by Sally Graham
“I thought you said there might be good news?” Carrie asked.
He grinned at her. “I was getting round to that. To my surprise, things aren’t too bad inside. Floors are solid. Rooms seem to have held their own. There’s bound to be damp that isn’t visible that will need sorting but- ”
“Can it be saved?”
“Saved? Heavens yes. Any building can be saved. But whoever does so will need deep pockets. And you can be certain that whatever I’ve found this morning will be twice, even three times, worse when I carry out a full structural survey.”
“Any chance of a ball park figure?”
The architect’s voice was grave. “I’m reluctant to go there, Carrie. From what I’ve seen today, there’s going to be a bill of, oh, let’s say five of six million pounds. But from what I might discover later, you might have to double that.”
Carrie dismissed the figure the architect had given her. Ten million pounds, and almost certainly more, was far beyond any bonus figure she might expect. And she wasn’t even sure that she had any interest in the building. If it needed that much support, it gave her a good excuse to walk away from Dundrannon.
“Thank you, Jamie. You’ve been extremely thorough at such short notice. If you could email me the summary of your thoughts?”
“Of course, Carrie. And if you want a more extensive survey undertaken, I’ll be happy to oblige.”
Carrie watched the estate car disappear down the drive, and checked her watch. It was nearly three o’clock, and she was hungry. She impulsively placed the palm of her hand against the lichen covered grey granite wall of the old house, and looked at the weathered windows and the heraldic coat of arms above the main door. It was hard to believe that such a building might have to be demolished, she thought. But then she looked at the aged masonry with a cold eye of a financier. If it’s over, it’s over, she thought, pulled her car keys out of her bag, and opened the door of her Porsche.
Chapter 7
Blake took off her coat and set about her chores for the evening; Romy always came first, and the sheepdog watched her more keenly than she did any erring sheep as Blake took the bag of dry dog food out of the cupboard and mixed it with the meat she collected from the butcher in town every week. A short burst of warm water, and she put the stainless steel bowl down in the corner of the kitchen.
“There you go, Romy. Din dins!”
Faster than a sparrow hawk, Romy rushed across the room and devoured her food, the bowl rattling on the stone floor as she licked every last morsel.
There was the washing up to do, and Blake rolled up the sleeves of her plaid shirt. Out of habit she glanced at the faint scars running across her forearms, thin white lines that criss crossed her skin: a tangle of malevolent self-harm that testified to her desperately unhappy adolescence.
“Hello, Blake. Come in. I’m Dr. Williams. You can sit wherever you like.” The doctor turned to Blake’s mother. “If you’d like to wait for us, we won’t be more than half an hour.”
“But - ”
“No, if it’s alright with Blake, she and I will just chat and get to know each other a little.”
The teenager raised her blue eyes and looked watchfully at the doctor as her mother sighed and left the room.
Looking at her case notes later, Caroline Williams remembered clearly the first time she met the pretty teenager who had been referred to her by the local practitioner: “Disturbed. No clear mandate for treatment. Possible need for clinical observation.”
The girl was withdrawn, but nothing that was out of the ordinary for a teenager who was labelled as needing sustained therapy. Spring was turning into summer and the air conditioning unit had broken down the previous afternoon. Dr Williams was wearing a short sleeved blouse, and she suggested in a casual way that maybe Blake would like to take her jumper off.
The young girl shook her head, and pulled the sleeves of her cardigan further over her wrists. Dr. Williams was struck by the teenager’s wistful beauty, her startlingly blue eyes, and her long legs, one crossed awkwardly over the over.
It would take several months of patient, gentle, intervention before Blake shared with the paediatrician the extent of her self-harm: “Because they don’t like me.”
“I understand,” the doctor had replied. “Why don’t they like you? Why do you think you’re unpopular?”
She had notes from Blake’s school form mistress in front of her, and had re-read them before her meeting. The teacher had said that Blake was withdrawn, and tended to keep to herself.
“They don’t like me,” the girl replied. Then, in a low voice, “They think I’m too pretty.”
The doctor’s voice matched her patient’s. “So it made sense to cut yourself, didn’t it? That way you wouldn’t be pretty anymore, would you?”
Later, Dr.Williams used this moment in her meetings with Blake to illustrate the phenomenon known to many child psychiatrists known as the “healing question”. She explained to her students at the seminars she held at university about an intervention that fortuitously crystallise the issues facing a client. It is phrased as a question which, by answering, allows the client to take ownership of the healing process. Dr.William’s notes showed that, from that moment, and Blake’s slow, silent nod, a turning point had been reached.
Blake never forgot the debt she owed to the kindly, grey haired doctor who she saw every week in her offices in Christchurch. Gradually, her confidence in herself was restored, and she discovered that other people’s jealousy was not something for which she was responsible. That her looks - as Dr. Williams said - “went with the territory.”
She couldn’t change how she looked, but she could change how she felt. At first the scratching with a geometry compass needle had been experimental, “to see how much pain I can stand,” she told herself. Later, as she explained to Dr Williams in embarrassed broken sentences, when she had used razor blades taken from her father’s cupboard in the bathroom, her self harm had a deeper purpose. “I didn’t want to have to show my body… So I cut myself…. That meant I wouldn’t have to go swimming… I didn’t do gym… I made excuses…. I preferred to be by myself.”
The patient, skilful listening was effective. Dr. Williams was pleased with Blake’s progress, but she felt that there was a still kernel of information that she had not accessed, until Blake telephoned the office, some years later, for an unscheduled appointment. As soon as the young woman walked into her office, it was clear that a sea change had taken place. Dr William’s noted afterwards that Blake was cheerful, self assured, and confident in a way that had been absent before.
“I found this,” she said matter-of-factly, she pushed adoption papers she had found across Dr. William’s desk.
After scanning the information the psychiatrist was quiet.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to find my birth parents. There’s am organisation that can help. I don’t know where they are, but I want to meet them, if they are alive.”
Caroline William’s closed her notebook and smiled at Blake over her half-moon spectacles . “You know, Blake, I’ve been thinking for some while that we probably didn’t need to meet as frequently. You’re so much better than when you first walked in here. It’s time for closure. Time to walk your path. You can do it, you know.”
“There’s still a lot I don’t feel okay about….. The sex thing.”
“We’ve talked about that. So - you describe your feelings as gay. So - you find a girlfriend. There’s someone out there, you know.”
“But -”
“No buts. We all of us need people in our lives. We need special people. A special person. She’s out there somewhere, Blake. You just need to find her. So no worries about your scars. When you’re in love, no one notices.”
“Why do we always make love in the dark?”
Blake froze, although she was hot with desire for the girl she had meet at university in a seminar a few weeks previously. “I like it that w
ay… it’s sexy,” she whispered, running her hand down Beatrix’s stomach to the curly pubic hair that fringed her pussy.
“But you undress in the bathroom… you don’t take off your robe until - ”
“I’m embarrassed. I feel you’re looking at me.”
“But I want to look at you, honey. You’re so beautiful, and I want to see all of you, not just touch you in the dark.”
“Make love to me” Blake whispered. “Kiss me the way you like.”
She felt Beatrix’s mouth on hers, kissing deeply and wetly before nuzzling her throat and collarbone, butterfly kissing down her chest, her lips circling each nipple sending jolts of electricity through Blake’s body. “Go down on me,” she moaned, twisting her body under Beatrix’s remorseless teasing and spreading her thighs wide.
“Ahh - hhhh.”
“You’re so wet,” Beatrix whispered, running her tongue around Blake’s pussy, tasting her clean excitement, savoring the heat of her arousal. She mouthed Blake’s swollen lips before pressing the tip of her tongue inside her. Her hands held Blake’s hips, and she felt shivers of excitement ripple through her beautiful lover’s body and wondered how long she would hold out.
Blake began to thrust her hips forward and back to match Beatrix’s tongue which was moving faster now, circling her center and pulling back, then pressing so hard so that she wondered if she would come there and then, except the waves of pleasure were still small surges, not the flood tide of delight that made her explode with rapture.
Beatrix gripped Blake’s wrist, then moved her hand up her forearm, wondering again about the faint ridges that seemed to criss cross her lover’s skin. They didn’t make sense, and Blake would never talk about them. Tattoos? Inkings? What were they and why was Blake so defensive about her body?
Because she was so fucking beautiful, Beatrix thought, becoming lost in the excitement of Blake’s arousal, feeling herself becoming aroused, reaching between her legs to stroke her own soaking wetness, wanting to come with Blake as she sucked and licked her hard, swollen clit.
Blake was twisting the writhing now, thrusting her hips into Beatrix’s face, her head thrown back, her mouth open, her breath jagged. “Oh God… Oh God… I’m going to come, darling!”
They lay as one, naked, hot and sticky, their hearts pounding, all calm of mind and passion spent. Half asleep, Blake felt Beatrix stir beside her.
“What is it, darling?”
“I need to see the time. I’m on an early shift at the hospital.” She reached across the bed. “Fuck, my phone’s fallen under the bed. Hold on - ”
Before Blake could pull a bed sheet over her, the bedside light flashed on and Beatrix had grabbed her phone. “Got it,” she said, then her eyes widened. “Shit - what are those scars all over you?”
“Fuck off! Go away! Get out” Blake screamed, grabbing the sheet and pulling it over her. “You had no right. You know I don’t like being looked at. Get out of here. Bitch! I hate you!” She was shouting and began to hit Beatrix who rolled off the bed and grabbed her jeans and top.
“Hey - you can fuck off. What’s got into you? Just because - ”
“FUCK OFF OUT OF HERE!”
Two days later Blake collected her last pay check from the student bar where she worked part-time, and went online to book her flight to England. She vowed that she would never make such a mistake again, never allow someone to get close to her. Never, ever, ever.
Chapter 8
“I got your text. Where are you?” Beanie’s voice was faint and Carrie had to press the phone hard against her ear.
“Somewhere that doesn’t have a great signal,” she shouted, wondering if she should get out of the car and walk for better reception. “I decided to look at Dundrannan. I flew up yesterday. I needed to sort things out quickly, and my suspicions are right. The place is a wreck.”
“Is it that bad?”
“Pretty much. The house is in a state - nothing that can’t be fixed but it would take someone a lot of cash. And I don’t know anything about agricultural prices but every piece of ground I’ve walked over is boggy and squelchy!” She paused. “There’s one good thing about it though.”
“Ok - I hoped there would be a happy ending. So what is it?”
“It’s a person. There’s a woman here who is just fabulous. Amazingly beautiful. Hot. There’s just one drawback. I think she’s straight and she certainly doesn’t like me. I don’t know what it is but she was pretty hostile.”
“So she didn’t jump into your bed when you clicked your fingers? Sounds like she could be someone worth hanging around for!”
“Supportive as ever, Beanie.” Carrie cradled the phone against her shoulder as she flicked through her emails on her work phone while she talked to her friend. “You won’t believe this but she works here. She’s a shepherd - ”
“What? Looks after sheep? Are you serious?”
“You heard me, darling. She drove me around the estate this morning and showed me the sights. The area is stunning, and the fresh air is doing strange things to my hormones. I feel quite lightheaded. Maybe that’s why this girl came across so strong - there’s nobody else around.”
“Carrie - you’re sounding like a teenager. What’s come over you? I thought you were the person who isn’t into serious relationships? Let alone with a farmworker!”
“I’m not - and she isn’t interested in me,” Carrie answered firmly, distracted by another email from Josie. “It’s just that - there’s something about her I haven’t felt before. It’s not just sex. There’s something intangible.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from my daughter’s kick-ass godmother.” Beanie’s voice was fading in and out and Carrie groaned in exasperation. She had seen several emails that she would need to call the office about and poor reception was the last thing she needed. “You aren’t going to see her ever again. Put it down to experience - the one that got away.”
“I’ve never let a girl get away yet,” Carrie joked. “But you’re right. I must sound desperate.” She snapped her other phone shut. “Well, I’d better go. Give my love to Belle. Tell her I’ll bring a fluffy tartan doll back for her.”
The mobile phone reception suddenly improved and Beanie’s voice was loud and clear.
“Carrie - do yourself a favour. I can’t think when the last time was that you were away from the office on you-time. You don’t have to rush back to London. The bank isn’t going to go under because you aren’t there. Spend a day or two breathing in that fresh air. And - maybe, just maybe - get to know Ms Whoever-she-is a little better?”
Carrie laughed. “You’ll do anything to get me off your intensive care list, darling! Don’t hold your breath!
But as she pocketed her office phone, Carrie’s thoughts were already returning to the shepherd. They had parted on bad terms, but Blake had said she needed to see more of the area. Maybe Beanie was right. Being absent for another twenty-four hours wasn’t going to break the bank.
She pulled the crumpled piece of paper that Iza had given her and tapped Blake’s mobile number into her address book. Leaning against the granite wall she wrote a message, re-read it, and pressed the ‘send’ button.
Chapter 9
As Carrie walked away from the house she felt her phone vibrate. Fishing it out of her pocket, she groaned when she saw another string of messages from Josie, back at the office.
The most recent was tagged “High Priority” and made Carrie’s stomach lurch when she read it: the bank had lost the pitch to represent the largest US media company’s acquisition of Europe’s biggest media group. She could imagine the mayhem in the office, and Josie said that that Marc Delaney was going ballistic, insisting on knowing where she was, and blaming the failure to win the account on Carrie’s absence. “Even if she was dying she should have been there,” he’d shouted, according to Josie.
Carrie knew she needed to return to London as quickly as possible. Her life was becoming complicated enough without h
aving to cope with the fallout from her prima donna boss, and she knew she still needed to prepare for her San Francisco meeting.
Half an hour later she had parked in town. The small café was crowded but she managed to find a corner seat by the window. She ordered a cup of coffee, and began working through the rest of the emails emails that had stacked up in her absence. Apart from Marc’s hysterical messages, Josie was certainly making sure she would be busy when she returned, she thought to herself. Seemingly endless meetings, back to back, two dinners, and was she up for flying to Berlin to meet with German investment bankers, the day after she returned?
Carrie cleared the outstanding emails. It was frustrating having a slow internet connection - she was used to ultra fast broadband in the office, as well as the special fibre cable she had installed in her apartment. The large files she requested from Josie seemed to take an eternity to download. Ordinarily she always felt a rush at times like these: the adrenaline of a fast paced career, the sense that she was at key intersections between personal performance and the creation of wealth, that whatever the apparent obstacles, she would win through.
And yet she found her attention wandering.
She was distracted by passers-by outside the cafe - elderly women pulling their small wheelie shopping baskets; young mums with buggies and children trailing behind; a school bus disgorging noisy kids who had finished class and rushed into the small supermarket to emerge minutes later with crisps and snack bars. It was a far cry from the empty grey streets that surrounded her London office.
She sighed and turned back to her screen, and started tapping more replies and delegating tasks again. She wasn’t a country girl - she had grown up in Birmingham, won a scholarship to Oxford which led to a prized place at the London School of Economics and then she gained a full bursary at the Wharton Business School, in America. There had never been time for much relaxation, nor had she needed it. Caffeine, adrenalin and - she had to admit - sex, powered her life.