She stepped inside, followed by Eigon and the slaves. The door shut behind them and Eigon closed her eyes in relief. Up until that moment they hadn’t been sure that their message with an outline of their plan had arrived. She had chosen Silas to carry it ahead of them. If anyone could get through, he could and she would trust him with her life. Septimus, a spare figure with balding hair, wearing the smart but plain tunic of a senior house servant, put his finger to his lips. He led them quickly through the passage and into the inner rooms. ‘In here, ladies,’ he said out loud. He went on in a whisper, ‘Please say nothing rash. We don’t know who might be a spy.’
Junilla sent a warning glance at Eigon who nodded without speaking, her heart thudding with fear and excitement.
It was several minutes before anyone appeared. Tempus Decimus, the owner of the house arrived at last and with him, both looking tired and thin, were his two guests. Decimus was a tall man in his early forties, his face etched with deep lines of worry. For the moment though he was smiling. Eigon clenched her fists under her cloak as she felt Julius’s gaze run over her. Other than that no sign of recognition passed between them. ‘Refreshments, please,’ their host ordered. The two slaves who were waiting by the door bowed and disappeared. Junilla’s slaves followed them. For a moment the room was empty but for themselves.
‘Quick. You first.’ Junilla’s persona as a bent old lady vanished. ‘Take off your gown and veil. And your cloak. Give them to Julius.’
With a grin, Julius turned his back as Eigon did as she was bid. She reached over and handed him her gown and he pulled it over his head. Then came the cloak and the veil. They subsided into soundless giggles as his broad shoulders strained beneath the sleeve brooches of the gown. ‘Will it do?’ Eigon asked Junilla.
She smiled. ‘If the guards are blind! You will have to walk like her, Julius. And she will have to walk like me, all bent and old!’ She pulled off her own cloak and stole, handing them to Eigon.
‘They’re coming back!’ Decimus was standing near the door. ‘Quick, Junilla, out here in the courtyard.’
When the slaves returned there were, as before in the room two ladies, now seated side by side on a couch, both still veiled. Decimus was standing near them. Two other ladies, half concealed by the pots of plants in the courtyard were standing staring down into the pool, their backs to the room. The slaves put the refreshments down on the low table without comment and after a moment retired.
‘How are we going to do this?’ Decimus asked when the door closed behind them. He went to the window and beckoned Junilla and Eigon back inside.
‘After we have taken refreshment Eigon and I will leave with our escort as before,’ Junilla said firmly, taking off her cloak and throwing it over the back of the couch. ‘Except of course it won’t be me.’ She smiled at Julius. ‘Luckily Eigon is fairly tall. I doubt the guards will notice the difference. They scarcely looked at us when we arrived.’
‘And how will you leave later?’
‘With you, my dear, after they have changed the guard.’ Junilla smiled at Felicius. ‘We will wear cloaks and veils and we will walk out arm in arm openly, as we arrived. Even if someone mentions that we have already left, no one is going to question two old ladies leaving the house.’ She frowned. ‘But what will happen to you when they find out your birds have flown?’ She turned to Decimus.
He gave a wry grin. ‘I don’t plan to be here when they find out. I know who I can trust amongst my servants. It’s the others I’m not sure of. But we have a plan. I shall leave almost as soon as you do, to go to the baths. There, I plan to disappear. I shall join you, my dear, in the country as soon as I can.’
‘You will lose much for us, Decimus,’ Junilla put her hand on his arm, ‘when they find out your guests have gone. Your house will be at risk. Your property. Your place in the Senate.’
He smiled again. ‘It won’t be the first time I will have been in self-imposed exile for the good of my health! I’ll be back.’ He poured a cup of wine for her, then another which he passed to Eigon. ‘Drink this to give you courage. Then you two,’ he nodded to Eigon and Julius who was standing so uncomfortably in women’s clothes, ‘should go before they change the guard. Shall I call your slaves back?’
Junilla nodded. ‘Remember, Eigon, you are me. You are bent and aching with old age, my dear. And grief-stricken. But you must talk if they address you,’ she laughed. ‘Don’t let Julius say a word or you will be lost with his deep tones.’
Eigon went first, slowly, wrapped in Junilla’s cloak and stole. Behind her Julius walked lightly, trying to remember the way Eigon normally held herself, so carefree, so upright, so graceful. Behind them the two slaves were holding their clubs loosely, shambling a little as the front door opened and they all stepped out into the sunlight. It was so hard to walk slowly, to turn left and walk up the street, keeping to the shady side, leaning together a little. At the corner they paused for a moment to cross over, still in sight of the guards. ‘Keep going,’ Julius murmured. ‘Don’t do or say anything yet. When we get to the square get one of the slaves to hail a litter. Then we’ll have a bit of privacy.’
They were clinging together now but it didn’t look strange. Women often walked like that. If there was any tension in the group people would have put it down to the urgent conversation they appeared to be having.
In the square one of the slaves stepped forward and hailed a litter from the rank near the baths. They climbed in and drew the curtains as the litter lurched upward. The slaves would run behind.
Eigon sat back. She was shaking all over. Julius pulled back his veil. The sight of his undeniably male face with a shadow on his chin, his hard handsome features and his strong eyebrows peering out from the pale silk made her subside into giggles again. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. Again he put his finger to his lips to keep her quiet. Even litter bearers could be spies. They stared at each other for a long moment, then he leaned forward again. This time he kissed her on the lips. In the shadowed privacy of the curtained seats they were in a world of their own. She slipped forward until she was half-kneeling as his arms went round her and he kissed her again and again until she was fainting with desire and excitement. The enforced silence was strangely erotic. They could say nothing, could hardly move in the cramped space. One of the litter bearers tripped and stumbled and the litter lurched. They bumped sideways and both of them laughed. ‘Hush!’ Julius put his finger to her mouth. He sat back on the seat and pulled his veil across his face, fluttering his eyelashes coquettishly. ‘People will think we are ladies from Lesbos!’
She smothered another giggle, quickly sliding back onto her seat as the litter was set down. They had arrived already. Climbing out, their veils clutched over their faces they waited whilst one of the slaves paid the men and the litter was borne away, then made their way towards the mansio where their wagon waited. This would take them out into the campagna. Only then would Julius be able to throw off his disguise. Two more staging posts, then they would at last be able to turn towards Junilla’s villa.
Walking quickly into the inn they looked at each other and smiled again. They were safe. Julius picked up his unaccustomedly long skirt and leaped up the steps into the house two at a time.
Standing lounging against the wall nearby, a man noticed the sturdy somewhat hairy legs beneath the skirt, the muscular arm holding the veil, the masculine stride, light feminine footsteps forgotten, and sniggered. He didn’t think much of it now, but if he was asked he would remember; and he would remember in great detail the wagon they climbed into a few minutes later in the inn yard.
27
Rhodri dropped Steph’s last case on the floor in the kitchen. He was exhausted. He glanced round briefly. The house seemed in order. Nothing terrible seemed to have happened in her absence. ‘I’ll go straight on back home, if you don’t mind. I’m knackered.’ He grinned. ‘Talk tomorrow, yes?’
She nodded wryly. Rhodri and she had not forged an undying bo
nd on their drive back across Europe. Far from it. They had quarrelled almost incessantly, worrying about Jess, disagreeing on what to do about her, disagreeing about what to do about Dan, disagreeing about the route, in the end driving almost non stop, taking turns at the wheel as they headed across France.
‘We should have dumped the car and flown,’ she said flatly.
‘Too much luggage.’ They had Jess’s bag as well as their own. ‘At least we had the foresight to pick up some bottles at the Tunnel.’
She smiled wanly. ‘See you later, Rhodri. Say hello to your mum. I’ll come over and see her in a day or two.’
She watched as he climbed back into the car, reversed in the yard and drove out of the gate then she walked slowly into the kitchen. The fridge of course would be empty. There was probably no food in the house at all.
She stood staring out of the window with a sigh. ‘So, Eigon, my love. Are you still here with your little girl voice and your habit of throwing my pots around the studio?’ she said out loud. There was no reply. She turned back towards the hall and walked through to the dining room. The window Jess said had been broken was mended. The builder had left the bill on the table. Outside the grass on the small back lawn had grown to about a foot high. She sighed again. The house felt very empty.
Walking back into the kitchen she reached for the phone and dialled Jess’s mobile. It was switched off. She tried Will. That was off too. Great!
Unlocking the door into the passage through to the studio she walked into the room and looked round. It was as always dusty, smelling of paint and clay and varnish. She wandered over to the work table and ran her fingers across the surface, blowing off the dust before going over to the range of shelves, looking at the work she had left there ready to go to the gallery in Hereford, to the shop in London. Apart from the one box of broken pieces, nothing appeared to have been touched. Everything was as she had left it. Suddenly she longed to get started again, to bring life to the studio, to fire up the kiln.
Where are you?
The voice was so faint she almost missed it. She felt her nerves tighten.
Where are you? Can we come out now?
‘Shit!’ Steph swore out loud. ‘No, you bloody can’t! Go away! Leave me alone. Isn’t it enough to be making Jess’s life a misery in Rome? Just leave us alone!’
She walked out of the studio, slamming the door behind her and went back into the kitchen. ‘You are not going to drive me out of my beloved house and you are not going to scare me, is that clear! I am not listening. Not! Not! Not!’
One by one she lugged the bags up the stairs. Jess’s she put in the bedroom which her sister seemed to have been using. Hers she took into her own bedroom. She dropped them on the floor and looked round. There, on the bed lay a crude broken doll. She went cold all over. For a moment she was too frightened to move, then she shook her head and laughed. Of course, Jess must have put it there. As a joke? A gift? Who knew with Jess.
She walked over to the doll and picked it up. The moment she touched it she froze with fear, then she dropped it on the floor, shaking her hands in horror. The doll was wet with fresh moss and leaves. She stood looking down at it, unable to move, smelling the damp of leaf mould. ‘Shit!’ It seemed to be the only word she was capable of saying. Spinning on her heel she ran downstairs and out of the front door. The air out there was fresh and clean, the sky a bright clear blue, patched with white lambswool clouds, moving at speed across the broad river valley towards the English border. Above she heard a deep throaty croak. A raven was flying towards the wood with ponderous wingstrokes. As she watched she heard the yelp of a buzzard high above. The buzzard suddenly descended like a stone towards the raven which side-slipped out of reach and the two birds circled each other in anger for a minute or two before the buzzard soared up and angled away and the raven resumed its journey, disappearing into the leaf canopy where it was safe.
Turning, Steph looked at the front of the house. It was slumbering in the sunshine, roses climbing round the door, the curtains in one of the front windows half-drawn across, a splash of blue against the stone. It was a happy house.
But there was unhappiness in this valley.
And now there was the doll.
She walked cautiously back inside. Picking up the phone she was about to ring Megan when she paused. If she did that, Rhodri would come. He would assume she needed help. His large overpowering complacent help. Dear God, she didn’t want him back so soon. Instead she rang France.
‘Mummy? Are you there? Pick up, please.’
There was a scrabbling sound on the end of the phone and a breathless voice echoed out into the room. ‘Steph? Hold on, dear. Let me get this thing the right way up.’ Another crash then at last her mother came on the line. By now Steph was smiling. She pictured her mother, her hippy clothes, her wild grey hair, her hands ruined by too much gardening when she was at home in her cottage in the Basses-Pyrénées, her skin leathered by the suns of a thousand countries where she had wandered and written and gossiped with the locals, her eyes a piercing blue, not the pretty china blue of Victorian portraits, or the gentle blue-grey of her daughters’, but the steel blue of someone who stares long and hard into the distance to see the skies and mountains which are the frame of a country’s soul.
‘Sorry about that, dear. I was just bringing in a basket of veg.’ Aurelia was still out of breath. ‘How are you? I haven’t heard from either of you for ages.’
Steph bit her lip. ‘Mummy, awful things are happening.’ She hadn’t meant it to come out like that, but the sound of her mother’s voice triggered all kinds of childish dependency. Suddenly she wanted more than anything to see her mother, to hear her infectious laugh, to smell her wonderful smell of the shampoos she made herself out of rosemary and lavender and the strange floral scents she picked up on her travels.
In her untidy, warm, chaotic kitchen in France Aurelia sat down with a worried frown. ‘Tell me, darling,’ she said.
It took Steph a long time. As she talked she realised she was clutching the telephone receiver so tightly her hand had gone numb. She changed hands as at last her story drifted to a halt.
‘Where is Jess now?’ Aurelia asked at last.
‘Still in Rome. Will is going to take her to Cornwall to stay with his parents. We thought she would be safe there.’
‘And you are alone at Ty Bran?’
Steph nodded, suddenly near tears.
‘And what have you done with this doll?’
‘It’s still there. Upstairs.’
‘I think you should put it outside, darling. Don’t touch it again. Use some tongs or something. Just put it gently outside. Don’t chuck it about. Put it somewhere safe. This might be very precious to the child who left it there.’
‘The child who left it there has been dead for two thousand years!’
‘I know. That doesn’t change anything.’ Aurelia sighed. ‘Shall I come?’
Steph nodded soundlessly. Then she took a grip on herself. ‘No, you don’t need to do that. Just tell me to pull myself together.’ She attempted a laugh.
‘I was planning to come and see you next month as it happens,’ Aurelia went on calmly. ‘I need to talk to my publisher about my next book. Why don’t I bring my visit forward? I can be with you tomorrow. Now, what are you going to do tonight? I take it from your comments that you don’t want to go to the Prices, though Megan would welcome you, if I remember right. I know, why not go and stay at the pub? Sandra would put you up. She’s still there, isn’t she? She’d love to have you.’
Steph smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll find somewhere. It would be nice if you could come, though. It really would. I need my head banging together!’
Aurelia laughed. ‘I’ll bet you do.’ She was already making plans. ‘I’ll get on the first flight I can, darling. I’ll ring you from London and perhaps you can collect me off the train. Love you.’
As Steph hung up she felt much better. She glanced towards the stairs. Do it n
ow. At once. Tongs. Did she have tongs? She walked over to the wall and stared at the line of hooks where her cooking equipment hung. They were still there, where she had left them. Picking them up she took a deep breath and headed for the stairs.
The doll lay where she had left it, on the floor. She stared down at it. It was real, no doubt about that, she had felt it, smelled it, seen the damp patch it had left on her bedspread. But it had been left there by a ghost. It had to have been. If Jess had put it there it would have dried out long ago, and before drying out it would probably have made a huge patch of mould on the bed. And it would have smelled foul, whereas now it just smelled of the woods.
She reached for it with the tongs. Then she changed her mind. A little girl had left this here, a little girl who might or might not have regarded it as her most treasured possession. She was not going to pick it up with tongs. She bent and lifted it up between finger and thumb. It was still wet and cold but it felt real. Carrying it at arm’s length she ran down the stairs and out of the front door. She walked over to the wall which separated her courtyard from the wood and laid the doll on top. ‘Put it somewhere safe,’ her mother had said. That was right. She should look after it. She glanced towards the wood. Jess said the voices came from there. Turning, she went to the shed where she kept her spade and her wheelbarrow. There were one or two old boxes in there. She found a wooden box which had once contained a bottle of especially nice champagne. It was exactly the right size. She put the doll in it, replaced the lid and tucked the box into a sheltered niche in the wall. For a moment she paused, looking over towards the wood. She heard nothing. Turning she went back into the house and closed the door behind her. Running upstairs she went into her bedroom and tearing the bedspread off the bed she took it back downstairs and rammed it into her washing machine.
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