Black Valley

by Williams, Charlotte

  ‘It was a pleasure.’ Jess spoke with sincerity, but she kept her tone formal, gently removing her hand.

  ‘Let me introduce you.’ Elinor turned to her brother-in-law. ‘Blake, this is Jessica Mayhew. Jessica, Blake Thomas.’

  Blake put out his hand, and gave her a broad smile, showing rows of straight white teeth. Close up, he was remarkably good-looking, with that striking black hair and dark eyes one often sees in Wales. There was a faint trace of Swansea in his accent, à la Richard Burton, which only added to his appeal.

  They shook hands. Blake’s grasp was firm, confident. It’s definitely him, Jess thought. The man on the green. No doubt about it. And now that she saw his handsome face up close, she could see why he had reason to swagger.

  ‘Dr Mayhew, I should say,’ Elinor went on. ‘She’s my therapist.’

  As Elinor spoke, Jess felt his hand go limp in hers for a second. She looked up, and saw the colour drain from his face. Then he recovered himself.

  ‘Good to meet you, Dr Mayhew.’ He withdrew his hand. She noticed that it was shaking slightly.

  ‘And you. Lovely party.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He ran a hand through his hair, as if exhausted by the strain of the evening. Then, rather abruptly, he turned to the next person in the queue, who was waiting to say goodbye.

  ‘See you next week, then.’ Elinor spoke in a low voice.

  Jess nodded in response. Then she turned and walked quickly to the doorway, where Mari was waiting for her.

  8

  The following Tuesday, after seeing two clients, Jessica went over to the deli, bought herself a cappuccino, and came back to the consulting rooms. Her next client of the day was Elinor Powell, and she wanted to reflect on the case for a few minutes before she arrived.

  She sat down in her armchair and looked up at the white relief on the opposite wall. The circle in the centre of it gauged her mood: if she was upset, it vibrated slightly against the white square behind it; if not, it sat quietly, glowing rather than throbbing. Today it was motionless. She was encouraged by that; she might be struggling to keep up these days, both at work and at home, but at least she was in a reasonably calm frame of mind.

  She leaned back in her chair, casting her mind back to when she’d last seen Elinor. It was perhaps unfortunate that they’d met at the party, but Cardiff was a small place, and bumping into clients was par for the course for any psychotherapist practising in the city. Indeed, Jess often reminded herself that, in the early days of psychoanalysis, Freud himself had been very casual about such informal social encounters; he regularly took his patients out to tea, visited their relatives, wrote letters to their friends, and so on. The idea that therapy should – or could – take place entirely within a bubble, hermetically sealed off from the outside world, was a modern invention.

  No, Jess mused, there was nothing disastrous about seeing Elinor briefly in her own milieu; indeed, it had been enlightening, in many ways. But it did break into the ‘frame’ of the therapeutic encounter – the setting of a secure, confidential environment with boundaries and ground rules – so she’d need to bear that in mind during the upcoming session.

  Clearly, the twin issue was deeply significant. The fact that, as it turned out, Elinor was a twin made all the difference to her psychological make-up, and might well have been a factor in triggering her claustrophobia. But why hadn’t Elinor told her about it? Possibly because she took Isobel so much for granted that she didn’t realize the information was significant. As one of Jess’s former clients had remarked, ‘being a twin is like being in a marriage from the day you are born, without knowing you’re in it’. The twins’ relationship may have been suffocatingly close, and perhaps the sudden death of their mother had exacerbated the problem, at least for Elinor, pushing her into acute claustrophobia.

  Jess moved her gaze from the white relief to the window. It was open just a crack, in readiness for Elinor’s session. The weather was still cold, and she could feel a draught coming in from it again.

  She furrowed her brow, remembering Freud’s dictum that neuroses always have an unconscious purpose. What was the hidden purpose of Elinor’s claustrophobia? Perhaps, after the loss of their mother, to express a symbolic need to resume her stifling relationship with her twin; or, more pragmatically, to draw Isobel away from Blake, bring her back by her side, to look after her as a kind of surrogate mother.

  Which raised the question of Blake’s role in Elinor’s life. Elinor had voiced her doubts about him in the therapy, but initially Jess had been sceptical, reasoning that she was bound to feel some resentment towards him as her sister’s husband, especially as she herself wasn’t married. Yet Blake’s behaviour at the party had, in actual fact, been rather suspicious: when Elinor had introduced her as her therapist, he’d seemed thoroughly rattled. Maybe he did have something to hide, after all.

  And what about Blake and Elinor’s body language at the party, towards the end, when Isobel had left? While not overtly amorous, it had revealed an intimate, if not necessarily sexual, connection between them. If Elinor was indeed betraying Isobel by having a secret affair with Blake, or at least some kind of complex dalliance, she could well be projecting her guilt about that onto Blake, blaming him for her mother’s death, and becoming more and more troubled herself in the process . . .

  There was a knock at the door.

  Jess realized that she hadn’t left it ajar, as she usually did before Elinor’s session, and hurried over.

  She opened the door. Elinor stood outside, dressed only in a thin T-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes. Her face was milky white, and she was shivering.

  ‘You look frozen. Come in.’

  ‘I can’t.’ There was a vein throbbing at Elinor’s temple, the blue visible beneath her translucent skin. ‘I just don’t feel too good today.’

  ‘OK.’ Jess made a snap decision, disturbed by Elinor’s appearance. ‘Let’s go and do the session in the park. I’ll get my coat.’

  She went over to the hat stand, grabbed her bag, and put on her coat – the green tweed. Then she picked up the baggy woollen cardigan she’d kept in the office for Frank’s session, and a thick, knitted scarf of Rose’s that she’d borrowed one chilly morning, and brought them out to Elinor.

  Elinor took the cardigan, quite meekly, and donned it, buttoning it up at the front. It came down to her knees. Then she wrapped the scarf around her neck. She looked like a child, wrapped up by its mother for a winter walk.

  Jess got out her keys and locked the door. Then they set off down the stairs.

  ‘What happened to your mac?’

  ‘It got wet.’ Elinor didn’t offer any further explanation.

  Jess was concerned. Elinor’s condition seemed to have deteriorated markedly since their last encounter; she was neglectful of her appearance, to the point where she wasn’t even bothering to dress properly for the weather, and she seemed unable to stand being indoors for even a moment, let alone a fifty-minute session in the consulting room.

  They walked down Cathedral Road, towards the Llandaff Fields. There was a bench by the river there where Jess often went to sit and watch the water birds, and to think. She’d take Elinor there, she decided. It was a calm spot, and few people passed by, except for the odd cyclist or dog walker.

  They didn’t talk as they walked – Elinor was too tense to make conversation. On the way, she had an attack of nerves and needed to pee, so they had to stop at the public toilets. She was anxious about going, afraid that she might get locked in, and Jess had to reassure her she’d be waiting right outside if anything went wrong. When she emerged, they walked on quickly to the riverside.

  They found the bench, and sat down. It was a grey, misty day, and there was little activity in the river, except for a few ducks dabbling in the shallows.

  ‘So.’ Jess settled herself on the bench. ‘Tell me what’s happened.’

  Elinor sat beside her, her body inclined slightly towards Jess, with a gap between them. ‘It’s j
ust the pressure, I think. It’s been building up. First there was the private view, which stressed us all out, and then yesterday Blake was taken in for questioning.’ She paused. ‘This policewoman just won’t give up.’

  ‘The same one as before?’

  Elinor nodded. ‘DS Lauren Bonetti, her name is.’

  The name was familiar. Jess had come across DS Bonetti in connection with another of her patients a while back. She’d taken a bit of a shine to her, in fact. She was a bright, inquisitive woman who pursued a case until she found out the truth, Jess knew. She’d respected her for that, and had felt a certain kinship with her.

  ‘As far as I can see, the investigation has been dropped by the rest of the team. They think the thief killed Ursula by accident, in the course of carrying out a robbery. They have no leads, they haven’t come up with any evidence, and they’ve left it at that. But Bonetti isn’t satisfied. She seems to suspect that Blake had something to do with it all.’ Elinor paused. ‘She gave him a pretty hard time, apparently. She’d been to see Mia, Blake’s business partner, in London and found that their stories didn’t match up. She’d checked their schedules, got hold of all sorts of little details – train times, and so on. In the end, he confessed that he hadn’t been with Mia at all. He said he’d been visiting Hefin Morris, and he hadn’t told her because Hefin wanted to keep it a secret. She asked where they’d met, and he said at a service station up in the valleys. So now she’s checking that out.’ Her voice began to tremble. ‘They let him go, but I expect they’ll want to speak to him again. Isobel’s terribly upset.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  Elinor nodded. ‘She’s been in such a state ever since Ma died.’ Jess noticed that now Elinor was able to call a spade a spade, without any evasions. ‘She had to leave the party early the other night – she just couldn’t cope with it all.’ Elinor paused. ‘I worry about her. She seems very introverted at the moment. She won’t talk to me at all about any of it, not properly.’

  Jess gazed out at the river. A cormorant landed on a rock, further towards the middle, where the water was deep.

  ‘Perhaps she’s not ready yet.’

  ‘We used to talk about everything, though.’ There was a note of sadness in Elinor’s voice. Then she fell silent, following Jess’s gaze.

  ‘You know, I really don’t think you ever told me you had a twin,’ Jess said, breaking the silence at last.

  Elinor frowned. ‘Well, I suppose that’s because I don’t really think of myself as a twin any more. Isobel and I used to be very close, when we were growing up. Inseparable, actually. Even when we left school, we went up to London together, shared a flat, went to Goldsmiths, took the same painting course. She had a very different style from mine. Her paintings were always big and abstract, while mine were small and figurative. The tutors liked her work, and she was seen as an up-and-coming talent. But then when Pa got ill, she dropped out to help him run the gallery. That’s how she met Blake . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

  They watched as the cormorant dipped to catch a fish, but came up with its beak empty.

  ‘After she married him, she stopped taking an interest in me,’ Elinor continued. ‘Little by little, we began to see less of each other. Blake was nice enough to me, but they never included me in their life together. They never invited me to go on holiday with them or anything.’

  Jess couldn’t see why a married couple would invite a sibling along on holiday, but she didn’t say so.

  ‘And it’s been like that ever since. Isobel virtually never gets in touch, unless she needs something. It’s all about Blake now. Blake this, Blake that. I get sick of hearing about how bloody marvellous he is sometimes.’

  Again, Jess found Elinor’s attitude surprising. Obviously a married woman would be more interested in her husband’s doings than her sister’s. But Elinor didn’t seem to understand that.

  ‘I feel totally excluded from their relationship, to be honest,’ Elinor went on. ‘It really upsets me.’

  Jess was puzzled. She pictured Elinor at the exhibition, after Isobel had left, lolling her head against Blake’s shoulder. Elinor’s complaint didn’t seem to tally with what she’d seen that night.

  ‘He’s been good to me, though.’ Elinor spoke as if in answer to her thoughts. ‘Very supportive of my work.’ She paused. ‘But I have to say, I don’t trust him an inch. He’s completely ruthless. Incredibly ambitious. Couldn’t you see that, when you met him?’

  Jess shrugged non-committally, although she knew what Elinor meant. Blake was an alpha male, no doubt about it: good-looking, confident, and with a general air of entitlement. But that didn’t necessarily make him ruthless.

  Elinor lowered her voice, although there was no one in the vicinity. ‘I think he paid someone to come in and steal my painting. Had my mother not been there, it would have been an easy job. The place wasn’t alarmed, he knew that, and the lock on the door was a cinch to pick – the police told me. I expect he thought his hired hand could slip in, nick it, and slip out again without too much trouble.’ She paused. ‘But then Ma caught the thief red-handed, and he panicked. That’s where it all went wrong.’

  Jess was taken aback. ‘This is quite a serious allegation, Elinor. Don’t you think you should talk to DS Bonetti?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She paused. ‘Isobel would be furious with me if I did. And I can’t be sure, of course. But I wouldn’t put it past him. After all, it would be easy enough for him to get rid of a Gwen John – he’s got connections all over the world. There are lots of collectors who buy stolen work and keep it for private viewing.’

  Jess was silent, unsure what to say. She wondered whether Elinor was slipping into paranoia, or whether she really did have cause to suspect her brother-in-law of setting up the break-in. If the latter were the case, she really ought to persuade her to talk to Bonetti. But for now, it was unclear whether Elinor’s suspicions had any basis in reality. She’d have to wait and see what transpired.

  ‘The other thing is, he doesn’t like me being in therapy. Not one little bit.’ Elinor lowered her voice again. ‘He’s been trying to stop me coming, actually. I think he’s worried about what I might be telling you here. About him.’

  Jess remembered the colour draining from Blake’s face when they were introduced, and his hand going limp in hers.

  ‘Well, he’s not in a position to tell you what to do, is he?’

  Elinor didn’t reply.

  Jess tried again. ‘Do you want to continue therapy?’

  Elinor nodded. ‘Very much so, in the long term.’ She gave a sigh. ‘But right now, I think I need a break. It’s all getting too much for me. I need to get away from Cardiff. From him. From Isobel too, actually. And that bloody policewoman.’

  There was a silence. They both looked out at the river again.

  ‘There’s this place I know, up in the Black Mountains.’ Elinor’s voice dropped. She seemed almost to be talking to herself. ‘It’s right in the middle of nowhere, very wild. I thought I might go up and camp there for a little while.’

  Jess was alarmed. Elinor appeared to be in such a fragile state of mind. And the weather was so cold. She seemed barely capable of dressing herself properly for a chilly day in the city, let alone a night outdoors on a windy Welsh mountainside.

  ‘Don’t you think it’ll be a bit nippy for camping?’ Jess did her best not to show her consternation, though inwardly she was beginning to doubt Elinor’s sanity.

  ‘I’ve done it before at this time of year. There are a few farms around, barns I can sleep in. It won’t be a problem.’

  ‘But won’t you be lonely on your own?’

  ‘Of course not. That’s why I’m going there. To be on my own. I like it.’

  ‘So whereabouts do you camp?’ Jess didn’t want to pry, but she felt genuinely concerned for Elinor’s safety.

  ‘Cwm Du.’ Elinor’s voice was almost a whisper, as if she were giving away a secret. ‘It’s not far away. It jus
t seems it.’

  Jess had heard of Cwm Du. Black Valley, in English. She’d never been there, but she’d heard it was wild, beautiful, and gloriously unspoilt. She’d often thought of visiting – it was only an hour or so’s drive away from Cardiff – but she’d never got around to it.

  ‘There’s a place there where I go to pray, not that I’m religious in the usual sense. It’s a tiny church in a little hamlet. I find it very calming there.’ There was a pause, and then an anxious look came over her face. ‘Could you keep my session open for me while I’m away? I can pay you, of course.’

  ‘I’m sure we can sort something out.’ Jess wondered how she could possibly dissuade Elinor from her camping trip. She couldn’t stop her going off, yet she felt most uneasy about it. Especially as Blake seemed to have been pressurizing Elinor to quit therapy.

  ‘I hope this is your own decision?’ Jess’s tone was tentative. Something else struck her. Could Elinor be placing herself in serious danger here, not just from the elements but from her brother-in-law? If Blake really did have something to hide, then who was to say he wouldn’t come after Elinor? It was situations like this that any therapist dreaded. There was no solid evidence that a crime was about to be committed – in that case she could legitimately inform the police – but still, the thought of Elinor alone in Black Valley scared her. She wondered if she shouldn’t at the very least consider having a quiet word with Lauren Bonetti, tell her what she knew of Elinor’s plans. There again, it was against her professional ethics to interfere in her clients’ private lives.

  ‘Yes. Absolutely. I need to clear my head.’ Elinor’s resolve was firm. ‘It won’t be for long. Just a few days, I think.’

  Evidently, Elinor’s mind was made up. She might seem vulnerable, but she could also be very headstrong, like a child. There was a toughness to her, Jess reflected, an imperviousness to discomfort that would perhaps help her survive the elements out at Cwm Du. All the same . . .

  Silence descended. They both gazed out at the river. The cormorant dived again, once more to no avail.