River of Destiny

by Barbara Erskine

  When at last she could speak she was lying on her back staring up at the sky, her eyes half closed against the glare. ‘Do you think it is wrong doing this in a church?’

  He was lying half across her, his fingers entwined in her hair and he bent to kiss her temple, smoothing back the short fair strands. ‘No, I don’t. It hasn’t been a church for centuries. If this place is sacred to anything it is to the goddess of lust and lechery. She was called Frige by the Anglo-Saxons.’ He laughed. ‘Otherwise known as Frig. One of those words we learn as children and are told to forget!’ He kissed her again.

  Goddess of lust, but not love, she noticed, but she said nothing. What had happened between her and this man was nothing to do with love, he was right. It was an explosion of desire so powerful neither of them would have been able to fight it even if they had wanted to.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ He sat up at last and reached for his shirt.

  She nodded and watched as he dressed and collected the picnic bag. She was still sitting cross-legged on the grass, naked. Some part of her saw herself do this and was shocked at her lack of modesty, but then some part of her was appalled by everything she had done over the last couple of days. She didn’t mind. If she was going to feel guilt it could come later. For now she was all sensation and for the moment the sensation was hunger. She took the pasty he handed her and bit into the flaky pastry, feeling a cascade of crumbs falling onto her breasts. She didn’t care. Gravy spilled over her chin and she left it there, tearing into the food. She was aware of him looking at her, amused, but she ignored him.

  ‘To think,’ he said quietly, ‘when I first met you I had you down as a middle-class matron.’

  She snorted. ‘And you loathed me on sight.’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘I am a middle-class matron,’ she added after a few seconds’ thought. ‘I think I’ve been possessed.’

  ‘No, you’ve been liberated.’

  ‘By you?’

  He considered for a moment. ‘I’d like to think so, but no, I think it is something else.’ He reached across for the bottle of wine and unscrewed the cap, pouring two glasses. ‘Nicely chambréed. It has been lying in the sun.’

  She took the glass he passed her and sipped. A splash of wine joined the gravy on her chin and he leaned forward, removing it with the corner of his thumb. ‘Too messy!’ he admonished gently.

  She laughed. ‘I feel as if I am part of some Impressionist painting. Manet or Monet or someone.’

  ‘“Déjeuner sur l’herbe,”’ he confirmed quietly. ‘That was Manet. Nude ladies and fully dressed gents. Interestingly Monet decided to do the same subject but with everyone dressed.’ He grinned. ‘It didn’t work!’

  ‘Actually, I feel like more of a Gauguin lady,’ she put in. ‘Angular, raw, earthy.’

  They both looked up as a shadow passed over them – a cloud had obscured the sun and Zoë shivered. She hadn’t noticed that the sunny afternoon had gone, the sky had grown strong and already there was a hint that the day was nearly over. Setting down the glass, she reached for her bra and her shirt. ‘Time to get dressed.’ Suddenly she was in a hurry to put her clothes on, embarrassed, afraid somebody would see her. Only when she was fully dressed did she relax again with an apologetic laugh. ‘I’m afraid the middle-class matron suddenly kicked in. Aren’t I a wimp!’

  ‘A beautiful wimp.’ He chuckled. He topped up her glass and handed it back to her.

  ‘Leo, can I ask you something?’ It was something she had never intended to ask but somehow she knew this was the moment. If she didn’t do it now, then she never could.

  He inclined his head sideways. ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Are you married?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Divorced?’

  ‘No.’

  She drew her feet up and hugged her knees. ‘Same as me then.’

  ‘Same as you.’

  ‘Children?’

  For the first time he hesitated. ‘Yes.’

  She buried her head in her arms for a moment. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘After the accident I drove her away. She was kind and understanding and patient, and I was a vile self-pitying fool. We had never really understood each other. I know cheating men always say that, but I expect it is always pretty true, if we’re honest, and we had made a pretty good fist of it. Then somehow it all fell apart. She has never been up to The Old Forge, or on the Curlew. She has found a new man and I expect one day she will want a divorce, but it is up to her.’

  ‘And the children?’

  ‘Lucy and Jo. I love them dearly but they belong with their mum. I see them –’ again he hesitated – ‘fairly regularly and we had agreed that if and when they want to they will come up to stay in the holidays. I hope that will still happen one day.’ His smile this time was more forced. ‘I told her about you,’ he paused and then went on, ‘she is pleased – and incredulous – that I have found someone who …’ He stopped.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Who can put up with me. She wishes you luck.’

  Zoë was taken aback for a moment, then she relaxed. The fact that he had an ex-wife and children had come as a shock. Why hadn’t she asked before? Surely that very basic question was one everyone should ask before they embarked on an affair. And it was an affair, wasn’t it? The fact that the ex-wife approved of her was even more of a shock, but on thinking about it she was pleased. It confirmed what a nice, honest man Leo was. Unlike her. She was the one being dishonest. She was the one keeping secrets – from Ken.

  Leo was sitting, staring into space, sipping his wine with every sign of calm enjoyment, giving her time to assimilate what he had said. She climbed to her feet and, slipping on her shoes, she walked away from him slowly.

  ‘I was looking this place up last night in one of my local history books.’ Leo stood up and followed her. ‘About twenty years ago they did some excavations in the fields between here and the Hall and it confirmed what the aerial photos showed. At some point in the dim and distant past there was quite a large settlement here,’ he said.

  ‘It’s strange, isn’t it, how villages just disappear?’

  ‘There is always a reason. I read once about a lord of the manor who flattened his village for no better reason than that he didn’t want to see it from his windows. It spoiled his view. There are other places where whole populations were wiped out by plague, and here on the east coast there was the constant threat of malaria.’

  ‘So much tragedy. Imagine how awful it must have been for the people who lived there,’ she mused. ‘So, what happened here, do they know?’

  ‘There was a massacre,’ he said slowly. ‘The Vikings came.’

  They had wandered towards the end wall where the broken remains of the rounded arched window looked out onto an increasingly stormy sky.

  A loud report, the sound of wood breaking, out amongst the trees made them both jump. Zoë looked round startled. ‘Leo,’ she whispered. ‘There is someone there.’

  I heard.’ He set his glass down on the rough stone of the sill. ‘Hello!’ he called. ‘Where are you? Come out.’

  ‘Supposing Jade followed us. Or Jackson?’

  ‘How could they follow us? We started from Woodbridge,’ he said. He strode back to the entrance and looked out again into the woodland. ‘Listen. The birds are singing happily. No alarm calls. There’s no one here. And if there is, you’ve got your clothes on again.’ He chuckled. ‘It is getting cold now though, with the sun gone; I don’t think it’s coming out again today.’

  It was the signal to leave. Outside the church wall a gust of wind tore through the wood, rustling the leaves; a dust devil spun into the air at the east end, seeming to hover for a moment in front of the broken arch of the window, and the space around them, only minutes before so safe and serene, was filled with the rush of squally rain and the scream of the wind, a scream which to Zoë, as she stared around terrified, sounded like the scream of a woman in agony.

&n
bsp; The kitchen was cold and empty, the lights off. Ken had already seen that Zoë’s car was missing when he had returned. He and Sylvia had spent the day having an enjoyable and somewhat exhausting time and then they had settled down to have a drink in front of the TV while they recovered. He had been reluctant to leave, but his conscience had reminded him that Zoë was probably on her own. He was angry to find that she was out. He could have stayed longer.

  He walked over to the window to stare down at The Old Forge but there was no sign of life there either. He reached for the light switches. Rain was pouring down the window and it was prematurely dark. He picked up his mobile and dialled her number. Seconds later he heard the faint sound of ringing from upstairs. Taking the steps two at a time he ran up to their bedroom. Her phone was there lying on the bedside table. He stared at it for a moment angrily, then he turned and made his way back downstairs. The great room was full of shadows and it seemed unwelcoming. On an impulse he grabbed his jacket and went to the door. Perhaps Rosemary and Steve were in.

  They were. Sitting on the sofa with a bottle of lager in his hand and the TV showing the early evening match, he managed to put his ill humour aside. Rosemary appeared with a plate of nibbles and put it down near the men then she went back to the table, which was spread with her maps and papers.

  ‘Did Zoë tell you about what happened to Rosemary and Dottie?’ Steve commented. His eyes were glued to the screen.

  ‘The shooting?’ Ken took another swig from the bottle. ‘She mentioned it. We haven’t had a chance to talk much for the last couple of days. I was away all yesterday and out early this morning.’

  ‘Zoë and Leo were great. They came to our rescue,’ Rosemary commented from the table. ‘And Zoë gave evidence to the police this morning.’

  Ken forced himself to keep his eyes on the screen. ‘Where is Zoë, do you know? We keep missing each other.’

  He felt Steve’s eyes on him for a moment.

  ‘She didn’t say. I spoke to her this morning,’ Rosemary said, her voice becoming frosty. ‘She was in a rush to go out but she didn’t say where.’

  ‘Were she and Leo going out somewhere together?’ Ken couldn’t stop himself asking. Something in his tone of voice registered with both his listeners. Rosemary pushed back her chair and stood up. She came and stood in front of him. ‘He went out very early. Long before her,’ she said with sudden concern. ‘The police wanted to speak to him to corroborate our stories, but they said there was no sign of him. He is often away for long periods, Ken. Truly, I don’t think you have anything to worry about there.’

  Ken felt a flash of irritation. ‘I wasn’t worrying! I was just wondering where she was! She left her mobile behind when she went out.’

  He didn’t stay long. The cosy reassurance of their company had gone and as soon as he had finished the lager he rose and made his excuses. He ran back through the rain and let himself into the house, aware that it was very quiet after the violence of the storm outside.

  He stood for a moment listening. Zoë was right. It did feel as though there was someone else there. As though they were listening and waiting. Uncomfortably he walked to the doorway into the great room and peered in. He had left only one light on so the whole room was in deep shadow, the lines of the beams black treescapes in the darkness above him. He frowned at the sound of something moving nearby. He remembered what Zoë had said – it sounds like a horse. I can hear the hooves on the cobbles, the snorting, the rattle of harness. Oh God, he could hear it too. A horse was walking across the floor. Except it wasn’t. This floor was polished wood except in that one small place where a sheet of plate glass had been let in to show the original surface a foot below the present level.

  He spun round as there was a crash behind him. The kitchen door had opened and blown back against the wall. Zoë staggered in, her hair plastered against her head by the rain, her jacket dripping on the floor. She forced the door shut and shook herself like a dog. ‘Hi, Ken. God what weather!’

  ‘Where have you been?’ he said. ‘Did it not occur to you that I might be worried?’

  ‘Sorry.’ She pulled off her jacket. ‘I went out in such a hurry this morning I left my mobile behind. I met someone in Woodbridge and we had lunch and went to do some sightseeing locally and then the storm came. I hadn’t planned on being this late.’ She hung her jacket on the hooks near the door. ‘You’ve been so busy I didn’t think you’d notice!’ she added defensively. ‘I have hardly seen you for the last couple of days.’

  He looked away uncomfortably. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I have been setting up a business contact in Ipswich.’ It had always been easy to lie to her; something of which he was not proud. ‘I wasn’t sure if it would come off so I didn’t want to say anything yet.’ He gave her an apologetic grin. ‘Do you want to go and get dry and I will get you a hot drink? Or some soup. What about some soup?’ He glanced back into the great room and bit his lip. The sound of the horse walking across the floor had been his imagination. Of course it had.

  Daniel stood in the doorway to the barn, staring across at the orchard, then he turned back inside and walked over to the empty stall. Behind him George appeared with a barrow. ‘I couldn’t stop them, Dan,’ he said as he saw Dan standing there. ‘They said Lady Emily had given orders for Bella to be taken up to the stables at the Hall. Zeph said she’d been here long enough.’ The man’s face was heavy with sympathy. The undergroom was not one of his favourite people. The man was rough and had a cruel streak. He had all but dragged the horse out of the yard. ‘I know you’d got fond of her, but when all’s said and done she belongs up there.’

  Daniel grimaced. As soon as he had seen the empty stall, swept and bare of buckets, he had known. He strode towards the great open doors. ‘I’m going after her. There’s no more use in that horse for riding. They don’t need her up at the Hall.’

  ‘Dan –’ George called. ‘Be careful. That woman is a schemer.’

  Dan ignored him. He was already striding across the yard.

  Sam, the head groom at the Hall, was watching Pip clean a saddle as Dan strode into the stables. He stood up. ‘Go, Pip. Go and get your tea, lad,’ he said sharply. The boy looked surprised. He threw down the soapy rag and with a glance at Dan scuttled out of sight.

  ‘I know why you’re here.’ Sam put his hand on Dan’s arm. ‘I’m sorry. Her leg was broken. The knacker’s taken her away.’

  Dan stared at him in shock. ‘Bella?’ he whispered. He could feel a great sob rising in his chest. ‘What do you mean, her leg was broken? How?’

  Sam looked away. ‘Just as she got here. She caught it in a rabbit hole.’

  ‘Oh, she caught it in a rabbit hole, did she! And did you see it happen? Did you see it with your own eyes?’ Dan shouted. ‘No, I thought not. Happen they took a hammer to her, the bastards! Who was it? Zeph came down and took her. Was it him?’ His voice broke. He was striding up and down the tack room, kicking at the floor. ‘That poor horse. She was sweet and gentle, would never hurt a fly. She deserved better than that! That woman did this! Out of revenge. She knew I had grown fond of Bella. The bitch! The utter and complete bitch! Where is she? I will strangle her with my own hands!’

  ‘Leave it be, Dan.’ Sam folded his arms, leaning against a saddle tree. ‘Come on, old friend. Let it go. You can’t do anything. That mare is beyond pain now. She can’t be hurt any more.’

  ‘But I can!’ Dan’s face was white with rage.

  ‘Aye, and the more you show you’re hurt the more you play into her hands.’ Sam reached into his pocket for a clay pipe and his baccy tin. Against the rules to smoke anywhere in the stables, but he packed the little bowl and lit up anyway. ‘I’d heard you refused to play her game any more,’ he said gently. ‘She didn’t take kindly to being refused, eh?’ He shook his head, puffing out a small cloud of blue fragrant smoke. ‘Let it be, Dan. Think of Susan. You don’t want any more trouble.’

  Dan paused and rubbed the back of his hand across his face, sud
denly overwhelmed with sorrow. ‘That mare was the kindest soul. She had grown to trust me.’

  ‘And you gave her comfort and a good home for her last days, my friend.’ Sam watched as Dan sat down on an upturned bucket and put his head in his hands. He said nothing, waiting for the spasm of grief to pass. He knew how the smith felt. Even a man who had been with horses all his life, seen them come and go, grew especially fond of some. He smoked quietly for a while, giving Dan some time to get a hold of himself.

  ‘I let Zeph go today,’ he said at last as he reached for more baccy. ‘He wasn’t suitable for this job. I told Mr Crosby I didn’t want him working near my horses any more.’ He concentrated on the bowl of the little pipe. ‘Vicious streak. He’ll not get another job as any kind of groom, I’ll see to that.’

  Outside the daylight was leaching out of the sky. In the stables nearby they could hear the sound of the horses moving restlessly back and forth. They always knew when one of their number had died.

  In the drawing room in the Hall Emily was standing staring out of the window down towards the river. Night was creeping in and with it the slow cold mist which smelled of the sea. She wondered if Dan had heard about Bella yet. She gave a small angry smile of triumph. When he did he would realise that it did not pay to cross her. In future he would do as she ordered. Either that or it would be his fat common wife who would be the next to suffer.

  She pulled her shawl tighter round her shoulders. She had changed into a tea gown and the room was growing cold. She stepped across to pull the bell for one of the maids. The fire was a miserable smouldering apology which failed to heat the room at all, and no one had brought the tea things. Going back to the window, she gave a last glance out towards the river. A pale square sail was slowly drifting up on the tide. She looked at it for a moment. There was the head of a great beast of some sort on the sail. A bear, she thought. How odd. She turned her back on the view. It was cold and depressing and somehow full of menace.