Edmund held out his arm in rather an old-fashioned, courtly way once they were outside on the street again; not entirely because she was feeling dizzy from the vodka and a little sick from lack of food, she accepted it. It was beginning to rain, and the pavements shone darkly. They walked quickly and in silence. Alex felt uneasy. She was familiar, of course, with Edmund, but the intimacy which they now seemed to be sharing was strange, obviously wrong. At one point she tried to pull her arm away from his, but he had it clenched tightly and did not release her. She felt relieved when finally they reached the restaurant.
Chapter Seventeen
It was later than they had realised. Perhaps because it was a Monday, perhaps because it was raining, the restaurant was already crowded when they arrived. It was only a small place, having eight or possibly ten tables, and through the misted windows they could see that all were occupied, as was the sofa next to the cash desk where hopefuls waited patiently for a vacant space.
“It looks as if we’re out of luck,” said Alex.
“The evening’s still young. You said that you didn’t have to be home until midnight, didn’t you?”
“No, I said that Tom probably wouldn’t be back before then. I certainly want to be in bed earlier than that – I have a busy day tomorrow. Besides, I don’t know that Tom will really be as late as that and I don’t want to worry him.” Alex was getting cold feet.
“He’s sure to call you if he gets back first,” said Edmund, leading her through the door. However, her intuition proved to be right. Immediately they entered the restaurant, they were surrounded by two or three waiters, all speaking excitedly in varying degrees of broken English. After a few seconds, the patron, a stereotype of the short, stout Italian proprietor, pushed his way through to them and informed them in comprehensible English that they would be unable to accommodate any more diners that evening.
Alex pulled a wry face. She was half disappointed, half relieved.
“I guess it’s home for each of us, and toast and tea before bed,” she said. “We’ll feel virtuous tomorrow, at any rate.”
“You don’t want to go in search of another restaurant?”
“There really isn’t time,” she said.
“Well, you shan’t go supperless. I have another solution.”
“What is it? Fish and chips?” She laughed, glad to inject some lightness into the conversation.
“Not quite – you’ll see. First we need to go back to the car.”
“You’re sure that this isn’t going to take a long time?”
“Absolutely certain. It will be almost as quick as going straight home. And it will give me the opportunity to show you something.”
“Now I’m intrigued! How far away is the car?”
“Not far at all. I’ve left it in the big multi-storey car part in the shopping centre. Are you OK to walk?”
She laughed again. “What else do you propose? That I wait here until you come back?”
“If you like. I’m sure the Italian gentleman would allow you to prop up his bar for ten minutes.”
She shook her head.
“Your sudden onset of chivalry is worrying! But I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind.”
He offered his arm again, but she declined, walking beside him but apart from him now. She was suddenly quite tired and realised that she was cold and hungry, too; but she did her best to match his pace, which grew more rapid as they approached the car park.
Edmund had at least one thing in common with Tom, she reflected: neither of them was a car snob. Tom’s car at least had the virtue of being unusual, however inconvenient that turned out to be when it broke down, but Edmund’s elderly Saab was simply a rust-bucket. However, when Edmund opened the passenger door, she saw that, inside, it was immaculate: the leather seats were clean and polished, the mats on the floor scrubbed and there were no empty soft drinks bottles or more unpleasant food detritus tossed on the back seat or in the door-pockets, as was invariably the case with Tom’s car. Edmund handed her in with some ceremony. The absurdity of the situation made her giggle.
“What’s the matter?” he asked huffily. She read his mood and was sober in an instant.
“Nothing, really. I’m just light-headed from too much booze unaccompanied by food.”
“Get in quickly, then.” He slammed the door shut almost before she had moved her coat out of its way.
Edmund drove at speed through the city and out beyond the shopping centre. He slowed down when they came to a modest residential area and cruised sedately through the streets of terraces and between-the-wars semis. He was peering through the rain-spattered windscreen, apparently intent on finding somewhere he only half-remembered. Several times they ended up in a cul-de-sac or he saw that they were approaching the ring road and reversed the car to travel back in the direction from which they had come, before again plunging into yet more side-streets and badly-lit thoroughfares. His jaw was set, his frown one of annoyance as much as concentration. Alex decided not to risk an attempt at conversation, not even to ask if she could help by looking out for the street name that he wanted. Instead, she kept her eyes on the rain-washed windscreen, just occasionally shooting him a sideways glance. It was when employing this tactic that she saw his face suddenly light up in one of his beatific smiles. Edmund was at his most engaging when he looked like this.
“There it is!” he exclaimed. “It’s on an old corner shop site and it hasn’t changed at all!”
Alex could barely see through the rivulets of rain. “What am I looking at?” she asked.
“That!” said Edmund, taking his hand off the wheel and pointing with his index finger. “Croxley’s. It’s an upmarket fish shop. I used to bring my first girlfriend here. Rock salmon was a speciality then. I wonder if they still sell it!”
He jumped out of the car. He was gone for some time; when he returned he was smiling broadly. He carefully lifted a small brown carrier-bag over the back of the seat and placed it on the floor behind Alex.
“It’s unbelievable!” he said. “The place hasn’t changed a bit. Apparently old man Croxley is still alive, though it is his son, Terry, who runs it now. And they still do rock salmon!” he added triumphantly.
“So you bought some?”
“Of course. And some coke. There’s a small bottle of rum in the dashboard that I always keep for emergencies, so we can have rum and cokes, just like I used to when I was a teenager. A pity we’re not under-age as well; it would make it taste even better.”
“I don’t know where this secret place is that you’re proposing to take me to, but can we get there soon, please?”
He started up the car and slowly rounded the corner. Alex saw that they were now on a main road and about halfway down a steepish incline. Once more Edmund was peering intently through the windscreen. He switched the wipers to double-speed.
“This road leads straight down to the river; and the bridge that I’m looking for should be a little to our left, when we reach the bottom of the hill.”
Alex sighed. She could no longer recollect why she’d agreed to this wild goose chase. She yearned despairingly for the warmth of her own kitchen.
When they entered the next street Alex could see the bridge some yards to their right. As they drew closer, she saw that it was a Victorian railway bridge, solid and ornate in finely-crafted cast-iron. The river bank adjacent to it was wide and flat. Edmund parked next to a squat structure that had been erected next to the bridge.
“We have to get out now, but it is only a few steps to shelter. I have an oilskin in the boot if you would like to borrow it?” He placed his hand solicitously on her arm. She shook it off, apparently by accident, by unclasping her seat-belt.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said, wondering why her vocabulary seemed to have shrunk to so few words. “If you want me to make it to the bridge, my mac should keep me dry; but I warn y
ou, Edmund, that I think it’s unlikely that I’m going to want to stay there for long. If it is wet or cold, or muddy underfoot, I’m going to get straight back into the car and ask you to drive me home. Is that understood?”
“Certainly. But you won’t be disappointed. Now, could you hand me the bottle that you’ll find in the glove compartment, before you get out?”
She opened the door of the glove compartment and fished about inside it, eventually bringing out a quarter-bottle of Captain Morgan which she handed to Edmund without comment.
He put the rum bottle in his pocket and handed her out of the car before reaching into the back to lift out the brown paper carrier bag of food. She caught a whiff of chips fried in dripping. The smell was delicious. Despite the absurdity of the situation, Alex found her spirits lift.
“I’m afraid I don’t have an umbrella,” said Edmund. “Can you just make a dash for it?”
“Where to? Under the bridge?”
“Yes – keep to the left. There’s a path all the way down so it shouldn’t be too muddy.”
Although the street lights behind them cast some light on the path, Alex could not see well enough to feel confident in running. Instead, she walked as swiftly as she could, looking down at her feet all the time. Gusts of wind-bearing rain were coming from the direction of the river. They swept her hair into her eyes and quickly made it damp, but she reached the shelter of the bridge in a couple of minutes without feeling drenched or frozen. At first she could not see Edmund – he had stopped to rummage in the boot of the car – and she felt a surge of panic. But then she heard his distinctive plodding footsteps coming down the path and saw his thickset silhouette approaching.
“I was worried you had abandoned me,” she jested, her voice slightly shrill.
“As if I would do that! I’m sorry if I alarmed you, though. I was looking for the bottle of coke. It had fallen out of the carrier. I found it – and these, too!” Triumphantly, he held out two plastic cups for her to see. “Leftovers from a dig, I guess! I’ve got my electric storm-lantern, too, so we’re in luck!”
It was surprisingly light under the bridge. At first Alex could not understand why; then she saw that there were lozenge-shaped lights set all along the archways and the inner wall.
“Is this what you brought me to see? It’s dry, I grant you, and I can see well enough; but it’s hardly the warm and cosy spot that you suggested. It looks as if it’s used as a billet for tramps, as well.” She indicated a heap of rags topped by an ancient sleeping-bag that had been abandoned near the footpath.
“Probably,” said Edmund, glancing at it, “But actually this isn’t all. Come with me.”
He transferred the coke bottle and cups to the carrier bag, and hung it on his arm so that he could carry it and the storm lantern with his left hand. Holding Alex’s hand with his right, he proceeded to climb with her up the slope towards the ceiling made by the bridge until they reached a ledge that jutted out near the top.
“Are you OK?” he asked, as he hauled Alex up the last few inches of the slope. She nodded, breathless and a little afraid of the height. “Sit down for a moment. It’s quite safe. Then we’re just going to move along this ledge a little way, and we’re there.”
“We’re where?”
“That’s what I want to show you. It’s what I discovered when I was young. There’s a small room set into the side of the bank here. I think it must have been built by the workmen for shelter when they were constructing the bridge. That in itself is interesting enough; but what really fascinated me when I found it was that it has been fashioned out of all sorts of debris from the past. I suppose it was just stuff that they unearthed when they dug the foundations. There are definitely some Roman tiles incorporated into it and some carved stones from a mediaeval building.”
“But are you the only person who knows about it? It sounds very unusual. Surely it should be declared a site of archaeological interest and preserved for the city?”
Edmund shrugged.
“I did write to the curator of the museum at the time – who, you’ll be amused to know, was almost a Bill Ratcliffe clone. But I was only in my teens and I suppose he didn’t take me seriously. The museum has always been more interested in documents and artefacts than archaeological sites. Anyway, I never heard back from him and as far as I know no-one ever inspected it to see if it was of interest.”
“So you kept it to yourself?”
“Not entirely. As I told you, I brought my first girlfriend here – with some food from Croxley’s!” He waved the carrier bag. “It was when I decided that I wanted to be an industrial archaeologist. I realised that there is so much unexpected information to be yielded from old buildings and other constructions.”
“Was she interested?”
“Who?”
“Your girlfriend.”
“She was at first – we came here a few times. But her mother didn’t like me and she certainly didn’t like my proposed choice of career. Janet was a county sort of girl and always destined to marry a rich farmer.”
“Is that what happened to her?”
“I believe so,” said Edmund, in a voice which discouraged further questions. “We lost touch. Now, should we eat the food while we’re sitting here, before it goes cold, or would you like to see the room first? It’s snug in there.”
“Let’s eat the food first. I’m not cold – and it will make exploring easier if we don’t have too much to take with us.”
“OK.” Edmund carefully removed two wrapped packages from the carrier bag and unrolled them. He placed one on Alex’s lap and gave her a plastic fork. “Ambrosia,” he said.
Alex thought that she had probably settled for a lot less than ‘ambrosia’, but she was really hungry now and attacked the food with gusto. She had to admit that the rock salmon was delicious. She had nearly finished her supper when Edmund passed her one of the plastic cups. She could feel the coke fizzing against her face as she bent to sip it. The kick from the rum was so strong that she swung out her free arm involuntarily, and knocked the packet containing the remains of her chips down to the ground below.
“Pity!” said Edmund, looking down. “Here, have some of mine.”
“No thanks, I’ve had plenty. But you were right: the food was delicious.”
“Cheers!” said Edmund, touching her plastic cup with his own. She took several swigs of the rum and coke. It was very strong indeed, but she was enjoying it and had soon drained the cup.
“Another?”
“Not yet. If you want me to make it to your secret room I’ll at least need not to be too tipsy to keep my balance.”
“Very true.” He laughed, and downed his own drink. “Are you ready to see it, then?”
She nodded. He worked his way along the ledge, and she crawled after him. She looked down at the towpath once; it was quite a long way down, but she didn’t feel afraid. Dutch courage, probably, she reflected. She could see the scattered chips. The paper that had contained them had disappeared, blown away by the wind.
Edmund shone the lantern at a spot above his head.
“There should be a sort of wrought-iron door just here somewhere,” he said. “There it is! I hope that I can shift it. I should probably have thought to bring some tools from the car as well.” He stood up.
“Careful!” said Alex.
“It’s OK – I’m more agile than I look. Can you just take the lantern? Shine it there, while I give this a push.”
She knelt on the ledge, her feet tucked under her, and did as he asked. She could see the door now. It was more like a grating on a hinge. It consisted of five or six twisted wrought iron bars set into wood. Edmund gave it a series of hefty pushes and gradually it edged open.
“Not as difficult as I thought it would be,” he said, although she could see the perspiration on his forehead. “Give me the lantern. I’ll go
in first.”
She passed the lantern to him and he disappeared for a few seconds.
“It’s perfect,” he said, his head emerging again. “Just as I left it last time – I’ve been back a few times since I started working in this area, but not for several years now. Would you like to come in? You really need to stand, but don’t worry – give me your hand and I’ll make sure you don’t slip.”
Alex was not afraid, but she held out her hand anyway and he pulled her gently to her feet.
“That’s it. Now just edge your way round here – careful, mind your head – now just stoop a little – that’s it – and we’re there. I’ll push the door to so that we keep warm.”
“Don’t close it completely!” said Alex, suddenly fearful that Edmund might not be able to open it again from the inside. If they got trapped here no-one would ever find them.
“Don’t worry, it opens both ways. But there, I’ll leave a little gap, just to please you.”
He had set the lantern on the floor. It cast quite a lot of light and also created shadows in the confined space that they were now occupying. Alex took stock of her surroundings. What Edmund had said was true: it was a small, perfectly-constructed room. The floor was flagged with pieces of tile of different shapes and sizes, but beautifully fitted together. Some of them were patterned. She could not see them clearly enough to judge how old they were, but she guessed that Edmund’s claim that they were Roman was probably correct.
“Look at this!” he said excitedly, picking up the lantern and holding it against one of the walls. She saw that an engraved stone block had been embedded in the brickwork.
“What is it?” she asked, drawing closer.
“It’s a carving of a face. I think it’s mediaeval, but I’ve never been able to puzzle out exactly which period it comes from. What do you think?”
“It’s amazing,” said Alex. “I don’t think that it’s mediaeval, though. It reminds me more of . . .”
“Hush!” said Edmund, holding up his hand.
Normally the action would have irritated her, but he sounded so urgent – and so worried – that she stopped talking immediately, and listened. She could hear them quite clearly: the sound of footsteps on the towpath below, echoing as someone walked under the bridge.
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