by Unknown
He was lost; demented with desire, he thrust her down and took her savagely. It was more like an act of revenge than of love. As he drove into her, he cursed and swore, loathing himself and her, while Margot lay serenely on her back, eyes closed, lips parted, with a half smile on her angelic face. When it was over, he saw to his horror that her thighs were covered in blood. She had not uttered a sound, much less cried out. Overwhelmed with remorse and guilt he asked himself again and again – what had he done? What had he done?
During the tortured weeks that followed he tried everything he could to stay away from her, but there were few places to hide on the estate, and she always succeeded in tracking him down. Although she made it more than obvious what she wanted, he refused to go with her again.
‘Don’t you love me anymore?’
He told her he could never touch her again, and that he was bitterly ashamed of himself. It was a clumsy and insensitive rebuff, and he knew it. At that moment she became like a child again. ‘Must I be ashamed too?’ That only made him feel worse, for it was not her who should feel ashamed. His lust had perverted a near child’s romantic dream of love. He reported sick, then after a few days, returned to the gardens to look for her.
She was waiting for him on “their” bench. Determined to say what had to be said, he sat beside her, but before he could utter a word she was kissing him passionately, her fingers thrusting between his legs. Scarcely knowing what he was doing, he grabbed her and threw her from him savagely. She fell back, hit her head on the lawn and lay there, not moving, eyes closed. For one terrible moment he thought he had killed her. The panic rose in his throat, choking him, his mouth gaped as he gasped for air like a drowning man. A sharp pain gouged his head and he cried out in agony. Margot opened one eye, then the other. Slyly she grinned at him. He stared down at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. ‘I keep thinking you’re an innocent child. But you’re not, are you?’
‘Am I not, Tom? What am I then?’
For a second his face was distorted by hatred and contempt. ‘You’re a monster!’
Margot sat up, her face expressionless. Smoothing down her dress, she nodded her head several times in a knowing way, as if nothing in the world could ever surprise her. She stood and looked at him as she had never looked at him before, her scrutiny thoughtful and frightening in its detachment. This was not his Margot, this girl who walked away and never once looked back.
Never would Igraine forget the sight of Margot, dishevelled, dress torn, face scratched, moaning pitifully and tearing at her hair as though demented. That such a thing could happen to her angelic daughter was beyond her comprehension. Uther fired Tom on the spot. That, he made clear to Igraine, was the end of the incident as far as he was concerned.
‘Incident! It was rape! We must call the police. The man’s a pervert, a paedophile. If he’s not punished, he’ll do it to someone else’s child.’
Uther shook his head. ‘Drop it, Igraine. Do you really want your child to go through the trauma of cross-examination by the police, and then court proceedings with all that sick publicity? Our first duty is to protect Margot.’
Igraine knew Uther was right, though for all the wrong reasons. “Your child”, he had called her, not “our child”. Nothing could be clearer. He didn’t see it as his problem. And yet it was hardly surprising, for this was the man who could sacrifice his own son on the altar of his ambition. Why should he hesitate to do the same thing to his step-daughter? Protect Margot, indeed! She knew exactly who Uther was protecting. ‘It’s your bloody career you’re thinking about.’
‘What if I am? I’m trying to claw my way up from the back benches. The last thing I need is a scandal.’
‘Margot has done nothing wrong. She is the victim. So are we. How could anyone make a scandal out of that?’
‘Easily. Imagine the sanctimonious claptrap, the media’s moral censure – the parents who allowed their beautiful young daughter to spend her days with a hot-blooded gardener! They’d say we were either indifferent to Margot’s wellbeing or unbelievably naïve. Either way they’d condemn us.’
‘If we don’t call in the police, Margot will think we don’t believe her story. It’s important she knows where we stand.’
Uther nodded. He knew what he had to do. ‘You are right, duchess,’ he said, ‘absolutely right. I’ll have a chat with her.’
Uther stood by the library window with his back to Margot. ‘Good gardeners are hard to find,’ he said, directing his words at the ornamental gardens.
‘You don’t give a shit what he did to me, do you?’ She spat the words at him.
‘Tom wouldn’t hurt a flower, let alone a young girl.’ ‘He raped me!’ she screamed.
Uther turned to face her. ‘Did he, Margot? Or was it you who raped him?’
She burst into tears. ‘I hate you! I hate you! You don’t know me at all!’
‘Oh but I do, darling,’ he said calmly. ‘Don’t forget, I’ve seen you in action. I know what you can do to men.’
She started to protest but he waved her quiet. ‘I warn you, Margot. This game you play with men, it’s a dangerous one. One day you’ll pay for it. You never know what a man will do when he loses control. This time it only cost you your virginity. Next time, you might not be so fortunate.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t you? Let me explain then. I had my suspicions, of course, so I went looking for evidence. I found it in a drawer in your bedroom. By the way, a small tip for the future. Under your knickers is not a very intelligent place to conceal your diary. Appropriate perhaps, intelligent no.’
Margot’s eyes flickered.
Uther waved a red book at her. ‘Recognise it?’
‘Give it me! It’s mine!’ She made a grab for it but he held it out of reach.
‘A mistake to record everything in your diary. It makes it crystal clear you planned Tom’s seduction from beginning to end. I must say I found it fascinating, if a little over-written in the pornographic passages. I imagine your mother would find it shocking.’
Margot clenched her fists and stamped her foot in frustration. ‘Give it back!’
‘I prefer to keep it – as insurance, you understand.’ ‘I know plenty about you and your lady friends.’
‘Well, well, we are grown-up, aren’t we? Do I take it you are threatening to blackmail me?’
Margot maintained a resentful silence.
Uther regarded his step-daughter coolly. ‘Nice try, darling but you haven’t a hope in hell. Your mother knows all about me and my extra-mural activities. She may not admit it but she knows. On the other hand she knows absolutely nothing about you. Think how fascinated she would be to discover who you really are.’
Margot sidled up to him. ‘Don’t be cruel,’ she murmured ‘Uther, darling.’
He felt himself being drawn into those darkly beautiful eyes. ‘My God, Margot, you really are bewitching.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘And when it comes to a pretty face, like most men I’m a fool.’
Margot hooked her fingers inside the waistband of his trousers and pulled him close. Standing on tiptoe, she closed her eyes and put her mouth up to be kissed. For a moment Uther saw nothing but rosebud lips. He bent down. But then, an instant before their lips met, he shook himself, and the spell was broken.
‘But not that big a fool,’ he muttered.
Eight
2003
At the start of the Easter holidays the Hughes family drove to the Devon coast for a long weekend. Hector woke early, opening the door of their caravan onto a perfect spring day, the blue sky unblemished by a single cloud, the air fresh with the smell of the ocean. Elizabeth was still asleep. Not wanting to disturb her, Hector woke the two boys quietly, and took them for a walk, leaving a note for Elizabeth to say they would be back in an hour or two. As they followed the narrow track that ran the length of the cliffs, Hector stopped, squinted his eyes and pointed.
‘Way up
there. That tiny speck. See it?’ ‘What is it, dad?’ asked Keir.
‘It’s a golden eagle.’
Arthur was impressed. ‘Wow! Can it see us?’
Hector nodded. ‘It can see a mouse in the long grass.’ Above them a skylark warbled its timorous song.
‘It’s following us,’ said Arthur.
Indeed it seemed to be, for as they walked the bird kept pace with them, its tiny wings fluttering in a frenzied blur, hovering and darting by turns, trilling nervously, almost as if it were warning them. Hector shielded his eyes from the sun as he searched the sky. The eagle had disappeared. A breeze ruffled a patch of ocean and then died, leaving it smooth again. A mile or two out, a cargo ship moved slowly past, heading out into the Atlantic. For a few moments they watched it from the cliff edge. Far below, the beach curved in a long crescent between two promontories. For most of its length it was deep in shadow, but at the north-western tip the sand glistened like gold in the morning sunlight.
There was not a sound to be heard, nothing stirred, not a mouse, not a blade of grass. The silence was eerie. Hector felt a sudden sharp stab of fear in his stomach. In that instant the light of the sun was blocked out as the eagle stooped in an almost vertical dive, its curved beak and deadly talons reaching down towards Hector’s face. Convinced he was about to be torn to pieces, he tried to run, tripped and fell heavily. Fearful that his sons might also be attacked by the wild bird, he shouted to them to take cover. But there was no cover, only fields of long grass stretching in either direction as far as the eye could see. In shock, scarcely knowing what he was doing, Hector staggered to his feet. Sky, cliffs and fields spun round him, his knees folded, his head fell back and he collapsed, dazed and bewildered.
Keir ran to his father. ‘Dad, are you alright?’
Hector shook his head to clear it. ‘Fine, fine. Help me up, Keir. Let’s get the hell out of here before someone gets hurt.’ But then, looking up, there was the eagle circling a few hundred feet up. ‘Stand still,’ he told Keir. Somewhere he had heard that an eagle only attacks a moving prey.
Arthur was walking slowly along the track some way behind them, shielding his eyes from the sun. He too was watching the great bird circling lower and lower. Keir ducked down, making little moaning noises, trembling with fear. Hector crouched by him. ‘Don’t move, son, whatever you do.’ He called out to Arthur. ‘Art! Stay where you are!’
The eagle hovered directly overhead, so close that Hector could see its fierce yellow eyes gleaming in the sunlight. Clasping Keir protectively, he shielded the frightened boy’s head with his hands, certain the bird was about to attack again. Suddenly Arthur was running inland through the long grass, shouting at the top of his voice. For God’s sake, what was he doing!
Hector watched helplessly as the eagle banked and dropped like a stone on Arthur who froze, not moving a muscle. The murderous talons were inches from his face, but at the last second the great bird braked effortlessly, its tail feathers brushing Arthur’s head, then sped away inches from the ground, wings shadowing the long grass. Over the sea it lifted and soared into the blue sky until once more it was a tiny speck high above them.
Again a menacing silence. Never in his whole life had Hector been so afraid. Where was the eagle now? Had it given up and flown away? He peered at the sky, but the sun was in his eyes and he could see nothing. And then, dear God, there it was, circling lazily overhead, round and round and round, as though it were taunting them. He shouted across to Arthur, ‘Lie down, Art! Cover your head!’ But the warning came too late, for like a thunderbolt the eagle dropped again on Arthur, and this time it seemed nothing could save him. A split-second before the steely talons struck, Arthur flinched. A razor-sharp claw slashed his face.
Hector cowered, expecting to see his son torn to pieces. But to his amazement, instead of administering the coup de grace, the eagle hovered directly over Arthur’s head, stroking the air serenely with its massive wings before folding them and landing on his shoulder. There it stood, shifting its weight from one foot to the other, head turning from side to side, yellow
eyes peering angrily about. And Arthur, showing not a trace of fear, stroked the eagle’s breast feathers. The eagle opened its wings and spread them over Arthur. Moments later it lifted itself a few feet in the air, circled him three times, uttering a sonorous cry, Kluee! Kluee! Kluee!, banked left, then right, climbed steeply into the sun and disappeared from view.
Hector ran to Arthur and anxiously examined his face. The left cheek was bleeding but miraculously the eagle’s talons seemed only to have inflicted a superficial wound.
‘We must get that seen to right away.’
‘What’s all the fuss about?’ said Keir. ‘It’s only a scratch.’
Hector frowned. ‘Let’s go, boys. That face needs dressing, Arthur.’
Keir shoved Arthur in the chest. ‘Serves you right for being such a sissy.’
‘I’m not a sissy.’ ‘You are. Coward!’
Tears of anger stung Arthur’s eyes. ‘I’m not a coward, I’m not.’
‘Yes you are. You ran away.’
‘That’s enough, Keir,’ said Hector sternly.
Although Keir did have a point. Arthur’s taking off like that had certainly provoked the eagle to attack him. The boy had panicked but who could blame him? He was only nine years old.
‘You nearly had us killed.’
‘Leave him alone, Keir,’ said Hector sternly.
Keir fumed and muttered all the way back. Arthur, never unhappy for long, threw stones and chased butterflies. Walking quickly to the caravan, Hector silently thanked God, though he was far from being a religious man. More than once he laid his arms on his sons’ shoulders and told them how much he loved them. Arthur was obviously too young to understand what terrible danger he had been in. Even so, it was astonishing how relaxed he was.
Her usual unruffled and efficient self, Elizabeth rushed Arthur to the local hospital where his cheek was dressed and he was given an anti-tetanus shot. The doctor warned him he would have a small scar on his left cheek that most probably would never completely disappear. Keir sulked, disgusted at the attention being paid to his younger brother. Arthur remained quietly unconcerned about the whole business.
The more Hector thought about what had happened, the more puzzled he was. There were questions in his mind, questions he had no answer to. How to explain the eagle’s behaviour? Why had this wild creature attacked them in the first place? And why had it perched on Arthur’s shoulder like some domestic pet? Elizabeth needed no explanations, and would not hear a word against Arthur. ‘Arthur is special,’ she said, as she often did. ‘It could all have turned out very differently. All I care about is that you and the boys are safe. That’s quite enough for me.’
But it was not enough for Hector; for him everything had to make sense. He had always been an earthbound man, a man who believed only in what he could see and touch. Sometimes he allowed himself to believe in abstract concepts, but these were chiefly related to scientific theories which, in his considered opinion, had been irrefutably proven. Having nagged for days at the problem, he finally came up with a theory that provided the only rational explanation of the events of that extraordinary morning. Waiting till the boys were back at school, he went to see Merlin at his cottage. It was always worth hearing what Merlin had to say on any subject – not that he would be able to find any flaw in Hector’s reasoning. All the time he was recounting the story of the eagle, he had the strangest feeling that Merlin already knew it. But if he did, he said nothing, listening carefully to every word.
‘An amazing experience,’ said Merlin when Hector had finished. ‘I imagine you have a logical explanation?’
Hector preened. ‘As a matter of fact, I do.’ ‘And that is?’
‘Sex.’
‘You don’t say,’ said Merlin dryly.
‘Remember, it is spring. Making the assumption that the eagle was female, I would say that from a few thousand feet up s
he got confused, and mistook Arthur for a potential mate. I know it may sound far-fetched but I have heard of such things. On taking a closer look, she discovered her mistake and flew off. That’s all there was to it.’
Merlin’s expression was inscrutable. ‘You agree?’ asked Hector.
‘I am not an expert on the mating habits of eagles,’ said Merlin, ‘but your theory sounds logical enough.’
Hector was clearly delighted to receive what sounded like the great man’s imprimatur.
‘There is only one problem,’ said Merlin. ‘What’s that?’
‘If you are right, then the normal neutral relationship between man and raptor was distorted by a random eruption of hormones. That would mean that everything that happened was due to chance.’
‘I’m sure it was,’ said Hector, for that is what he wanted to believe.
‘It might well have been,’ said Merlin, ‘had the eagle swooped only once and then flown away. But it did not. It attacked three times. One mistake – possible. Two – highly unlikely. Three – inconceivable.’
Hector looked crestfallen.
‘Also, each time the eagle stooped, it did something different. The first time, it attacked you. That could have been sheer chance, I grant you. But the second time, it attacked Arthur. And the third time again.’ Those penetrating eyes focused on Hector. ‘Why was that, do you think?’
‘That’s easy. Because Arthur took fright and ran. He became a moving target. He provoked the eagle.’
Merlin nodded. ‘Very plausible.’
Hector beamed. Merlin was beginning to come round to his point of view.
‘Another question,’ said Merlin thoughtfully. ‘Why did the eagle scratch Arthur’s face the second time? Why not the first time?’
‘Maybe it tried to and missed.’ ‘An eagle does not miss.’