by Rebecca Bryn
The grey eyes widened with concern. ‘I’m not sure you’ll be allowed to take it away, Miss Masters. I mean, can you prove he carved it?’
‘Not exactly. But… but I have to see what’s inside.’
He stiffened. ‘I can’t sanction it being mutilated.’
She took a deep, calming breath. She had to convince him. She clutched the carving and straightened. ‘This is Grandpa’s nightmare.’ He still looked unconvinced. ‘The truth shall be uncovered and I pray for those I love.’
‘They’re words from one of the carvings?’
‘Yes. The reason for his nightmares is in here. I’m certain of it.’ She clutched it tighter, the wolf digging into her breasts. ‘He did nothing without a purpose. I can feel him calling me… I have to know.’
Dr Bancroft unglued his eyes from the carving with apparent difficulty. ‘I can’t let you take it without proper authority.’
‘There should be a letter. Did you look for one?’
‘I asked.’ He shrugged. ‘If I have the opportunity I’ll look personally.’
Her shoulders sagged. ‘Thank you. I suppose it has been thirty-odd years. I could show you the other two carvings. That will convince you.’
He gave her a lopsided smile. ‘You show me your carvings and I’ll think about putting in a word for you.’
Was he teasing her? She held the carving protectively in both hands.
‘I have a second interview for a job in a few minutes. Give.’ He locked the wolf in its case and pocketed the key. ‘I shouldn’t be long. Can you wait?’
‘I’ll be here. Good luck.’ Her last words came too late. Dr Bancroft had gone.
She sat in the corner of the café, and made coffee and cake last half an hour. She walked back to the display case and waited. His lithe, leather-clad form approached with an easy lope, his mobile to his ear. He was wearing a huge grin: it was obvious that no-one, absolutely no-one, was going to wipe it from his face. She smiled back, relieved.
‘See you soon, Effie. Give Gabrielle my love.’ He flipped off the mobile. ‘I’ve got the job.’
‘Congratulations. I’m really pleased for you.’
‘Thank you.’
She arched an eyebrow hopefully. ‘Does this mean you’re authorised to release the carving?’
He laughed. ‘I’m prepared to come and see the others.’
‘And can I take this one with me?’
‘No.’
‘Why not? I have the paperwork.’
‘But I haven’t seen this letter you say we should have.’ He brought the key from his pocket, and fingered it as if weighing a decision. ‘They are intriguing. I’d like to see them together. Maybe you’d agree to the museum displaying them all at some time?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘I’ll bring it with me, my responsibility. As an employee of the IWM it won’t be a problem.’
‘When do you want to come?’
‘I’m officially on holiday.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I can come now. Where did you say you live?’ He unlocked the cabinet and removed the carving. Taking a pen from his inside pocket, he wrote something on the back of the label.
‘Brockenhurst.’ Her voice was a whispered squeak. ‘Now?’
He grinned. ‘I booked myself a fortnight off. I’m between jobs. I can spare you a day.’
‘I’m between lives.’ Why had she said that? She needed his help. ‘Yes, why not?’
‘Brockenhurst… the New Forest?’
‘Yes.’
‘Lead on McDuff.’
‘My name’s Charlotte.’
Pale eyes crinkled in a smile. ‘Pleased to meet you, Charlotte. I’m Adam.’ He held out a tentative hand. ‘Truce?’
She took it cautiously. ‘Truce.’
***
Charlotte reached Lyndhurst, past thinking about cooking. She stopped outside the chip shop and Adam’s motorcycle growled to a halt behind her. She waited until he removed his helmet. ‘Fish and chips?’
‘I’ll get them. My treat.’ Adam ordered and reached for plastic forks.
‘We may as well eat at home. It’s only a few more minutes.’ She put the carrier bag in her car.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re not running off with them are you? I’m starving.’
‘You can have your share when you give me the carving.’
He laughed. ‘You can see the carving when I’ve had my fish and chips.’
A bottle of wine stood on Sunnybank’s doorstep: she picked it up and unlocked the door.
Adam ducked under the lintel. ‘Have you got something against tall men?’
‘Why?’ Robin was tall…
‘This place is only suitable for dwarves.’
‘Oh, I see what you mean.’ She locked the door behind them, and tested the lock, a habit picked up from Grandpa. What had he been afraid of? ‘Yes, it is a bit low. I have to duck under this one. Mind your…’
‘Ouch, bugger.’
She tensed involuntarily. ‘…head on the beam.’
‘Sadist. You could have warned me.’
‘Sorry.’ She read the card tied to the neck of the wine bottle. ‘Good luck in your new home.’
Adam rubbed his head. ‘You think I’d want to live here? I can stand up in my broom-cupboard.’
‘I don’t even have a broom-cupboard.’ She put the bottle on the kitchen worktop. ‘It’s a house-warming present. Grant must have dropped it off on his way home from work.’
‘Your boyfriend?’
‘My sister, Lucy’s, husband… They live in Lyndhurst. I only moved in here yesterday.’
The corner of his mouth pulled another smile. ‘It’s cosy.’
She’d spent a day searching second-hand shops to furnish it. ‘You mean small.’ She smiled back but Adam was staring at the two carvings on the coffee table.
He was tall, good-looking in a craggy sort of way, and seemed relaxed in his own skin. He wore his black-leather bike jacket with a casual air: muscles shaped the way it fitted. Blonde hair curled over his collar, an effect his stubble enhanced rather than detracted from. She looked away, aware she was staring and put the fish and chips in the microwave. ‘You could open the wine, Adam.’
‘Corkscrew?’
‘In the drawer, I think.’ She moved aside to find plates and they knocked elbows. ‘Sorry.’ She passed him the corkscrew and two glasses. ‘We’ll have to use the coffee table.’ She carried the food into the lounge suddenly aware she only had a two-seater sofa. She handed him a plate, sat next to him and raised her glass.
‘Thanks. What are we celebrating?’
‘Your new job?’
‘And your future in your new home.’
Their glasses chinked; it was almost the same toast she’d raised with Robin. ‘To the future, then.’
She pointed a forkful of chips at the two carvings. ‘What do you think?’
‘Truly disturbing.’ He looked sideways at her. ‘I’d be interested to see exactly what was in them.’
She finished her meal and fetched the contents of the carvings from upstairs. Adam refilled both glasses. Robin often plied her with wine. Why had she invited a stranger into her home?
He placed the Duxford carving between its sisters: the wolf leapt from flames of hell. ‘There’s something…’ He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
She placed the two wooden candles in front of the carvings and handed him a polythene bag. ‘These were inside them.’
He fingered the two blonde curls tied with ribbons. ‘Yours?’
‘They could be mine and Lucy’s. I don’t know.’
He picked up the slips of paper. ‘I didn’t read these properly before. This is fascinating, Charlotte. Do you have any idea what your grandfather means?’
‘Absolutely none. I’m just certain he had a purpose.’
‘Had… A message from beyond the grave?’
She sipped her wine. ‘Exactly.’
‘What was his nam
e?’
‘William Walter Blundell.’
‘Was he local?’
‘Northamptonshire.’
‘Did he have other family anywhere? Someone who might know about these?’
‘I don’t know.’ It shocked her to realise how little she actually knew about Grandpa. ‘I asked him once why Lucy and I only had relations on Gran’s side of the family. The look in his eyes… I didn’t ask again. He was a very private person. The nightmares…’ She fell silent. She’d heard his cries in the night, and Gran’s voice calming him: anxious, sometimes impatient.
Adam turned a carving in his hands. ‘The wolf was given in memory of the victims of war. A way of getting the horror out of his system, maybe.’ He looked at her as if considering something. ‘They would go well in our current exhibition in London.’
She arranged the carvings on the table, rotating them to face different ways. ‘The base of the one Gran gave me looks like a half-moon someone’s taken bites out of, and this one is plain weird.’ None of it made sense. She leaned towards him, conscious of his closeness. ‘You do see the need to open the third one, Adam? I know it’s part of the puzzle.’
‘I don’t think I can agree to it being sawn up.’
‘But I have to know.’
He picked up one of the mutilated carvings that Grant had done his best to reassemble and shook his head. ‘The Duxford one is perfect. Nothing suggests it’s hollow. I’d hate to be the one to spoil it.’
‘A skilled cabinet-maker could make them almost as good as new. The Duxford one is only on loan. I do have authority to remove it, if you could find that letter.’
‘I can see you feel strongly about this. The museum’s restoration department could put the carvings back together. I’ll swing it if you agree to let me exhibit them all.’
‘It’s a deal.’
‘Then we’ll do it.’ He consulted his watch. ‘I should get back to London.’
And he’d take the carving with him, and maybe change his mind. ‘Perhaps…’ No, what was she thinking? Effie, or was it Gabrielle, was waiting for him. ‘I expect you’re keen to get home.’
‘No… not particularly. What was it you were going to say?’
She should let him go. ‘You could stay. I’ll phone Lucy. If they’re going to be in tomorrow, we could ask Grant if we can use his band-saw. You could have my bed. I can sleep down here.’
‘That would be great, but I’ve brought nothing with me.’
‘I’ve got a spare toothbrush. It was a two for one offer…’ Robin would be incandescent if he found out.
He laughed. ‘What more do I need? Thank you. But I can’t take your bed. I shall be fine down here.’
Alone at last, the visit to Lucy’s arranged, she brushed her teeth and stood the rinsed brush in the tooth-mug. The blue toothbrush lay on the side of the hand-basin. She picked it up and her hand hovered over the tooth-mug: it was untidy, lying around like that. She put it next to hers in the mug and switched off the light. She’d invited a total stranger into her home, yet she felt safer with Adam than she did with Robin. What did that say about her marriage? Maybe the anger management course, and the counselling, would help and they could have their relationship back. Her hand touched the cold side of her bed. Mum was right about lonely; she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life alone.
***
Charlotte woke too early to disturb Adam: they’d talked far into the night, although, by some unspoken agreement, neither dwelt on their personal lives. It was as if both were grateful to escape them for a while. Her first impressions had been wrong: his craggy exterior hid a sensitive man. She pushed thoughts of Adam aside and reached for the book by her bedside. Out of Chaos: A classical Treatise. Perhaps the answer to understanding the carvings was to understand Grandpa.
Out of Chaos came Gaea (Mother Earth), Tartarus (The Underworld), Erebus (Silent Darkness), and Nyx (Night). Then, out of Chaos came Eros (Love), and so Nyx lay with Erebus and bore Aether (Air or Heaven), and Hemera (Day). Nothing about wolves or flames.
Love? Heaven? Maybe. Night, Earth, Air and Love were made tangible, at least, though she’d read Nyx was the daughter of Okeanus, God of the Sea, whose waters girdled the Earth. She shifted her position. Nyx also bore Charon (Wealth), and Epiphron (Prudence). She could use both of those right now. With Parthenogenesis… That sounded like a lethal germ. …she bore thirteen dark children: Deceit, Blame, Doom, Misery, Old Age, War… The names read like a manic depressive’s shopping list. No wonder Grandpa felt guilt, reading this.
More children of Nyx, Goddess of Night, were listed, some of the names she knew from talking with Grandpa, names like the Keres - the Fates of Violent Death, Thanatos - Death, Hypnos - Sleep, Nemesis - Goddess of Justice and Retribution. She read on: and, with the god Uranus, Nyx bore Lyssa (Madness).
Madness… she closed the book and lay back against her pillow. Had Grandpa been mad? If he was it ran in the family. Keeping the STI secret from Robin had been madness: if he’d known she might not be able to have children before they married at least he would have been prepared. At least she’d know he loved her for herself. The chase after the carvings was madness.
‘Grandpa, what can I do to put things right?’ She closed her eyes, and his face struggled to form in the darkness. An eye, the line of his jaw… she could never capture a complete image. He’d always been the face behind the camera, the hands shown holding her as she took her first steps, or the feet beside her while she sat on the floor opening Christmas presents. She’d saved a space for him, but his page in the family album would remain forever blank. ‘Grandpa, what should I do?’
Actions have consequences. Do only what you believe is right.
Clattering came from the kitchen: Adam was awake. She showered and dressed quickly: he’d need the bathroom. She placed the blue toothbrush on the hand-basin: her pink one looked even lonelier. She put Adam’s back beside her own and ran down the stairs. The Man and Van were due with Dobbin.
‘Hope you don’t mind. I made tea and toast.’
She drank her tea while he showered. She threw open the door at the sound of a vehicle and hurried out.
‘Just you and me again, is it, love?’
‘I’ll call Adam to help. He’s in the shower…’
‘Your husband?’
‘No… Adam’s… he’s not…’
‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me, love. Life’s too short.’
Adam thumped down the stairs, his mouth forming an amused curve: the toothbrushes?
Embarrassed, she turned away. ‘This is Harry. He’s brought Dobbin, my rocking horse.’
‘I’ll give you a hand in with it. Though where you’re going to put it…’
A heave and Dobbin stood in pride of place, taking up most of the room. His broken ear was taped to his muzzle, and Harry had put his shattered leg in a wooden splint. It was good to have him back.
Adam ran a hand over his horsehair mane. ‘Looks like he’s seen better days.’
Hadn’t they all? Glue and paint couldn’t fix Robin, or her marriage. She bit her lower lip. She should be at home, helping him through it… No, she’d done the right thing. He had to prove he’d changed. She paid Harry and looked at her watch. ‘Do you want to follow me to Lucy’s, Adam?’
She bumped onto Lucy’s drive and waited for Adam to manoeuvre his bike. Children’s toys littered the garden and music jazzed through open windows. Laughter, mixed with screams, shrilled from the back garden.
Lucy waved from the kitchen window. ‘You must have smelled the coffee.’
‘Luce, this is Dr Adam Bancroft. Adam, my sister, Lucy.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Adam.’
Adam’s mouth hung open. ‘You didn’t tell me you were an identical twin, Charlotte.’
She laughed. ‘I thought one of me was enough for you to cope with.’
Lucy smiled. ‘We’ll have coffee outside. Grant said to help yourself to the band-saw, Adam.’ She
put mugs on a tray and waited until he was out of earshot. ‘I expected Adam to be older… he’s a bit of a dish. He stayed at yours last night?’
‘He slept on the sofa. It seemed daft him driving to London only to come back today. And if I’d let him go he might have had second thoughts about the carving.’
Lucy was sceptical. ‘Does Robin know you’re entertaining strange men?’
‘No, and don’t you dare tell him. He wouldn’t understand.’
‘Come on, sis… what happened? You can tell me. I won’t breathe a word.’
‘Nothing happened. We ate fish and chips, talked about the carvings and the world in general, and he slept downstairs.’
‘You do like him though?’
‘I think he’s married. And so am I.’
‘That isn’t what I asked.’
‘He’s the man who had me arrested in the War Museum. That scratch on his face…’
‘You didn’t… What were you thinking of?’
‘At the time, Robin.’ She waved Robin away, as if he could be so easily dismissed. ‘Adam and I have declared a truce.’
‘Good. I don’t want World War Three breaking out in my back garden.’ Lucy picked up the tray. ‘Talking of wars, how’s Robin’s counselling going?’
She followed Lucy. ‘Recognising he has a problem is a major step forward.’
Adam placed the carving on the table, and hung his bike jacket over the back of his chair. She moved closer, her hair brushing Adam’s shoulder and the smell of leather mingled with the faint smell of shower gel. She separated the two parts of the Duxford Wolf to reveal the contents. A square of card fell out. She flicked it over to reveal a line drawing of a rough cross beneath an arched window, above which neat letters ranged in neater rows.
All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.
The hatred which divides nation from nation, race from race, class from class.
Father Forgive.
She frowned. ‘Grandpa wasn’t religious. Not in the conventional sense.’
Adam reached inside the carving and unfolded a slip of paper. ‘Peccavi: There is no atonement too great, eternal…’