‘No.’ He gave a sudden grin. ‘I grabbed the money before I ran, showed him the packing cases and left him to it. I expect he thinks I’m either a raging eccentric or an alcoholic desperate for the next drink.’
I creaked wearily to my feet. ‘I’m going to have a bath and then I’m going to bed. I really don’t care about anything else at the moment.’
‘I won’t ask whether I can come and scrub your back, because you’re too tired to know what you’re saying,’ he said.
I left him there, smiling, and almost fell asleep in rose-scented bliss.
When I went back down briefly he’d washed up, and was quite at home in the living room reading Spiral Bound: Japan.
‘Did I hear the phone?’ I asked.
‘Miranda. They’ve found Chris’s car not far from here, in a car park. His case was in it, but there was no sign of him.’
‘What is he up to? I assumed he was just trying to frighten Miranda.’
‘He doesn’t seem the type who’d miss recording his series,’ Nye said.
‘No, but it’s not going to keep me awake,’ I yawned. ‘Nothing could. I’m going to bed.’
‘I’m staying here tonight, however harmless you think Dave is – unless you come back to my place?’
‘No, but you do what you like,’ I said groggily. ‘I’m too tired to care.’
‘Thanks a lot. Is that the kitchen key? I’ll go home for some stuff, but I’ll be back within twenty minutes and let myself in.’
‘Feed the cat.’
‘I already did – you were sitting there watching me.’
‘Oh, did you?’ I managed to focus on his face, like a vision of the Angel Gabriel with stubble, and in a bad mood. ‘Sorry, Nye, I can’t seem to think straight. It would be nice if you stayed. The spare room is all made up.’
I trudged off up the almost unclimbably steep set of stairs and went out like a light the moment my head touched the pillow.
Chapter 32
Dead End
I was having a blissful dream, and Nye, in the guise of Dragonslayer, figured so prominently in it that when I was awoken by a soft, warm kiss I responded with an enthusiasm that may have taken Nye by surprise.
If so, he certainly managed to rise to the occasion, and by the time I was fully aware of what I was doing I was enveloped in the sort of muscular silken warmth you don’t get even from the best duvets.
We were soon well beyond the ‘resistance is useless’ stage, and bridges were burning behind us – and frankly, my dear, I didn’t give a damn. I just never wanted it to end. I’d abandoned celibacy and converted to fornication. I was in serious danger of becoming a Single Eccentric Sex-Mad Female.
Afterwards, held snugly in a warm embrace as though I were some small, precious, breakable object (although if I were I’d have been in bits by now, instead of just singed round the edges), he said tenderly: ‘This is something special, Sappho. What are we going to do about it?’
‘Nothing, you’re not my type,’ I said rather crossly. Who wrote Nye into my Life Plan?
His eyes were clear and silvery and alight with feeling, but whether with love, hate or the desire to strangle me, I wasn’t sure. ‘You tell me that Dragonslayer doesn’t get the girl in the end, and I’ll believe I’m not your type.’
I looked away. ‘It’s a secret. Anyway, there’s another book to go after that, so anything could happen.’
‘I think it already has: I told you – I love you.’
‘You weren’t serious.’
‘I was – I am! I want to be with you: “Come live with me and be my love” and all that.’
Not in a decaying Victorian chalet, I’m not!
‘I’m constitutionally unable to share my day-to-day existence with anyone else,’ I told him.
‘I love the way you put things,’ he said, kissing the end of my nose. ‘I think you’re really cute.’
‘Cute?’ I gasped, outraged. ‘I most definitely am not!’ Six foot of stroppy cuteness?
‘I think I knew from the minute I saw you sitting in that car looking scared,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘I was not in the least scared!’
‘You looked petrified, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you, even though I didn’t want to . . . not after what had just happened with Eloise. I didn’t intend getting seriously involved with someone else ever again.’
‘But we’re not serious. Are we serious?’ I stared at him. ‘I don’t know what’s happening!’
He held me closer (if possible). ‘We’re serious.’
‘But you were a mistake. I was thinking of starting a baby for my fortieth birthday, not a relationship, and I was going to pick someone out – someone dark-haired and suitable . . .’
‘We could have a baby,’ he said softly.
‘Yes, we could,’ I agreed, because – whoops! – I’d done it again. ‘I’m not on the pill or anything and that’s the second time we’ve—’
He held me off slightly and stared at me: ‘But I asked you the first time if it was all right, and you said yes!’
‘Well, it was – more than all right. I wasn’t thinking too straight at the time – or this time, come to that. You seem to have an unfortunate effect on my brain.’
He looked a bit taken aback. There was a line of endearingly human stubble along his jaw, so I ran my finger across it and then, overcome by a sudden impulse, kissed him.
I tell you, the cup of coffee that he’d originally woken me for was stone-cold and scummy by the time we emerged.
What was I going to do? I couldn’t live with him . . . but I was beginning to wonder if I could live without him.
After a bit – more than a bit – Nye noticed that Phinny had come silently into the room and was sitting watching us with what appeared to be approval. It was definitely disconcerting.
‘That cat makes me feel shy,’ Nye observed. ‘I’m getting up. Can you see a bath towel on the floor on your side? I was wearing it when I came in.’
He managed to put it on without disclosing any of his anatomy to the cat, but it involved contortions that made me giggle.
I lay back, smiling, with a feeling of complete mental and physical well-being: ‘I finished the book!’ I sighed happily.
He halted in the doorway, looking startled. ‘Was I just a celebration?’
‘Well, I didn’t have a bottle of champagne handy, and you were the nearest available thing—’
‘How long do I have to wait before you finish the next one?’ he asked with interest, and I threw a pillow at him.
It hit Phinny instead, who was Not Amused.
Miranda turned up while we were eating toast and adjusting our caffeine levels in companionable silence.
‘There you are, Sappho,’ she said, walking in through the open kitchen door. ‘I came round earlier, b-but you seemed to b-be having a lie-in, which is not like you!’
‘I finished the book yesterday evening, and I was shattered.’
I was even more shattered now, in all kinds of interesting ways. You know that feeling of boundless energy you have when you’re young and the sap is rising? As if you wanted to ricochet off the walls? Well, I hadn’t got that, but this was better.
‘Hello, Miranda,’ Nye said, full of the joys of spring, or something like that, and she started.
I suppose it is darkish in the kitchen without the horrible fluorescent light on.
‘Do you want some toast?’ he offered.
‘Er – hello, Nye. I d-didn’t see you there. I d-didn’t mean to interrupt, and I must get d-down to the castle and – and—’
‘Have some coffee first, it’s still early,’ I said. ‘Nye is just off.’
‘Nye should have been off an hour ago,’ he pointed out unfairly.
Did I lock the door? ‘So what’s keeping you?’ I asked him.
‘Why don’t you come down to the studio later?’
‘I might, but I’ve got lots of work to do, sorting out the book ready for V
iolet to type up.’
‘You need a break first – with me. Aren’t you going to hand me my bowler and briefcase?’
‘I feel like a gooseberry,’ Miranda said when he’d gone. ‘Sorry for walking in on you like that.’
‘It doesn’t matter – you hardly caught us in flagrante.’
‘Actually, I’m really pleased you and Nye have taken to each other.’
That’s one way of putting it.
‘B-but I’m surprised b-because I d-didn’t think he was your type.’
‘He isn’t. I keep telling him that, but he doesn’t take any notice.’
‘And I must have walked past his van outside without seeing it, which shows just how thick the fog is.’
‘I hadn’t even realized it was foggy.’ And I’d let Phinny out that morning!
‘Yes, it’s quite b-bad, b-but it’ll lift later in the morning. Gil phoned me yesterday, Sappho – he’s b-been d-deciphering the computer d-diary and he said he was finally getting somewhere, and that Chris’s d-disappearance was just like when D-Dorinda went, except they found Chris’s car.’
‘He’ll turn up.’
‘I can’t say I really care d-deeply, I’d just like to know what he’s up to. B-besides, I want a d-divorce, and it could make it d-difficult if he d-d-doesn’t turn up again.’
She finished her coffee and left. It was a pea-souper out there. ‘Be careful,’ I said.
‘D-don’t worry, I know these roads like the b-back of my hand.’
After she’d gone I’d just started to collect the disembodied parts of Dark Destinies: Deathless Delights when Gil rang me.
‘Sappho, there you are,’ he said, as though it were a surprise – but perhaps he’d been trying to get hold of me yesterday, too. ‘I’ve decoded all the diary now and I know exactly which cliff area Dorinda was checking on the day she disappeared. Funnily enough, it’s quite near you as the crow flies, only the nearest car park is about a mile away and the access is by path only.’
‘That’s great! Have you told the police so they can search the area?’
‘No, because I want to go and look myself first, only I’d like to have someone with me, just in case. I tried Nye’s number but there was no answer, and I couldn’t ask it of Miranda, of course – she’s so delicate and sensitive – so I thought of you.’
‘You want me to come with you?’ I looked, dismayed, at the mess of a book spread around me on scribbled sheets of paper and scattered cassette tapes.
‘If you wouldn’t mind. I could pick you up in the Land Rover. I’ll be able to drive almost there on tracks your car wouldn’t manage.’
‘No – that’s all right,’ I said slowly. ‘I’ve been shut in for nearly two days working, so I need the air and exercise. I’ll drive down to that car park and walk along the cliffs till I meet you.’
‘It’s very foggy,’ he said doubtfully.
‘Miranda said so too, but you can’t get lost in these lanes, there aren’t enough of them, and she says it’s going to clear.’
‘It probably already is down at the cliffs,’ he agreed, and described exactly where we were to meet. ‘All right, I’ll see you down there. And thanks.’
I dressed practically for scrambling around cliffs, in jeans, anorak and boots, put some cat food down for Phinny and then, as an afterthought, phoned the craft centre and left a message telling Nye where I was going and that I probably wouldn’t turn up for lunch. Then I locked the door and went out into what was indeed a heavy fog, thick and stifling as wool.
I might as well not have neighbours, for all the sight or sound of life there was. But evidently someone had been prowling about, for when I walked round the barn I discovered my poor old car squatting balefully on four flat, slashed tyres.
Nye’s van had been parked overnight next to mine and I was sure he would have noticed, so it must have been done since he left . . . and it was going to cost me a fortune to replace four Volvo tyres.
I felt really, really angry. ‘Is there anyone there?’ I demanded of the unresponsive fog, but answer came there none.
Dave? He could have been round and, seeing Nye’s van was there this morning, put two and two together. He’d have been angry enough to do something that malicious.
But I didn’t think he’d have hung around afterwards: slash and run was more his style.
I went back in the house to phone Gil and ask him to pick me up after all, but there was no answer. He must have already left, and since I didn’t want to let him down, I had a look at my Ordnance Survey map and thought I could find my way over the moors. It was downhill the whole way, after all.
I shoved the map in my pocket and set off up the road to where the track I wanted turned off towards the distant sea, feeling nervous and angry together.
Dave might just still be out there, and although I wished to get my hands on him I didn’t like the thought that he could be lurking unseen just within reach, though of course I was confident I could sort him out if he tried anything.
I found the track and strode down it, frightening sheep as I went, and looking out for the first cross track where I had to turn. It was eerie – to the point where I thought I could hear feet thudding on the turf just behind me, though there was never anyone there when I turned round.
‘Sappho!’ a voice whispered suddenly. It seemed to be all about me.
‘Dave? Where are you, you stupid man? Come out and show yourself!’ I demanded, but there was no reply – no sound at all, in fact, and since I didn’t have any real option I carried on, a bit more briskly and frequently looking over my shoulder.
I was walking faster and faster, and when I finally came out into the wider path that would lead me straight down to the cliffs, I took to my heels and ran.
The fog was thinning, which was fortunate, since I met Gil’s Land Rover slowly bumping into the track from a side turn, and we were suddenly nose to nose across the bonnet. I don’t know which of us was more surprised.
Wrenching open the passenger door I jumped in. ‘Go on – drive!’ I ordered, and he obediently jolted off down the rutted track. In the wing mirror I saw Dave emerge from the fog and stand gazing after us.
When I told Gil about the slashed tyres and Dave stalking me he practically ran off the track, and kept checking his rear-view mirror, even though I told him I didn’t think he’d follow us any more, and I could handle him if he did now I could see him.
He was right about the fog, too, because we soon emerged into bright, warm sunshine. Gil parked by a large rock near the cliff path, which detoured here away from the edge, since it was dangerously crumbling limestone.
He leaned on the car bonnet and consulted his notes and map. ‘She’d done up to this side of the big rock, and she meant to survey the cliffs to the right on the day she vanished. She wouldn’t drive the Land Rover, so she must have walked here from the car park. It’s pretty remote so it’s quite possible someone stole her car if it was there for hours.’
‘Joyriders,’ I agreed.
Gil was carrying rope and other climbing gear as though he was going to do a Tarzan at some point (but if so, he could count me out), and we began carefully walking the crumbling cliff edge, looking as best we could, without plummeting, for signs of Dorinda.
I found it first – fell over it, in fact – and then something cold slithered under my cheek . . .
An adder? There were adders – I’d seen them – only this one was made of rope: good, thick, strong rope, well secured, running down over the cliff edge.
‘Oh, well done!’ Gil said, flinging himself down beside me and peering over the edge. ‘This must be hers. Look, the rope’s knotted – she always did that to help her climb back up. I’m going down.’
‘The rope’s wet and slippery,’ I pointed out.
‘It’s not too bad. I’ll see what’s down there.’ He vanished, giving me a running commentary as I stared down at the top of his glossy brown head.
‘It goes over this bulge . .
. then there’s nothing except a small ledge blocked by a rock at the far end and it’s very unstable . . .’ Sounds of scuffling and a rattling of stones followed. ‘Oh, I see – there’s a gap behind the rock – you can just squeeze behind it—’
Voice and man vanished. ‘Gil?’
‘There’s a cave!’ he called very faintly. ‘I’m going in.’
Sooner him than me – who knew what was down there?
There was certainly something up here, for when I glanced over my shoulder there was Dave, hot on the scent, by the Land Rover.
Persistent to the last – but he couldn’t spot me lying here.
‘Sappho, Sappho!’ he called.
It’s amazing how spontaneously such a sensible person as myself can act sometimes: I was slithering down that rope like Houdini before you could say ‘slashed tyres’.
I was so glad to be on a ledge, however crumbling, that I stood with my nose pressed to the rock face for five whole minutes before Gil’s head popped out from the other end of it and said: ‘Hello – you’ve come down, have you? Take my hand and come in carefully.’
I let him guide me behind the rock, and a tight squeeze it was, too, and into the entrance to the cave. The rock face was sort of folded so that it would have been difficult to spot from the sea and impossible from the cliff top, and you had to step across a small chasm dropping straight down to the curve of deep water below.
‘Have you found anything?’ I asked, ducking down and slithering more or less on my bottom to the cave floor.
He shone his torch on to a heap of bones.
‘Oh God – it’s not Dorinda, is it?’
‘Of course not – it’s much older,’ he said reverently. ‘It’s another Red Lady, like at Paviland. Dorinda has been here, though. There’s her rucksack and flask. I can’t see any other exit, but I haven’t really explored, because I heard you coming down.’
He began to flash his torch around the walls of crumbling rock. ‘It’s really dangerous, you can see where it’s come down here and there, and – ah! – a hole.’
He vanished, like the White Rabbit.
‘Gil?’ I ducked down and stuck my head into the hole. ‘Gil?’
A Leap of Faith Page 25