Distant Voices

by Barbara Erskine

  Behind me he was doubled up, groaning. He made no attempt to follow me as I fled down the hall, but instinctively I made for the attics where I used to hide as a child, knowing that no one would find me in that network of old interconnecting lofts.

  I stayed there a long time. It was hot under the roof and smelled of wood and dust and it was completely safe, but I knew I would have to come down eventually, if only to catch the last train back to London. There was no way I was going to spend another night in my father’s house. Ever!

  It was only the sound of the gong in the distance which made me realise how late it really was. Cautiously I went down at last. The house was deathly quiet; when I peered into my room it was deserted and the key was still in the door. Thankfully I went in and locked it, then I had a slower and lay down on my bed, trying to think.

  It was Sylvia who came. ‘Anna?’ She knocked gently. ‘Anna? Are you there?’

  I got up and let her in. ‘I’m not coming down,’ I said defiantly. ‘I have a terrible headache.’

  I could see her eyes on me and there was real concern in her face. I wondered if Parker had said anything. On the whole I suspected not. It would not do his image much good if it became known that one of his victims had fought back. And won.

  ‘Anna dear.’ She sat down on the bed. ‘I’m sorry. I know what you must be thinking; your father is a little insensitive at times.’ She was looking lovely in a silvery evening dress which showed her tan. ‘Please come down.’

  ‘I really do have a headache,’ I said. ‘The weather is so thundery. I’ll be all right in the morning.’ I refused to meet her eye.

  She sighed and stood up. ‘I’ll ask them to bring something up for you, shall I?’

  When she had gone I relocked the door and went to stand by the window. There was no breath of air and, I realised suddenly, it was true: my head was splitting but I was still determined to go. I would drive myself to the station in my old Mini. I left it at the house during the week as it seemed pointless to keep it in London, but it would then get me to the train. And it would give me time to lie down for an hour, to let my head clear.

  I was about to go back to bed when there was a furious knocking. It was my father. ‘Anna, open this door at once!’

  I obeyed him, waiting defiantly as he strode into the room. ‘What the hell have you done?’ he shouted. ‘Parker is threatening to leave the house!’

  ‘I warned you, Don.’ For the first time in my life I wasn’t afraid of him. I saw him for what he was, a ranting, bullying, weak man, terrified of failure. ‘If Parker wanted your deal nothing would stop him signing,’ I said, and I realised it was true. ‘If he’s looking for an excuse to back out it is because he has no faith in you, not because I refused to sleep with him.’

  My father’s face was puce.

  ‘If you are determined that one of your family should prostitute herself for you then ask Betinne. She’s more than willing,’ I went on. ‘I’m going back to London tonight.’

  My father controlled himself with an effort. ‘You are not. You are going to apologise to Parker. I don’t know what happened between you but my God Anna you are going to apologise.’

  His gaze swept across my dressing table where my handbag stood open. He dived for it, rifling through the contents. ‘You needn’t think you’re going to creep out of this house. You’re staying here until I tell you to go.’

  Speechless, I watched him stride from the room and slam the door behind him. For one incredulous moment I thought he was going to lock me in, but I heard his steps move off down the hall. I ran to my bag and stared into it. He had taken my money, my return ticket and my car keys.

  I sat down on the bed. My legs were shaking, and I was more angry, I think, than I have ever been in my life. I was more or less a prisoner.

  I suppose I slept at last from sheer exhaustion, but when I next opened my eyes my headache had gone and the room was growing dark, and I could hear the sound of voices and laughter outside my window. I got up and went to look out. The dinner guests were all out on the terrace below me with their drinks. I counted them slowly. No one was missing; Betinne was talking to Parker in the corner by the wisteria. I saw the gleam of gold around her throat as she laughed up at him. Nearby I could see my father. He was watching them intently.

  The yacht lay quite still on a sea which looked like oiled silk. The dinghy was gone. He must have come ashore, probably to the pub on the quay in the village a mile down the coast. I could see the reflection of the boat wavering gently below her. Beyond her, the arms of the bay had become indistinct in the darkening haze. Great black clouds were building in the distance and I heard a faint rumble of thunder as I turned from the window. I had awakened knowing exactly what I meant to do.

  I slipped some jeans and a T-shirt on and pulled on some rope-soled espadrilles, then I let myself out into the empty corridor. If my father thought to keep me in his house till Parker came for me that night he was mistaken. I had other ideas. The kitchens were deserted; the staff had tidied up and retired as usual as soon as they had finished clearing away dinner so I was able to let myself out into the yard unnoticed. My old bicycle was still there – the tyres didn’t even need pumping.

  It took me ten minutes to reach the quay. I leaned the bike against the wall and peered down into the water. It was moving gently in a subdued swell as in the distance I heard another faint rumble of thunder.

  I walked down to the end of the jetty where several small dinghies were tied, and carefully lowering myself into one of them, undid the painter and felt for the oars. I was awkward with them at first, out of practice and, I must confess, a little panicky when I saw the door of the pub open and the light flood out over the water as three figures walked down to the edge of the quay. I was expecting to hear angry shouts at any moment, but none came. I settled down to a steady pull, glancing over my shoulder to make sure I was heading in the right direction as I felt the drag of the tide. I think I was a little mad, that night; I would never dare to do such a thing again. But at that moment I felt no fear, only excitement and a sense of incredible freedom. The fear only came when it was too late to do anything about it.

  My hands were blistered before I was halfway there, but I gritted my teeth against the pain and went on. I think if I had stopped for a rest my nerve would have, failed, but always out of the corner of my eye I could see the blaze of lights on the cliff which was my father’s home. The sight of it spurred me on.

  There was a ladder over the side. I grabbed it, shaking with exhaustion, and pulled myself up onto the deck. Behind me, the dinghy tossed like a cork without my weight to steady it, bumped its way down the white side of the yacht, and then disappeared into the darkness. I watched it go with an almost detached relief. Now I could not go back if I wanted to; I was marooned.

  I turned and made my way down into the cockpit. The main hatch had been left half open and I peered down into the darkened cabin, cursing myself for not thinking of bringing a torch. I knew he had light – I had seen it flooding from the portholes in the dark, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself too soon. I stepped down into the companionway and held my breath, listening, wondering for the first time what I would do if he had left someone on board, but the boat was silent. Uncannily silent save for the occasional gurgle and slap of water down her sides and once more an ominous growl of thunder in the west.

  I reached out, feeling my way forward, and my hand found a rack just inside the hatchway; amongst the charts was a large rubber-cased torch. I switched it on and the beam of light flooded the cabin.

  She was a beautiful yacht, fitted out to sleep five, with two main cabins, a shower cubicle, a galley and a forward sail locker which was large enough for the fifth bunk. The whole boat was immaculately tidy, everything stowed neatly into place, a chart already fixed to the chart table. Above me a halyard had begun to tap against the mast and I felt the floor beneath me move a little as a wave slide beneath the hull. The wind was rising.<
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  I went out into the cockpit and, switching off the torch, looked around. The sky was black now – black with cloud that blotted out the moon and stars, leaving only the riding light at the masthead showing as the boat began to turn and tug at her anchor. I strained my eyes in the direction of the shore and then I saw it – the outline of his dinghy already half-way out towards the boat, the white dip of the oars showing against the black water.

  My heart gave a sudden little kick of fright and I turned to go back into the cabin. My nerve had failed at last and I found myself desperately looking round for somewhere to hide. It wasn’t a logical decision; the sensible thing would have been to show myself at once, and if he was angry ask him to put me ashore, but I was no longer thinking logically. The anger which had sent me flying from Don’s house, the thundery air pressing down on the boat, my aching head and bleeding hands and the image of Parker, his aroused body naked beneath his dressing gown as he pushed me against the wall, all combined to reduce me to a frightened animal and like a frightened animal I looked for a dark corner to hide in. The quarter berth was the obvious place – the berth opposite the chart table which was half settee but which slotted down under the cockpit, so the sleeper could insert his legs to obtain a full-length bed. I wriggled down into that space now, relieved to find it quite roomy, and pulled the two berth cushions behind me, blocking me from sight. Unless he actually moved those cushions I could not be seen. It was an uncomfortable position. I could not sit up nor stretch out, I had to lie curled up in the darkness, listening to the beating of my heart above the slap of the water on the other side of the thin planking by my ear.

  There was a slight lurch as the dinghy came alongside and I heard the thud of rubber soles almost immediately above my head. Minutes later the cabin was flooded with light; the cushions were not after all big enough to block me in entirely and I shrank back, praying he would not notice that they had been moved.

  ‘Check everything’s stowed and put out those lights as soon as you can. I want to save the battery.’ His voice was so close I thought for a moment he must know I was there and be talking to me. I held my breath. He spoke with a distinct public school accent, but the voice was already moving as his footsteps ran over the deck. Someone else was in the cabin near me. I bit my lip, not daring to move, wondering who was with him. I had never seen anyone on the yacht besides him.

  A female voice, husky, attractive and American, called out, ‘Pete? Surely we can wait till morning. That guy in the pub said there was a gale warning, and I sure as hell don’t like the sound of that thunder.’

  The footsteps approached once more. ‘Not afraid are you, Sam?’ His tone, from the cockpit now, was mocking. ‘I thought you told me you were prepared to risk everything to get your hands on that much dope. You shouldn’t have got involved if you couldn’t take the pace. The pick-up is arranged. And I’m going to make it. If you want out, you can swim for it.’ His tone made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

  The girl swore softly. ‘Okay, okay. I guess you know what you’re doing.’

  Minutes later the lights went out and I heard the hatchway close. I was trapped and very afraid. Independent spirit this man might be; there was no doubt he was also potentially very dangerous and I cursed myself miserably. But there was no way of escape.

  My hiding place was growing uncomfortably hot; I eased my position slightly and moved one of the cushions to give me some air; then I heard the roar and clap of loosened canvas overhead as the main sail was hauled up. Minutes later the thundering stopped as the sails filled, the yacht listed sideways and from my point of view downwards, and we were obviously on course out of the bay. She hit a heavy swell as soon as we were clear of the headland and the noise of the sea became deafening. In despair I cradled my head as best I could in the crook of my elbow and closed my eyes, trying hard to concentrate on anything other than what was happening to me. A long time later I heard the hatchway being slid back and the lights came on in the cabin. Above my head I could hear the drumming of rain on the decks.

  ‘Coffee or soup?’ I heard the woman’s voice call. I did not catch the response, only the roar of the wind and waves, and suddenly very loud above them the crash of thunder.

  The boat seemed to be slamming hard into wind and I could see the woman now as she made her way up the cabin towards the galley, clinging on to every handhold she could find. She was wearing dripping yellow oilskins, but her head was bare – her hair was long and blonde. She slid back the galley door and wedged herself in the corner whilst she fumbled with matches and locked a kettle into place on the gimballed cooker. The roar and smell of the bottled gas flame and the lights in the cabin were strangely comforting against that terrible background noise of the elements. I studied her face from my hiding place, trying to pluck up the courage to come out and throw myself on her mercy. She looked as though she was in her mid-twenties, although her face was strained and drawn and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. She did not look particularly sympathetic. On the whole I was not hopeful.

  She stayed with the kettle until it boiled, then she made two mugs of coffee.

  ‘Pete?’ she yelled. ‘Come and have it down here!’

  There was no response. With a sigh she drank one of the mags, pulled up the hood of her oilskin and came back towards the hatchway. ‘Come on Pete, I’ll take a turn while you have a break,’ she called, and she vanished out of my line of vision.

  I held my breath as another figure appeared. He too was dressed in dripping oilskins, but he peeled his off, leaving them lying on the cabin floor. Dressed in a sweater and jeans he was, as I had seen through my binoculars, tall, rugged, fairly good-looking with, I now saw, sun-bleached hair and piercing blue eyes; his face like hers was hard and he had a deep frown on his brow. He pulled his way up to the galley just as the woman had done and collected his mug, then to my terror he came back and sat on the quarter berth only about eighteen inches from my head. He only had to glance my way – I froze, holding my breath as he sipped from the mug and then leaned forward gazing intently at something ahead of him. The chart table of course.

  He worked for some time, making careful measurements and calculations, then at last he threw down his pencil, and leaned back. With a grunt of surprise he felt around behind him for the cushions which should have been there, then he turned and looked straight at me.

  For a moment I don’t think he believed what he saw; then I saw his face darken with anger.

  ‘Who in the name of God’s own Hell are you?’ he whispered. He didn’t give me a chance to extricate myself from my hiding place with any dignity. He lunged forward and grabbed my arm, pulling me headlong onto the floor of the cabin where I lay for a moment at his feet, too winded and too stiff to move.

  ‘Well? I asked you a question!’ he yelled at me again.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I heard myself stammer. ‘I’m so sorry. I did it for a joke.’

  ‘A joke!’ His voice rose in anger.

  Shaking with fear and embarrassment I tried to pull myself up but the narrow space and the motion of the boat made it almost impossible, and I found myself kneeling at his feet clutching at the chart table to steady myself.

  ‘I really am sorry,’ I said again, trying to control my voice as I heard it waver like a child’s. ‘I thought I would stow away for fun; you have so often anchored off the beach near our house. I didn’t mean any harm.’ There was a brilliant flash of lightning from outside, filling the cabin, dimming the light for a moment, then a clap of thunder immediately overhead. I felt myself flinch but he did not move. There was no softening in his face, no sign of humour.

  Behind him the hatch slid back and the girl’s head appeared, dripping with rain. ‘Did you say something, Pete? Christ this storm is bad! I wish you’d come up –’ she broke off in astonishment as she suddenly noticed me.

  ‘It seems we have a stowaway,’ he said.

  She went on staring for a moment, then she pushed the hatch right b
ack and climbed in, to sit dripping on the companionway steps.

  Pete too had not taken his eyes off me, but he swore at her sharply. ‘You’re supposed to be on watch, Sam,’ he said.

  ‘There’s nothing on the radar,’ she retorted. ‘Nobody is such a bloody fool as to be out on a night like this; we’re out of the shipping lanes and there’s no point in having self-steering gear if you don’t use it. Who is she?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Who indeed.’

  I swallowed, trying to regain a little of my composure, but it was difficult kneeling there between them on the hard lurching floor. ‘My name is Anna Marshall,’ I began. And I went on to try and explain.

  They both listened frostily as I explained how I had taken the dinghy and hidden while they were in the pub. When I had finished there was a moment’s silence broken only by another roar of thunder from above.

  ‘What are you going to do with her?’ Sam asked at last. She said it quietly but her tone sent a shiver up my spine.

  Pete was watching me closely. ‘I’m sure you are intelligent enough to realise, Miss Marshall,’ he said, ‘why stowaways are not welcomed on this boat.’

  I had heard enough to know that. My eyes were fixed on his face, but I shrugged. Then I glanced at Sam, and I saw something – excitement – flickering behind her eyes. ‘She’s scared Pete. Scared as shit!’

  ‘So she should be, we don’t take passengers.’ He moved forward slightly onto the edge of the bunk and I felt myself shrink back in terror, but he was craning to look out of the half open hatchway. Abruptly he reached down for the oilskins. ‘The wind’s veered. I’ll have to go up. Watch her, Sam.’

  He stepped over me and vanished up the companionway, pulling the hatch closed after him.