The White Shepherd

by Annie Dalton

While they waited, Anna found herself studying the blow-ups of the cover design that Owen Traherne’s publishers had chosen for his anthology of love poems. It was a surprising choice, she thought, with its image of a leafless tree on to which exquisite little paper scrolls had been tied with scarlet ribbons. Though the tree itself was dark and ominous, the tiny scrolls had been painted so that they appeared to give off a mysteriously numinous and alluring light.

  Years ago when Anna was travelling through Japan, she’d seen a similar tree in the grounds of a temple, where people came to tie their prayers on to its branches. Other westerners had been delighted by the sight, but Anna had felt saddened by the human suffering she felt seeping out of those countless desperate little scraps of paper.

  The sound of tinkling glass shocked her back to the present as Huw’s wife snatched up her bag from the table, knocking over someone’s glass of champagne and sending it crashing to the floor. ‘Oh, Lord, poor Huw,’ Isadora said under her breath as Sara Traherne barged her way through the startled guests and went rushing through the gallery towards the street.

  Huw quickly excused himself to a dismayed looking PR girl and went to find Kit. Kit murmured something to the girl in leggings, who tactfully melted away. Huw seemed to be apologizing to Kit, agitatedly checking his watch, while Kit listened, clearly concerned, running his hands through his hair. Anna heard Huw say, ‘I’d better help her find a taxi. Can you tell the TV people I’ll be back in time to do the speech?’

  Kit gave Huw a reassuring clap on the back. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep everyone warm for you. And tell Sara it was very public spirited of her to come out at all, poor love, when she’s feeling so unwell.’ Huw moved closer to Kit and said something Anna didn’t catch, before hurrying out of the gallery, emanating irritation and stress.

  ‘Now Kit is heterosexual and currently single,’ Isadora murmured just before they came within earshot.

  ‘Isadora, stop it!’ Anna hissed.

  ‘And I hear he’s a fabulous lover!’ she added irrepressibly. ‘Kit, there you are!’ she called. ‘We’ve been looking for you everywhere!’

  Kit turned, and Anna watched him take in first Isadora and then Anna at her side, so she saw the moment when his expression changed. The cool assessing look in his eyes came and went so fast as to be almost subliminal, but by then it didn’t matter that he was kissing Isadora on both cheeks and asking warmly about Anna. Isadora’s story about his daredevil past, the fact that he was a successful writer, his connection with Naomi; everything had predisposed her to like Kit Tulliver, including Kit himself. She liked his amiable good-looks, she liked the careless way he wore his well-cut suit without a hint of a tie, black or otherwise, but she knew something about Kit now, however much she wished she didn’t.

  ‘Thank God you came to rescue me!’ Kit was saying. ‘Can I skulk here with you two for a moment? I am shockingly bad at these kinds of things. I am hopeless at small talk, isn’t that true, Isadora?’

  ‘It’s true! Kit’s real forte is piffle!’ Isadora’s eyes danced with mischief.

  He gave a humorous groan. ‘Anna, don’t you love how she managed to slide in that Lord Peter Wimsey reference like a stiletto into my ribs!’ Kit was inviting her to join in their flirty give and take, but she felt frozen. She didn’t want to be this stiff distant woman, always trapped on the wrong side of a pane of glass. She didn’t want this curse of seeing through people’s disguises into the darkness no one else seemed to see.

  She heard her grandfather say, You don’t need more darkness and suspicion in your life, my darling. You need to learn to trust again.

  And suddenly she saw herself sitting in Xi’an with Jake McCaffrey, looking back at him with cold detachment as he talked about his on-off fiancée. In that instant of shocking clarity Anna grasped that the expression she had seen on Kit’s face had actually been her coldness, her wariness, her swift clinical summing up of his worth as a human being, momentarily reflected back.

  She heard Isadora say, ‘Kit, I’m sorry if this is distressing, but we wanted to talk to you about Naomi Evans. I believe she was working for you?’ And she saw Kit suck in his breath.

  ‘Jesus, Isadora, I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a complete moron. Someone told me you’d found the body. I’ve just been so caught up with this – circus.’ Kit’s helpless gesture seemed to include the display of books, the BBC crew and the milling guests. His face crumpled with distress.

  ‘It was actually Anna who found Naomi’s body,’ Isadora said quietly.

  Kit’s eyes widened. He moved to touch her then didn’t quite complete the gesture, letting his hand drop as if he’d sensed her natural reticence. So he was sensitive as well as good-looking, Anna thought and felt her interest tentatively revive.

  ‘Naomi was a wonderful person,’ he said. ‘When I first met her I thought she was just, you know, a blonde – I know, Isadora, I know! – but my God, what a brain that woman had.’ Once again Kit ran his hands through his hair, which was starting to stick up at odd angles.

  ‘She was working with you on Owen Traherne’s biography?’ Anna said.

  ‘She was my top fact-checker. Kept on top of everything. Dates. Who did what, when, where. All the stuff I’m so bad at. Such a tragedy. An inexplicable tragedy. Although—’ Kit checked himself. ‘Sorry, I really don’t think I can go there,’ he said grimly.

  ‘Please finish what you were going to say,’ Isadora said.

  Kit puffed out his cheeks. ‘I’m probably making something out of nothing. Despite my unfortunate resemblance to the great Lord Peter—’ he flashed Isadora a self-deprecating smile – ‘I have absolutely no detectin’ skills! But there are a couple of things that have been bothering me. First, why wasn’t there any DNA at the scene of Naomi’s murder? It seems especially odd when you think that the monster that killed those other women left his disgusting DNA littered all over their murder scenes with what seems like reckless abandon.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Damn, sorry, I promised Huw I’d alert the TV people that we’ll be running a bit behind schedule.’

  ‘You said there were a couple of things,’ Anna reminded him.

  His expression clouded. ‘I have no actual proof of this, but a few days before Naomi died she seemed very excited about some important new contact she’d made.’

  Anna heard Naomi saying, But oh my God, this is going to be a total game changer, Anna! ‘Do you know what kind of contact?’ she asked.

  ‘All I know is that she was convinced this guy could give her unprecedented access into Albanian gang culture. So I’m guessing not the pleasantest person in the world. We almost fell out over it, actually.’ Kit shook his head, remembering. ‘I told her she should stop and think about what she was getting herself into. Of course, if I’d been a proper friend I’d have insisted she drop the whole crazy scheme. I don’t know, obviously, that this has anything to do with her death, but I can’t help …’ Again Kit’s face crumpled. ‘I just can’t stop myself going over and over it. I haven’t been able to sleep since I heard.’

  Anna knew how that felt. If she’d just left Coffee on the Green a few minutes earlier, decided to walk Bonnie earlier, she too might have prevented Naomi’s death.

  ‘Dear Kit,’ Isadora said remorsefully. ‘I said I didn’t want to upset you, and now we have. But when Huw comes back, will you please tell him how much I enjoyed his wonderful foreword to his father’s poems. It was an inspired idea to ask someone who knew Owen so intimately, not the usual dry academic merde.’

  ‘It’s a brilliant piece of writing,’ Kit agreed warmly, visibly relieved to return to a less fraught subject. ‘Poor Huw, this is such a big night for the Foundation, and just when he needs some support, Sara gets one of her tactical migraines. OK, I’d really better go. Lovely to see you again, Isadora.’ He pulled his wallet out of his trouser pocket, extracted a card and handed it to Anna. ‘Just in case you think of anything else you might want to ask me about Naomi.’ He deliberately met her gaze, and A
nna saw a faintly questioning look in his eyes. ‘Very good to meet you, Anna, and again, I’m so, so sorry.’

  After Kit had gone, Isadora seemed to wilt. ‘I’m sure we’ve been here more than an hour.’

  ‘We’ve been here exactly an hour and a half,’ said Anna, who’d been surreptitiously keeping an eye on the time.

  ‘Well, I’ve seen at least a dozen people here that I’ve slept with at one time or another, and I would really prefer not to have to see any more. I suggest we go to the Eagle and Child for a drink.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Anna, who had secretly been hoping to go straight back to Bonnie and bed. ‘I just want to buy a copy of the love poems for someone. Then I’m ready to go.’

  On their way out of the Ashmolean they almost collided with a still-agitated Huw as he hurried back inside.

  ‘You don’t mind missing the speeches?’Anna said.

  Isadora gave one of her dark laughs. ‘My dear, I have heard enough speeches to last me several lifetimes.’

  They set off walking back to St Giles in the now thick and swirling mist. The temperature had dropped while they were inside the museum, and they were both shivering in their flimsy clothes.

  ‘You really ought to reconsider my suggestion,’ Isadora said. ‘I could see how much Kit took to you.’

  ‘There’s nothing to reconsider,’ Anna said, teeth chattering. ‘I’m not looking for—’

  ‘Not looking for what? Love?’ Isadora was suddenly scathing. ‘Only fools go looking for love. Love either comes or it doesn’t. Sex, on the other hand—’

  ‘Isadora!’ Anna said, her face burning. ‘I refuse to talk to you about sex!’ After a highly-charged pause, she said in a more neutral tone, ‘Isn’t the Eagle and Child just for tourists these days?’

  ‘It was my second home in Tolkien’s time,’ Isadora said loftily. ‘With or without tourists I find it a wonderfully comforting place, and with any luck they will have a fire.’ Her deep-set eyes had taken on the brooding look that Anna remembered from the row with Gabriel. Suddenly, she looked tired and old.

  Anna’s brain felt overloaded with sensory impressions, and Kit’s mention of criminal gangs had left her confused and disturbed. She hadn’t known Naomi long, but she could easily relate to the picture Kit had painted of her, doing everything humanly possible to unearth a dangerous crime ring. She could relate to it except for just one thing. The Naomi Anna had constructed in her imagination was totally devoid of a diva instinct. Her Naomi would have hunted down the facts, carefully, responsibly, discreetly collecting together all relevant information. Then she’d have tied it all up with a big red bow and handed it over to the proper authorities to deal with. Walking blithely into a den of gangsters looked too much like a death wish to Anna, and if there was one thing she thought she knew about Naomi, it was that she was on the side of life. On the other hand, Anna reminded herself, this piercing insight into Naomi’s soul was based on precisely two conversations.

  They had almost reached the Eagle and Child when Anna’s heart almost stopped as he came loping out of the mist: the boy she’d been pursuing for sixteen years, the boy she came back to find. Seeing him walk towards her, arrogant and alive, Anna felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach, too shocked to call out or even breathe.

  A heartbeat later, her brain kicked in. Sixteen years ago this adolescent would have been at preschool. His super-size state-of-the-art headphones hadn’t been invented then. Her boy was no longer a teenage boy, any more than Anna was still a teenage girl. Like someone who has almost missed a step, Anna’s mistake and her recovery happened in the same electric instant, but she was left shaking, heart pounding. It was as if she’d seen a ghost. A messenger. Don’t forget.

  Isadora looked at her oddly. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine!’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m looking forward to this open fire you promised me!’ Anna felt an irrational pang as Isadora instantly accepted her blatant lie.

  ‘That’s good!’ she said grimly, handing over her car keys. ‘Because I intend to get totally and utterly sloshed!’

  EIGHT

  Isadora delivered on both her promises. Anna had known a few heavy drinkers in her time, and as the empty vodka glasses stacked up she was dreading the moment when this fiercely intelligent woman inevitably crossed the line into maudlin incoherence.

  But in some strange reversal of normal laws, excess alcohol only seemed to make Isadora wittier and more lucid, kicking her brain into sparkling overdrive. As she talked and gestured, dark eyes flashing, the actress in Isadora seemed hell-bent on dazzling everybody within earshot. No one came to join them at their fireside table, to Anna’s relief, but she could see people becoming drawn in as Isadora described glamorous people she had known and hilarious, surreal or downright dangerous situations she had been in.

  She grew slightly huffy when someone announced closing time, but after a little coaxing Isadora allowed Anna to prise her away from her audience and out into the fog. Luckily, Anna had anticipated the effects of cold night air and was ready to catch Isadora at the exact moment she sagged at the knees. Feeling Anna’s arm go round her, Isadora lifted up her head and wept.

  Anna had to drive the Volvo back to Summertown with a still-weeping Isadora and an ominously flickering petrol light for company. She left Isadora passed out in her bedroom, having placed a glass of water and a waste paper basket within easy reach. Isadora’s little dog, Hero, who had followed them anxiously upstairs, jumped up on the bed next to Isadora and lay down beside her, her Marmite-brown eyes alert through her overgrown fringe. Leaving Hero to keep watch, Anna went downstairs to call a taxi.

  It was past one a.m. by the time Anna eventually let herself into her own flat. The intensity of her evening with Isadora, on top of her mistaken sighting outside the Eagle and Child, had left her raw and jangling. Then there were Kit’s worrying revelations. She’d need to wind down if she was going to get any sleep. Anna popped two chamomile tea bags in the small red teapot she used for herbal tea and poured on boiling water. When her tea was ready, she made herself comfortable on the old leather sofa in her kitchen, rested her steaming cup on its battered arm and sat leafing through the book of love poems she had bought for Kirsty.

  With Bonnie dozing at her feet, Anna dipped in and out of the poems, occasionally sipping at her tea. She found the poem she’d recited to Kirsty, and fragments from some of Traherne’s other poems came back to her as she read. Anna’s memories of her sixth-form studies were hazy at best; Owen Traherne’s words had washed over her largely unheeded, along with everything else. But in the lonely small hours, with mist pressing against the kitchen windows and only a sleeping dog for company, she was startled by how much they stirred her.

  Carefully holding the book so as not to crease the spine, Anna read, ‘Again and again I let myself be lured to that bespelled spring which keeps me forever thirsty and enslaved.’

  Only a fool goes looking for love, Isadora had said. Until tonight Anna had not let herself know that she’d been looking. Oh, she knew she could have sex. Any young woman with a pulse could find sex. But no matter how loudly she denied it, it was love, that bespelled spring, which Anna secretly longed for. She remembered Kit’s questioning look. Kit, who lived in the same city as Anna and was funny and sweet.

  At last she forced herself upstairs and into bed, where she crashed asleep until her alarm went off at six thirty.

  On the bus into work the next morning, eyes gritty with exhaustion, Anna tried to cheer herself up by imagining Kirsty’s surprise when Anna gave her the book. In fact, Kirsty’s reaction embarrassingly exceeded her hopes.

  ‘This is such a thoughtful present. I don’t know what to say. Oh my God, Anna, this is so perfect.’ And to Anna’s horror, Kirsty’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘I knew you were interested in Owen Traherne, that’s all.’ Anna hastily switched on her computer, signalling her intent to get down to work and hopefully putting an end to any unwanted intima
cies.

  But Kirsty, laughing now as well as tearful, waved away her objections. ‘Shush, Anna! You did a really lovely thing. Now you’ll have to allow me to take it all in!’ And Kirsty continued to perch on Anna’s desk, her coppery curls illuminated by the light coming in the window, exclaiming over the woodcuts the publishers had commissioned to illustrate this new edition of Traherne’s work.

  There was an art to giving presents, Anna thought, and as an unusually (OK, obsessively) vigilant people-watcher, she took secret satisfaction in being an insightful giver. But Kirsty had mastered a far more elusive art: the art of receiving. Covertly watching her turning over pages, apparently in a state of bliss, Anna marvelled that Kirsty could make herself so vulnerable to another person.

  When Anna logged on to her shared computer she found a flurry of emails waiting. Anna and Nadine had joint responsibility for students coming to Walsingham from outside the UK, and with the Michaelmas term now looming, everyone’s anxiety levels were escalating. Anna spent an hour and a half composing reassuring replies to various overseas agencies who were suddenly demanding detailed information relating to student accommodation, airport pickups, visa details etc. Plus it turned out that someone from this year’s intake had a disability that no one had previously thought to mention, and Anna had to do some fancy footwork to find him a ground-floor room in halls at what was a ridiculously late stage in the year. She was mentally congratulating herself for pulling off this near-impossible feat (hopefully, there’d be one less Post-it note from Nadine next time Anna came into work) when she received a text from Tansy: r u free to meet me & isadora 4 late lunch at m’lade?

  Anna immediately texted her acceptance. It was only while she was walking down Little Clarendon Street in slightly hazy sunlight, relishing the quiet of a street that would soon be thronging with cycling dons and undergraduates, that she felt a twinge of panic. How was Isadora going to feel when she saw Anna? If their situations were reversed, Anna would want to jump on a plane to a far distant country and never have to face that person ever again.