicky felt the hairs on the backs of her arms stirring. ‘John had been working near a pile of stones and suddenly as we stood there a part of the wall fell in. We stood looking down at the rubble guiltily, you know, like children who had broken something – and it was then that I saw the shine of metal.’

  There was another pause and Vicky found herself holding her breath. ‘Was it treasure’ she whispered at last.

  Julia nodded. ‘It was an enamelled pendant. John picked it up and I remember the awe in his face as he asked me if I realised what we had found. I didn’t of course. After the initial excitement I was disappointed. It was dirty and crudely designed. Some sort of bird on a nest. I could see that much. We decided to wash it so we climbed down the ravine behind the castle. It was spooky and I was afraid, as if I knew we shouldn’t have touched it.’ She fell silent. Vicky watched her. ‘He shook it in the peaty water,’ Julia went on after a moment. ‘We saw the dirt dissolve and it began to glitter. It was gold and enamelled. It was a phoenix. Even I could see that.’

  Her eyes seemed to be fixed on the far distance. Vicky waited patiently.

  Julia shook her head at last. ‘We decided to keep it a secret. It was very naughty. John was racked by guilt, but we wrapped it in my scarf and hid it in my tent. It was strange –’ She stopped. Her voice had softened, and Vicky saw a wistful smile on her face.

  ‘Strange in what way?’ she urged.

  ‘Well, that night a storm broke and we had to run for our tents, rescuing the gramophone and the chairs. We were all laughing and singing. For the first time it was almost as good as I had dreamed it would be.’ She fell silent again, thinking back. ‘John grabbed me and I felt his lips on mine. It was magical. Romantic. Wonderful. He had never done anything like it before. Then the moment was over and he had gone, leaving me at the entrance to my tent.

  ‘As I got undressed I was walking on air. Then I found myself wondering about the pendant which was under my pillow. I climbed onto my camp bed and suddenly I found I was shivering in spite of the heat. The rain was drumming down on the canvas and the thunder rolling round the hills. It was all very dramatic. I can remember it so clearly. But it was all over. By next morning the excavation was awash. It was decided to abandon the dig for that year. Within two days I was back in London.’ She sighed. ‘To cut a long story short I decided to wear the pendant to a dance a week later. We cleaned it properly and John bought me a gold chain to hang it on.’

  ‘And what happened next?’ Penny breathed.

  ‘I was sitting in my bedroom, getting ready. I picked the pendant up from my dressing table and put it on. It may seem strange, but I hadn’t tried it on before. I thin
k I was superstitious about it. It slipped down inside the lace at the top of my petticoat between my breasts. It was very cold.’ There was a long pause. ‘It was then I felt the hand.’

  ‘The hand?’ Vicky stared.

  Julia nodded. She grimaced. ‘I thought it was my imagination. I could feel this hand stroking my shoulder. Then it moved down my breast. It was gentle, seductive, like nothing I had ever felt before. It touched my nipple – then it stopped. Suddenly I could feel rage – anger – all round me. It was terrifying. And before I knew what had happened the phoenix had been wrenched from my neck. The chain broke, and the pendant flew across the room.’ She smiled at the look of horror on her granddaughter’s face. ‘I was so frightened. I was hysterical. Mother and Papa came up and John ran up after them. And there I was in my petticoat.’ She laughed. ‘I think I was incoherent. I told them the pendant had been snatched off and I said it was jinxed and I refused to touch it again. It belonged to someone else. It wasn’t mine. I had no right to be wearing it. John picked it up as though it were red hot and wrapped it in his hanky and tucked it into his breast pocket. He wasn’t afraid.’

  ‘Did you ever find out who it belonged to?’ Vicky whispered.

  Her grandmother shook her head. ‘No. I was in such a state I refused to go out with John that night. It was stupid but I was afraid. I couldn’t compete with it, you see. He refused to part with it. I knew we shouldn’t have taken it. We had done something terribly wrong. I begged him to go back to Scotland and put it back where he had found it, but he wanted to find out about it. Where it was made. Who it belonged to. Things like that. It was so like him. He cared more for things than for people. I told him I would only go out with him again if we took it back. He refused. I met your grandfather shortly after that. I never saw John again.’

  The story still fresh in her mind, Vicky turned to the old man. ‘Do you still have the phoenix here?’ she asked in a whisper.

  He nodded. Leaning heavily on his walking stick he made his way to the far side of the room. There in a locked china cabinet were several pieces of old silver. Amongst them lay the phoenix. Some of the enamels were chipped, and one or two small stones were missing, but still it seemed to glow with inner fire. They stood staring down at it in awe. Then at last Vicky spoke.

  ‘May I touch it?’

  John gave a harsh, short laugh. ‘Want to see if the same thing happens to you, eh?’

  ‘No!’ she cried. Then again, ‘No. I just want to see it more closely.’

  John reached into his pocket and produced a bunch of small keys. Unerringly he selected the right one and slipped it into the lock.

  The phoenix was icy in her hands. It lay staring up at her unwinkingly from tiny red eyes. ‘Did you ever find out who it belonged to?’ she asked at last, awed.

  ‘No. It was an impossible task. I assumed it belonged to one of the ladies of the castle. It was almost certainly made in Scotland, probably medieval.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever know more than that.’

  ‘Was it lost in the siege, do you think?’

  ‘Ah. So Julia remembered about the siege did she? She hated that castle. She said it was spooky.’ He paused, his eyes going back to the jewel in Vicky’s hand. ‘The castle was rebuilt several times and it could have come from any period. The bird is a crude representation, which makes me think it is quite early, although the enamelling is very fine. What is unusual, is the subject. A phoenix. That is not something which features very much in medieval lore and it’s not Celtic. It must have been made for a special reason.’

  ‘And for a special person.’ Vicky smiled. Her fingers closed over the pendant. The enamel still felt cold. It was unyielding; spiky. ‘You should have taken it back.’

  John shrugged. ‘I suppose so. It’s all so long ago now. I’d forgotten it, to be honest. And I don’t think anyone ever missed it. The castle is one of those busy repointed, carefully preserved things now. Heritage.’ He made the word sound like an expletive. ‘How can people feel the atmosphere of these places when they are sterilised like that? No room is left for the imagination.’

  Vicky smiled. ‘Not everyone can arrange to go and excavate a romantic ruin, Mr Fraser. Not everyone can be there to see it in the moonlight.’

  He sniffed. ‘I suppose not. But the fact remains. I couldn’t return it now, if I wanted to. There won’t be a blade of grass long enough to cover it; nowhere to put it; nowhere to hide it.’

  ‘It should go back to the castle. Your grandmother was right.’ For a moment Giles couldn’t believe the words had issued from his own mouth.

  ‘It should?’ Vicky stared at him. It was a romantic notion.

  ‘Of course it should. We could take it.’ The idea was growing on him as he thought about it. ‘I’m sure we would find somewhere to put it. It would be right for you to do it, Vicky, if your grandmother was the one to find it.’

  John was looking at him closely. ‘Others have said the same, over the years. We shouldn’t have taken it. It was wrong. Sometimes, when I’ve been in here I’ve thought there was someone watching – someone who resents me for touching it.’ He laughed, embarrassed. ‘I don’t usually have much of an imagination when it comes to ghosts and things, but when I look at that phoenix …’ He glanced at Vicky. ‘Would you take it back? You’re not afraid of it?’

  ‘Afraid?’ Vicky looked at him in astonishment. ‘Why should I be afraid?’ She glanced from one man to the other. They were both looking down at the pendant in Giles’s hand.

  They wrapped it in a handkerchief which Vicky put in her canvas shoulder bag. It seemed strange to none of them that John should trust two strangers with something so obviously valuable. Then they picnicked together on the terrace of John’s house looking across the gardens.

  ‘Have you met her grandmother?’ John asked Giles at last, watching as Vicky took her sketchbook down to the lake. He began to light his pipe for the umpteenth time.

  Giles shook his head.

  ‘I wonder why she sent you.’ John sucked the flame of his match hard into the bowl of the pipe and watched in satisfaction as the small nugget of tobacco glowed. ‘I never married, you know. I wonder if she knew that.’

  Giles shrugged.

  ‘You really will put it back?’

  ‘Scouts’ honour!’ Giles grinned. ‘Of course,’ he paused, leaning back in his chair, ‘once it’s gone back, there would be nothing to prevent you ringing Julia. After all, Vicky’s grandfather died years ago.’

  For a moment John stared at him, then his face broke into a smile. ‘You know, I think I might do just that,’ he said.

  ‘You’re going to put it on, aren’t you,’ Giles said that evening as they sat in the semi-darkness of the living room of her London flat. They still had not moved in together. He had a place near the Temple, she the first floor of a little Victorian house in Wandsworth. He worked at Lincoln’s Inn, she in a solicitor’s office in Fulham.

  He leaned forward and topped up her glass with white wine, the phoenix between them on the coffee table. ‘It seems a shame to take it back. It must be valuable – quite apart from its historical importance.’

  Vicky looked up sharply. ‘We must take it back. We promised.’

  Giles put down the wine bottle and scooped the phoenix into his palm. ‘What do you think it was? A ceremonial thing? It must be heraldic, I suppose?’

  Vicky shook her head. ‘It was a lover’s gift.’

  Smiling, Giles put it down again. ‘You old romantic. Well, it’s a lovely excuse for a weekend north of the border. Do you think you can get this Friday afternoon off?’

  ‘I’ll try.’ Her eyes were shining. ‘Giles, how will we hide it if the castle is all touristy? I’d hate it to be found by some uncaring person who would just steal it …’

  ‘We’ll think of something.’ Giles tossed back his wine. ‘Listen, I’m going back to my flat tonight. I’ve got some briefs to study and an early start. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll liaise a
bout Scotland,’ and he gathered her into his arms.

  She watched him drive away from the window, then she went to the phone.

  ‘Grandma, I’ve got something to tell you …’

  The conversation took over an hour. It wasn’t until much later, when she had bathed and put on her nightdress, that the temptation proved too strong.

  Sitting on the edge of her bed, with the moonlight flooding through the undrawn curtains, she stared down at the pendant in her hands. She had taken a fine gold chain from a drawer and threaded it through the loop, feeling the gold links slide through her fingers. Gently she touched the bird’s head with her little finger, then slowly she raised the chain and fastened it around her neck.

  The pendant was heavy, just as her grandmother had said. It slid down between her breasts and nestled there, coldly. She held her breath, staring at the open window. Outside, the traffic noise was muted behind the high wall, and she could smell the honeysuckle which climbed the trellis at the back of the house.

  Impulsively she stood up and walked over to the window, leaning with her elbows on the sill. Her hand went to the pendant and she stroked it. It was still cold against her skin. Heavy. Unresponsive. Alien. She shivered as a stray breeze from the garden whispered across her breasts.

  The touch when it came was so gentle, so slight she didn’t recognise it as a touch at all. A slight pressure on her shoulder beneath the lace, the barest caress along her collar bone, the tiptoeing of two fingers across her throat and down towards the mound of her breasts.

  She closed her eyes. Her mouth had gone dry with fear; she couldn’t move. Her breathing was jerky, her hands suddenly slippery with perspiration as they fell away from the pendant and hung limply at her sides. She could feel him now behind her, a presence so close she could have leaned back a little against him and drawn his arms around her. The fear was going; her body was responding. She wanted to turn; she wanted to raise her lips …