China Garden

by Liz Berry

  “But I’ve got to pick up ...”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Look, I just want to go home.” Her voice shook.

  He stared at her and for a moment she thought that he would let her go.

  “There you are, she don’t like you. She just wants to go home,” growled Blackhead.

  Mark stiffened and she knew it was no good. He would not listen to any appeal, now.

  “The bikes are just outside. Come on, Rosie.” He put his arm around her and propelled her out of the café.

  Chapter 14

  The motor bikes were lined up in the side street, huge chrome-covered monsters with powerful engines. Suddenly Clare was shaking with terror. She would never be able to stay on.

  Mark bumped the largest of them off its stand and got on. Clare looked around desperately. Now was the time to get away, to run. But the others had crowded together behind her and there was no way she could push through them. No passerby would think anything was wrong. Just a group of bikers and a girlfriend outside a café.

  Mark looked at her.“Ever done this before?”

  She shook her head, dumbly, trying not to let him see how much she was shaking.

  “Keep close against me. Let your body go with the bike and hang on tight. If you come off, it’s raspberry jam all over the road. Get on.”

  She froze, unable to move or speak.

  “I said, get on.”

  Pete, grinning, picked her up easily, dumped her on the seat and shoved her feet onto the foot rests.

  Mark said,“Give her Foxy’s spare lid, Pete, and take her bag like a nice little gentleman.”

  The helmet was crammed over her head none too gently and done up. Pete’s big red face grinned down at her.“You look beeeautiful, darlink,” he said in a sexy European accent, kissed her on the nose and wrested from her hand the plastic carrier bag containing her shopping and shoulder bag.“Don’t. . . You can’t ...”

  Mark, annoyed, said,“Put your arms around me,” and set the bike in motion, not waiting for his mates.

  Clare, taken unawares, was jerked backwards and nearly fell off. She clutched his jacket terrified, and felt the leather slide away under her numb fingers.

  He stopped the bike and looked over his shoulder.“Watch my lips. I said put your arms around me. Around my waist. I’m not contagious.”

  “I heard, but I can’t...”

  “Under the jacket.” He grinned wolfishly.“Keep your hands warm. Give you a thrill: You’ll be able to feel my…er ...muscles moving up and down.” He laughed aloud, watching the scarlet flood up under her clear skin, and turning pulled both her arms around his waist, tugging her along the seat so that she rested against his back as snug as a postage stamp.

  The next moment they were away, weaving dangerously along the narrow crowded streets, and then out on to the main road that ringed the town. On a curve she caught sight of the other bikes a long way behind, trying to catch up.

  The turning for Ravensmere came up. Mark slowed, hesitated for a split second, then, making up his mind, accelerated past. He grinned recklessly, wondering if Clare had noticed. A cacophony of hooting and loud whoops far back told him that he was on his own.

  Mark could feel that Clare was responding to the sway of the bike. Suddenly he felt good. The girl behind him, the sun-bronzed road, the bike running well, the feeling of coming out on top—so Pete fancied her as well did he? Too bad! —everything came together and he felt a powerful surge of exhilaration. He drove the speed up and forgot everything else.

  It was a glorious summer afternoon, the sun lower in the sky gilding the edges of the leaves and trees, lying in great swathes of brilliant gold across the open plain and along the shoulders of the steep hills.

  Clare kept her head down sheltering against the width of his shoulders, holding on grimly and concentrating on staying on the bike.

  The villages and towns flashed by, a blur of old stone and flowering gardens. A line of uplands with a huge white horse cut into them. Wide open hill country with small remote farms nestling in the folds of the valleys below. Then, far away a strange shaped hill with a tower on top standing alone in a land spread out in the sun like a quilt of green and gold patches. She saw a sign which said ‘Glastonbury’, and took a quick breath. King Arthur country.

  There was a road arrowing into the lush green countryside, so straight it must surely be a Roman road. She heard Mark give a great shout and the bike leapt forward under them. She closed her eyes and briefly there was nothing but the wild rush of the speed and air through the glowing countryside.

  If she hadn’t been so terrified and full of rage and humiliation Clare might have enjoyed it, but nobody had ever forced her to do anything like this, totally against her will. She was incoherent with fury.

  Mark was in a very good mood. He slowed, drove down a steep hill, over a narrow bridge and into the market square of a small town. There was an empty parking place by the bank and he pulled into it and cut the engine. He turned to her with a flourish.“There you are. A tourist trip through Somerset and a bit of Wiltshire.”

  “Where are we?” She could hardly get the words out.

  “Frome. There’s a place here that sells good fish and chips.”

  “Fish and chips!”

  She slid off the bike and stood shaking with rage. Rage at him for humiliating and coercing her, and at herself too. For a while there on the road, despite everything, she had actually enjoyed the freedom, the wind and sun and speed and the feeling of his body moving under her hands. Was she crazy? Hadn’t she decided that she wasn’t going to allow anyone to tell her what to do? He was even worse than Adrian.

  He took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his thick dark hair and grinned at her triumphantly.“See. I knew you’d like it.”

  She slapped his face then, with all the force of her arm and body. And felt the shame of it immediately. Never before in her whole life had she hit anybody. There was a wild storm of emotion, driving her before it, out of control.

  He laughed. Amused. Mocking. As though he understood the explosion of rage and sex and excitement and helplessness in her.

  He picked her up with no effort at all, her feet inches off the ground, kissed her, put her down and kissed her again, pulling her against his body, sliding his hands in her hair so she couldn’t pull away. He was experienced and sure, knowing how to hold and handle and kiss. His mouth was warm, slightly moist. His tongue parted her lips.

  When he let her go she turned her back abruptly and walked away, half-blinded by tears.

  Mark watched her without expression.“Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Home.”

  “How?”

  “Mind your own business.”

  He called after her, laughing,“I’ll go and get us some fish and chips and then we’ll go back.” He sounded as though he was talking to a sulky child.“I’ll be here in ten minutes. Don’t go away. I won’t wait.” He was still laughing as he stalked away down a narrow alley nearby.

  Clare didn’t answer. She crossed the road to a bus stop outside the post office, narrowly missed being knocked down by a hooting car which swung down unexpectedly from a steep hill on her left and stared at the bus timetables feverishly. His last comment had acted like a whiplash on an open cut. She wouldn’t go back with him if she had to walk the whole way.

  “Where do you want to go, m’dear?” asked an elderly woman, passing the bus stop, recognizing a stranger.

  “Stoke Raven.”

  The woman shook her head.“Not from here, m’dear. No buses from here. Not even part of the way at this time of an evening.”

  “Oh no!” Clare stared at her in horror. She had just remembered that she had no money to pay her fare anyway. Her purse was in the bag that Pete had taken off her.

  She turned away, her shoulders slumped. She would have to sink her pride and go back to the bike and wait tamely until he turned up with his rotten fish and chips. She would have to
wait until he felt like driving her home. No wonder he had been laughing. She felt the frustrated rage leap up again.

  The woman watched her sympathetically.“Pity they stop so early, the buses. Stranded, are you? You’ll have to have a car. There’s a taxi rank by the new shopping precinct if you want one.”

  Clare stared at her. She felt like hugging her. A taxi. She could borrow the money off her mother to pay the taxi when she got home. She drew a deep breath of relief.“That’s a marvellous idea! How do I get to the shopping precinct?”

  “But fourteen pounds!” her mother said, outraged.“Fourteen pounds for a taxi! Are you out of your mind? You know we can’t afford that kind of money.”

  They had gone over the same ground several times since Frances had paid off the driver of the cab.

  “I didn’t know it was going to cost that much, did I?” Clare said desperately.“I had to get back somehow, didn’t I? I told you—they took my bag and my purse. But don’t worry, I’ll pay you back. Every penny.”

  “You should have stayed with him and let him bring you home.”

  “I should have walked into the police station and laid charges against him,” Clare snapped.“Kidnapping. Robbery. He mugged me.”

  And he’d kissed her. Kissed her in the middle of Frome market-place with everybody looking. Kissed her in such a way that for the first time she had lost control of her mind and body to somebody else, returning kiss for frantic kiss, shuddering and moving helplessly against him, with her mouth open under his. She had hung on to him and it was as though she had kissed him like this through all eternity. And then he had laughed.

  “And to forget the prescriptions and the medical supplies ... Honestly, Clare, I don’t know what came over you. It’s not like you to be so thoughtless and irresponsible. Poor Mr Aylward is really uncomfortable. His bed sores ...”

  “I told you! I didn’t forget the stuff. They wouldn’t let me go. They made me miss the bus and get on this motor bike and...”

  “You could have refused the lift...”

  Clare said, despairingly,“You don’t understand. Look, I’ll go back tomorrow and pick up…”

  “It’s Sunday tomorrow, and this isn’t London. The bus only goes on Tuesdays and Saturdays for market-day.”

  Clare groaned.“Oh no!” She clapped her hand to her forehead.“Look, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.”

  “Oh forget it,” Frances said wearily.“I’ll drive over Monday afternoon, while he’s resting.”

  “I could borrow the car and...”

  “Not on your life. You’ve not passed your driving test yet. I thought you wanted to go to university, not end up in gaol.”

  “Look, I’m just trying to help.” Clare’s voice rose and wobbled dangerously.

  Frances suddenly took in her daughter’s state. Under the beginnings of a tan she was strained and pale, her eyes wide, shining with unshed tears. Her hair, always severely braided, had lost its confining band, and waved in a dishevelled mane around her shoulders. There was a rip in the shoulder sleeve of her best shirt, and a long dark grease stain on her jeans. Jeans? Frances looked again. Clare looked wild and angry, the cool control and sophistication which she had imposed on herself since she had dated Adrian broken away. For the first time in months she looked fully alive, her mother thought, relieved. Like her old self, full of energy and emotion.

  She said, concerned,“Clare, are you all right? What’s the matter?”

  “No, I’m not all right,” Clare choked.“And everything’s the matter. But don’t let it worry you!” She stormed out and slammed the door behind her.

  “So you got back.”

  He was standing over her, his hands on his hips. A dark figure against the fiery sky, his shadow stretching huge and black down Raven Hill like the great hill figure in Dorset. He was furious. No patronizing mockery now, Clare noted with vicious satisfaction. She turned her back.

  “I spent an hour looking all round Frome for you. I must have been down every damn road and alley in the place.”

  “Worried about me were you?” Clare sneered her disbelief.

  “What do you think? You just disappeared. I thought someone might have picked you up.”

  “Like you, you mean?”

  “Like some bloody rapist. It was getting late and I knew you hadn’t got any money ...”

  “Of course I hadn’t. You took it away. Why don’t you just clear off? I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Here.” He tossed her plastic carrier bag on to her lap. She took out her shoulder bag and looked in her purse. All the money was there.

  “Not very trusting, are you? Pete Anscomb’s honest. He wouldn’t touch a thing.”

  She shrugged and got up.“How would I know that? You’re lucky I didn’t walk into the police station at Frome and swear charges against you.”

  He laughed.“Such as?”

  “Try mugging.” She suddenly felt cold and tired, disappointed.

  “Or assault?” He was smiling, looking at her mouth.“Don’t I get any thanks for bringing your bag back?”

  “Thanks, you stupid oaf?” The anger surged back.“You made an awful scene with everybody looking. You made me look a fool. You made me do something I didn’t want to do. You cost me fourteen pounds which I need for university. And I’m in terrible trouble with my mother. I was supposed to be picking up urgent prescriptions and nursing stuff from the chemist. But you didn’t listen, did you? And now my mother will have to drive all the way to Salisbury on Monday, when she’s supposed to be here. Mr Aylward is ill and really needs ...”

  To her fury, the tears came then, rolling helplessly down her cheeks. She was exhausted and thrown badly off balance. Her defences had gone.

  He put his arms around her and pulled her close, stroking her back. He was so tall she only came to his shoulders, and he seemed to surround her with a wall of strength and safety, but she knew it was only an illusion. He was dangerous, reckless and hard.

  “Look, I’m sorry, it was just a joke. I thought you’d like a ride on my bike.”

  “Don’t lie,” Clare said, sniffing.“You got into a power struggle with Pete, and I was just a pawn, a non-person.”

  “You didn’t really think we’d hurt you? You’re one of us. Even Blackhead wouldn’t touch you. Wouldn’t dare. A Ravensmere Guardian?”

  Clare went still.“What are you talking about?”

  “Poor little Rosie. You’re really done up, aren’t you? Not thinking straight.” He was kissing her forehead, soft light kisses where her hair curled into tendrils.“Surely you realize they’ve got you earmarked as the next Guardian?”

  She pushed him away.“Don’t call me Rosie. I’m not Rosie. And you’re talking a load of rubbish.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her neck under her ear, laughing.“Clare Rosamond Kenward Meredith. The daughter. Rosie. My little Rosie, and don’t you forget it. See you Monday.”

  Then he was leaping away down the hill with giant strides, towards the main gate and the lane that led to Kenward Farm.

  Chapter 15

  On Monday Clare slept late into the morning. It was nearly eleven before she was ready to go over to the House. Sunday she had spent with a book down by the lake, feeling totally exhausted, and had finally fallen into her bed and into a deep pit of dreamless sleep.

  This morning, surfacing slowly, she felt strange, almost light-headed, different. It was as though something in her had been changed completely and she was a new person, rainwashed after a great storm. Something that had kept her closed-in, made her unsure and anxious, had let go. She felt healthy and carefree.

  Even the sunlight seemed brighter, the air clearer. She shook loose her silky newly-washed hair. She wondered why she had kept it dragged back all these months.

  As she came through the arch into the service yard she could hear the shouting.

  Mai, with John and Billy, the under-gardeners, were staring across the cobbled yard to where Roger Fletcher, pu
ce, was raging up and down, shouting at Mark Winters who was leaning insolently against his motor bike outside the kitchen entrance. He was a powerful figure in his leathers, his head thrown back in arrogant amusement.

  Clare’s heart gave a great leap and settled down to a heavy thud. She ought still to be angry and offended, but it was joy she was feeling. She put her hands in her jeans to stop them shaking. Even the sight of him affected her physically. What was he doing here?

  “... trespassing on the estate. You’re not allowed here. It’s forbidden, absolutely forbidden, for you to set foot here, as you well know.” Roger Fletcher was almost dancing with fury.“Mr Aylward gave strict orders ...”

  “He can stuff his orders. Get this straight, Mr Fletcher. I come and go as I please. No one tells me what to do, or where to go.”

  “You’ll stay out, or by God I’ll have you thrown out.”

  “You and whose army?”

  “Me and my staff. Billy, John—here!”

  But to Clare’s amusement both the boys had hastily melted away seconds before Roger Fletcher looked around for them.

  Mark laughed, and Clare thought the older man was going to fly at him.

  “Don’t be a fool, Fletcher,” Mark said.“Do you want to get badly hurt? I’m a stone heavier and thirty-five years younger. And I haven’t got a beer belly either.”

  Roger Fletcher stopped. There was a dribble of spittle running down his chin and he was a dark heavy red. Clare thought that he was heading for a stroke if he didn’t calm down.

  “Next time I see you here I’ll take my shotgun to you, you stable yard rat.”

  Clare took a quick, anxious breath. She could see Mark’s hands, the knuckles shining white, but he only said, evenly,“Three witnesses, Fletcher. You’ll go to gaol.”

  Roger Fletcher took in Mai and Clare, and James Kenward who had just come through the arch. He said, contemptuously,“They’ll do as I tell them. Kenward—get rid of this excrement. Throw him off the Estate.”