Gerry turned to face Rob for a moment. ‘You really don’t remember everything, do you?’
‘Obviously not. What did he do to me that I don’t remember?’
Having raised the spectre of the past, Gerry returned his attention to his driving and lapsed into silence.
‘Come on, Gerry, what did he do that’s so bad I’ve blocked it out of my mind?’
‘I’m sorry, Rob, I should never have mentioned it. Your subconscious has blocked out the past with good reason. It might not be such a good idea to awaken those dormant memories.’
‘Why ever not? For God’s sake, Gerry, will you stop treating me like a kid and tell me everything!’
Gerry shook his head. ‘There’s no point. You wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you. If those memories are reawakened, you’ll curse me forever.’
When Gerry lapsed back into a morose silence, Rob knew, from whatever childhood memories he did still possess, that no amount of arm-twisting and cajoling would make his brother divulge the information he so clearly wanted to, but for whatever reasons best known to only him, could not or would not share.
Rob tried to imagine what he might do if he were in Gerry’s situation, but not knowing Gerry’s position made that virtually impossible. All he could imagine was that his father had molested him in some manner during his youth. Such a heinous act perpetrated by any figure of authority, especially his father, would surely be traumatic enough to cause his subconscious mind to shield it from him.
Rob struggled to set the subconscious images free, but they remained stubbornly hidden, adding yet one more mystery to the ever-growing list.
* * *
Travelling much faster than it should have been able to – and certainly faster than the speed limit allowed – Gerry’s red Ford Fiesta roared along the M5. Rob was convinced they would be pulled over by traffic police at any moment, provided of course a police car or motorcycle could match Gerry’s speed. He was also highly surprised that none of the speed cameras flashed as the car roared past them.
They bypassed Taunton and finally exited the motorway at Exeter, whereupon Gerry, hardly losing any speed to speak of, proceeded along the A30, before joining another road and heading into Dartmoor National Park.
Rob was not impressed when they rapidly left the main road behind, turning left down a narrow, pot-holed dirt track that seemed to have not been used since the Dark Ages, taking them through a forested area and beyond, into the hilly wilds of Dartmoor itself.
He had not read any of his Jilly Cooper novel since leaving the A30, keeping his eyes peeled for any signposts indicating Dorstville, but so far he had seen no mention of their destination. He remained silent with worry as Gerry drove them onwards into the darkening wilderness.
‘I suppose you do know where you’re going?’ Rob muttered, leaning forward to peer upwards through the windscreen at the threatening blanket of black cloud that loomed overhead, filling the sky as far as the eye could see. In the distance, he saw a flash of lightening zigzag its way across the sky, followed by an ominous rumble of thunder, and then the heavens opened, divesting themselves of their copious contents.
‘Of course I know where I’m going,’ grumbled Gerry, clearly doubtful.
Relentless in its ferocity, the downpour quickly transformed the dirt track into a quagmire, in which Rob was certain they would soon be stuck. The howling wind outside drove the rain against the car, rattling like tiny shards of glass against the windows and roof, filling the confines of the small Fiesta with a ceaseless thrumming that increased in volume as the rain increased in its intensity.
Gerry peered determinedly through the steadily worsening conditions as he struggled to make out what remained of the dirt track ahead. The furiously swishing wipers battled to make any impact at clearing the water off the windscreen, but he pointed animatedly over to a hill on their left, on top of which Rob barely made out the shape of a mound of rocks. The hill itself was bare, devoid of grass and shrubs, little more than a larger pile of rock and granite that seemed to have grown out of flat ground around it. ‘That’s Doh Tor. Just a little way further along this track is Devill’s Tor, at the base of which we’ll find Dorstville.’
Rob squinted through the deluge, which seemed much heavier than the sudden squall he had experienced in London yesterday. Was it his imagination, he wondered, or did the rain actually appear not to fall on the top of the rocky mound? It was difficult to see through so much cascading water.
Gerry’s car continued battling against the elemental forces that appeared to be trying hard to prevent the pair from proceeding any further. They had gone only about half a mile when Rob caught sight of a building in the distance on the right, which somehow seemed to be bathed in a rogue ray of sunshine that escaped from the clutches of the blackness overhead. He wrinkled his nose. ‘What a hideous house!’
Gerry glanced at it briefly, before returning his attention to the muddy track ahead. ‘That’s Naghene Hall. No one has lived there for years. It’s supposed to be haunted.’
Rob shivered with an influx of added dread, yet was unable to tear his eyes away from the architecturally challenged house. It looked oddly familiar, yet he was equally certain he had not seen it before. The odd familiarity surrounding it made it threatening to him. ‘I can’t believe any ghost would want to haunt such a ghastly place,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s certainly not the house of my dreams. Whoever designed it should be shot.’
‘I think you’ll find he was! It’s his ghost that is said to walk within the walls of Naghene Hall.’
‘Did Lilly tell you that?’
Gerry nodded. ‘We were last here in the summer. We had such terrible weather back then too. The fog was appalling all the time we were here. You couldn’t see further than a couple of feet in front of you!’
‘Seems rather prone to odd weather,’ murmured Rob as he remembered the weather girl stating that yesterday’s rain seemed to emanate from Dartmoor.
Glancing all around, the desolation of the place struck Rob square in the chest. There was nothing to see in any direction except scrubland and hills, forests and hills, and rocky outcrops and hills. He could not believe that anyone would choose to live in such desperate isolation, and he firmly believed that Lilly would most certainly have not come back to this place willingly.
The villagers of Dorstville, he decided, must be a peculiar bunch indeed.
A sudden thought struck him. ‘Why is the name of the village derived from the words Dorset Ville when we’re in Devon?’
‘It’s not. It’s an anagram of Devill’s Tor… Devil being spelt with two l’s.’
The more he thought about the situation, the more convinced Rob became that something sinister was going on in this remote part of Dartmoor, and that it was in some way connected to him.
A sudden thunderous rumble shook the small car and so startled Rob that he emitted a slight cry of alarm.
Gerry pointed ahead as another flash of lightening illuminated, for one split second, a village which was patently not on any map. ‘Behold, Dorstville. We have arrived.’
Indeed we have, mused Rob to himself. We have arrived, but will we ever leave?
Three
Dr Val Hide-Guest
Gerry slowed his car to a gradual halt outside the small church, which nestled in a dense thicket of almost impenetrable thorny brambles on the outermost edge of the village.
In the glare of the headlamps and through the curtain of rain that drenched everything in sight, Rob could see the main street up ahead. Like much of the road that had brought them through the moors to Dorstville, the main street of the village seemed little more than a dirt track, which at that particular moment in time resembled nothing short of a muddy swamp.
To the left of the quagmire was a woodland glade, which Gerry had thoughtfully informed Rob was known as the Forest of Lost Souls by the locals, and was reputedly haunted, much like the churchyard that backed onto the woods. Further along on the same side o
f the track, out of reach of the headlamps, was – so Gerry said – the Devill’s Tor itself. All the houses were on the right hand side of the road that curved around to the left, bordering the base of the Devill’s Tor, before heading off into the distance.
Rob had no idea where the road ultimately led to, nor did he really care, stuck as he was within the relative warmth of the car whilst the elements battled for supremacy outside. There was only one pressing thought in his mind. He turned to Gerry. ‘Where are we going to stay?’ he asked. When his brother gave him a blank look, Rob frowned. ‘You have arranged somewhere for us to spend the night, haven’t you?’
Gerry shook his head. ‘It’s not necessary. Val will be able to put us up, and if not, someone else in the village will. They did before, anyway, for me and Lilly.’
Rob was appalled at Gerry’s blatant presumptuousness. Just because he had been welcomed into the bosom of the community in the past, it did not necessarily follow that they would do so once again. He had been with Lilly last time, so he said, and she was known within the village. To Rob, that explained the odd contradiction to Gerry’s previous description of how the villagers treated strangers. There was the distinct possibility that without Lilly’s presence Gerry would not be so welcome this time. There was also the high probability that he himself would be most unwelcome.
He decided he should place a degree of trust in Gerry’s judgment. ‘Well, I suppose you’d know better than I what sort of welcome we’ll get. I’ll just have to trust your word.’
Gerry turned and smiled at him. ‘Yes, I suppose you will.’
There was something indecipherable to Gerry’s tone of voice that unnerved Rob, and the fact that he could not place why he should be so alarmed served only to unsettle him even further. Was there perhaps a mildly threatening overtone to his brother’s words, or a sinister undercurrent maybe? It was almost as though Gerry was trying to instill the fear within him, force him to confront it by making it seem as though they had no option other than to spend an uncomfortable first night in Dorstville.
Gerry turned off the ignition, and as the headlights faded, blackness engulfed the pair.
Rob glanced at his watch. It was only four in the afternoon, and even though it was early winter, there should have still been a little twilight – yet outside the car it was black as pitch which, coupled with the lashing rain, lent the area an added aura of danger. Rob felt totally ill at ease in the unknown surroundings. He had nowhere to escape to if anything should befall him, and that loss of control in his life made him feel sick to the pit of his stomach.
‘How come it’s so dark?’ he muttered as Gerry opened the door. A look of alarmed panic froze on Rob’s face. ‘Wait, where are you going?’ He had no intention of following his brother into the total blackness until the rain had stopped.
When Gerry closed the car door, cutting off Rob’s words, the weather instantly changed. The storm turned, the rain stopped, and the blackness receded into a more natural winter twilight.
Rob hesitantly unfastened his seatbelt and opened his door, stepping out into the oddly warm early evening air. ‘All right, Gerry,’ he said across the roof of the car, ‘what’s going on?’ Fury overpowered the prevailing fear that had so consumed him earlier. He felt more convinced than ever that Gerry knew a great deal more about what was happening than he was letting on, and it annoyed him that his brother did not harbour enough fraternal trust to confide in him. ‘And don’t fob me off with garbage by telling me you don’t know, because you do!’
Gerry rounded on him, leaning on the roof of the car, eyes blazing almost venomously. ‘Shut up and follow me,’ he hissed.
Rob stood his ground, shaking his head in blatant defiance, shocked at his brother’s sharp tone. ‘I’m going nowhere with you, Gerry, not until you give me an explanation.’
‘You’ll get no explanation from me. I shall leave that to Val. As for not accompanying me, well you’re quite welcome to remain here in the middle of the street.’
Rob realised his precarious situation could only be worse if he failed to trust his brother, and so, with rather more misgivings than he would have liked, he chose the only sensible option, given the circumstances. He moved around the car to stand beside Gerry, who smiled almost triumphantly.
‘That’s much better. It’s far more sensible to just do as I say.’
Was that yet another veiled threat? Rob mused, following – albeit reluctantly – as Gerry led the way along the main street. A row of five terraced houses ended with a junction to a side street, down which Rob could just make out the shadows of more houses, and then another row of five terraced houses made up the remainder of the main street, culminating in the local shop which was attached to another house.
Although larger in construction than the terraces, the house that was attached to the shop looked identical in layout, with a whitewashed frontage, three windows on the first floor, and on the ground floor, a bright red, solid wood front door, with one window on either side. A low wall made of slate surrounded a uniformly neat paved forecourt, and a sign on the gate directed people around the side of the house for the surgery.
It was to this house that Gerry led Rob.
He rapped vigorously on the front door, which was opened moments later by one of the most striking women Rob had ever seen.
Her cat-like eyes slanted upwards on the outer corners, blazing with an ethereal amber sheen from the subdued light within the house, which also made her Titian hair seem almost literally aflame. The abundance of curls wildly cascading midway down her back coiled over her shoulder, partially concealing a bulging cleavage, thrust upwards by the indiscriminately low cut of the tight bodice of her dress. The blackness of the dress and paleness of her flawless skin accentuated her thin blood red lips and dangerously long, lethally sharp looking talons.
Rob instinctively knew this woman was Dr Val Hide-Guest, and one look at those talons told Rob that she was a doctor in name only. There was no way she could be a practicing medical practitioner with such impractical nails.
The feline eyes, glistening with apparent venom, bored right into Rob’s mind, into his very soul. He felt pinpricks of fiery pain jabbing behind his eyeballs; white-hot pokers danced across his field of vision, blurring his view, searing his brain until it felt on fire.
Rob closed his eyes and the sensations passed. Unsteady on his feet he staggered, falling against the doorjamb. He felt a hand touch his arm, giving support, and the hand was hot to the touch. His eyes flew open once more.
Concern flickered across the woman’s face, then settled into a frowning smile. ‘Are you all right?’
The velvet smooth caress of her silky voice nuzzled Rob’s ears, probing gently, soothing away his fears. It was a bewitching voice, totally devoid of inflection, accent or dialect, more sensuous and feminine than any other he had heard in his lifetime, stimulating within him curious feelings, sensations and oddly unaccountable tinglings that no woman had stirred within him since…
‘Ginny!’
The name slipped past Rob’s dry lips before he could prevent its utterance. Suddenly he ached for Virginia, and he could not understand why. He had not felt this way when she contacted him recently, yet he now felt that he still harboured a strong emotional attachment towards her.
That sensation passed too, and Rob stood upright with the woman’s assistance. ‘Thank you, I’m fine. Sorry.’
The woman’s smile broadened, revealing perfectly white teeth that seemed a little too pristine to Rob. ‘I am glad to hear it.’ She turned to Gerry, extending her hand. ‘It is good to see you again, Gerald.’
Gerry kissed the back of the proffered hand. ‘Likewise, Val. How’ve you been?’
‘Very well, thank you. Please, do both come in.’
Rob allowed himself to be guided into the house, struggling against the desire to tell the woman that he needed no assistance. He could not shake her gentle yet vice-like grip on his arm without causing offence, so he made
no attempt to do so, somehow believing it would be unwise to upset his hostess.
Val led the pair through the garish orange hallway and into a more delicately decorated living room of muted yellow and blue, which felt like silk to Rob’s eyes in comparison. She practically dragged Rob over to the sofa, set against the wall farthest from the window, shoving him roughly down before seating herself beside him. Gerry sat on a matching sofa beneath the window creating a chasm of oddly inordinate distance between them across the relatively small room.
To Rob, Gerry seemed a lifetime’s journey away, even though he was scarcely more than a dozen feet from him, and the bizarre sense of desolation he felt at being parted by such a distance both confused and appalled Rob. He thought for a moment that he would burst into a torrent of tears at the torment of loneliness which threatened to consume him, but then reality settled into phase, his focus shifted, and the expanse closed in, bringing his brother closer once more. His nose detected the unmistakably sweet aroma of honeysuckle, as out of season as it was out of place in the warmth of the house. He glanced around, expecting to find the plant growing in a pot somewhere in the room, winding its stems around some filigreed support, yet he could see no plants within the room.
Indeed, the smell seemed altogether closer.
‘So,’ Val smiled, wrapping an arm around Rob’s shoulder and stroking his nearside cheek with a remarkably dexterous forefinger that appeared to have a singular will of its own, ‘you are Rob Tyler!’
Completely flummoxed by Val’s knowledge of his identity, Rob could only nod, his thoughts frozen, unable to vocalize any question that might have sprung to his mind.
‘You are most welcome to my humble abode, Rob. I may call you Rob, may I?’
Rob cleared his throat, finally finding the will to use his voice once more. ‘By all means, it is my name after all. How do you know who I am?’
The Five Tors Page 6