Chasing Shadows

by Chasing Shadows (retail) (epub)

  Chapter 6

  Abbey of Santa Cristina, April 1314

  Aimée picked her way carefully down the stairs to the courtyard. It was freezing cold: she had recovered her thick travelling cloak from the place it had been lying for the last three months and she clutched it tight around her shoulders. When she reached the cobbled yard, she stood quietly for a few moments, trying to work out if anybody might still be around. Hearing nothing, she stepped forward cautiously until her outstretched hands felt the side of the carriage. Feeling her way to the door, she climbed up into the velvet-clad interior and was stopped dead by a voice.

  ‘Is it you?’ The voice was less than a foot from her ear. ‘Aimée, is it truly you?’

  She started, casting around for the source of the voice, recognising it, but unwilling to believe her ears. It was as if she had drifted back in time, and none of the horrors of the past months had happened.

  ‘Luc? It is you Luc, isn’t it?’ Instinctively she kept her voice to a hoarse whisper. Indeed, she could hardly remember a time when she had been able to address him in any but hushed tones.

  ‘It’s me, Aimée. It’s really me.’ His voice was as charged with emotion as hers. ‘I’m up here, in the baggage rack. Can you see me?’

  See him? The overwhelming tragedy of her circumstances struck her like a mallet. In the space of a few seconds, she totally lost the precarious control she had gradually been able to establish over her emotions. A wave of misery washed up and over her, drowning rational thought and reducing her to a sobbing wreck. The carriage creaked and then she felt herself enveloped in a bear hug. There was no mistaking the broad shoulders and powerful arms. It was truly Luc. She abandoned herself to her sorrow and wept uncontrollably.

  ‘Aimée, Aimée, oh Aimée.’ She felt him tighten his grip on her as he was overcome in turn. There was nothing either of them could or needed to say. They stayed like that for an age, while she sobbed out her desperation. Finally she came to her senses. She shook herself back to the dangerous reality of their present situation.

  ‘Luc, Luc,’ she hissed violently into his ear until he relaxed his grip. She reached up to his face with her hands. There were tears on his cheeks and she could feel his chest heave with emotion. She couldn’t tell if the tears were his or hers. She fought hard to keep control of her emotions.

  ‘Listen to me, Luc. Listen. Luc?’ Her insistent tone finally roused him from his introspection and she knew that she had his attention.

  ‘Bertrand’s dead, Luc. Do you hear me? He’s dead. He was killed this winter and I was the only survivor. Do you understand?’

  She felt, rather than saw, his eyes studying her at close range. A sharp intake of breath told her he had realised.

  ‘That’s right, Luc. I’m blind. I’m blind, but it doesn’t matter. Do you understand? It doesn’t matter. We’re going to get out of here and carry out Bertrand’s mission, your mission, our mission. Speak to me, Luc.’ Her voice tailed off despairingly, but he was back with her now.

  ‘Oh dear sweet Jesus. Oh dear Lord God Almighty. Is there no end to it?’ His voice was bitterly saddened, but rational once more. ‘Tell me about it.’

  So she told him. She told him more than she had told anybody up till then. She told him about the laughter, the taunts, the obscenities and the searing pain of it all. She told him about the deep sensation of disgust and defilement that had made her, and still often made her, want to end her life, in the hope of a cleaner, purer future. She told him about the cuts, the bruises and the blows that had finally brought blessed oblivion. And how from oblivion she had awoken into a colourless world of loneliness. She told him all this without once breaking down. It was as if another was recounting her experiences, and she had become a mere spectator. When she finally came to a halt, she felt his hand against her cheek and heard his voice, little more than a whisper.

  ‘I’m here now, Aimée. I’ll take care of you. I promise.’

  Chapter 7

  Spanish Pyrenees, April 2016

  They were barely aware of crossing from France into Spain. A dilapidated customs post was the only sign, but it clearly hadn’t been manned for many years now. Snow had been banked up on both sides of the road by the regular passage of snowploughs, and the road surface itself was running with water, although it would probably be May before the thick covering of snow on the fields disappeared. As they began their descent, the sun disappeared behind the clouds and the standing water started to freeze again.

  ‘So this is Spain now?’ Amy sounded her usual self again and Luke felt relieved that her mood of despair appeared to have left her. He too was back to normal, apart from a certain residual stiffness in his shoulders, and a lingering concern that his feelings for her might be straying from the strictly professional. Back in London just a few days before they had started out, Father Tim had raised that very point.

  ‘She’s an attractive woman, Luke. Do you think you can cope?’

  In all honesty he had replied that he wasn’t worried. And he hadn’t been, then. Keeping a tight rein on his emotions had become second nature after everything that had happened. He felt sure he would have no problem. Anyway, her prickly nature, although less and less in evidence as the days went by, had made its presence felt often enough initially for him to be very wary. The practical concerns relating to the logistics of the journey, from buying the car to booking ferry tickets and obtaining detailed maps, took up most of his waking moments. He really hadn’t given any serious thought to the fact that she was a woman, and he a man. And also, if he were totally honest to himself, her handicap instantly put her into a different category.

  There was the matter of physical contact, for example. It had quickly become second nature to him to give her his arm when leading her somewhere new. There was no secret electricity in the touch, no unexpected charge of excitement. It very soon became what it quite simply was: a means to an end. Without his guiding hand she would be lost, and he would not be fulfilling his responsibilities. The fact that he found himself describing things to her and doing all the preparatory paperwork further reinforced the guide/client relationship. And finally, he had to admit there was the reluctance on his part to do more than flick his eyes across her face or body. Somehow it felt improper for him to gaze at her, while she was unable to do the same in return.

  ‘I can cope, Tim. We’ll keep it professional. Don’t you worry.’

  Now, after that simple peck on the cheek from her, he felt totally at sea emotionally. He turned towards her and allowed himself to study her face properly for a few seconds. She really looked stunning. Her long golden hair was tied back in a businesslike ponytail, but was still very feminine. The fine lines around the pale blue eyes added character to an otherwise perfect complexion. There was no doubt about it, she would most certainly have been fighting the boys off in her earlier years. Now, just thirty, even with her handicap, surely she could still have the pick of the eligible bachelors. Just then she turned towards him and her voice interrupted his reflections.

  ‘I suppose there’s no chance of a cup of coffee around here, is there?’

  The idea of a beer also had considerable appeal to him. They were driving through a scruffy little village with no shops but, this being Spain, there was a bar. ‘As luck would have it, there’s a place right here.’ He pulled up outside a sad-looking building. ‘Bar Somport. Not the most inspired of names, but welcome nonetheless.’ He switched off the engine and stepped out onto the slippery tarmac. He went round the back and met her as she climbed down onto the slush at the side of the road. She took his arm and they made their way inside.

  They were probably no more than a couple of kilometres from the French border, and less than thirty or forty from the French café where they had had coffee earlier that day. The scenery outside was the same, the snow and the cold were the same, but the atmosphere inside was totally different. The television was tuned to a football match. The volume was high enough to set the bottles behind the b
ar humming whenever the ball was anywhere near either net. Somebody had clearly just done something significant because the commentator sounded as if he was in the throes of a hysterical fit, howling like a wolf. They were quite unmistakably in Spain.

  In one corner of the bar there was a table of men, quite clearly just finishing their lunch. Luke glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost five o’clock. Yes, that would definitely make it lunch. With a shudder he realised that here in Spain the earliest they would be able to expect dinner that evening would probably be gone nine o’clock. He steered her to a table as far as possible away from the television, and started his description of the surroundings.

  ‘Welcome to Spain.’ She peeled off her thermal jacket and hung it over the back of her chair. She was wearing a denim cowboy shirt underneath and the top three buttons were undone. As much for his own peace of mind as for anybody else’s sake, he thought he should give her a warning. ‘You’d better do up a few buttons in here. There’s not another woman to be seen in the place and you have, at least temporarily, replaced the Big Match as the main point of interest. Can you feel the eyes on you?’

  He still had not fully come to terms with the effect her appearance seemed to have on men of all ages. Today she was dressed very casually and she wore no jewellery, but still looked stunning.

  She ran a hand casually up the front of her shirt, checking just how many buttons were undone. Reassured, she returned her hand to the table top.

  ‘Let me guess. One of them’s got a stomach that makes him look about eight months gone, and between them they have enough facial hair to house a family of squirrels.’ She laughed happily. He realised that for her, being the centre of male attraction was an experience that took her back to happier times.

  As if aware of his embarrassment, she repeated her question, so as to give him something to talk about. ‘Well, was I right about these characters?’

  ‘Not bad at all. There are at least three fat stomachs and one of the moustaches looks the size and shape of a badger. In fact I’m sure I saw it move.’ She giggled. ‘There are pennants belonging to just about every football club in Spain on the wall behind the bar and a whole shelf of bottles of Spanish brandy. There’s even a photo of a bullfighter. Looks a bit old and yellow. Who knows? Maybe it’s El Cordobes. No sign of anybody behind the bar. No, wait a minute. Our host is approaching now. He’s one of the stomachs from the corner table. What are we having?’

  ‘I’ll have an espresso, and I’m prepared to wager you could murder a beer.’

  ‘You know me so well, but I’ll make it a little one as I’m driving.’

  As the landlord went off to fetch their drinks, Luke looked out of the window. Heavier clouds had bubbled up and blanked out the sun. It was already quite dark and very grey outside. When the waiter returned, Luke picked up his glass and took a mouthful of cold beer gratefully. He glanced across at her. She was looking quite happy now, sipping her coffee and leaning forward, elbows on the table. As if sensing his eyes on her, she raised her head.

  ‘How’s your beer?’

  ‘Just what I needed after carrying somebody across a snowfield.’

  Her hand felt across the table top until it touched his. ‘Thank you, Luke. I don’t think I said thank you. I wouldn’t want you to think I make a habit of fainting and needing to be carried.’

  ‘At your service.’ He let his eyes rest on her face, the pale blue eyes as mesmerising as ever. ‘Mind you, that was quite some reaction to a lump of rock. Has it ever happened to you before?’

  She shook her head. ‘Never.’ She squeezed his hand and then released it. ‘You know what I was thinking? You know we were talking about my blindness enhancing my other senses? Well, maybe it’s enhanced the sixth sense as well.’

  ‘I’m not sure we have a sixth sense, are you?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s so much that goes on inside our brains that the experts can’t explain. Maybe there really is a sixth sense; something that picks up on vibrations that the other senses miss.’

  ‘But the problem we’ve got with that big rock back there is to work out why it sparked a chord with you.’ He let his mind roam. ‘This is going to sound pretty silly, but I’ve been wondering over the last few days whether this story we’ve invented isn’t maybe a bit too close for comfort. Maybe we would have done better if the main character hadn’t been so much like me and not following this selfsame route.’

  A smile spread across her face. ‘So you’ve been feeling it too? I though it was just me.’ She sat upright. ‘Who knows? Maybe it really happened.’

  ‘Maybe it did.’

  ‘There’s something else I’ve been thinking, Luke. You know earlier on when you asked me why I was grumpy the first time we met and I said it was fear?’ He grunted and she carried on. ‘There’s something else, to be totally honest. You see, it’s my immune system.’

  ‘Your what?’ He started, surprised at her words, but she carried on.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s the right way of describing it.’ She paused, searching for the right words, knowing that she was talking about things she had never revealed to anybody else, not even their mutual friend Father Tim. Somehow, here with Luke, in this isolated Spanish bar, it felt right to air these things. ‘We all have a mechanism inside our bodies that fights off attack from outside, right? Something that protects us from harm; and I’m talking about mental as well as physical. I used to think that I had that side of things sewn up. I was pretty confident that I was totally in control of my life. And the same went for people. Especially men.’ There was a moment’s hesitation before she continued. ‘Then there was the accident.’

  Luke wondered if he should intervene, say something, but she hadn’t finished. ‘I used to be quite good-looking.’ Her voice was tense, but in control, so he made no comment. ‘There were always men around my sister and me. Whether for daddy’s money or for us was difficult to tell, but when you’re young, it’s easy to convince yourself that it’s you they’re after.’

  He stared compassionately at the pale face with the disconcerting light blue eyes and wondered whether to speak. But she hadn’t finished.

  ‘After the accident, various friends tried to comfort me.’ He heard the note of bitterness in her voice. ‘With some of the men, one in particular, I thought I’d found what I’d lost, but I soon discovered I was mistaken. It’s a bit like being in a pit and somebody throws you a rope. You start to climb up the rope, but, then, before you reach the top, they let go. You end up still in the hole and, what’s more, you’re bruised. So that’s what I am, I’m bruised, and that’s why I wasn’t as hospitable as I could have been. And with each passing year my metaphorical immune system, my internal self-defence system, struggles desperately to repair the damage and, in the meantime, I keep on getting grumpier. I’m afraid it’s been a losing battle up to now.’ She lapsed into silence.

  ‘Apart from that first day, I haven’t seen you grumpy at all.’ He tried to lighten the tone. ‘Not even when you dropped your earring in the toilet. Anyway, you said it yourself, when you used the words, “up to now”. So surely that’s got to mean things are improving?’ Politically correct or not, he reached across the table and took hold of her hand in his. She raised her face towards him and managed a nod of the head and a little smile.

  ‘Very definitely. After all, I’ve got my very own Sir Galahad to carry me away from danger. I bet you’d fight for my honour if you had to.’

  ‘I promise that if anybody challenges me, I’ll slap him with my glove and set about the knave.’ He saw a smile appear on her face. ‘See, not grumpy at all.’

  ‘Well, if I’m not, it’s down to you. Thank you once more.’

  They sat in silence for a few more minutes, each immersed in their own thoughts. Finally he glanced out of the window again. ‘The sun’s disappeared behind the mountains.’ He drained the remains of the beer. ‘We’d better get moving, otherwise we won’t stand a chance of seeing the ruins of S
anta Cristina – assuming, of course, that there’s anything left to see.’ Obediently Amy finished her coffee and stood up. He paid the landlord and they returned to the car.

  The road was a fine modern highway. Unsurprisingly, a sign announced that it had been built with money from the European Union. He slowed right down, searching desperately for any trace of Santa Cristina. They stopped in a couple of places and ventured out into the ever-colder air in search of any clues, but without success. He saw nothing. The snow was too deep. At last, the light fading fast, he had to admit defeat. It was sad to think that such a significant construction should have just disappeared off the face of the earth.

  He led Amy back to the car just as the first big powdery snowflakes started to fall. By the time they had climbed back into the car and removed their jackets, the snow had already obscured the windscreen. Luke set off down the hill with his windscreen wipers struggling to clear the weight of snow, and within ten minutes the road was white, the visibility deteriorating by the minute. To make matters worse, his screen washers froze up. On their departure from Britain in fine spring weather it had not occurred to him to put antifreeze in the screen wash. In consequence, even with the air conditioning blowing hard against the glass, he was now restricted to an area the size of a dinner plate in the middle of the screen in front of him through which to find his way down the hill.

  They travelled down the slope, albeit at little more than a crawl, for almost half an hour before they met another vehicle. The snowstorm was obviously excessively heavy even by Pyrenean standards and people had wisely opted to stay at home. However, in spite of the conditions, they were gradually dropping down from the heights of the Somport towards the flatter lands of Spain. A sign loomed out of the gloom, showing Jaca as being 29 kilometres ahead. It wouldn’t be too long now, he thought grimly, his eyes already tired with the effort of concentration.