Indeed, his arm, with it being in a sling, was the only outwardly visible sign that he had been in any sort of battle at all.
Nonetheless, the endless waiting for the fracture to mend was driving him insane, as was the long hours being cooped up in Miri’s small flat with only the vapid tedium of daytime T.V. for company. Although Vas visited as often as his studies allowed which helped to alleviate the boredom, at least for a short while.
Sam had, however, managed to persuade Miriam to drive him out to Pemberton Woods a couple of times in the ancient Mini Cooper that she had owned yet rarely used since her arrival in Cambridge several years earlier. Indeed, it had spent most of its time in the city shut away in a rented garage with its battery flat. But after some effort Sam had managed to get the engine started, thus allowing Miri to chauffeur him into the countryside on two of her very infrequent, very precious days off.
Armed with an Ordnance Survey Map and some binoculars borrowed from one of Miri’s hospital colleagues, the pair of them had set about investigating the area known as Pemberton Woods which sat directly to the South of Cambridge.
However, their first excursion was in mid-November and an early fall of snow had made the trip almost useless; the little Mini getting repeatedly bogged down in the narrow, unsalted lanes that surrounded the woods.
Their second outing was in late November but Miri could not get away from the hospital until midday so by the time they arrived at Pemberton Woods the sun was already low in the sky. What is more, before they could do any proper exploring, the light had gone completely and they were left floundering around in the dark with absolutely no chance of finding anything at all.
Yet Miri had promised on her next full day off, which would fall in the second week of December, that she and Sam would get to the woods early and have all the time needed to investigate.
It was the best Sam could hope for, knowing as he did that Miri was doing everything possible to help him. Her work schedule at the hospital was absolutely hellish and her alternating shifts kept her busy until all hours of the day and night so he had no choice but to be patient.
In an attempt to make her life a little easier, and also to keep himself busy, Sam cooked all the meals, did the washing and kept the flat clean and tidy. Indeed, he and Miriam soon fell into a pattern of domesticity which was something akin to a marriage.
Whenever her shifts allowed, he would send her off in the morning with her lunch all packed and welcome her home in the evening with a freshly cooked meal and an open bottle of wine.
They got along tremendously well and even though their relationship was purely platonic, both were aware that something was developing between them. In the evenings, when they sat together having dinner and chatting until late into the night, there was always an underlying frisson of sexual tension.
They could have easily allowed themselves to be swept up in this warm, cosy feeling which somehow seemed so natural, particularly as they lived together in such close quarters. Indeed, Sam slept on the sofa, just feet away from Miri’s bed every night and the last thing they saw before they went to sleep and the first thing they set eyes on when they awoke, was each other.
With familiarity, it quickly became an increasingly comfortable, somewhat intimate, existence; she wandering around the bedsit in nothing more than a T-shirt and panties as she readied herself for work and he in just a pair of boxers as he prepared her packed lunch.
What is more, Sam could not help but be effected by her natural beauty or the distinctly feminine scent of her perfume, whereas she, in turn, would have had to be made from stone so as not to be stirred by the sight of his muscular torso in fresh, white boxers first thing every morning,
Yet neither acted upon the mutual attraction out of respect for Claudette.
Miri’s body positively ached for Sam and she longed to feel the touch of his lips on hers but she feared he would think it wrong. But it did not stop the yearning.
As for Sam, he had definitely noticed Miri in every way that any red-blooded male would notice a beautiful, intelligent woman. Indeed living with her, albeit briefly, had made him appreciate her more than ever. As such, it was still a matter of amazement to him that he had never properly seen her before.
Yet it was most probably because he had been so utterly besotted with Claudette that there had just been no room for anyone else.
As for him and Miri becoming a proper couple, Sam could not make any such plans no matter how much the thought appealed.
What is more, to enter into another relationship whilst Claudette’s killers still lived or whilst her presence still haunted him would just not be fair to Miriam as she deserved far better than that.
But he could not deny that he was incredibly attracted to her. Furthermore, he had found himself wondering many times what it might be like to feel the warmth of her wondrous body writhing beneath his - in fact, it was a desire he had been wrestling with since seeing her naked on the first night he arrived at her bedsit.
But he had to respect her for the woman she was. Her kindness and boundless good humour oozed from almost every pore and it would not be fair to take advantage of her merely to satisfy his basest sexual needs, no matter how tempting - even though he knew his feelings for her ran much deeper than that.
In time, when the men he was after were dead and Claudette’s ghost had finally been laid to rest, then maybe he and Miriam might have a chance. If, of course, she would have him.
For the present, however, for fear of getting blissfully swept up in her, his friendship was all he dare offer.
Nonetheless, as December wore on and the night before Miri’s next full day off finally came, Sam was finding his abstinent stance harder and harder to justify.
During the early part of the evening, he and Miri decorated the small Christmas tree that stood on the table by the window in her bedsit, preparing for a festive season which would see her spending most of her time working cover shifts at the hospital.
Sam’s arm had finally healed, however, which was cause for some small celebration and after they had done with the tree Miri inspected the freshly knitted bones of his forearm, more than satisfied with what she saw. The tenderness of her touch and the intimacy of the moment not lost on either of them.
In the days leading up to this date, Miri had noticed a distinct change in Sam’s demeanour, aware that it was because his time for action was drawing ever closer. Indeed, with his arm no longer delaying things, Miri knew it was only a matter of time before he set about reaping his vengeance once more. Further, she could tell he was almost counting the seconds.
Tomorrow they would head into Pemberton Woods to allow Sam to recce the area. If they managed to find the cottage whilst there, as hoped, Miri knew it would only be mere days before Sam returned there on his own to settle the score with Finch.
Beyond that, Miri was frightened to speculate. Either Finch or Sam would be dead. Should Sam survive then he would surely be off, most probably back to The States, to lay low until Vasily’s father had a lead on the other men he sought.
As for her and Sam, they only really had that one night left before everything changed again forever.
Miri had been aware of this inevitability for a while and had therefore been wrestling with something of a dilemma; torn between her own desires and the respect she had for Claudette’s memory.
However, against her better conscience, she had at last concluded that the remaining time she and Sam had together should not be squandered by missed opportunities. If that should be the case, then she suspected it might prove to be a source of constant regret.
Sam, however, with his own resolve crumbling, had decided that they should invite Vas over to celebrate the liberation of his arm from the sling. He was wary of finding himself alone with Miri in a potentially romantic situation on what might be one of their last nights together, knowing he was in serious
danger of giving into overwhelming temptation.
As such, he had declared that the three of them, he, Miri and Vas, should order a takeaway and open a few bottles of wine.
Unaware of Sam’s reasons, Miri went along with this, even though it went against her own rather salacious plans. Nevertheless, selflessly putting them aside, she picked up the phone and dialled Vasily’s number.
But there was no reply.
Indeed, she tried several times over the next couple of hours but still he did not answer.
Eventually, Sam advised her to give up. The two of them would have a meal instead and share a bottle of red. Vas would just have to go hungry.
To her eternal shame, Miriam was quite pleased with this rather fortuitous outcome. Tonight she wanted Sam all to herself and was determined, should she never see him again, that he would at least know the strength of her feeling for him.
Her only hope was that Claudette would forgive her.
Yet as the two of them set about ordering their food, they were completely unaware that Vas was in no position to eat anything.
Indeed, he was currently unconscious and tied to a chair in a darkened room. What is more, blood dripped steadily from his fresh wounds onto the cracked tiled floor of an untidy farmhouse style kitchen.
Yet through the nearby window no one could witness his terrible predicament as the cottage he was in stood all alone, deep in the heart of Pemberton Woods.
Part Three:
Into The Woods
Chapter Seventeen
Vasily was the youngest of Vladimir Voronin’s three sons but where his brothers were all tough, muscular types, very much like their father, Vas took more after his mother.
Even though Olga Voronin had been a rather delicate flower, she was thick set and of a heavier build, like Vas. Also, in temperament and intelligence they were particularly similar.
Unfortunately, Olga had died of tuberculosis when Vas was only an infant and, as such, his father had been somewhat over protective, as had his elder brothers.
What is more, as he grew up, they positively conspired to keep him away from the more nefarious side of the family business, suspecting he was destined for far greater things.
Indeed, when Vas was granted a place at Cambridge, Vladimir and his two other sons positively glowed with pride.
Vas, too, had been delighted, yet a small part of him still wished he could have been more like his father and brothers - tough and formidable and seemingly afraid of nothing.
But he considered himself to be none of those things.
Nevertheless, he was determined to be a reliable friend and in all good conscience could not let Sam shoulder the responsibility alone for avenging Claudette’s murder.
As such, he had been doing his best to summon up the courage to help. His plan being to find the next target, Roger Finch, on Sam’s behalf.
Vas knew about Sam and Miri’s two unsuccessful excursions to Pemberton Woods and was aware that they could not try again until Miri’s shifts allowed.
To this end, he thought he might be able to save them some time. If he could scout out the area and find Finch’s cottage first, it would surely allow Sam vital time to formulate a strategy of attack.
It also occurred to Vas that if he did, indeed, manage to find the cottage, then he could perhaps monitor Finch to get a clear pattern of his movements, as this would undoubtedly help Sam, too.
It was all a little daunting, especially as he had not told his friends what he was up to, suspecting they would try to dissuade him. But the more Vas thought about it, the more convinced he became that it was something he could do.
It would just be a matter of keeping out of sight. After all, how hard could that be?
***
Vas made his first attempt to find the cottage in late November, shortly after Sam and Miri had tried and failed. But he, too, had been unsuccessful, the snow seriously hampering any chance he might have had. In addition, he had ruined his favourite pair of brogues before he had even covered thirty yards.
Nonetheless, by December, after the snow had melted away, he fared much better.
It was only a day or so before Miri and Sam were set to make their third attempt, but Vas was still convinced he could help them get a jump on things.
However this time, rather than stumbling around the woods blindly, he thought it better to find someone with local knowledge of the area to point him in the right direction.
This turned out to be the landlord of the Red Lion in Pemberton who advised Vas that to find the cottage all he need do was follow an old dirt track, known only to locals, which would lead him directly to the place he was looking for.
Using the directions the publican gave him, and riding the red Vespa he had persuaded his new flat mate, Simon, to let him borrow, Vas soon found the track described.
Upon doing so, he parked the scooter behind a hedge near the side of the deserted road, then attached the crash helmet to the clip beneath the seat and dropped the keys inside without fear of them being stolen. Indeed, it was so quiet that Vas could have been the only person on earth.
Nevertheless, after stowing the Vespa, he proceeded on foot along the rustic track and into the trees beyond with more than just a hint of trepidation.
Even in broad daylight the woods were dark and eerie; the branches of the trees, bare of leaves, reached out like clawed fingers to send a shiver down Vas’ spine. The silence was also quite disconcerting and served only to make it all the more creepy.
The cold December air was filled with damp and tiny droplets of dew shone like diamonds on the outstretched branches whilst underfoot a thick carpet of fallen leaves concealed an underlay of heavy mud and sodden foliage.
Vasily was not an outdoorsman. Nor did he possess clothing suitable for such occasions, but he had a warm overcoat which helped shield him from the biting cold.
However, the crash helmet on the ride from Cambridge had prevented him from wearing the cossack-style fur hat he had brought with him from Russia, but he had tucked it into his coat for safe-keeping and now it was tucked firmly on his head, ensuring it stayed nice and toasty.
Also, for this second attempt at finding the cottage, he had invested in some wellington boots which helped him cope much better with the muddy terrain and, as he pressed relentlessly onwards, they left a distinctive trail of deep footprints in his wake.
But the track was long and winding and led Vas deeper and deeper into the woods without catching sight of another living soul.
The landlord of the Red Lion had told him that the cottage lay somewhere near the end of the track.
Yet the track seemed never ending.
Nevertheless, he kept going and suddenly, after walking for some considerable distance, he finally spotted a thin trail of white smoke drifting up into the grey sky.
Immediately wary, he ducked down and headed into the surrounding trees, using them for cover, before proceeding cautiously onwards through the undergrowth.
Soon he saw the chimney that the smoke was emanating from, then a tatty thatched roof. Finally he set eyes on the cottage itself and froze in his tracks so as not to be seen.
The cottage was ramshackle in the extreme, its red brickwork grubby and weather worn and the thatch in dire need of replacing. It was surprisingly large, however, with a couple of small outbuildings that appeared to be in an equally tumbledown condition.
An old Land Rover was parked out front on a muddy turning circle that had been beaten flat by years of being repeatedly driven over.
A few hens clucked aimlessly about and several dead pheasants hung lifelessly upside down from a rack beside a front door that had not seen fresh paint in decades.
Vas squatted down, suddenly fearful as he studied the dilapidated cottage which reminded him of a witch’s house in a children’s fairytale. Yet he held his ground, k
eeping as still as possible, knowing that any intelligence he could glean would be vital to helping Sam.
He watched in silence for some time, the glow from the hearth visible through the dirty windows. Occasionally, Vas could also spy the shadow of someone moving around inside.
Yet from his vantage point, he was not best positioned to see into the cottage and he was anxious to catch a glimpse of Finch himself so that he might report a description of the man to Sam.
Keeping low, Vas stood and stalked stealthily through the massed clumps of leaves in order to get a better view through the leaded windows of the cottage. There was no way he could have known that a variety of gin traps and snares had been set amongst the undergrowth around the perimeter - predominantly to catch wildlife but also as a precautionary measure to ward off intruders.
Indeed, Vasily had moved less than five paces when he inadvertently placed his right foot down on one of the horrific devices. The murderous jaws of the gin trap snapped violently shut the moment Vas’ boot touched down on the spring.
He cried out with terrible agony as the iron teeth clamped together, biting through the rubber of his boot and sinking into the soft flesh of his ankle beneath, his screams echoing loudly through the silent tranquillity of the deserted wood, alerting all within earshot of his presence.
Yet only one person heard his cries of anguish.
And as Vas writhed on the ground, the pain in his ankle unbearable, Roger Finch peered out of his kitchen window and smiled.
***
The position of ‘gamekeeper’ was not exactly an official one, but more of a mutual understanding between the Duke, whose land Pemberton Woods stood on, and Roger Finch, who had served under him for a time in the forces. At some point in the past, Finch had performed a favour for the Duke and, as payment, had been allowed to live in the old gamekeeper’s cottage rent free on the proviso he would also maintain and manage the woodland as necessary.
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