Seeker, The

by Brindle, J. T.

  All the same, Cliona being here, so close and yet so far away, made him feel strange, almost as though he was somewhere else. It was odd. But not frightening. He felt the same as he’d felt that night when it was raining and she stood by the side of the road. He knew it was her, but didn’t pursue the issue. She must have her reasons for denying it, he thought, and it was not for him to question her motives. Maybe she was just walking and when they stopped she panicked and ran, not wanting anyone near. He could understand that. She’d been lonely, that’s what she said, cut off from family and friends. At times like that, you needed to get away, to be alone, where no one else could reach you.

  When they arrived at Miss Ledell’s house, Cliona leaned over and kissed him fleetingly on the face. ‘You’ve been very kind,’ she told him. ‘I’d forgotten what it’s like to have a friend.’

  Taken aback, Dave didn’t know quite what to say, so he said nothing. While she ran to the front door, waving like an excited child, he turned the car round. ‘Poor kid.’ He looked back in his driving mirror. She was still there. ‘Sounds like she could do with a friend, but not me. I’ve got enough responsibilities without taking on stray kittens.’

  He turned into the lane. ‘She’s nice enough though, but I shouldn’t have let her kiss me like that.’ Her kiss still tingled on his skin. It was a pleasant feeling. ‘I hope she isn’t getting the wrong idea about me,’ he mused. ‘No. She’s just thrilled to be getting a job. If she’s been out of it for a time, it must feel great getting back into the cut and thrust of the real world.’

  Behind him, the door to Miss Ledell’s house opened and the young woman entered.

  Inside, the old lady turned the key, threw home the bolt and turned out the hallway light. Before making her way upstairs, she went to the window and drew back the curtains to look outside. ‘He’s gone,’ she murmured. There was a moment of quiet contemplation before she closed the curtains and began her way upstairs; the light from the upper landing showing her the way, although she knew it with her eyes closed.

  In her bedroom she undressed and got into her nightgown. After going to the bathroom, where she washed her hands and face, she returned to sit at the dressing-table. Taking the pins out of her hair, she undid the plaits and let her hair hang loose; it was magnificent, thick and shining, with glints of silver and deep, glorious waves. It fell about her face and shoulders like the hood of a cloak. Suddenly she was young again, and beautiful. She was in love, and happy, as she had never been before or since. Pain engulfed her. Pain, and excitement, and a feeling of betrayal.

  She brushed her hair as she had done every night for the past eternity. Long, steady strokes, strong and deep, penetrating every strand, drawing out the light from the darkness. Stroking. From the top to the bottom. Again and again, until her arm ached and she yearned for sleep.

  Presently she laid down the brush and sat, quiet for a time, eyes closed, hands together, wondering how far she had come this day.

  ‘It’s begun,’ she sighed. ‘Soon it will be over.’ She gazed at herself in the mirror. The eyes were sad, tears brimming but not falling. Joy was tinged with agony. ‘At last he knows you. He’s touched you, and his heart is open.’

  There was hope, but not contentment. Happiness, but not for them. ‘Try not to hurt them,’ she told herself. ‘These are good people.’ She gazed long at the face in the mirror. It was a lovely face, incredibly young and beautiful; hair black as night; skin smooth and soft as velvet. ‘He likes you.’ The old lady spoke softly. ‘You did well, Cliona.’

  After a time she got into bed and closed her eyes. Sleep did not come. It never did.

  The house was sleeping, though. Only the whispered groans of ancient wood disturbed the solitude. There was no one else in the house. Only her. Only the old lady and her tortured dreams.

  5

  Rolling over in bed, Dave stretched out his legs and yawned. Opening one eye he peeped at the bedside clock. When he saw it was eight in the morning, he couldn’t believe it; he felt so tired, as if he’d never been to sleep at all. It had taken him a while to relax after getting into bed, and he was still awake long after Libby had fallen asleep. For some reason, he had been troubled, yet strangely excited.

  He put it all down to pressure of business. Even after he fell asleep, his mind was alive with all manner of weird and wonderful dreams; there was no real pattern to the dreams, but she was there. The woman in the rain. Cliona Martin.

  Finally the dreams had gone and he slept peacefully. Now he was half awake, with a hard on, and a deep yearning to make love to his wife.

  He glanced at the window. The curtains were half drawn, the room bathed in a soft, shadowy light. He reached out, his need for her raging like a fever inside him. ‘Libby?’ The sheets were cold. He groaned, disappointed. ‘Sweetheart?’ He rolled closer, his arms longing to hold her. Suddenly, she was there, soft, cool beneath his fingers. ‘I thought you’d deserted me,’ he murmured, nuzzling her hair. ‘Mmm! You smell like a newborn baby.’ A sense of laziness spread through his body. He closed his eyes, drawing her close.

  She didn’t speak, or move, or yield to him. Instead she whispered, so softly he could hardly hear, ‘Help me. Please help me.’ Her voice faded and he was alone.

  At first he thought he was still dreaming. Through the half-light his frantic eyes scoured the bed; it was just as before, the sheets cold, the pillow indented where her head had lain. Rigid with shock, he sat bolt upright. At that moment the door was flung open and Libby came in. She was carrying a tray. ‘Oh! You’re awake.’ She seemed disappointed. In an instant the frown was gone and a bright smile lit her features. ‘It’s been a long time since we had breakfast in bed,’ she laughed. ‘I thought I’d surprise you.’

  Setting the tray down on the bedside cabinet, she crossed to the window and threw back the curtains. Instantly, the room was flooded with light. ‘It looks cold out,’ she said, feigning a shiver. ‘But the sun’s shining so it’s bound to warm up.’ She turned to smile at him. ‘I’m really looking forward to our day out.’

  Dave was wide awake now, his mind stark with the sound of her voice – ‘Help me. Please help me.’ The horror returned. The same cold horror that penetrated his dreams.

  Unaware of the turmoil inside him, Libby busied herself. She poured the tea, then set out the boiled eggs and toast, and all the while he watched her, wondering if he was going mad.

  Passing him the tray, she climbed into bed. ‘I’ve done them exactly as you like – yolks soft enough to dip your soldiers in.’ She grinned. ‘Men are all boys at heart. Don’t think I’m doing it too often, though. Today is special. It’s the first full day you’ve had off work in a month.’ She covered herself with the duvet and set the tray between them. ‘Mind you don’t knock it over with your long legs,’ she quipped, ‘or it’ll be all spoiled.’

  ‘Libby?’

  ‘Mmm?’ She raised the teacup to her mouth, wincing. ‘Ooh! It’s hot!’ Licking her lips, she took up the milk jug and tipped a measure of the cold liquid into her cup. ‘I’ll have a blister on my lips now,’ she moaned, ‘you see if I don’t.’ Realising he wasn’t listening, she nudged his arm. ‘Well?’

  It was a moment before he was aware of her. ‘Well what?’

  Smiling, she tutted. ‘Just now, what did you want to ask me?’

  He focused his mind. ‘How long have you been downstairs?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She looked at the clock. ‘A good hour, I suppose. Why?’

  He didn’t understand. Only a few moments ago he had held her in his arms. Or at least he thought he had. Maybe he was dreaming after all.

  ‘Dave?’

  ‘Yes, sweetheart?’ But he had been so sure. He had felt her skin against his. He had run his hands through her hair. How could he have imagined that?

  ‘Dave!’

  Startled, he took hold of Libby’s hand and held it fiercely in his own. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I was miles away.’

  ‘I can see that.
’ She felt his hand tremble. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Replacing her cup on the tray, she saw how pale he was, and how preoccupied he seemed. ‘Dave, what’s wrong?’

  He forced himself to shake off the memory of what he thought had happened. ‘Not a thing.’ Seeing Libby beside him, talking to her, and feeling the warmth of her flesh on his was immensely reassuring. ‘I had a dream and it shook me, that’s all.’ Saying it out loud almost made him believe that it really had been a figment of his imagination.

  She took a moment to observe him. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him so disturbed – except for that night when they drove back from the restaurant. Fleetingly, his fear touched her, too. ‘What kind of dream?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just a dream.’

  Convinced there was more to it, she asked cautiously, ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘Nothing to talk about. It’s already forgotten.’ It would never be forgotten, he knew. The girl in the rain, the woman in his bed. One and the same.

  ‘OK. Whatever you say.’ She knew Dave too well. If he didn’t want to discuss it, wild horses wouldn’t make him, and anyway, why should she doubt him when he said it was nothing. ‘Eat your eggs, before they congeal.’

  ‘Congeal?’ Making a face, he pushed them away. ‘You’ve put me off now.’

  ‘Eat your toast then.’

  ‘I’d rather have you.’ Sliding his arm round her waist, he kissed her on the neck.

  Twisting round, she looked him in the eye. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’

  He whispered against her mouth, ‘Ravenous.’ His hand slid beneath the bedclothes and lifted her nightgown. Long sensuous fingers probed the moist area between her legs. ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Are you hungry?’

  With a heart full of love and her body crying out for him, how could she say no?

  Some short time later, Libby got out of bed and threw her robe round her body. Her voice rose in a wail as she saw the teastains on the duvet cover. ‘Look at that,’ she cried. ‘It’s all your fault, Dave Walters.’

  He winked over the bedclothes. ‘It takes two,’ he grinned. ‘And if you want me out of this bed, you’ll have to carry me out.’

  She dragged the offending duvet across the bed, leaving his naked body exposed to the chilly air. ‘Don’t think I can’t,’ she warned, fighting him for the duvet.

  Mercilessly tickling his toes until he screamed aloud, she tugged hard with her other hand until he was precariously balanced on the edge of the bed. ‘Come on, get out,’ she persisted. ‘The kids are up. I heard them just now.’

  ‘Liar!’ Laughing, he grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her easily on to the bed, crushing her in an iron grip when she struggled to be free. ‘Whose fault is it if I’m still in bed?’ he demanded, refusing to let her go. ‘How can I help it if some shameless hussy got into bed and seduced me when all I wanted to do was sleep?’

  ‘Get off, the kids are awake.’ She was giggling like a schoolgirl. ‘Let me go, you great bully.’

  ‘Never.’ He flicked her to his side of the bed where the two of them rolled over and landed with an almighty crash on the floor.

  When Daisy and Jamie came running in, they were amused to see their parents wrapped round each other, arms and legs flailing and Libby desperately trying to cover her husband’s nakedness. Helpless with laughter, she spluttered, ‘Take Jamie down, Daisy. Me and Daddy will be down in a minute.’

  But it seemed they were having so much fun, the kids wanted to join in. Grinning from ear to ear, they looked at each other and in a minute were running across the room making Indian war cries. With a yell of delight, they flung themselves into the affray.

  The mood of happiness carried them through breakfast and beyond that to the beautiful village of Olney. The route to Olney took them through some of Bedfordshire’s finest countryside. By the time they set off, it was a fine December day. There was no wind at all and, surprisingly for the time of year, there was real warmth in the sun’s rays. ‘We picked the right day for fishing,’ Dave said.

  ‘You picked the right day for fishing,’ Libby reminded him. ‘Me and the kids mean to spend the day mooching round the lovely old shops in Olney.’

  Jamie piped up, ‘I’d rather stay and fish with Daddy.’

  ‘Well, you’re not going to.’ Libby was adamant. ‘Daddy will have his hands full without keeping an eye on you.’

  ‘I won’t go near the water, I promise.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ she agreed, ‘because you’ll be in town with me and Daisy, shopping.’

  ‘I hate shopping!’

  ‘Oh, what a shame,’ she winked at Dave, ‘and I meant to buy you a new pair of trainers.’

  ‘With blue stripes and yellow laces?’

  ‘That’s what I had in mind.’ She’d never seen any like that, but these days nothing surprised her.

  ‘I expect I will come shopping with you and Daisy.’

  Smiling, Dave leaned over to Libby. ‘Shame on you,’ he whispered. ‘Resorting to bribery with a four-year-old.’

  ‘Whatever it takes,’ she said, though in fact she was always careful not to let the children think money grew on trees.

  For the remainder of the journey, the children played ‘I Spy’ in the back; there were a few squabbles but nothing Dave couldn’t quell with a firm warning.

  From a good fishing spot along the River Ouse, it was a ten-minute drive into the town of Olney. ‘Don’t go falling in,’ Libby said as she settled herself into the driving seat. ‘It looks dangerous to me.’ Her troubled gaze travelled down to the flat area where Dave would set up his fishing gear. The water was lapping high up the bank there.

  Dave was in buoyant mood. ‘Don’t worry, woman,’ he said, grinning. ‘Here you see a man who swam for the county.’

  ‘In your schooldays, maybe.’

  He slung his fishing bag over his shoulder and tucked an umbrella under his arm. ‘Once a swimmer, always a swimmer.’ With that he kissed them cheerio and set off down the river bank.

  ‘Daddy won’t drown, will he?’ Jamie asked, close to tears.

  Daisy dug him in the ribs. ‘Don’t be daft,’ she retorted. ‘How can he drown when he’s got his waders on?’

  Dave watched them drive off, with all three waving, until they were out of sight. He looked around, satisfied that he was all alone in this small wilderness. The idea was inspiring. His face grew a broad smile as he stood there, arms folded, eyes closed and head held high, breathing in the smell of the open air.

  Dave’s parents had been farmers, so he knew the countryside like an old friend. Now, as he set about making a place from which to fish, he thought fondly about the two people who had shaped his earlier life, and his heart grew warm. They were good, ordinary people, and he would never stop missing them.

  ‘This is just what the doctor ordered.’ Feeling as though he’d just been let out of prison, he laughed out loud, the echo of his voice bouncing back from the woods across the river. ‘When I retire,’ he announced, carefully casting his line, ‘I’ll fish every day, and in time maybe Libby will learn to love it too. Out here, in the open air, with the song of the birds and Nature’s beauty all around you, there’s nothing more satisfying.’ Though right at that moment there was little birdsong. In fact the atmosphere was heavy. Brooding. Like the calm before the storm.

  Dave looked up at the sky. ‘Hope it doesn’t rain,’ he muttered, but the sky was clear and bright. There were no cloud shadows, no rumbling of distant thunder, and yet the air was so heavy he could hardly breathe. ‘Stop fussing,’ he told himself. ‘Time’s wasting.’

  While he indulged in a hobby taught him by his grandfather, Libby parked the car in the old market square. On Wednesdays and Saturdays there was a colourful market here, with stalls of every size and description, carrying all manner of goods and chattels. But today, a Sunday, it was a car park, and the High Street was filled with tourists strolling the streets where many others had strolled over the years, s
earching for a bargain in the antique shops and gazing through the windows, marvelling at the curios that were crammed there, displayed on shelves or hanging from the ceilings, and even piled one above the other on trestles behind. Olney was a magical place, ancient as the world itself, and just as mysterious.

  Libby was in her element. She went in and out of the shops, looking at this, touching that, and wanting everything she saw. But money had the last word, and her purse had many demands made on it. Jamie’s trainers for one. ‘Come on, you two,’ she said. ‘It’s already eleven o’clock and we have to be back for your dad in an hour.’ Her voice was lost in thin air as the children ran forward to press their noses against the window of a shoe shop. ‘Look!’ Jamie was ecstatic. ‘There they are!’

  Libby looked through the window and sure enough, there on the shelf was a pair of trainers with blue stripes and yellow laces. ‘Go on then.’ She ushered them inside. ‘No harm in taking a look, I suppose.’

  What she had in mind for Jamie was a pair of black leather school shoes, with black soles and black laces, and at least a year’s worth of wear in them. Ah well, she thought wryly. He might decide the trainers are not what he wants after all. But judging by the look on his face when the assistant got them down, there wasn’t much hope of that.

  Glancing at his watch, Dave moaned. ‘Half an hour before they fetch me and I haven’t had a single bite!’ Digging into the wicker basket he took out a fresh handful of bait and, raising his arm, scattered it across the water. ‘Can’t go back without having caught anything at all.’ There was something humiliating about a man returning empty-handed from a fishing trip. He supposed it must hark back to the times when man was hunter, and if he didn’t bring home the bacon, so to speak, his family would starve.

  Another ten minutes and still nothing. ‘Not my day,’ he grunted. Then suddenly it seemed he’d got a bite after all. ‘Jesus! Must be a big bugger!’ The line was bending and straining as he tried desperately to reel in. Just as he thought he had it home, there was a frantic flurry, the line stretched to breaking point, then bounced up and snapped. ‘Damn!’ His quarry was gone.