She led me up the narrow stairs to a white-painted bedroom, with sloping ceilings and exposed roof timbers.
I hung back at the door as Catrin stripped off the rest of her clothes. She threw back the covers on the double bed and lay down upon it, legs raised and spread, her arms behind her head, clasping the bars of the metal bedstead.
Under her watchful gaze I undressed and climbed onto the bed myself. Moving towards her on my knees, I positioned myself between her splayed thighs and, with her determined hands guiding me, I entered her.
With Catrin gripping my buttocks, I began to thrust deep inside her with a slow, yet forceful rhythm. Putting my hands on her knees to support myself, I steadily quickened as I felt her vagina tighten around me.
And so we continued – her teasing her nipples with fidgeting fingertips while I entered a realm of rapture, living out all my youthful fantasies and midlife crises in an ecstatic hour of abandon the like of which I had never known. Sex with Jess had never been as careless or as carefree as this.
I leant over her as I felt myself coming to climax and she drew me to her, tracing swirling patterns across my back with her fingers, until I came inside her in a series of priapic convulsions and collapsed on top of her.
Her sweat-sheened breasts caressed my chest and we found each other’s mouths again, joining in a session of mutual masturbation. Her gentle caresses ensured my semi-stiffness lingered while I teased at the button of her clitoris, until she came to gasping, shuddering climax as well.
My lust sated, I lay there on the bed panting, my chest heaving, my skin prickling with heat and moisture, cradled in her arms as she ran her fingers through my hair, staring at the dreamcatcher twisting in a barely perceptible breeze above the bed.
XXVI
“If I’m going,” I said, stroking the barely visible hairs on her arms with tender, teasing caresses, “then I’m taking you with me.”
“But I can’t leave, Nathan, I can’t,” she said, that one simple sentence pregnant with sadness and longing.
“Why ever not?”
She said nothing but instead turned her face to mine and kissed me. And so we lay together in silence, keeping our thoughts to ourselves; our caresses and kisses told us more than inadequate professions of love ever would have done.
I thought about all I’d be giving up if I left – the marvellous library, the inspirational setting, the great progress I’d made with my novel – but most of all I thought of Catrin. And then I thought of all I’d lose if I stayed, which from what Catrin implied, was either my sanity or my life, or perhaps both.
“Give me one reason why you should stay,” I challenged her at last.
“My family’s lived in the area for centuries.”
That made me pause. Centuries was quite some time. “Like someone else we know.”
“Well, yes, of course,” Catrin agreed. “But then the histories of our families are intertwined. He and I are the last of our lines.”
“But that’s no reason to stay. My family link to the area goes way back too, but it didn’t stop my great-grandfather leaving.”
“Why did he leave? The old families have a strong bond to this place. Isn’t that what motivated you to come back here, a desire to reconnect with your roots?”
“Well, perhaps, but I needed a break. A change of scene.”
“So rather than ask what it is that prevents me from leaving, maybe you should be asking yourself what it is that drew you back here.”
The story.
The thought came unbidden into my mind at that moment. It had always been about the story. But which story? I had always thought it was the legend of Sir John and the Lambton Worm. But was that really it? Or was it my way of explaining what had drawn me back to the place? Was it in fact my own, on-going story? The doomed tragedy that was my life?
And if it was about my story, if Tristam Lambton was my nemesis, then what part did Catrin have to play?
No one goes through life believing they are not the hero of their own story. So Catrin was the heroine of hers. What part did I have to play in her story? And how was it all going to end?
“If you’re so worried, why don’t we just call the police and let them take over?” I said at last, desperate to find a way to resolve this situation.
She snorted with laughter. “Didn’t you say yourself that Sergeant Kemp was among those cavorting in the cave?” She was right; I had. “Then that would be a waste of time, and you can bet he’s not the only one involved. No, you go and leave this to me.”
“Leave it to you?” I didn’t mean to sound so dismissive. As I can now attest myself, she was capable of a very great deal. But I was a fool, where, in truth, she was the one who was wise in such matters.
“You don’t understand,” she said with a soft sigh of frustration.
“No, I don’t.” I released myself from her embrace and sat up. “So explain it to me.”
“There isn’t time,” she said, looking at the clock on the bedside table beside her. “You must leave, and leave now. Things are moving too quickly. You can’t delay here any longer.”
“What do you mean, things are moving too quickly?” Her riddles were a source of ever-increasing frustration to me, but oh: how I wish I was still in that same state of blissful ignorance. I understand now that her continued obfuscation was only ever intended to protect me, that she only wanted to keep me safe.
Little did I realise just how much she was prepared to sacrifice for me, and I am still filled with guilt and remorse when I think on that now.
I fixed her with what I thought was a forceful, persuasive stare, but in mere moments I was hopelessly lost within those limpid eyes of hers.
“Listen to me. Do as I say. Leave now. Return to the castle, pack up your things and go. And never think of me again.”
I could deny her nothing as I gazed into her eyes. I was under her spell.
XXVII
I hurried back to the castle by my usual route – so as not to risk running into the gamekeeper again, just in case – wishing, for once, that I’d taken the car.
It felt like I was truly saying goodbye to my old life. I was going great guns on my new novel, I was embarking on what I hoped would be a new and lasting relationship, no matter what Catrin might profess otherwise, and I felt young again.
Catrin was right; there really was no reason for me to stay there any longer. I had found a new source of inspiration and I didn’t need the woods, or the hills or the castle, not even its library, to accomplish what I needed to now.
But there was one thing Catrin was wrong about: there was no need for her to stay either. I would throw my things in the car, pick her up on the way and the two of us could be away from the Lambton estate and its malign influence in an hour.
I was outside the old house. As I went to take the keys from my pocket to let myself in, the front door opened and I was met by Tristam Lambton himself.
His sudden appearance made me start. The expression on his face made me take a step backwards.
“Been out enjoying the fresh air?” he asked, fixing me with a flint-eyed stare.
“Er, yes,” I replied. “It seemed too nice a day not too.” I decided not to elaborate and tell him about my trip into the village. My paranoia had already kicked in.
Everything about my host – the expression on his face, his tone of voice, his body language – made me certain that he knew my dirty little secret; that I knew his dirty little secret. But how could he know that I knew?
Nothing about his manner at breakfast suggested that he had known anything then. I had managed to convince myself that he hadn’t seen me, so perhaps it was someone else who had observed my presence at the orgy, someone who had since had a quiet word with the lord. Or perhaps someone had seen me visit Catrin at the shop and reported back to him. Perhaps she had been right after all, that the two families were particularly interested in each other’s affairs.
“I’m glad I’ve caught you.” Lambt
on made no move to get out of my way and let me into the house. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about for some time.”
“Oh, is there?” I flustered. “That’s great, but could we do this another time? There’s something I’ve got to do.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” I said, desperately trying to come up with a convincing excuse. “Actually my agent’s called me back to London for a very important meeting about the book I’m working on.”
“It won’t take long.”
“I’m really sorry,” I said, taking my courage in both hands and abruptly pushing past him into the house.
“Two minutes, that’s all. Five at the most.”
“That’s great, but I really am in rather a hurry. Some other time, okay?” I called back as I ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“So you’ll be coming back then?” Lord Lambton’s voice echoed around the atrium after me.
“Yes!” I lied.
XXVIII
Locking the door behind me, I cast anxious eyes about my room. As far as I could see, nothing had been touched and my laptop was where I had left it, on the writing desk by the window. There was nothing incriminating on there anyway. I’d never been one for blogging or keeping any kind of diary. All anyone would have found on there was my latest Work In Progress file and rather too many pictures of lovely ladies I’d downloaded off the Internet.
There were only two things in life that had ever given me any real sense of fulfilment: women and writing, and not necessarily in that order.
It didn’t take me long to pack. Most of my stuff went into the suitcase, the rest – including my notebooks and a few maps I had drawn – went into my laptop bag.
Catrin had been so earnest, so anxious, and so wonderfully sensual, while Lambton had been so sinister and so cold, that I could not deny her.
I pushed my laptop unceremoniously into its bag, suddenly realising the story wasn’t so important anymore, certainly not as important as what the future might hold. Certainly not as important as Catrin and the feelings even just the thought of her stirred in my heart, quickening the blood in my veins, and bringing a hot flush of colour to my cheeks even when alone.
My laptop bag over my shoulder, my suitcase in my left hand, I unlocked the door and hurried out of my room. I was half-surprised to find no one waiting for me. From the look on Lord Lambton’s face I had been sure he would try and stop me.
Creeping along the corridor towards the main stairs, I heard voices in the hall below – Lambton’s and the gamekeeper’s. I stopped and hurriedly ran through my options. Clearly the lord was keen we should finish our little chat.
Turning around, I trotted back along the corridor, past my now empty room, and made my way to the library by the back stairs, not seeing another soul on the way.
Entering the mote-shot stillness of the library, the aromas of beeswax and slowly decaying books as heady as the incense smoke of the cave, my eye was drawn again to the case of fossils under one window, the stained glass panel of another – showing Sir John Lambton battling the monstrous worm on an outcropping of rock in the middle of the River Wear – and the curious leather-bound De Vermis Mysteriis, still lying where I had reverently left it, upon a curving, carved reading lectern. It was only now that I saw the lectern had not been carved to resemble a twisting column, but was in fact formed of intertwining snake-like bodies.
But much as the wonders of the library lured me in and invited me to stay, I didn’t give up my resolve or forget what I had set out to do. I unlatched one of the tall windows and opened it wide. I passed my suitcase through and let it drop into the flowerbed below. My laptop bag went next, lowered by its strap so that it didn’t have so far to fall. I hoped the suitcase would cushion its landing. Then I clambered through and jumped down, landing just shy of a thorny rose bush.
Bags in hand once more, I moved at a crouching canter, keeping close to the house so as not to reveal my position, and then, with one last frantic dash, I legged it over the grass to the tarmac where my car was parked.
Throwing my bags onto the front passenger seat I climbed in and slammed the door, starting the engine before I even put on my seatbelt.
I reversed out of my parking space, spinning the wheel quickly as the white front door of the house opened. Out ran Lord Lambton, the gamekeeper close on his heels.
Slamming the car into gear, putting my foot to the floor, I took off down the drive. I was half expecting them to climb into the gamekeeper’s Land Rover or Lord Lambton’s Morgan and give pursuit. But when I checked in the rear view mirror, they were just standing there, observing my departure with a look of annoyed resignation on their faces.
I had done it. I had escaped.
So I naively thought at the time.
XXIX
Ten minutes later, I pulled up outside the village shop with a screech of brakes. I turned off the engine, got out and locked the door, just to be sure, even though the street appeared empty.
The sign inside the glass-panelled door of the shop still read “Closed” so I went to the back of the house, determined to persuade Catrin to come with me, hoping that in the time we had been apart she had come to her senses.
As I rounded the back of the house, a knot of ice formed in the pit of my stomach and my racing steps slowed. The back door was wide open.
I had shut it when I left; I had heard it slam behind me quite distinctly. I was sure of it.
I did not stop, but continued my approach with greater caution, eyes and ears straining for any clues as to what might have happened - what might still be going on - whilst trying not to imagine all the terrible things that might have already taken place, and failing abysmally.
Entering the back room where we had first begun to undress each other, I shot anxious glances into every corner, dreading what I might see. But there was nothing out of the ordinary.
A kitsch carriage clock marked off the passing seconds on the mantelpiece above a fake coal-effect gas fire, its ticking deadened by the eerie silence.
I crossed the room to the stairs, still listening intently for any indication that I was not alone.
“Catrin?” I called, my concern for her safety finally overcoming my fear of giving myself away.
There was no reply. Nor was there any sound of movement from any other part of the house.
“Catrin, are you there? Are you all right?” I called up the stairs, louder this time, though I was already certain the place was deserted.
Moving away from the stairs I hastily checked the other rooms on the ground floor – the small kitchen, a downstairs loo, the shop at the front of the building, a storeroom-cum-corridor off the back of the shop – but the place really was deserted.
Then another thought struck me. Perhaps she was lying upstairs somewhere, hurt.
I raced up the stairs to the bedroom where only hours before we had made humped like rabbits. The dreamcatcher spun lazily in the breeze from a hook screwed into one of the exposed beams.
The bed was still as we had left it after our love-making: the sheets crumpled, the covers in a heap on the floor.
But something was different. Catrin’s jeans, jumper and bra were gone from the floor.
I quickly checked the bathroom and another bedroom – which had clearly been her grandmother’s – but it was just as clear that Catrin wasn’t there.
Downstairs again, I returned to the back door. On a shelf inside the porch, a bunch of keys lay on a plate.
Why would Catrin leave without taking her keys?
It was horribly clear to me now that Catrin hadn’t left of her own accord, but had been taken under duress.
I knew who had taken her, and I knew where they had taken her to.
XXX
Faced with the sudden, cold reality of the situation, I stopped and thought. This was no time to go rushing off half-cocked and make a mess of things. God alone knew – although, as it turned out, some gods knew very well – w
hat I would be confronted with when I caught up with Catrin and her kidnappers. The gamekeeper and his gun could well be the least of my problems. No, I needed to go prepared.
I was used to working out how events might pan out, from plotting my novels; it was time to apply those skills to my own story.
A quick search of the house and shop furnished me with a heavy-handled kitchen knife that looked more like a dagger than something you’d use to prepare the evening’s dinner, a packet of lighters, some matches – just to be sure – a few bottles of cheap brandy, a can of lighter fluid and some dishcloths.
I decided that a little time spent in preparation would pay dividends later, and so I took the time to open the bottles of brandy, emptied half the contents out of each, topping them up again with lighter fluid, and stuck a dishcloth tightly into the neck of each bottle.
Back in the car, I emptied the contents of my laptop bag onto the back seat and loaded it with the items from the shop, taking care to keep the bottles upright.
The village was eerily quiet as I turned the key in the ignition and set off for Lambton Castle once more, but I wasn’t entirely surprised. All the more reason to get a move on.
Briefly, I again considered contacting the police, but then I recalled what Catrin had said. After seeing what I’d seen, and all that had transpired since, I decided that on this point she knew best.
What she didn’t know was that just as she had implied she was prepared to sacrifice herself to ensure my safety, I was prepared to do the same for her.
XXXI
Dusk’s purple shroud had fallen by the time I pulled up half way along the drive that led to Lambton Castle, just across the bridge over the Wear and not half a mile from the house.
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