Sara Craven - Summer of the Raven

by Summer of the Raven (lit)

  She went through to the kitchen. At least she could restore some order there--do the inevitable washing up which Antonia would have left for her. She pushed open the door and went in.

  Carne was sitting at the table, a pot of coffee and a plate in front of him.

  'Welcome home,' he said sardonically. 'Can I offer you a drink and a cheese sandwich?'

  He was smiling a little, but that didn't fool her. Under­neath there was anger.

  She said, faltering a little, 'I'm sorry. If you'd let us know, I'd have made sure there was a meal for you.'

  'Where's Antonia?'

  'I don't know.' She looked straight at him, and saw his brows lift sceptically. 'You don't believe me.'

  He shrugged. His eyes held hers. 'Give me one good reason why I should.'

  She tried to smile, to lighten the odd atmosphere sur­rounding them. 'I-I can't think of any.'

  'That's what I thought,' he drawled. He picked up his cup and drained it. 'Sure I can't offer you a cup of this delicious brew?'

  She shook her head. 'I-I don't want anything.'

  'I'm not sure I blame you,' he said slowly, his eyes going round the kitchen, lingering on the littered untidy surfaces, and the smears of grease on the sink and cooker. His mouth curled in distaste. 'There are two of you in the house,' he said with icy precision. 'Surely between you, you can make a better job of it than this. The rest of the place is no different, with the exception of my studio, and your bed­room, because I've looked.'

  'You've been in my bedroom?' She looked at him indig­nantly.

  'The arrangement was that you should keep out of mine,' he reminded her. 'Besides, it isn't the first time, or had you forgotten?'

  Her glance fell away. 'No, I hadn't forgotten,' she said in a subdued voice.

  There was a silence, then Carne asked, 'Who does the typewriter belong to?'

  'It's mine. I brought it with me.' Rowan moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. 'I-I bought it with the money you gave Antonia for me--before we ever came here. I hope you don't mind.

  'Do you use it much?' The silver eyes were fixed intently on her face. 'I don't recall noticing it before, but then my mind was on other things.'

  She said, 'I try to write short stories. I haven't done much lately because I've been so busy.' She saw his derisive smile, and her voice rose defensively. 'I work long hours at the pottery, and I've been visiting Sybilla each evening. It doesn't leave a great deal of time for other things.' She flushed suddenly as she saw the mockery in his eyes and realised she had used the same words as he had done. 'And I didn't mean that,' she added bitingly.

  'I'm relieved to hear it.' He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head; making her only too aware of the lean muscular length of his body. 'So--what do you write when you have the time? School stories? Tales of derring-do for tiny tots?'

  Rowan's flush deepened. 'Just-stories,' she said lamely, then, fired by the growing amusement in his face, 'Well-love stories, if you must know.'

  'How very precocious of you, Rowan,' he said lightly. 'You must have a vivid imagination, my child. Perhaps I should have read what was in the typewriter, after all. I might have learned something about you.'

  Her heart was hammering unsteadily. 'I don't think there's a great deal to learn,' she answered at last, and his mouth twisted.

  'You think not? Well, you should know.' He stood up, scraping the chair across the floor, and the sound made her flinch. He stretched lazily, then held out a commanding hand to her. 'Let's turn our backs on this mess for a while. I'll take you for a walk on the fell.'

  'Now?' She was taken aback.

  'Why not?'

  For every reason there is, she thought feverishly as her mind searched for one that she could say aloud without betraying too much of herself.

  'You-you said I wasn't to go on the fell without proper equipment-proper clothes. I still don't have them.'

  'I'm proposing a short stroll, not a ten-mile hike,' Carne drawled. 'The weather's good, and even if it changes, I can undertake to get you back to the house in one piece. I made the rule because I didn't want you wandering off by your­self and getting lost, but now I'm breaking it because I'll be with you, and there'll be no danger. So come on! He held out his hand again, and when she made no move to join him, his face darkened. 'It isn't an invitation, Rowan, it's an order. I need some company. I've had enough of my own for one day.'

  'And I'm all that's available,' she could not repress the bitterness in her voice.

  He shrugged, his face enigmatic. 'If that's how you want to look at it. However it is, you're coming with me. And· don't tell me you couldn't do with some air and sunlight. You're far too pale. You always were.'

  And walking beside you in the sunlight won't change a thing, she wanted to cry out in passionate response. It's torment to me. Surely you see that? Surely you under­stand? But she said nothing, and the silence began to stretch between them. Carne moved suddenly, and she was afraid he was going to take hold of her, force her to go with him, and the thought of his touch, however casual, was enough to make her body go weak. She walked forward past him, and out of the kitchen door into the sunlit garden, and after ­a pause he followed her. She tried to keep a space between them, without distancing herself too obviously. They moved in silence until they reached the gate that led out on to the fell, and Carne said curtly, 'Let me do it,' as Rowan went to open it. She moved back quickly, almost snatching her hand away, and he gave her a long ironic look which brought the colour surging into her face. She wouldn't have been surprised if he had suggested they called it a day and went back to the house, but he held the gate open for her silently, and she went through it and out on to the hillside.

  Trees grew down almost to the boundary wall of the· garden and a few steps took her amongst them, her feet moving over grass and moss. It was cool and green and sheltered there, and the air had a damp freshness which she breathed deeply. There was a track of sorts, winding upwards quite steeply, and she slowed her pace deliber­ately, saving her breath for the climb ahead.

  It was like walking through some dim green cloister, and the silence enfolded her, so much so that she started when a blackbird flew up out of a bush just ahead of her, trumpet­ing its alarm call.

  At a point just ahead of them a tree had fallen, its broad trunk blocking the track. Carne swung himself over it effortlessly, and turned to help her, but she ignored his outstretched hand, reaching instead for an overhanging branch as she scrambled across the obstruction. He was watching her, his eyes narrowed, as she dropped to the ground.

  He said suddenly, 'That dryad painting could work very well. Sure you won't sit for me?'

  For a moment Rowan gaped at him, then she said stiffly, 'I'm quite sure. But I'm sure you could find plenty of other models.'

  'How very true,' he said wryly. 'But not for this par­ticular setting. It demands an elfin quality, which you have. Did you know your hair blazes like a chestnut when the sun catches it?'

  'No,' she said baldly. 'Nor am I particularly interested.'

  'Very refreshing,' he said laconically. 'A lot of girls your age are fascinated by their appearance to the exclusion of everything else. But not you. You write, and you cook, and you sell pots. What other secrets and hidden talents do you possess, I wonder?'

  'Not a thing,' she assured him tightly. 'And I really don't like this sort of personal conversation.'

  'Private ground. No trespassers,' he said softly. 'Why, Rowan, you change fairy tales ever time I see you. Now, you're the girl asleep behind the thorn hedge, only I hope you don't intend to remain there for a hundred years.'

  'If I did, at least people would stop tormenting me,' she said wearily.

  'Is that what I do? Would you prefer me to be kind? The trouble is our ideas on what constitutes kindness might not coincide.'

  'And cruelty is so much easier, isn't it?' she flashed. 'I think you could find a worthier target for your edged remarks.'

  'Y
ou think I'm cruel.' He frowned a little. 'Yet some people would tell you I haven't even started yet.'

  'Then God help some people,' she retorted. She felt perilously close to tears. 'I think I've walked far enough.'

  'Chickening out?' He stared at her. 'You really don't like to be alone with me, do you, Rowan?'

  She shrugged defensively. 'Is it any wonder?'

  'Perhaps not.' His tone was weary. 'Would it ease the situation if I told you that I have no ulterior motive?' That I've seen the error of my ways, if you want to put it like that. It's unfair to pressure you or to make demands on you that you're not old enough or mature enough to handle.'

  'Thank you,' she said rather bitterly.

  'Oh, for God's sake! You can't have it both ways.' His tone bit at her. 'I'm frankly not used to your peculiar child­woman combination-and I mean peculiar to you. By standing back, I'm trying to do us both a favour, because there’s no future in it, Rowan, not for a man of my age and a girl of yours.'

  She heard him with a kind of inner agony she had to suppress at all costs. She wanted to fling herself into his arms, to tell him she could manage without the future as long as there was now-that as long as what was between them was allowed to exist, it didn't matter that it couldn't last. But she held back because he might reject her, and that she would not be able to bear. This pain would pass as it had to, and there might even come a time when she would be able to remember this strange summer with a kind of tranquillity. But if she offered herself, and Carne refused, even if it was out of kindness, then there would be no peace.

  She said stonily, 'You take a hell of a lot for granted. As it happens, my plans don't include you either.'

  She didn't look at him, but just walked forward through the trees without waiting to see if he followed or not. But he was there, his hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him.

  'What plans are you talking about?'

  'Nothing that need concern you.'

  'Of course I'm concerned,' he said sharply. 'Can't you get it into your head that while you're under my roof, I'm responsible for you?'

  'But I don't want you to be.' That much was the truth anyway. 'I can do without a father figure in my life-and if I needed one, he wouldn't be you anyway. Nor do I particularly want to be "under your roof". It wasn't my idea ever, believe me.'

  'I think I do,' said Carne in an odd voice. 'So whose roof do you want to be under? The Listers? Do these nebulous plans of yours involve young David, by any chance?'

  Rowan grasped at the implication as if it were a lifeline. 'I like David. Why shouldn't I? He is my age, after all.'

  'I suspect he'll never be your age,' he said smoothly. 'Go easy on him, Rowan. He's led a comparatively sheltered life. You may be an overwhelming surprise for him.'

  'You'd better ask him that tomorrow.'

  'Is that a subtle way of telling me you're seeing him tonight?'

  'Yes-he's taking me to the disco at Arnthwaite. Or should I have asked permission first?'

  Carne was very still suddenly. 'No, you've made your views on that quite clear. I assume that you've cleared it with your stepmother. You wouldn't deny her some right to intervene in your affairs.'

  No, she couldn’t deny that, she thought, and a total disaster Antonia's intervention had proved.

  She said quietly, 'Antonia has no objection.'

  'Then there's no problem,' he said. 'And now shall we admire the view, which was the purpose of the exercise in the first place.'

  They had emerged from the shelter of the trees on to a small plateau. Above them, the fell soared away-grey rocks streaked with lichen and scree, wild and desolate. To the right, a small waterfall edged its way between boulders worn smooth by its passing. Over to the left, the ground fell away and Rowan found she was looking out over the valley. Basically, she supposed it was the same view that Carne had built his house to enjoy, but because they were now so much higher, it was even more spectacular, and today the air was clear so that she felt she could see to the ends of the earth.

  The encircling mountains seemed to crouch like stone animals basking in the late sunlight, and far below Ravens­mere lay in its hollow like a small blue handkerchief that someone had carelessly let fall to the ground.

  A movement caught her eye and she turned her head sharply, just in time to see a large blue black bird launch itself into the air and sweep down towards the valley with a harsh cry which seemed to linger on the air, echoing the rawness she felt inside.

  'Did it startle you?' Carne was at her side, and she was suddenly aware of the steepness of the ground. One false move and she could be sent tumbling and twisting to lie eventually-where? She swallowed, and the temptation to / turn to him, to take his hand, to rely on the strength that she knew instinctively he was offering was almost over­whelming. Almost, but not quite, because what would it be but another false move among so many, and although her bones would be left intact, she thought her heart would break.

  'A little.' She tried to steady her voice. 'What was it-a crow?'

  'Hardly,' he said drily. 'Raven's Crag isn't just a name, you know. There are whole families of ravens up here. It's the end of the breeding season now, and most of the young ones will have learned to fly. That one just then was an older bird-probably a parent giving us a word of warning not to trespass too closely.'

  'Oh-I wish I'd caught a closer look. The only ravens I've ever seen were at the Tower of London, and there they look like sleek City gents.'

  'Yes, they do rather.' His tone was amused, and percep­tibly the tension between them relaxed a little. 'And yet the original birds were far from civilised. Legend says that they went to the Tower to guard the head of one of the mythical Celtic kings which is buried there. And of course it was ravens that fed the god- Odin as he hung on the Tree of Knowledge trying to acquire wisdom.'

  'And they fed Elijah too, didn't they?' Memories of Sunday school stories returned to Rowan. She smiled. 'I wonder if they'd feed stranded hikers, lost up here in the mist.'

  'I doubt it very much, so I advise you not to test it out. But they're interesting birds. Last spring when I was here, I spent hours watching them, and their courtship rituals are really something to see. The males put on an aerobatic display which would put the Red Arrows to shame, while the females sit around pretending to be bored out of their skulls.' He grinned. 'It makes them seem almost human.' He paused. 'Keep an eye open at your disco tonight, Rowan, and see if I'm not right.'

  'Yes, I will,' she agreed, but the constraint had returned. 'I-I ought to be getting back to the house. I have to change and . . .'

  'Fine.' His tone was cool again. 'Can you find your own way down? I'll stay here for a while.'

  'Yes, of course.' Rowan turned away, trying not to appear to be hurrying, but afraid to linger at the same time. As she reached the trees, she ventured a glance back. Carne was standing where she had left him, staring out over the valley. He was so still that he seemed to have become part of the rock around him, and there was a loneliness about him which tore at her, but with a little smothered sob she turned back and went on down through the trees towards the house.

  Staring at herself in the mirror, Rowan decided that the green dress was a great success. The only pity was that she had not the slightest desire to go to the disco with David, or anywhere else for that matter. She picked up the lip gloss and applied it with care, wishing there was some miracle cosmetic which could banish the downward curve of her mouth and the look of strain in her eyes. She sighed. No amount of gloss and sheen could camouflage the hunger within her, and she could only hope that David's percep­tions were not sufficiently developed for him to notice.

  The door from the adjoining bathroom opened abruptly and Antonia came in. Rowan looked at her in mild sur­prise. Her stepmother hadn't sought her out in this way for some time. She supposed Antonia wanted her to prepare a meal for Carne. Certainly she wanted something, Rowan knew of old that rather wary look in her eyes, and the tightness around her mouth
.

  'Going out?' Antonia sat down on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette.

  'Yes,' Rowan returned evenly. 'But you don't have to worry. There's masses of food in the freezer and . . .'

  'Why on earth should I be worried about food? Good God, Rowan, you have the most prosaic mind! No­-rather I wanted you to do me a small favour.'

  Rowan sighed. 'I thought you might-but I'm going out very soon, Antonia. I haven't time to . . .'

  'I don't mean exactly at this moment.' Antonia's voice was impatient. 'You could do this at any time, although it would be best if it were sooner rather than later. The thing is--' she hesitated, then said on a little rush-'I need to borrow some money-and you must have some, Rowan. You've been squirrelling away your wages from that pot­tery, and you can hardly have touched your allowance. You haven't bought anything except that rag you're wear­ing, and that can't have cost a fortune.'

  'You have such winning ways, Antonia.' Rowan swung round and faced her stepmother, and Antonia had the grace to flush a little, flicking a sliver of ash on to the carpet.

  'Well, it's hardly my sort of thing, darling.' She was making a clear effort to be placatory. She too was wearing green-the softest of tweed skirts and a bloused suede jacket, and she looked down at herself with faint com­placencyas she spoke, smoothing an imaginary crease from the immaculately cut skirt. 'But we won't argue about our respective tastes in clothes,' she added hastily. 'The thing is can you help me out?'

  'Just like that?' Rowan's mouth had a wry twist. 'What's gone wrong, Antonia? Why do you suddenly need money? You have your allowance too.'

  'That!' Antonia said derisively. 'My God, there's hardly anything left. I had to have new clothes. None of my London stuff would do in this backwater.'

  'Well, the next quarter's will be due very soon. Surely you can hold out until then.' Rowan was irritated. 'What­ever it is you’ve seen, they'll probably keep it for you if you give them a deposit. What is it this time--another dress?'

  'What? No, nothing like that.' Antonia hesitated, staring at the glowing tip of her cigarette. 'If you must know, I owe some people some money. I thought I'd be able to repay them, but it hasn't worked out like that, and the whole thing is getting to be the most ghastly embarrassment.'