Timeslip

  Timeslip

  Bruce Stewart

  First published 1970 by Pan Books Ltd,

  33 Tothill Street, London, S.W.l

  * * *

  ISBN 0 330 02723 9

  © Bruce Stewart and J. and R. Boswell, 1970

  * * *

  Printed in Great Britain by

  Richard Clay (The Chaucer Press), Ltd, Bungay, Suffolk

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Prologue

  Arthur Griffiths watched Sarah cross the Ministry field as he ate his cheese sandwich and swigged his beer.

  ‘Poor kid,’ he thought, ‘lives in a world of her own.’ She was moving slowly from left to right, arms outstretched as if feeling an imaginary wall. Then she disappeared. Sudden, instant, complete. Gone.

  ‘Sarah,’ he shouted as he pelted downhill.

  Somewhere near where Sarah had vanished he found a grubby white handkerchief. That was all. He turned and ran for the road to the village.

  * * *

  In Whitehall at about 2.30 that afternoon Murray of Naval Intelligence returned from lunch and his secretary handed him a telex message.

  * * *

  MISSING PERSON 12.8.70.

  SARAH TILLEY/F/AGE 15.3/HT 5' 2"/EYES BLUE/HAIR DARK/DISTINGUISHING MARKS NIL/REPORT MADE BY ARTHUR GRIFFITHS FARM LABOURER/BOWDEN COTTAGES/ ST OSWALD/RUTLAND/TO LOCAL POLICE STATION/12.40/

  12.8.70/GRIFFITHS REPORT: ‘SHE WAS WALKING ACROSS

  FIELD ABOVE OLD NAVAL STATION. I SAW HER STOP AND WALK TO RIGHT AND LEFT. SHE WAS FEELING AROUND LIKE. THEN SHE DISAPPEARED. JUST WASN’T THERE’/

  SEARCH IN NAVAL STATION UNPRODUCTIVE / GRIFFITHS GAVE POLICE HANDKERCHIEF PICKED UP IN FIELD/DOGS LOST SCENT IN AREA INDICATED GRIFFITHS.

  * * *

  ‘Mr Traynor is in your office, and the St Oswald file,’ said the secretary.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Murray. ‘Look up trains to Leicester and arrange a car and a room at The Bull in St Oswald.’

  A man in late middle age, quietly dressed, with greying hair and deep-set eyes, turned from the window as Murray entered his office. He read the telex message and handed it back.

  ‘Better go as soon as possible,’ said Murray. ‘Frances is fixing transport and a room at the inn. Want the file?’

  ‘Seen it too often,’ said Traynor gently.

  Well, best of luck.’ Murray looked hard at him.

  ‘I know how much it means to you.’

  1

  Liz and Simon stood together. It was early evening and quiet. By the crumbling wall a peeling notice that had once been black and white said:

  * * *

  MINISTRY OF DEFENCE KEEP OUT

  * * *

  ‘This is the place,’ said Simon Randall.

  Liz looked across the curving hillside. It was shaped like half a shallow bowl.

  ‘That’s where my dad was in the war,’ she said. ‘Let’s go down to those old sheds.’

  ‘It’s a prohibited area.’

  Liz looked at the boy, sizing him up. A year older than her, nearly at O-levels, quiet and reserved, always with his nose in books. ‘He’s stuffy,’ Liz told herself in a rage. ‘A fab fortnight it’s going to be, stuck in a caravan with him.’ But she held back her irritation.

  ‘Do you think Sarah’s down there somewhere?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t expect so. The police didn’t find anything. They say she’s always getting lost.’

  ‘Creepy place though, isn’t it?’

  ‘I thought you wanted to go down there?’

  ‘I do but I’m not going on my own.’

  They began their descent across the grass.

  Simon pointed towards the sheds. ‘There’s the remains of an aerial in front of that concrete building. Did your father ever tell you what this place was used for?’

  ‘I asked him but he says he doesn’t remember. I suppose he s not allowed to say. Anyway, he was only a rating.’

  ‘I can hear something like a radio signal,’ Simon said.

  ‘You’re not just saying that, are you?’

  ‘No. Keep quiet. Listen.’

  Wind rustled delicately in the grass but the half bowl of land was otherwise uncannily silent. Boy and girl stood rigidly attending. ‘That’s it,’ then ‘Sssh’ they said together, laughed and fell silent, listening to the chatter of sound that seemed to come from the deserted Naval Station below.

  Simon said quietly, ‘It’s like a sound track. Electronic noise. Some of it’s signals but some is just distortion or background noise.’

  Liz sat down. ‘Where does it come from, though?’ she said.

  Simon had sat down too and was rubbing his cheek.

  ‘There must be some kind of apparatus down there.’

  As he looked towards the ruins he shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t expect anything to be working in that place, though. Come on, let’s go down.’ Liz sprang to her feet and rushed down the hill. Simon followed more slowly. He saw her running at full tilt and then suddenly stop and bounce on to the grass. He pulled up alongside her. ‘What happened? Did you trip?’

  ‘I ran into something,’ said Liz soothing her backside. She sat up and looked into the grass. ‘Just a yard or two away. Sort of elastic. I bounced.’

  Simon advanced, lifting his feet high, looking for a tripwire. He stopped. Along the full length of his body, against his forehead and cheek, all the way down his flank, thigh and leg, a cold, gently trembling presence prevented further advance. He leapt back and squatted down by Liz.

  ‘There’s a barrier there. Invisible,’ he whispered.

  ‘Show me where,’ she replied, whispering too.

  They edged down the slope until both could press a fingertip against it.

  ‘It isn’t alive, is it?’

  ‘Shouldn’t think so,’ Simon answered. ‘Feels horrid,’ he continued, ‘hard and soft at the same time.’

  ‘The signals are louder here,’ said Liz. The bleeps were beating into her head.

  Simon pressed the wall, hard then soft, hard then soft, trying to affect the signals. No result. They drew back and tried looking at it from various angles.

  ‘Some sort of electric fence?’ Liz asked.

  ‘A force field?’

  ‘You’ve been watching too much telly! ’

  ‘Let’s try walking round it. It can’t go on for ever, right across England.’

  ‘You go thataway. I’ll go off to the right.’

  They walked away from each other, dragging a hand along the barrier. Simon struck it with the edge of his left hand at each step, Liz ran. pressing her right hand flat against it. She ran faster and faster...

  She felt as if something had spun her like a top. It seemed to go on for dreamlike hours. She came to rest standing on grass in a dark place. 'If I open my eyes,’ she thought, ‘what will I see?’ With a sob of terror she realized that her eyes were open. Night had fallen. She took a step backwards in fear and once again felt h
erself spinning. She was in the sunlight again.

  ‘Simon, Simon, Simon,’ she screamed at the top of her voice.

  He rushed up to her. ‘What happened?’

  ‘There’s a gap here and when you go in it’s dark. Nighttime.’

  ‘Where’s the gap?’

  ‘Just in front of us, but be careful. I ran through and spun round and round for hours. Was I gone long?’

  ‘Couple of seconds.’

  Simon felt forwards and found the barrier. Moving carefully left, his hand slipped round a thick edge. The signals increased in intensity as he touched it.

  The gap was a yard wide. The barrier began again, unbroken, a couple of feet uphill from the breach. He stood up and felt both edges again; tried an arm inside. It disappeared and he snatched it back.

  Liz,’ he called. ‘I’ll mark this edge with my book.’ He took a paperback from his pocket and laid it where he could feel the gap began. He hacked the grass with his heel to mark the other side.

  ‘You still hearing signals?’ asked Liz.

  ‘Yes, and a lot louder. Morse, bleeps, and I thought I heard voices.’

  ‘Me too. Do you really think it comes from those sheds?’ ‘Yes — no. And I’m not sure we’re hearing it. Put your fingers in your ears.’

  They plugged their ears and watched one another. Simon’s eyes popped.

  ‘Makes no difference at all,’ he gasped.

  ‘To me neither,’ said Liz quietly. ‘What’s it mean?’

  ‘I want to go in and find out,’ said Simon as he got up.

  ‘Come on. We can go in together! ’

  Liz stepped forward. Each held an edge of the breach. ‘Now,’ hissed Simon.

  Liz tried to count the seconds but time seemed meaningless. She stood in the dark night alongside Simon. Their eyes grew used to the darkness and they could see the crest of the hilltop. No trace of a moon. A few stars. The Station was hardly visible.

  ‘Come on,’ whispered Simon.

  Liz caught his hand. They made silent progress for some . twenty paces, their feet getting damper and their eyes sharper. Then they were halted by a second barrier.

  ‘Barbed wire. I’ve scratched myself,’ said Liz.

  Simon fingered the wire. There was a lot of it, new, taut and sharply barbed.

  ‘Come on,’ he whispered to Liz. ‘There must be a way through.’

  ‘I’m scared,’ she whispered back.

  ‘Well, they can’t shoot us,’ muttered Simon. ‘There isn’t a war on.’ He halted suddenly. ‘The wire’s been cut. Let’s get through.’

  Liz crowded forward and they slipped through the narrow gap.

  ‘Someone’s coming! ’

  They crept downhill and crouched fearfully behind a small outcrop of rocks.

  A tall man in hat and overcoat was silhouetted against the sky. Three men followed him through the hole in the wire. All stood silent and alert, listening.

  The leader murmured a quiet word and they slipped off their overcoats. One piled the folded clothes by the rocks. From their outline Simon guessed equipment was strapped to their bodies. Number one spoke softly: ‘Folgen. Passen Sie auf.’

  Liz closed a tight, damp hand on Simon’s as the four men moved towards the blacked-out Station buildings.

  It was a long time before they dared exchange a word. Liz was shivering.

  ‘Who were they? What were they doing?’

  ‘The front man spoke German,’ Simon whispered back. ‘Liz, let’s get out of here. I think we should tell the police. Come on.’

  He pulled her hand and turned back towards the cut wire.

  A young seaman was standing by it. They could just see from his outline that he wore an out-of-date steel helmet and carried a rifle with a long bayonet fixed to it. It pointed cruelly towards them.

  ‘We’ll tell the police about it, sonny,’ he rapped out. They stood considering him silently.

  ‘I’m taking you two in. Any more of you about? Come on now, sharpish. Who’s with you?’

  ‘No one,’ answered Simon. ‘We came in alone. Found the gap and...’

  ‘A likely tale,’ the sailor growled. ‘Come on, get down to the Orderly room. And no tricks. I’ve got one up the spout in this.’ He tapped his rifle. The children looked wonderingly at him.

  They turned and walked towards the Station.

  2

  It was six o’clock by the time Traynor had arrived at St Oswald. He found the village hardly changed in thirty years. A new garage, a new grocer’s shop, post-office done up and trendy posters all over the church notice board. He swung the car into the wide drive-in through the middle of The Bull and cut into the yard at the back. In one comer stood a gipsy caravan, bright and colourful in the evening sun. He parked well away from it.

  He had to search through the bars before he found the landlord in a tiny snug next to the public.

  ‘Mr Bradley,’ he said quietly to the small, middle-aged man. Bradley turned towards Traynor and looked at him blankly.

  ‘Yes?’ he said, then paused. ‘You’ll be Mr Traynor perhaps. Commander Traynor, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was. You’ve a good memory, Mr Bradley. I’ll have a gin and tonic before I take my things up.’

  ‘I’ll see to that. Commander. If you give me the car keys the lad can move them up.’

  ‘The keys are in the car, old man — a white Cortina — and not so much of the Commander. That was a long time ago.’ A sharp voice penetrated from the public bar. ‘That right you seen Sarah up the Ministry field, Arthur?’

  ‘I did, I did. There one minute she was, gone the next, I tell you.’

  ‘What was you doing up that field anyway, Arthur?’ ‘Nowt I shouldn’t be, Tom Ferris. I’d come from fence posting out at Mr Harrison’s place. It were midday and I got out of the sun for a bite and a nap.’

  ‘A sup and a snore more like, Arthur,’ said Tom.

  ‘Don’t you try to make me out daft, Tom Ferris. I say I seen her. I seen her vanish.’

  ‘Right enough, Arthur. But for all that I never knew you take anything but good ale for your lunch.’

  There was laughter and Tom went on: ‘Arthur, use your block. If t’were so, she disappeared like you say — where is she disappeared to?’

  Arthur, it seemed, was reduced to silence, then Bradley spoke:

  ‘Police say the poor soft kid must have wandered up Totleigh Hill way where those potholes are. That sounds more likely to me! ’

  ‘What about that handkerchief I brought her mother? What about that, then?’ Arthur had produced his final trump.

  ‘Nobody could swear it was hers, could they, Arthur?’ Bradley said. ‘There must be a million like it. Besides, what would a kid like her go into that spooky Ministry field for?’

  Tom Ferris cackled with laughter and burst out, ‘That’s it. Arthur. You seen a spook. A ghost, lad ...’

  Traynor put down his empty glass, nodded at Bradley and left the snug. As he entered the shadowy hall he saw the brilliant colours of a caravan framed in the open back door. Something more than curiosity made him turn towards it. He walked across the yard and circled the old vehicle which he found charming yet surprising. From inside it came the sounds of someone tinkering with metal and he went to the door. The clonking noises were being made by a middle-aged man fitting a stove together. ‘Evening,’ said Traynor.

  ’Hello,’ replied the handyman.

  I’ve just been admiring your remarkable vehicle,’ said Traynor. ‘Straight out of musical comedy, isn’t it?’

  The handyman laughed. ‘More comedy than music so far, he said. ‘You should have seen us trying to catch the pony yesterday.’

  You’re not planning to take it on the road?’ asked Traynor.

  ‘I am. We’re off tomorrow or next day. Come in and look round. It’s a real museum piece.’ He held out a hand and pulled Traynor up. ‘My name’s Frank Skinner.’

  Traynor tried to conceal his sense of shock. ‘And mine’s Traynor,
’ he said slowly. He saw a man with a kindly but rather bemused expression. A trace of scar tissue marked his forehead. He looked round. ‘How many can you sleep in here?’

  ‘Four at a pinch,’ answered Skinner. ‘Two adults and two kids. But we carry a tent as well for the hot nights.’ He was fitting the stove together and connecting it to the gas cylinder below. He tried each tap, lighting the burners in turn. ‘Well, that should work now. My wife can’t wait to get out on the road.’

  ‘She likes caravanning, then,’ asked Traynor.

  ‘Not much. But she likes St Oswald less. I was here in the war before I was invalided out of the service. She thinks I’m a bit morbid coming back after thirty years. My daughter Liz doesn’t like it either, so I suppose we’d better get on the open road while the weather holds.’

  ‘You were at the Naval Station, weren’t you?’ said Traynor.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Have you been up there since you came?’

  ‘I simply haven’t had a moment to spare.’

  Frank Skinner looked hard at Traynor. A desperate expression of concern had come into his eyes.

  ‘I’ll tell you this much,’ he suddenly burst out. ‘I would much rather stay here in St Oswald. I’ve been wanting to come back for years. Years and years.’ He turned abruptly towards the stove and began the routine of testing the burners for a second time.

  ‘St Oswald must have made a deep impression on you,’ Traynor said.

  Skinner continued to fiddle with the gas taps and matches. ‘I can’t remember a blind thing about it,’ he said simply, in a defeated voice. ‘I’ve tried. I can recall being posted to the Station as a rating. The next thing I remember is being a patient in a hospital outside Pompey with a lot of nut-cases. They thought I was trying to work my ticket. That was in ’42. Why I went to hospital — what happened — it’s all a blank. A complete, ruddy blank.’ Skinner sighed.