That Still andWhispering Place

by Kathy Shuker

  ‘Where is she?’ Claire thought of those sheds of Nick Lawer’s; she couldn’t get them out of her head. ‘Is it dark?’

  ‘No. No, I don’t think it’s dark. Not at all. No. And she’s all right. Yes. Yes, she’s happy.’ Jane’s breathing settled, the tone of her voice brightened. ‘She’s all right. Isn’t that wonderful? She’s all right.’

  Claire felt a touch on her arm and snapped her eyes open. The image of Gilly instantly disappeared. There was no-one standing in front of the table and the room felt bleak and cold. She shivered. Jane was looking at her, smiling.

  ‘But how can she be all right?’ Claire demanded, frowning. ‘She’s been taken from her family. She’s alone somewhere. Where is she? Can’t you see where she is?’

  Jane’s smile shrank. ‘I’m sorry Claire. I can’t tell you exactly where she is. It wasn’t that clear. But now at least we know she’s all right. She’s content. That’s something isn’t it? Doesn’t that make you feel better? Wherever she is, she is content.’

  Claire stared, her face puckered in disbelief. ‘And that’s it? But what about the trees…and…and the water? I mean that could describe almost anywhere in the village. You can’t get far away from trees and water in Bohenna. Can’t you be more specific?’

  ‘Well, it might mean Bohenna, I suppose,’ said Jane doubtfully. ‘But it could be somewhere else. Maybe it was somewhere by the sea - you know, the way the feeling of water came and went. I don’t know. I told you: it’s just a feeling, Claire. It’s not a vision exactly.’

  Claire continued to glare at her as the realisation slowly sank in that this was all she was going to find out. She had been so stupid, so gullible. How had she allowed herself to think this would be meaningful in any way? If Jane really believed it, she was sad. But better that, Claire thought, than the intentionally deceitful fraudster that would be the alternative.

  She reached over and grabbed the slide from Jane’s hand, then scrambled to her feet. The velvet pouch was on the end of the table and she took that too and slipped the slide inside. Her hands were shaking. Picking up her bag from where she had dumped it on the floor, she produced her purse.

  ‘I owe you,’ she said curtly, trying to contain the bitterness of her disappointment.

  ‘Oh, Claire, it’s all right. I don’t want you to pay me.’

  ‘No, I insist. This is what you do, isn’t it?’ Take money from people for giving them false hope, she wanted to add. ‘Your job,’ she said instead.

  She found a twenty pound note and two tens and put them on the table. The altar. She walked to the door. Jane was already on her feet. She picked up the money and followed her quickly out into the hall, catching up with her by the front entrance. She put her hand flat against the closed door.

  ‘You don’t have to give me this. It’s too much anyway.’ She tried to give it back but Claire wouldn’t take it so she rested her hand on Claire’s arm. ‘Claire, let Gilly go. There’s a herbal remedy I could give you which might help if you’d like, something to help you banish the past and look forward. You’ve got to accept that Gilly’s content and it’s time for you to move on. Really, it’s time.’

  ‘No,’ said Claire, angrily. ‘It’s not up to you to tell me what I’ve got to accept. And I don’t want herbal remedies. I just wanted your help. I wanted you to tell me something useful. Where she is. I wanted to know how I can find her.’ Claire took a deep breath and let it out in a shuddering sigh. ‘I expected too much. It’s my fault, I know that. I wanted to believe you could do it.’ She stared into Jane’s eyes as if she might read exactly what was going on behind them. ‘I don’t believe it, you see. Maybe you really do believe in all this garbage but I don’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for you and I’m sorry for me too. We should never have done this. I…’

  She pressed her lips together again and put her hand to the door latch.

  ‘Sooner or later, you’ll have to move on, Claire,’ said Jane peremptorily. ‘I’m telling you.’ Her hand was still pressed against the door, stopping it being opened. ‘You’re not helping yourself.’

  She fixed Claire with an accusing gaze, then dropped her hand and Claire immediately escaped into the night. When she got into the car she couldn’t go anywhere because her eyes were too full of tears to see. So she sat in the dark, rocking her sorrow.

  Chapter 10

  The large kitchen breakfast room in The White House lay to the front of the building and benefited from a sweeping bay window which looked out proprietorially over the vineyard. Unzipping his portfolio at the kitchen table, Adam extracted a succession of large sheets of paper and glanced round, searching for the best place to display them. He settled on the window seat hugging the bay and carefully propped his drawings up for the Pennymans’ consideration. Eve was out, he had been told - gone shopping in Truro with a friend - so they were safe for at least another couple of hours.

  He stepped back and glanced round his audience. Julia was there. So too was Phil - looking completely disinterested - and both Timothy and Neil Pennyman. It was the first time Adam had met Neil and he was intrigued to see the two brothers together. They were recognisably related: both had the same long face with a slightly square jaw; both had the same greeny-blue eyes. But Neil was taller by at least a couple of inches, his brown hair a few shades lighter. Tim was slighter, had dark hair, prominent eyebrows and a restless manner. Adam had met Timothy several times because it was he who mostly dealt with the Craft Yard. He was easy to talk to, superficially friendly at least, though didn’t always follow up on his promises. On first inspection, Neil appeared a harder character, more likely to unapologetically stand his ground. But the brothers clearly got on well, exchanging odd remarks, making jokes. Now, however they had fallen silent and had stepped a couple of paces forward to study the pictures.

  ‘These are the sketches I did,’ Adam said, ‘to show the different views you get from various places in the vineyard.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Tim. ‘Mum’s never shown much interest in paintings or ‘art’ before. Is she really going to want this?’

  ‘We’ve been through all this, Tim,’ Julia said impatiently, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘Please don’t let’s argue about it again. It’s not just a painting. It’s a painting of the vineyard and the house that mum and dad set up and worked so hard to make a success.’

  ‘I wasn’t arguing,’ Timothy protested. ‘I was just saying. We want it to be a special present.’

  ‘I’m sure our artist here understands that,’ said Neil smoothly.

  Adam managed a smile. ‘The beauty of a painting is that I can move things around a little to get a better composition or to emphasise a significant feature. And I can edit anything out which you don’t want or which might spoil the view.’

  ‘I dare say you can,’ said Neil. He flicked Adam a dismissive glance. ‘So come on, Tim.’ He leaned forward, moving his gaze from one drawing to the next. ‘Help us choose the best view.’

  ‘What do you think, Phil?’ asked Julia.

  Phil gave the pictures a brief inspection. ‘Surely, the point is: which view would your mother like best? What would mean the most to her?’

  The three siblings looked at him, then at each other, apparently surprised.

  ‘Why didn’t you think of that, clever clogs?’ Timothy muttered to Neil.

  Julia pointed. ‘That one. I think mum’d like that angle.’

  They argued about it for a few minutes and Adam left them to it. He found himself imagining Neil with Claire, trying to see them as a couple. What had attracted them to each other and what had driven them apart? The answer to the second part was maybe easy - the disappearance of Gilly - but he wasn’t sure it was ever that simple. He’d thought about these things a lot lately, ever since Zoe walked out. When did attraction stop being enough? How much do you need to have in common to stay together? When did compromise push you too far away from yourself? He thought he knew all the questions but he had no idea about the an
swers.

  The family finally agreed the view they thought Eve would like the best and Adam talked them through the other options of size and approach. Ideally he would have carte blanche to do a painting the way he saw it but for a commission of this type, he recognised the need to compromise. There it was again, that word. So he was capable of compromise. He wondered why there were times when it seemed more palatable than at others.

  Neil was asking about the price and trying to barter and Adam forced himself to concentrate and hold firm. Neil was casually but expensively dressed and drove a BMW which was parked outside. The Pennymans, between them, could afford his prices for a commission. They came to an agreement and Adam collected up his drawings and left.

  *

  Standing in front of his work table three quarters of an hour later, Adam was tapping a brush with monotonous regularity against his thigh, staring at his current work, a view across the estuary from Fowey towards Polruan, a picture which he suspected had already gone astray. It certainly wasn’t coming out the way he’d originally had in mind and he sighed heavily.

  A movement caught his eye and he used the excuse to look up, just in time to see Neil Pennyman walking purposefully into the Craft Yard and turning left, then out of sight. Adam shifted sideways to get a better view but Neil had disappeared so the only place he could have gone was into V and C. Adam reluctantly returned to his work, keeping one eye on the yard. It was another half hour before he saw Neil Pennyman walk away, his step as brisk as ever. He looked like a man who was always on a mission.

  Adam did some desultory work on the piece but putting on more and more layers of paint, he knew from experience, never sorted out a problem painting. He abandoned it; he needed perspective.

  He walked to the window and looked across towards V and C. That lunch he had shared with Claire in the restaurant still lingered in his mind. She had thought his interest in Gilly’s disappearance ghoulish or a source of cheap entertainment maybe. Perhaps she was right. It didn’t touch him emotionally and he hadn’t handled it well either. Given what had happened and what she had been through, it was hardly surprising that she didn’t appreciate his interference and that bothered him. And now he wondered how she felt about having her ex-husband walk in on her like that, so confident, presumptuous even. He let these thoughts drift through his mind, then, on an impulse, left his studio and walked across to see her.

  Claire was standing at the back of the unit facing a large mirror which was propped up against the wall. She wore pink rubber gloves and had a bottle of spray glass cleaner in one hand, a cloth in the other and, as Adam approached, was rubbing ferociously at the surface of the mirror. She glanced up but carried on rubbing.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  ‘Hi. Can I help?’ She squirted another mist of cleaner on the glass.

  ‘I wanted to apologise,’ he said.

  She straightened up then and turned to look at him, frowning.

  ‘Apologise?’

  ‘For seeming…’ He shrugged lightly, uncertain what the word should be. ‘…uncaring, I suppose - the other day when we were talking about your daughter. I didn’t mean it that way. I just wanted you to know.’

  ‘Oh. Forget it.’ She turned away to start cleaning again - though the mirror looked spotless to Adam’s less exacting eye - then suddenly looked back at him and smiled. She looked so different when she smiled that he thought he could see exactly why Neil Pennyman had fallen for her twenty odd years ago. Against the weary disappointment of her face, the smile looked happy, cheeky even; it transformed her. ‘I’m impressed,’ she said, eyes almost glinting with amusement. ‘A man who apologises. Wonderful.’

  ‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you - but I had thought maybe I could buy you a drink,’ he added, though he hadn’t previously thought anything of the kind. ‘You know, so there’s no hard feelings.’

  ‘Oh,’ she repeated. The smile had gone and again a frown puckered her brow. She appeared to be having a mental argument. ‘I’d like that,’ she said.

  ‘Great. What about, say, Friday night? We could meet at the pub maybe?’

  ‘That would be great.’ She was smiling again. ‘But could we possibly make it the Thursday instead? I’m off on the Friday and working the weekend.’

  ‘Yeah, OK. Good. Say…’ He shrugged. ‘…seven o’clock. Maybe we could eat there too? I’m sick of beans on toast.’

  The smile became a grin. ‘OK. And Adam?’

  He had started to leave but stopped and turned.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You don’t owe me a drink. I was rude. It was uncalled for. I’m sorry too.’

  ‘Don’t be.’

  Adam went back to his studio, a little stunned - and a little bit pleased with himself too.

  *

  Adam was already in the lounge bar of The Swan when Claire arrived at seven, sitting at a table in the corner by the fireplace, a pint of beer on the table in front of him. There was a smattering of people in the public bar but the lounge was otherwise empty. He got up when he saw her and met her by the bar, bought her a drink and they took a couple of menus back to the table.

  For several minutes they studied the menus intently, holding them up, using them as protective shields against conversation. Claire glanced surreptitiously at her companion a couple of times. He looked tidier than usual, his stubble neatly shaved, the collar of a polo shirt visible, folded over a tidy woollen sweater. A silver earring fashioned in the shape of an artist’s palette dangled from his left ear.

  ‘Have whatever you want,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s on me, remember.’

  ‘No, it’s all right. Let’s go Dutch.’

  He feigned shock. ‘A woman who refuses to accept a free meal? Wonderful.’

  ‘Oh OK. Touché. ‘I suppose I asked for that.’

  ‘Certainly did. Are you always this independent?’

  ‘No. Yes. It’s just…look…’ She put the menu down and leaned forward onto the table. ‘…the truth is I feel kind of awkward. I was married for twenty-one years. I guess I still am, technically, till the Decree Absolute comes through. And Neil and I were together very young, so this is kind of odd for me. I'm finding being single…strange.’

  She stopped, wishing she hadn’t started this and unwilling to explain how confused she sometimes felt at not being half of a couple any more. She didn’t want to seem needy, pathetically desperate for a male companion. In any case, how can it be so hard to just be yourself, she kept wondering. Had she forgotten who she was? Some days she was scared that Claire Hitchen didn’t exist any more, that she had been subsumed into a marriage and now she was gone.

  ‘Don’t feel awkward.’ Adam broke into her thoughts, speaking lightly, amused at her earnestness. ‘I suggested the meal so it’s only fair that I pay.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Anyway, I owe you for rescuing me from a damp river bank at Christmas. So relax. I’ve had commissions, remember. Just get on and choose a meal, will you?’

  She gave in and ordered scampi; Adam chose steak and, before he could get to the bar to order, Dave Spenser’s daughter, a twenty-year-old Goth, slouched up to them with a notepad, then slouched away again.

  Adam took a pull of beer and sat back. He looked round appreciatively. ‘I like this place.’

  ‘It hasn’t changed much.’

  ‘That’s why I like it.’ He regarded her speculatively. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Ye-es. Probably.’

  ‘It’s not personal. I was over at The White House the other day, showing my suggestions for that seventieth birthday commission.’

  ‘I heard. How did it go?’

  ‘Not bad. There seemed to be some disagreement between them, but it was resolved.’ He hesitated. ‘What I wondered was: are they the sort of people to come through? I mean, are they likely to change their minds when I’ve already put in the work?’

  ‘Didn’t you take a deposit?’

  ‘Yes. But it’ll only cover the materials if they don’t want the
painting. Not the time.’

  ‘Well, I shouldn’t worry. They’re not like that. They’re hard-nosed about their business but they’re pretty straightforward.’

  He grunted. ‘Unless they hate the painting of course…’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll love it.’ She smiled but the smile quickly faded. ‘Neil came to see me after your meeting with them.’ She paused, running a finger round and round the rim of her glass. ‘He’s decided to come back to work at the vineyard. Eve asked him to at Christmas apparently.’

  ‘Really?’ Adam took another swig of beer and licked the foam from his lips. ‘To judge from your expression, this comes as a surprise?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her foot started its regular bounce on the floor beneath the table. ‘I thought he was settled in Kent. He had a good job - though he’s got to work notice there so he won’t be coming immediately.’

  ‘He might change his mind yet.’

  She thought of the conversation again, of Neil asking her if his return would bother her. ‘I know it’ll be kind of odd, Claire,’ he’d said, ‘for both of us.’ He had tried to give the impression that he wouldn’t do it without her approval but she doubted that. Something he had said or the manner in which he had said it made her suspect he had already given his notice and planned the move.

  ‘I suppose the surprising thing was that he suggested leaving Bohenna in the first place. Life was so difficult then that it didn’t seem so weird.’

  ‘He suggested it? Why?’

  ‘Why do you think? It was like living in a nightmare here: speculation, press, memories, endless gossip and innuendo. Honestly, it was a relief to go. But then I think we both questioned it afterwards…in different ways.’

  He nodded, frowning. ‘What’s that noise?’

  ‘It’s my foot. Sorry.’ She quelled it. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to talk about Neil.’

  ‘Agreed. No Neil. No Zoe.’

  She immediately opened her mouth to ask about Zoe, then closed it again.

  The food arrived and they ate. They talked idly of art and music and books - she hadn’t seen him as a reader for some reason - and they compared opinions and mostly disagreed. When they’d finished eating, the waitress reappeared to remove the plates and give them dessert menus. Adam ordered more drinks.