by Mark White
‘Really? Why’s that? Tell me to bugger off if you think I’m bei-’
‘Bugger off!’
‘Ha ha - if you think I’m being nosy, but you seemed miles away when I was watching you cross the green. Is everything alright?’
‘Why were you watching me?’ she asked, secretly delighted, if a little self-conscious at the thought of him eyeing her up.
‘Errmm…why wouldn’t I?’ He grinned, impressed with his reply.
Cara’s eyes dropped to the ground. ‘Look, Ben…’ She was uncharacteristically lost for words. She couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t attracted to him, but there was so much going on at the moment: Luke, Bronwyn, Jennings; not to mention the fact that she was only two months away from her next posting. As much as she was enjoying the attention, now was not a good time to be getting involved with anyone.
‘It’s alright,’ he replied, sensing the change in her reaction to him. ‘I’m sorry; I guess I’m a little rusty at flirting. If I’m being perfectly honest with you, it’s been a while since I’ve had the urge to try it out on anyone.’
‘Yeah, right. I bet you say that to all the girls.’
‘Yep, and normally it works too!’ He winked at her, trying to keep the mood light and casual. ‘Anyway, I thought we were talking about you?’
‘Were we?’
‘We were. I was just saying that you appeared to be in another world. Is everything alright?’
She smiled at him, flattered that he cared but not to the extent that she was prepared to let him in to that other world. ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘There’s just so much going on at work, the roads are snowed off so I can’t get home tonight, and it’s bloody freezing! Apart from that, I guess I’m just tickety-boo.’
‘Are you staying at the Youth Hostel again tonight?’
‘Yep.’ Actually, I’m on my way over there now to check on my friend. You wouldn’t believe this, but she thinks she saw a dead girl in her bathtub last night! Oh, what fun we had laughing about that, I can tell you. I can’t wait to see what joy tonight has in store for us! Maybe we’ll dust off the Ouija board and have ourselves a séance. Would you care to join us? You never know who we might meet! - ‘It’s not that bad, really. It’s just…I don’t know about you, but I like my home comforts. And seeing all these kids running around having fun makes me miss my son Luke even more than usual. Still, I bet he’s enjoying himself far too much with his dad to have time to worry about his fretting mother!’
‘You’re married?’ he asked, slightly taken aback by the mention of another man.
‘Happily,’ she replied. ‘He’s six foot five, looks like Brad Pitt and teaches combat training in the SAS. I’m sure he’d love to hear all about you trying it on with me.’ She couldn’t stop herself from laughing as she saw the expression on Ben’s face change from genuine concern to relief at realising he was the butt of her joke. ‘Only kidding. Actually, we’re divorced. We’ve been separated for nearly a year now. He’s on childcare duty this weekend: a stroke of luck, really; considering the fact that I’m trapped in this place. Anyway,’ she smiled, ‘what’s it got to do with you?’
‘Errm, nothing really. I guess I was just being my usual nosy self. I’m sorry if I offended you. Curiosity, I suppose.’
‘You didn’t offend me,’ she said. ‘Anyway, what about you? I’m assuming you haven’t always lived by yourself in that big house. What happened to Mrs Price?’
Ben was about to tell Cara that his wife, Jane, had left him almost two years ago, when he felt something tugging at the hem of his coat. Looking down, he was met by the smiling face of his daughter Chloe, her cheeks raw and pink from playing in the snow. She reached her arms up towards him. He lifted her up, pulling her close to him, delighting in the fact that at six-years-old she still needed his love and protection.
‘Look at the state of you, young lady - you look like a giant icicle. I think we need to go home and get you into some nice, warm clothes, don’t you? We can come back out after lunch if you like?’
Chloe nodded her head in agreement. ‘Daddy, after lunch will you help me to build a snowman – a giant snowman with a carrot nose?’
‘If you want to, darling.’ He was looking at Cara, who was smiling at him and Chloe, appreciating the close relationship they had with each other. ‘Chloe, do you remember PC Cara Jones? She came to our house last night to ask daddy some questions.’ Chloe threw Cara a quick, nervous glance, before burying her head into Ben’s jacket and nodding. ‘What’s wrong, darling? It’s not like you to be shy. You needn’t worry – she’s not going to arrest me.’
‘Not unless you throw another snowball at my head.’ Cara said. ‘Look, I better be going. I need to get back to the Hostel for a quick bite to eat before embarking on yet another afternoon of heroic law enforcement. It was nice to see you again, Chloe. Try to keep your daddy out of any more mischief, will you?’ Cara’s gaze shifted from Chloe to Ben. ‘And it was nice to see you again too,’ she added. ‘You two have a lovely afternoon – might as well make the most of the snow.’
‘Cara,’ said Ben, stopping her as she turned to leave. ‘Listen…I was wondering …what with you being stranded here tonight and everything…whether you might care to drop by for dinner later? Nothing fancy – my cooking skills can guarantee that – but it would be nice to continue our conversation. To be honest, I would be glad of some adult company…no offence Chloe. I understand if you’re busy…you’ve probably got a wild night at The Fallen Angel planned…but if you-’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘I mean…I haven’t got anything else planned. I would love to come round. It’s very kind of you to offer.’
‘Wow…errm…okay. How about half past seven?’
‘Can we make it closer to eight? I’ll probably not be able to finish work that early.’
‘Eight o’clock it is,’ he replied. ‘Is there anything in particular you don’t like to eat?’
‘Yes – Tina Radcliffe’s dodgy bar food and Bronwyn’s microwave ready-meals. Why else do you think I’d accept your invitation?’ She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him like a joking schoolgirl, prompting all three of them to start laughing. ‘Seriously, the last thing I am is a fussy eater. The only thing I can’t abide is caviar.’ She was about to say it was because caviar gave her gas, but decided to think better of it and held her tongue. He seemed to like her sense of humour, but that particular gag so early into their friendship might have pushed things a step too far.
Ben smiled. ‘Damn, and to think I’ve been saving my best Beluga for such an occasion. Never mind, we’ll have to make do with beans on toast instead.’
‘Now you’re talking! And now I really do have to be getting along. I’ll see you both later.’ She gave a final smile to Ben as she turned to leave; a warm, genuine smile that filled him with a heady cocktail of happiness and lust. More than anything else, however, he was feeling excited: excited at the prospect of having dinner with a woman whom he found attractive and funny; and excited at the fact that someone like Cara found him interesting enough to actually want to spend time with him. Having his wife leave him had dealt a severe body-blow to his self-confidence.
‘Daddy,’ said Chloe, her eyes following Cara as she walked away. ‘Why did you ask PC Cara to come to our house tonight?’
‘Well,’ replied Ben, ‘I asked her because I like her. I think she’s funny and pretty - just like you. What do you think of her?’
‘I think she’s nice, daddy. But I don’t understand – if you like her that much, why did you invite her to our house for dinner?’
Ben looked quizzically at his daughter. ‘Because that’s what people do when they like each other. Just as you sometimes like to invite your friends over for parties and sleepovers. Why do you ask?’
‘Well, it’s just that…if you like her, why are you going to make her eat that disgusting food you cook? She might run away and never come back!’
Ben put his daughter down and f
olded his arms. ‘Hmmm, you could be right there. I know – I’ve thought of a better idea.’
‘Oh yeah?’ she smiled, folding her arms to copy him. ‘What’s that then?’
‘THIS!’ he shouted, proceeding to chase her through the snow, tickling her when she fell over until she begged him to stop, threatening to wet herself if he didn’t.
After an agonizing few seconds for Chloe, Ben collapsed next to her and tried to catch his breath, an exhausted father and daughter laughing together in the snow. As he gradually recovered from his overexertion, he looked around at the other adults and children playing on the village green, some of whom were enjoying the spectacle of watching Ben and Chloe enjoy themselves. His smile faded as a thought suddenly crossed his mind: he couldn’t remember the last time that he’d had so much fun, or indeed the last time he’d had a real date to look forward to.
And he was looking forward to it. For the first time in two years, Ben Price had a reason to smile.
Chapter 8
1.30pm: The black Range Rover pulled up alongside the entrance to Sid Henshaw’s field at the rear of All Saints’ Church, its powerful engine rumbling confidently against the surrounding tranquillity of the countryside. The falling snow had been granted a temporary reprieve; however the dark, grey clouds remained, masking any heat or light that the land so desperately craved from the sun hidden above them. In spite of the field’s close proximity to the houses and buildings of Shepherd’s Cross, there was not a soul to be seen; only the faint sound in the distance of people going about their business. The neighbouring churchyard was silent: the white, snow-covered headstones protruding from the hallowed ground like uneven, broken teeth; encircling the church as if they formed part of a huge, cavernous mouth on the verge of consuming its next meal. It was impossible to win the battle against the onslaught of winter; despite mankind’s relentless crusade for technological advances in the name of self-preservation, there was no escaping the omnipotent control of Mother Nature, her changing mood mercilessly indifferent to the plight of insignificant, self-obsessed mortals.
‘Is that it?’ asked Reuben King, staring out of the driver’s side window to Frank Gowland’s old, battered caravan lying unevenly in the far corner of the field. He shook his head in disgust. ‘He lives in that…that filthy squat?’
‘I’m afraid so…when he’s not living in the pub, that is,’ replied Ted Wilson from the passenger seat beside him.
‘You want us to hire him to repair Fellside Hall? Judging by the condition of his personal dwelling, Mr Wilson, I have to say that I am not overflowing with confidence in his abilities as a handyman.’
‘I admit, Dr King, that it’s perhaps not the best advertisement for a skilled craftsman, but trust me, I’ve used Frank for various property jobs down the years, and there’s nothing wrong with the quality of his workmanship. I’m willing to vouch for him.’
‘Hmm – I hope for your sake that your faith in him proves not to be misjudged. Anyway, as you know, whatever skills he may or may not possess are now subordinate to our primary interest in him as a witness. How confident are you that he will come quietly?’
‘Leave him to me,’ replied Wilson. ‘That man would crawl to Fellside Hall on his hands and knees if he thought there was a chance of some work. But why choose him to be a witness? After all, he’s not exactly Shepherd’s Cross’s most upstanding citizen.’
‘You should never question Professor Blackmoor’s judgement; his intellect is far beyond our comprehension. However, the answer to your question is simple. Professor Blackmoor values vulnerability equally as much as God does, perhaps even more so. Think about it: has God not built his entire church on the backs of the weak; preying on their fears and insecurities? Is it not their blind faith that has provided him with the resources to sweep across the world like an incurable disease, immune to the antidote of free-thinking and self-direction? Mr Wilson; when we have fulfilled our purpose and brought Him back into this world, His world, it will be the doors of the weak that He will be knocking on first. They will be the first to convert. Those of a more independent mind, who think they know better than to believe in the promise of Heaven and the threat of Hell; they will be the last to be called upon. Of course, by then they will have seen His power first hand – you will see - they will come crawling to His feet and beg for His mercy.’
‘It all sounds rather serious,’ said Wilson, trying to lighten the mood a little. ‘Right then,’ he said, turning up his collar and opening the car door. ‘You might as well stay here while I go and fetch him. I shouldn’t be too long.’
King watched him as he made his way across the field. Foolish man, how blind he is. No matter…he will find out soon enough.
A dull, thumping sound coming from the boot of the car shifted King’s attention away from Wilson, who by now had reached the caravan and been invited inside by a half-dressed Frank Gowland. King twisted his body in his seat and looked over his shoulder in the direction of the disturbance. ‘Stop struggling. There’s no point in making such a racket – nobody can hear you. You might as well be a good girl and lie there quietly. Don’t worry; you don’t have too much longer to wait before we reach our destination.’ For a moment, the thumping stopped, and a satisfied King returned his attention to the caravan. However, a minute later the noise resumed, this time louder and more frantic. She hadn’t been an easy catch: on the contrary; he had found her to be far stronger than expected. It had taken a considerable amount of chloroform to enable him to contain her and carry her to the car. He knew that when Blackmoor was introduced to her, he would have no problem breaking her spirit. Until then, however, if she continued to irritate him, it appeared that he would have little alternative than to administer a second dose. He couldn’t afford to have her attracting any unwanted attention: besides, like her, Frank Gowland had also yet to be introduced to Blackmoor’s hypnotic powers. He couldn’t be allowed to hear someone struggling in the back – it was imperative that he be accompanied to Fellside Hall without suspecting anything other than a plump, juicy job waiting for him on his arrival.
As far as King was concerned, the reasons why Blackmoor had selected Ted Wilson and Frank Gowland to be witnesses were perfectly understandable. Wilson was the formal link between the outside world and Fellside Hall, and Gowland could carry out much of the necessary repair work on the property. More importantly, they were possibly the only two people in Shepherd’s Cross whose time spent in the company of Blackmoor and King was unlikely to encounter any undue suspicion from prying Police officers or fellow residents. And the girl? King smiled. He had a pretty good idea why Blackmoor had chosen her to complete the circle. As he sat in the car waiting for Wilson and Gowland to return, he couldn’t help but admire his friend: Blackmoor had known that Wilson would prove useful to them; he knew the area, the land and its people. And Blackmoor’s hold over Wilson, once it had lost its initial heady effect, had secured him firmly into the fold – as yet, there were no signs of him questioning their cause or rebelling against the demands made on him. On the contrary, Wilson’s obedience was proving to be resolute, and growing stronger with every hour that passed.
A further ten minutes elapsed before the caravan door swung open and the two men walked outside; Ted Wilson leading the way, with Frank Gowland closing the door behind them and stumbling to the ground in a haphazard attempt to catch up. On seeing them approaching the car, King checked a final time for any sound coming from the boot. When he was convinced that the second dose of chloroform he’d needed to administer had done its job, he opened his door and stepped outside to greet his new target.
‘Ah, Mister Gowland,’ he said, his face a pretence of happiness, as if he was being introduced to his long-lost brother. ‘How very happy I am to meet you at last. Mr Wilson has informed me that you might be the perfect man to help restore Fellside Hall to something like its former glory.’ King cast an enquiring glance at Wilson for confirmation that his conversation with Gowland inside the caravan had
gone according to plan.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Wilson. ‘Frank’s your man for the job – a genuine jack-of-all-trades, aren’t you Frank? He’s agreed to come with us to the Hall to see what you have in mind, Dr King. I said we’ll drop him back here later, if that’s all right with you?’
King grinned. ‘Certainly,’ he replied, knowing full well that it was highly unlikely that Gowland would ever step foot into his filthy caravan again. ‘I appreciate your…flexibility. I imagine a man like you is very much in demand?’
Gowland looked across at Wilson for support, before quickly returning his attention to King. ‘Errm…aye,’ he replied. ‘There’s always something that needs doing. But I’m never too busy to turn away work…especially not with the economy the way it is. To tell you the truth, I haven’t been up to Fellside Hall since messing about up there as a young lad. Ted tells me it needs a heck of a lot of work doing to it?’
‘Indeed it does,’ King replied. ‘Which is why my associate, Professor Blackmoor, and I have taken up Mr Wilson’s recommendation to call on your services. Naturally, you will be well rewarded for your work.’
Gowland’s face couldn’t mask his greed, like a down-and-out gambler whose last spin of the roulette wheel had finally gone in his favour. ‘I’m very grateful for the opportunity, Mr King.’
‘Doctor King.’
‘Sorry. Dr King.’
King winced as he caught a whiff of Gowland’s alcohol-infused breath, but he didn’t mind. Alcohol was merely another method that could be used to control him and ensure that he did their bidding. Nevertheless, he was beginning to tire of the forced formalities between the three of them. ‘Shall we?’ he asked, motioning for them to climb in to the car. ‘We can talk further on the way up to the Hall. Professor Blackmoor is very keen to meet you, Mr Gowland. I think you will find that he is very passionate about his plans.’ He allowed a knowing smile to pass between himself and Wilson. Gowland, oblivious to any underlying subtext, opened the rear door of the car and climbed inside; unaware that Bronwyn Hess was lying unconscious only three feet behind his seat.