‘Not so fast. It’s just the garden tonight.’
She walked down the spiral stairs to the ground floor, to the door that led into a secluded part of the garden at the back of the castle. The evening air was warm and still and full of the sound of the crows that lived in the ruined part of the keep. Like Mr Luke Hansard, they seemed to be bedding down for the night.
Orla followed One Ear into the garden, taking in deep, settling breaths. She still couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety that had taken up home inside her chest since this man – this stranger – had rung her bell. He might profess to be the husband of her online friend, but what did she really know about him? Anyone could say anything, couldn’t they? She had to remain vigilant.
Watching One Ear as he happily galumphed around the garden, she began to wonder if her home was as secure as she’d thought it was. She’d naively thought that living in a castle with a large dog was enough and yet here was this man outside her gate. Inside her gate! She’d have to get that sorted out for a start. It had been much too easy for him to walk right up to her front door and then to sit on her bench in the garden. If he could do that, then he could find his way around the side of the castle to the garden she was in right now. It would be a scramble over the wall she’d had erected, but it was probably very easy if somebody set their mind to doing it.
‘One Ear!’ she called softly. The dog looked up from a clump of grass he’d been sniffing and trotted towards her. They were going inside, she determined, closing the heavy ancient door behind them and bolting it. One large key and two metal bolts made her feel a little better but, when she walked towards the window and saw that the van was still parked outside, she could feel her guts churn with fear.
‘Please go,’ she whispered. ‘Please!’
Tears sparkled in her eyes and she could feel she was heading towards a full-blown panic attack if she wasn’t careful. One Ear seemed to pick up on his mistress’s fear and shoved his wet nose into the palm of her hand and gave a little whimper.
‘I’m okay,’ she told him, but the big soulful eyes that looked up into hers told her that he didn’t believe her.
Orla really wasn’t expecting him to be there the next morning. But he was. Had he really spent the whole night in that van of his, or had he gone to a local bed and breakfast and come back at first light? Did he realise that he was trespassing and that she could call the police? Or maybe he innately knew that she wouldn’t want that sort of a fuss.
Some of the anxiety of the day before had left her now, to be replaced by anger. Anger that this man was making her feel threatened and forcing her to hide away. Well, she wasn’t going to have it.
‘Come on, One Ear,’ she called to the dog. He pricked up his one ear and followed her out of the great hall, down the spiral stairs to the ground floor. Orla grabbed one of her hats and pulled it over her head and popped a pair of dark sunglasses on. This man – whoever he was – wasn’t going to stop her from enjoying her morning walk.
She let herself out of a side door and then sneaked out of her garden via a gate in the wall. It led out onto a narrow footpath that went through the allotments. They were usually quiet so early in the morning, although there was somebody there now. An old man with a shock of white hair. He looked up and nodded and Orla nodded back briefly, sure that her hair was covering her face.
Head down, she crossed into a quiet country lane and then took a footpath which led to the sea. The beach was her special place, her sanctuary, the only place she really embraced other than the castle. Nobody disturbed her there. Not that they disturbed her at the castle, but there was something extra special about the beach. People went there to walk rather than talk. There seemed to be some unwritten rule about that. Anyway, she rarely saw anybody there. The beach was long enough to happily accommodate plenty of walkers, should they be there at the same time. Walkers who seemed content to do nothing more than nod a head in acknowledgement of a fellow walker if you happened to glance their way.
One Ear loved the beach and knew exactly where they were going, his pace picking up as the footpath slowly became sandy and the first breath of salt air filled their lungs.
Orla never tired of the first glimpse of the sea and stood for a moment and inhaled deeply. It was the best cure-all – a doctor of salt water and wind – who could heal you with a wintry blast or summery caress. The sea had a voice that changed with the seasons and the weathers. Its colours and the shapes of its waves were never the same either. Sometimes, Orla walked, head bent into the wind, unable to see anything other than her boots and the sand. At other times, she’d sit on a shingle bank and let her fingers sift through the stones and shells, causing tinkling avalanches in search of more treasure for the deep windowsills of the castle. Today, she walked. She needed to stride out and exorcise some of the pent-up angst she’d been carrying inside her ever since Luke Hansard had arrived. And so she let the voice of the sea drown out all the negative thoughts from her mind, the unrelenting pounding of the waves helping to settle her emotions.
Luke had had enough of sitting in his van. He was stiff and uncomfortable after a restless night spent in the back amongst his toolboxes. He’d thought about trying to find a bed and breakfast, but had wanted BB to notice his presence. It had crossed his mind that she could call the police and accuse him of stalking, but he decided to take the chance, half expecting her to knock on his van as soon as it got dark and invite him in. Only she hadn’t.
He got out of the van and stretched his arms high above his head. It was a glorious day and he was by the coast so, with that in mind, he thought he’d make the very best of it before deciding what to do. Quickly finding a footpath, he set off, not totally sure where it would lead and pleasantly surprised when it opened out onto a long beach dressed with shingle and sand.
He tried to remember the last time he’d gone to the coast. It had been in early spring sometime and the weather had been pretty awful. He and Helen had almost been blown off their feet and had ended up taking shelter in a scruffy café, trying to make their hot chocolates last as long as possible. He remembered the scene now, how cold Helen’s hands had been but how warm her smile. She’d always loved the sea and now he wished that they’d had more visits out to the coast. How easy it was to have regrets when it was too late – to see all the mistakes, all the missed opportunities, all the bits of life you’d overlooked. Now, he wished with all his heart that they’d both skipped work now and then, called in sick and jumped in the car with a picnic and spent the day sitting in the sand dunes and paddling in the sea.
As Luke walked along the beach, he became aware of a woman up ahead of him. She was wearing a hat and had long dark hair and a large dog beside her. He probably wouldn’t have taken much notice of her except for the way that she kept glancing back at him and nervously picking up her pace. Luke looked around as if there might be something genuinely scary on the beach, but he was the only one there. It was him she was trying to get away from, which meant that she must recognise him. It was the woman from the castle.
‘BB,’ he said, breaking into a run. ‘Hello!’
The woman glanced back as he called out, but he couldn’t see her face properly because of all the dark hair and glasses.
‘Can I talk to you for a moment, please?’ He’d caught up with her now and her dog approached him, pushing his big wet nose into Luke’s hand. ‘Hey, boy!’
‘One Ear – come here!’
Luke grinned. He’d never met a dog called One Ear before. He looked up at BB, but her face was obscured by her hair.
‘I’m Luke – I called yesterday,’ he explained.
The woman was walking away from him.
‘I wanted to talk to you about Helen.’
‘I don’t know you,’ the woman called back.
‘I’m Luke. Luke Hansard. Helen’s husband. She was your friend on Galleria.’
‘You’re scaring me!’
‘I don’t mean to scare you. Really. I just want
to tell you about Helen.’
‘Don’t come near me!’ Her voice was high-pitched and full of fear.
Luke stopped walking and watched as the woman moved on, clumsily stumbling up a shingle bank away from him. What on earth was she so afraid of? Luke didn’t think he was particularly scary-looking, but it was no good. She seemed genuinely terrified of him and he didn’t want to go on torturing her like this. He sighed. His trip to Suffolk had been a complete waste of time and yet there was a part of him – the part that was still connected so wholly to Helen – that needed to tell this woman what had happened.
‘She died!’ he shouted after BB. ‘Helen died.’
He swayed a little, shocked by the reality of hearing the words. He hadn’t actually had to say them out loud like that before, other than telling his mother on that dreadful night. She had then taken on the burden of breaking the news of Helen’s death to their relatives and friends.
‘She . . . She died,’ he said again.
The woman stopped at the top of the shingle bank but didn’t turn around and then something strange happened. Luke felt horribly light-headed. The hateful words he’d shouted into the wind seemed to echo around his head. His vision was blurry now. He felt as if he was slipping away from himself. Helen died.
Everything went black.
Chapter 5
Orla wasn’t quite sure what she’d have done if Bill Wilson hadn’t been walking along the beach at that moment. At first, One Ear had thought that the falling man was some kind of game and had run around him, barking. Orla had pulled the excitable dog back and sunk to her knees in the sand.
‘Luke?’ she called, not getting too close.
Bill was running down the beach towards her, his little dog following close behind.
‘What’s happened?’ he cried, sinking down beside her.
‘I don’t know. He just fell. I think he might have banged his head. The beach is so stony here.’
‘Do you know him? What’s his name?’
‘Luke. But I don’t know him.’
‘Luke?’ Bill said. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘Is he breathing?’ Orla asked, panicking now.
Bill leaned in closer. ‘Yes, he’s breathing. Luke?’
‘He just fell. One minute he was talking to me and the next—’
Luke stirred and winced as if in pain.
‘That’s it,’ Bill said, inching forward to help. ‘Now, let’s see if we can get you up. Nice and easy now.’ Bill placed his arms behind Luke to help him into a seated position and One Ear came forward again, whining, which set Bill’s dog off barking.
‘Quiet!’ Bill cried.
‘Back, boy,’ Orla told One Ear, taking her first proper look at Luke now. He had curly dark hair, slightly longer at the front. His eyes were dark too and his face was horribly pale.
‘Helen,’ he said. ‘H-H-Helen.’
‘Who’s Helen?’ Bill asked Orla.
‘His wife.’
‘Then you do know him?’
‘No. He only told me his wife’s name.’
‘I need to speak to Helen,’ Luke said, glancing at Orla and Bill, but only seeming to half see them.
Bill turned to Orla. ‘Can we find his wife’s number and call her?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because she’s dead.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘It’s what he told me.’
Bill looked even more confused now and Luke was struggling to his feet.
‘He’s not in good shape,’ Bill pointed out. ‘His head’s bleeding. I think we should get him indoors and out of this sun.’
Bill stood up and linked his arm under Luke’s as Orla did the same on the other side.
‘Nice and slowly now,’ Bill said.
‘I need to t-talk to Helen. Sort this out,’ Luke was saying, tears rolling down his face.
‘It’s okay,’ Orla said. ‘You’re all right.’
‘He’s limping too,’ Bill said. ‘You’re from the castle, right? I recognise your dog.’
Orla nodded.
‘Well, it won’t be easy, but I think we should try and get him back there.’
‘What?’ Orla panicked.
‘We need to get him back to yours.’
Orla felt the colour draining from her face. ‘I don’t think that’s a good—’
‘It’s the closest property, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘And we need to get him inside and get that cut looked at.’
‘But I . . .’ Orla’s voice petered out as Luke stumbled and groaned.
‘Come on,’ Bill said, and Orla found it hard to protest further.
It was a struggle to get Luke back to the castle. Orla really wasn’t sure how they did it. The steps up to the front door proved especially tricky but, finally, they made it inside and laid Luke down on the Knole sofa, his face still deathly pale.
‘Shall we call a doctor?’ Bill asked.
‘I’m not sure. Let’s just see if he’s okay first.’
‘Do you want me to stay with you?’
Orla shook her head, turning to Bill now.
‘Well, here are my numbers,’ Bill said, scribbling them down on a piece of paper and handing it to her. ‘Me and Margy are just down the road if you need us. Oyster Cottage. On the way to the quay.’
‘Thank you.’
Bill took another look at Luke. ‘His wife died, you say?’
‘That’s what he told me.’
‘Poor chap.’ Bill tutted and sighed. ‘What did he do to deserve that fate?’
When Luke came round, he discovered he was lying on a sofa. A rather hard, lumpy one. His vision was blurry for a moment, but he could see large stone walls surrounding him. They were white and looked rough to his builder’s eye and there was a lofty ceiling crisscrossed with impressive beams the size of felled oak trees. Light poured in from three enormous arched windows set with deep, thick windowsills. He rubbed his eyes and blinked hard and that was when he became aware of the smell of the place. It was unmistakable – like the smell you get when you walk into a church – the smell of centuries-old stone. A medieval smell.
Either he was dreaming or he was inside Lorford Castle. He struggled to sit up and, once upright, his suspicions were confirmed. What an incredible place to live, he thought, marvelling at what must surely be the great hall of the castle. There were some large pieces of furniture around the room in some kind of dark wood, but even they looked dwarfed by the dimensions of the castle. He admired a Persian carpet in rich reds, blues and golds and noticed that there were china jugs of flowers everywhere, bringing the outside in. There was also an enormous, hairy dog, who was looking at him from the middle of the room. The dog was sitting on the floor but was still at eye level with Luke on the sofa.
‘Wow, you’re a big boy,’ Luke whispered, noticing that the dog was missing an ear. Something clicked in Luke’s memory. ‘One Ear!’
At the sound of his name, the dog was immediately on his feet, trotting towards the sofa.
‘Hey, boy!’ Luke said, sitting up properly now and giving the dog’s hairy head a rub. ‘Where’s your mistress, then? And what on earth happened to me?’ Luke looked around and felt himself sway as he tried to stand up, grabbing at his head in sudden pain, as he saw a woman entering the room.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked from the doorway.
‘Not sure, actually. I feel a bit dizzy and . . .’ – he winced again – ‘my head hurts.’
‘Don’t try and get up yet.’
‘I’m in the castle?’
‘That’s right.’
The woman’s right profile slowly came into focus as she moved forward and Luke noted how beautiful she was. Her skin was pale and almost luminous against her long dark hair. She reminded him of a heroine out of one of the Pre-Raphaelite paintings Helen had once shown him. Isabella, was it? He didn’t have a memory for such things.
Something terrible had happened to this woman. Some kind of accident had robbed her of half of her face. Her dark hair obscured a lot of it, but she couldn’t hide the red soreness of the skin on the left side nor the eyelid drooping over her left eye. A fire, perhaps, or scalding water, Luke wasn’t sure, but it was shocking to behold. Maybe it explained why she lived as she did – on her own in a castle – and why she gave so little of herself away on her Galleria profile. And why she’d been so reluctant to open the door to a stranger, Luke thought, feeling horribly guilty at having scared her so much both in her own home and on the beach when he’d tried to talk to her.
His mouth dropped open as he took it in, but he caught himself in time and looked back at One Ear.
‘How did I get here?’ he asked.
‘It wasn’t easy,’ she told him. ‘But I had some help.’
‘Did I black out or something?’
‘Yes. We lost you back there for a moment. I think you might have hit your head quite hard when you fell. I’ve bathed the cut for you. Do you remember anything?’
Luke frowned. ‘I’m not sure. I went to the beach. That’s where I saw you, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’
Luke frowned, trying his hardest to remember. ‘I don’t remember much else. I don’t think I ate much yesterday.’
‘I think it was probably more than a lack of food.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You – you were saying your wife’s name over and over again.’
‘No.’
‘You were calling for her.’
‘That’s not possible.’
There was a pause full of awkwardness and she moved closer to him.
‘Listen – my name’s Orla and I think we got off on the wrong foot.’
Luke sat up straighter. ‘I’m Luke.’
Orla nodded. ‘I’m sorry I ran away from you on the beach when you were trying to tell me something so important,’ she said.
The Beauty of Broken Things Page 5