Treacherous Waters

by Treacherous Waters (retail) (epub)

  * * *

  The next session with Charles Draper increased Annie’s confidence further. That evening she, Richard and Davie went for a walk by the river. Davie watched her with unabashed curiosity. He had lived with his mother’s terror of water for so long that it had come to seem a natural part of her. The thought that it might be cured greatly intrigued him. ‘Do you feel any different?’ he demanded.

  They were standing on the towpath, leaning on the wooden railing, looking out across the river. Richard, too, was watching her with interested eyes.

  Annie looked down into the water that swirled giddily against the muddy, overgrown bank. The level was high. Grass and weed streamed in the current. She frowned a little. ‘Yes,’ she said, then added slowly, ‘that is – it’s really hard to say. I mean, I don’t feel anything. And that’s unusual in itself. I’m not frightened, certainly. I’m not afraid I’m going to fall. Look…’ She lifted her hands from the rail and held them before her, perfectly steadily. ‘My heart isn’t racing. I can breathe perfectly normally—’

  A tugboat churned past them in midstream. Its wake widened in a surge to slap and suck at the bank beneath them. Davie looked at his mother a little anxiously; he knew how she hated that particular movement in water. She smiled at him and he positively glowed with happiness. ‘You’re cured!’ he crowed. ‘We can go! We can drive the car to Paris!’

  ‘Hey, hold on, young man.’ Richard put an affectionate arm about his shoulders. ‘Don’t let’s get too carried away.’ He smiled over the boy’s head at Annie. ‘Wait until next week. One more session with Charles and when I get back, if you feel happy about it, we’ll take a trip on one of the steamers. If that works – well, yes, I should think we can safely say that we can start making plans. What do you think?’

  She nodded. Looked down into the water again, deliberately trying to conjure those terrifying images that had haunted her for so long. Faintly they came to her, like echoes of a half-forgotten sound. Drifting hair. Pale, translucent skin. She looked up. The green banks of the river were solid, beautiful, comforting. There was nothing in the water, nothing to threaten her. She caught Richard’s eye and smiled.

  * * *

  Paris was hot, the atmosphere stiflingly close. Richard sat in his shirtsleeves in the all but airless room, his elbows on the desk, studying the document laid out before him. Even with the shutters closed he could sense the sweltering heat of the street outside. It was very quiet. He dropped his face tiredly into his hands for a moment, rubbing his eyes with the flat of his palms, then ran his fingers through his already damply disordered hair. After a moment he lifted his head, turned the page, trying to concentrate, and reached without looking for his cigarette case that lay on the desk beside him. A fly buzzed. The room was very still. He stretched a little in his chair, settled down to work again.

  An hour or so later he stubbed out his third cigarette and leaned back, rolling down his sleeves and sighing with relief. He neatly stacked the documents he had been working on, tied them with a narrow ribbon and tucked them into a folder, then looked at his watch. Over three hours until the train left. Richard stood up, straightened his tie and pulled on his jacket, picked up the small case that stood ready packed by the door, tucked the folder under his arm and, with a last look around the quiet apartment, went out onto the dark, stifling landing, locking the door behind him.

  The dumpy, black-clad concierge opened her shutter at Richard’s tap and looked up at him with flat, unfriendly eyes. Madame Colbert had little time for men, and for good-looking men no time at all. ‘Yes?’ Her voice was indifferent.

  Richard held out the folder. ‘Someone from my office will be here in an hour or so to collect this.’ His French was perfect and near-accentless. ‘Perhaps you’d be kind enough to give it to him? His name is Laroche. Pierre Laroche.’

  She grunted, put out a claw-like hand and took it from him. ‘Why not? I do everything else. Run errands. Take messages. Feed cats. Call plumbers. Why not be a postbox too?’

  ‘You’re very kind.’

  She grunted again.

  ‘If there should be any problem – if anyone needs to contact me within the next couple of hours – I’ll be at the house on rue Descartes until about two o’clock. You have the telephone number, I think?’

  ‘I have the number.’ The small, black eyes gleamed, knowing and cynical. Madame Colbert had her own ideas about why this too-handsome Englishman spent so much time in the rue Descartes. Men were all the same, weren’t they? Good for nothing.

  With no ‘goodbye’ she closed the shutter in his face.

  Despite himself, Richard grinned. In a city famed for its harridans, this one stood head and shoulders above most of them. A moment later he was in the hot, deserted street striding towards the rue Descartes.

  * * *

  A drenching mist of summer rain drifted across the river that moved sluggishly in the dull light. Annie strolled slowly along the muddy towpath, her eyes on the water. That she could even walk, unconcernedly, along the unprotected bank with the path beneath her feet slick and slippery with mud, would have been unthinkable just a few short weeks ago. For all her words of caution to Davie she was certain in her own heart that she was free of her fear at last. There had been no nightmares, no sleepwalking – at first she had suffered a nagging anxiety that Charles’s probing of her subconscious might trigger the terrible dreams – and now as, hands in pockets, she turned to look down into the water she felt nothing. On the contrary there was something almost comforting in the steady, melodic running of the river.

  The rain drifted softly into her face, settled in a spider’s web of tiny gleaming droplets on the shoulders of her jacket. The trailing branches of a nearby willow tree drifted in the current. And though she flinched from the memories that the sight of it brought, she felt no panic, no terror. She took a deep breath. Richard would be home later that night. Home from Paris. The city she had once loved; the city she knew that, if she let herself, she could love again. Over the past weeks and months, fuelled by Richard’s gentle promptings and Davie’s enthusiasm, she had allowed herself to remember; and had discovered to her own surprise that most of what she remembered was a source of delight and happiness. For too long she had allowed the dark shadows of fear and guilt to obscure the brightness of the sun. She would go to Paris, with Richard and with Davie. They would buy flowers in the Place du Tertre, breakfast on croissants and coffee at a pavement cafe, stroll with the other lovers along the banks of the Seine…

  Smiling, her eyes distant, she turned and retraced her steps. Davie would be home soon. Only a day or so and his long summer holiday would start. They would try the river boat first, as Charles had suggested. Then she would take him by steamer to Jane’s for a few days. And then – the three of them would go to Paris. Unexpected excitement lifted her, and she quickened her footsteps.

  * * *

  ‘Are you all right?’ Richard squeezed Annie’s hand reassuringly as the little steamer turned out of the mainstream of the river and chugged towards the landing stage on which they stood. She nodded without speaking. Truth to tell, at that moment she was in a state bordering on blind panic, but she was not about to admit it at this late stage. She glanced at Davie; her son was watching her with such a transparent mixture of concern, pleasure and pride on his face that her heart turned over. ‘I’m fine,’ she told herself through stiff lips. Her legs were trembling so that she found herself seriously wondering, as the little boat surged towards them, how she would ever summon the courage to step onto the gangplank, let alone board her.

  Richard’s hand tightened further on her cold one; Annie concentrated on controlling her shaking legs. Water lapped and splashed beneath the jetty where she stood. The handful of people who had been waiting with them shuffled forward. The lad who had sold them their tickets caught a flung rope and hauled on it. Richard smiled encouragingly.

  ‘All right, folks. All aboard the Skylark, as me old dad used to say. Tickets, ple
ase. Morning, Sir; morning, Madam. Hello, young man – taking Mum and Dad on a trip, are we? Mind ’ow you go there, Sir, we don’t like to lose our passengers – not the minute they get on board, any road—’

  ‘Where would you like to go?’ Richard asked, his hand firmly on Annie’s elbow. ‘Inside?’

  She shook her head. ‘Charles said to stay outside, to stand by the rail as we pull away, and to keep my eyes on the bank. Will you… stay with me, please?’

  ‘Of course I will.’ Richard took his place at her side, his arm lightly about her waist. Davie leaned over the rail, watching the churn of the water as the boat began to move. Annie resisted the temptation to reach out and grab him.

  The strip of water between the steamer and the jetty widened. Despite the instructions Charles had given her Annie found her eyes being irresistibly drawn to it. For a moment she was transfixed; then, slowly, slowly, she found that her heartbeat was calming. She took a deep breath. Her legs had stopped shaking. The water foamed and streamed around and beneath them. And that was all it was: water. There was no threat. There were no drowned faces, no ghosts. Just the exhilarating feel of the wind in her hair and on her skin, the cool feel of the spray in the air. The little boat swung in a wide arc, weaving through the river traffic, and headed downstream towards the city. Annie relaxed her iron grip on the rail. To her amazement she found herself perfectly at ease, moving almost unthinkingly with the motion of the vessel. She had never seen London from the river before; fascinated, she watched as houses and gardens, factories, wharves and workyards, parks and palaces streamed by. With growing confidence she stepped a little away from Richard and stood, one hand lightly on the rail, watching the panorama of the riverbank unfold. A pair of cyclists on the towpath at Hammersmith waved, and gaily she waved back. To her delight she discovered that not only had she overcome her tyrant fear, she was actually hugely enjoying herself. They chugged under bridge after bridge, pointed out the picturesque names of the riverside wharves – Rose, Crabtree – speculated on the contents of the Harrods repository, waved to the people on the piers waiting for the upstream steamer.

  ‘Look!’ Davie was jumping up and down with excitement. ‘There’s Fulham football ground! We’ll be coming up to Putney Bridge in a minute. Oh, Mother, isn’t it fun? Aren’t you glad you came?’

  Annie leaned closer to Richard, glanced up at him, smiling. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it is. And yes, I am.’

  ‘No fears? No problems?’ he asked softly.

  She shook her head. ‘None.’

  His arm tightened about her. ‘Well,’ he said, looking past her to Davie’s happy face. ‘Looks as if I might be able to get cracking and book those tickets, eh?’

  Davie clambered up onto the rail, leaned, shouting, into the wind. ‘Hooray! We’re going to Paris.’

  His mother took a firm grasp of a handful of pullover and hauled him back. ‘We’ll be going nowhere, young man,’ she said, ‘if you fall overboard and drown.’

  And that, she thought with perhaps a faintly perverse pride, isn’t something I could have said a few weeks ago…

  They disembarked at Charing Cross Pier and went happily off to lunch.

  ‘Game for the trip back?’ Richard asked her, over coffee.

  ‘Can’t wait,’ she said.

  Davie looked from one to the other, beaming.

  * * *

  ‘Mr Easton says that when we come back I can tell the class all about driving to Paris next term. Like Jenkins did, when his parents took him to Rome last term. But he only went on the train. Didn’t he just think he was swagger, though?’ Davie spoke with some satisfaction around a mouthful of fruit cake, licked his sticky fingers.

  Annie, who was peeling potatoes at the sink, looked around in surprise. ‘But, darling – you’re moving on to upper school in September. Oh, for goodness’ sake – don’t do that! Here, wipe your fingers.’ She tossed him a tea cloth.

  He caught it deftly. ‘Yes, I know. But Mr Easton says he can fix it with the new teacher. He says that travel broadens the mind and helps us to understand other people. He says there wouldn’t be anywhere near so many wars if people got to know each other and their countries. Mr Easton was in the last one. He shakes a lot.’ The words were matter-of-fact. Davie’s was a generation that had grown up with the human consequences of war. ‘He had a brilliant idea. He said I should take lots of photographs, and collect maps and postcards and things and make notes, and drawings. Wouldn’t that be wizard?’

  Annie had turned and was leaning on the sink, knife still in hand. She smiled. ‘It certainly would. I’ll tell you what, we could make a scrapbook. Two scrapbooks – one of the journey and one of our stay in Paris. You could use them for your school project and then we’ll have them as souvenirs for ever.’ Suddenly she found her own enthusiasm rising to meet his. ‘It would be fun. You can have my old camera if you like.’

  ‘Thanks! And I can do lots and lots of drawings. Jenkins can’t draw for toffee.’ They beamed at each other. ‘I’m really excited,’ Davie said. ‘I think this is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. Can I have another piece of cake, please?’

  * * *

  ‘I’ve written to Mother to tell her that we’re catching the boat from London Bridge on Saturday.’ Annie cleared the dishes from the table and stacked them in the sink.

  Richard nodded, his face preoccupied.

  ‘How are the arrangements for the French trip going?’ she asked over her shoulder.

  He did not reply.

  ‘Richard?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I asked how the arrangements for the trip to Paris are going?’ She turned on the tap, ran her fingers under the water.

  ‘Oh, very well. Yes.’ He hesitated. ‘Annie – leave that for a moment. Come and sit down a minute, would you?’

  She raised her eyebrows a little in surprise. ‘Why yes, of course.’ She dried her hand, came and sat down opposite him with her elbows on the table, her eyes enquiringly on his.

  It was a long time before he spoke. When he did he reached out and took her hands in his. ‘Annie – I wanted to ask—’ He stumbled a little. ‘That is… are you absolutely sure about this? Do you think perhaps… you should give it more time?’

  Annie was looking at him blankly. ‘What do you mean, “more time”? What difference will time make? You’re making the arrangements. We’ve told Davie. We can’t possibly let him down now. We can’t! He’s told everyone at school. His teacher wants him to talk to the class about the trip next term. Richard, for heaven’s sake! We can’t disappoint him now! He’d never forgive us!’

  Richard shook his head. ‘I know. I understand that. It’s you I’m worried about. Suppose we’re jumping the gun here? Shouldn’t you perhaps see Charles a couple more times – over a couple of months, perhaps – to make sure—’

  She pulled her hands from his and stared at him. ‘A couple of months? What good would that do? I’ve told you – Davie’s to do a project for the school. He’ll never live it down if he doesn’t go after all he’s been saying. You know how cruel children can be! And it’s his first term in the upper—’

  He caught her hand again. ‘Listen.’ His voice was oddly urgent. ‘Why don’t we go – Davie and me – just for a few days? I could arrange for you to see Charles again – just to be absolutely sure – and then we can all go to Paris for Christmas. Together!’

  She stood up, unsmiling, looked down at him. ‘We are going together,’ she said, ‘in a couple of weeks’ time. Would you like some apple pie?’

  Richard took a long breath, forced a smile. ‘Yes, please.’ He bowed his head for a moment, pressing his fingers to his eyes.

  She hesitated. ‘Richard? Are you all right?’

  He nodded, lifted his head. ‘I’ve been working hard, that’s all. I’m tired. Had a couple of headaches lately.’

  She smiled. ‘This trip is going to do us all good,’ she said, turning away from him to take the pie from the ov
en.

  Richard did not reply.

  * * *

  The saloon of the MV Shamrock was spacious and comfortable. As the vessel pulled away from the pier at London Bridge just before nine in the morning Davie knelt up in his seat, craning his neck to look out of the window. Annie watched him, smiling. As the only one of the party who had been on the trip before, albeit in the other direction, he had taken on the role of unofficial – and slightly superior – guide.

  ‘Tower of London coming up,’ he said, pointing. ‘Gosh, I wonder what it was like to be a traitor going there to be executed?’

  ‘A little worrying, I should think,’ his mother conceded.

  They passed the great water gate, with its intimidating portcullis, which had served for centuries as Traitor’s Gate.

  ‘Clang!’ Davie said with mordant resonance. ‘Off with his head! Swish! Clunk! I say, look’ – he had laid his cheek against the window and was looking ahead – ‘Tower Bridge is open. There must be a really big boat coming up.’ He turned again to the near bank. ‘Richard, what are those docks?’ He pointed. ‘Are they the ones we passed when we were in the car?’

  ‘St Katharine’s,’ Richard said, a little absently. ‘And yes, they are the same ones.’

  ‘What’s in those warehouses, do you think?’ Davie leaned to the window, cupping his hands above his eyes to keep out the light. The great blackened, yellow-bricked buildings towered above the wharves, making the men and vehicles around them look disproportionately small in contrast.

  ‘Oh – tea, rubber, wool, sugar maybe.’ Richard made an obvious effort to rouse himself.

  Annie looked at him fondly across the table that separated them. She had woken in the middle of the night to find his lips gentle but insistent on hers, his hand on her breast, his strong, warm body urgent against her. With no words they had made love; long, tender and fierce. She had fallen asleep with his breath in her ear. ‘I love you,’ he had said softly. ‘You’ll never know how much I love you.’ Sleepily, a little while later she had stirred, reached for him and found him gone. He had been standing by the window, his cigarette glowing in the darkness. ‘Richard? Is something wrong?’