Читать книгу House Of Shadows: Discover the thrilling untold story of the Winter Queen - Nicola Cornick, Nicola Cornick - Страница 13

The mill was as quiet as a sepulchre after Tasha and Flo had gone. The silence was so loud it hurt Holly’s ears. It was three thirty and she felt unbearably weary, but restless at the same time. Time felt irrelevant, suspended. She found she was waiting for her phone to ring or for a knock at the door, or for the sound of a voice, something, anything, that might herald Ben’s return.

She took her phone and went outside to try to get a better signal. She rang Guy’s mobile number but there was no reply. She could not get him on their landline either. He had not called her to find out what had happened or make sure she was OK. The knowledge that he didn’t care seemed unable to hurt her. Nothing penetrated the numbness and isolation that wrapped around her like a shroud.

She thought about ringing her grandparents but she didn’t want to worry them about nothing. She knew that if Ben had been with them he would have been in touch long before now. It was such a strange, frustrating, suspended place in which to find herself, one minute eaten up by worry, the next so furious with her brother she wanted to scream at him. In the end, since no one else seemed to be doing anything she thought the best thing she could do would be to go out and search the woods herself. She needed to be out in the fresh air again. She needed to be active. Claustrophobia pressed down on her. She felt sick. She pulled on her thin fleece jacket and went out, leaving Bonnie, who seemed disinclined for yet another walk, snoring on the sofa.

It was a bright day with a clear blue sky. Holly didn’t really know where to start so she set off down the track to the village, turning right over the bridge, past a bus stop where a girl stood, her long blonde hair blowing in the wind. She looked to be about nineteen, tall, too thin, wrapped in a long stripy scarf, smoking a cigarette and looking bored. She turned her head briefly as Holly walked past and nodded a hello, then dropped the cigarette and ground it out beneath her shoe.

The crumbling estate wall rose on Holly’s left and behind it was the old coach yard. This was where the majority of the building work was taking place, and Holly could hear the whine and bleep of a mechanical digger.

A hundred yards further on was the car park and courtyard where Fran had her deli café and tearoom. A dozen cars were parked in the cobbled yard and an ice cream sign swung by the shop door. Holly thought about dropping in but then she remembered Fran wasn’t back until the morning. She felt odd and disoriented. She had already been into the deli once that day, only a few hours ago, and yet it felt like it had happened weeks ago. She was so tired.

There was a small flyer on the telegraph pole by the side of the road. A dog named Lucky had gone missing and his owners were offering a reward for his safe return. Looking at the sad little furry face, Holly thought she could make up posters of Ben and stick them up about the place. It might jog the memories of people who could have seen him out and about in the woods. After all, he could have gone out for some fresh air and felt ill, or fallen over and knocked himself unconscious, or any number of other accidents. He could have a broken ankle and be unable to hop home. She knew the police had said they had searched the woods in the close vicinity but she suspected it had been a cursory search at best.

Although the sun was warm she felt cold. It took her aback to find the place so busy with bank holiday tourists. For some reason she had expected it to be quiet. She strolled along the path towards the wood, following several groups of visitors, families with children dragging their heels, couples hand in hand. Holly saw them all as though she was looking through one of her pieces of engraved glass, clear but slightly distorted. They ambled with no intent, admiring the view over the Downs where the weathercock pierced the sky and the dreamy curve of the hills broadened to fill the horizon. Holly felt shockingly lonely.

Her phone rang.

‘Hol?’ It was Guy. He sounded hung over. ‘What’s going on? Why the seven thousand calls? What gives?’

‘Ben’s still missing,’ Holly said bluntly. ‘He hasn’t come back since last night.’

‘What?’ Guy sounded puzzled, affronted even. ‘Well where is he?’

‘I don’t know,’ Holly said. ‘That’s the point. No one knows. Tasha says—’ She stopped abruptly but it was too late.

‘He’s got another woman,’ Guy finished. There was glee in his tone. ‘Good for him.’

‘I’m sure she’s wrong,’ Holly said.

Guy ignored that. ‘Are you heading back then?’ He said. ‘If Tasha’s been to pick up the kid—’

‘No,’ Holly said. ‘I’m staying here until Ben turns up.’

There was a silence. ‘What?’ Guy said. ‘Why on earth would you want to hang around?’

‘In case something’s happened to him,’ Holly said. ‘I wondered if you wanted to come down?’ She could hear the plea in her voice and hated herself for it. Whatever Tasha had said, she wasn’t normally so needy, but today it felt as though all her defences had been stripped away. It wasn’t that she particularly wanted Guy, she realised, just company and comfort. She wanted to share the burden of Ben’s disappearance. It was horrible feeling so alone.

She thought she heard Guy swear. ‘Hol,’ he said. ‘You’re over-reacting. Your brother’s not a child. He can take care of himself. For God’s sake come back—’

‘I’m worried,’ Holly said flatly. ‘I know something isn’t right.’

This time Guy definitely did swear. ‘For fuck’s sake, Holly! You’re not his keeper!’

‘Forget it,’ Holly said swiftly. ‘Forget I asked you to come down. And don’t expect me back either.’ She snapped the phone shut, cutting off Guy’s spluttering.

The brief flash of anger had lifted her spirits but they fell again immediately. She felt lost as soon as she stepped into the woods. The canopy of trees closed overhead, shutting her into green darkness. In all directions paths veered off and criss-crossed, losing themselves. She went two hundred yards along one and stopped, realising that she hadn’t even put her walking boots on. She felt tears of frustration and anger well up in her throat. She made her way back down to the road feeling shaky and upset.

What was she trying to do? She was one person trying to prove a point in the face of what seemed like massive indifference. No one else seemed to think that there was anything wrong and it was frightening to be wavering on the edge of believing it herself, thinking she was mad or deluded.

A wedding had just finished at the church by the little stone bridge. As the clock on the tower struck quarter to four, the church door opened and the wedding party spilled out into the churchyard, laughing and talking. Holly paused by the gate. A sudden breeze was plastering the bride’s veil against her lipstick and snatching at the guests’ coats like a demanding child. It picked up the confetti and whirled it around Holly’s head like blossom, and it tugged the bouquet from the bride’s hands, bowling it along the ground to land at Holly’s feet.

Holly bent slowly to pick it up. It was a posy of pink rosebuds, scentless.

Suddenly the wedding guests were all around her and the bride had come hurrying down the flagstone path towards her, laughing.

‘Thank you so much! I don’t know what I’d have done for the photographs otherwise!’

Holly handed the bouquet over, smiling. Her face felt a little stiff, as though it would not bend in the right places. No one seemed to have noticed though. They were all wrapped up in happiness. They didn’t know how out of touch she felt, how cut off. They went back towards the church door, where the photographer tried to arrange them in the neat rows required for the official pictures. At the same time she was aware of a sharp pain lodged beneath her breastbone. She did not begrudge these people their happiness but it made her loneliness feel suddenly unbearably acute.

‘Are you OK?’

Holly blinked. She was not the only onlooker. A man was standing to the side of the lych gate. Youngish, thirty-two or three – she was bad at guessing ages. She felt a flash of recognition, sharp and sure, as though she knew him, but as he came closer she realised that he was a stranger.

He was tall, dark and durable looking in a battered jacket, brown moleskin trousers and boots. His eyes were very dark, as dark as the hair that fell across his brow. An expensive-looking camera hung about his neck. Holly thought he was probably a tourist, out walking in the woods and attracted by the wedding as she had been. She forced a smile.

‘I’m fine, thanks. I just stopped to watch.’

He smiled back, but his dark gaze was keen. ‘If you’re sure? You look a bit … shaken.’

Behind them the group was re-arranging itself for yet another photograph. Holly put her hands in the pockets of the fleece and turned away.

‘Don’t let me stop you taking your pictures—’

The man grinned, obviously recognising the brush-off. ‘The sun’s in the wrong place. Besides, it’s too organised for me. I like spontaneity.’

Holly frowned a little. ‘Spontaneity. Yes. That’s nice. Excuse me …’

She had only gone twenty yards from him when she had to slow down because the tears were running down her face and dropping off her chin, and she couldn’t see where she was going. She felt bewildered and acutely embarrassed. She stumbled a little on the path, heard a step behind her, and felt his hand on her arm.

‘Look, can I help—’

‘No!’ Holly turned and glared at him and his hand dropped to his side. He took a step back.

‘Okay.’ His voice was quiet, oddly soothing. ‘Well … Take care—’

‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’ A shred of conventional manners stirred in Holly and she scrubbed her hands across her face, wiping away the tears. ‘I really didn’t mean to be rude—’

His lips twitched as though he were about to smile. He had a striking face, thin and brown, with high cheekbones and dark, watchful eyes beneath strongly marked brows. Holly found she wanted to go on looking at him.

‘Please don’t apologise,’ he said easily. ‘I’m the one making a nuisance of myself—’

Holly started to cry again. ‘Don’t be so nice about it—’

‘Look, this is silly. Why don’t we go and get a cup of tea until you feel a bit better? There’s a tea room just down the road, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, but—’ Holly felt horribly vulnerable. She didn’t want anyone to see her looking like this. But they were already at the courtyard and he was guiding her to one of the outside tables where she could sit in a corner, partially sheltered from view.

Holly sat down and watched as he went inside, to emerge a few minutes later, carrying two big blue and white striped mugs. The steam from them floated sideways. She wrapped her hands around hers and drank deeply. It was scalding hot, but comforting.

‘Thank you so much,’ she said. ‘What do I owe you?’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘In case you don’t take tea with complete strangers, my name’s Mark.’

‘Holly.’ She considered shaking hands and decided against it.

‘Nice to meet you, Holly.’ Mark sat back in his chair. ‘So do you want to talk about it?’

‘What?’ She stared at him, confused for a moment. Her eyes were smarting slightly. ‘Oh, no, thank you.’

‘All right.’ Mark said equably.

They sat drinking their tea in silence. Holly appraised him with an artist’s eye; his face was hard lines of cheek and jaw, like a stylised angel … He turned his head and their eyes met and again she felt that jolt of recognition, exciting, dangerous. Normally she would have run a mile from such instant attraction but today she felt different. Everything felt different.

She nodded towards the camera.

‘That’s a nice piece of kit. Did you get any good shots today?’

Mark smiled. ‘Yes, thanks. There’s plenty of potential around here. Are you interested in photography?’

‘Yes, I like it. I take pictures and sometimes I’m lucky. That’s different from being good though.’

Mark inclined his head. ‘So what do you do for a living?’

‘I’m an engraver. Glass.’ Holly realised she didn’t want to talk about herself. ‘What about you? Is photography your job?’

Mark grimaced. ‘Unfortunately not. I’m just an amateur. I used to work as a civil engineer, but I’ve done some travelling lately.’

Holly drained her mug. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘I was working in Asia for a bit, Norway. My sister lives there, so I stayed for the winter, crewing her husband’s fishing boat.’

Holly looked at him in surprise. She had seen enough TV programmes to know that was no job for amateurs.

‘Are you a good sailor then?’

‘No,’ Mark smiled. ‘A very bad one. But I had to do something to pay my way.’ He stood up, a little abruptly and Holly sensed that with him too there were barriers he didn’t want to cross.

‘Are you ready to go? I’ll walk you to your car.’

‘Oh.’ Holly realised he thought she was a tourist too. She hesitated, suddenly aware of how weird she felt. Everything felt odd, distorted in her mind, not quite real.

‘I’m staying near here,’ she said.

‘I’ll walk you back then.’

Holly was not sure that she really wanted company. ‘There’s no need—’

Mark slanted a smile down at her. She liked the lines that fanned out from his eyes when he smiled and the crease that ran down his cheek. She noticed these things about him quite objectively and yet at the same time not objectively at all.

‘I daresay you’d rather be alone,’ he said, ‘but I’d rather know you were OK. Call me over-protective if you like …’ He shrugged. ‘I could walk a few paces behind, if you prefer.’

The breeze was strengthening now and the day cooling down into evening. They left the car park and the tourists behind, passing the tiny village green with its scatter of cottages and the little stream. After all the noise and bustle the silence sounded loud. They did not speak.

Whenever Mark drew a little ahead of her, Holly watched him move; the easy, economical movements of someone comfortable in their own skin. His gaze was abstracted now as it rested on the path ahead, his face a little distant in repose. There was a tight knot in Holly’s stomach as she watched him. It felt a little like pain, but it was something different, hot and fierce, that curled inside her.

At the gate of the mill she stopped. Mark looked up and seemed to register for the first time where they were. He turned towards her, frowning.

‘Are you staying here?’

‘Yes,’ Holly said. ‘Would you like to come in?’

She felt his puzzlement, saw the slight narrowing of his eyes as they rested on her face. Much now depended on his interpretation of the invitation, and she had the feeling that Mark had probably had plenty of practice in that. She shifted slightly, keeping her gaze fixed on his. He was so cool, so distant. She needed to bridge that gap. She needed him. The thought of him turning away now and leaving her was unbearable. She wondered if he could feel her desperation.

He took her hand. His fingers interlocked strongly with hers, and still she did not know the answer and felt quite faint with the need to know. She stepped over the threshold and gently tugged his hand; he followed.

There was a message from Fran on the mat. It said: ‘I’ve just got back. Call me.’

Holly read it upside down, stepped over it and turned back to Mark. She could smell his skin, the faint scent of fresh air. He was cold to the touch. She pulled him inside, slammed the door and reached up to kiss him. After a second he responded and she felt sharp desire and such relief that she trembled. The loneliness, the fear, faded.

She kissed him again, driving out thought, losing herself in sensation, drawing back only so that she could lead him towards the stairs. She could feel his presence behind her, close as a whisper. She was still holding his hand. The late afternoon sun was streaming in at the big bedroom window, , the line of the hills spread out before them. Mark was watching her face.

‘Holly, what’s this about?’

She felt his breath feather across her skin. She could see the shadow of his eyelashes, spiky against the hard line of his cheek. His lips brushed her jaw. Again she felt that fierce rush of desire. She turned her head and Mark’s mouth was suddenly on hers again, one hand tangled in her hair, the other low on her back. Sensation flared. Mark’s hand brushed the thin cotton of her shirt, his palm against her breast. He was still kissing her. Such urgency. She had never even imagined it could be like that and she was fiercely glad; glad she was not alone any more; glad she could forget for a little while. She pulled him down onto the bed beside her and lost herself in him.

There was a distant ringing sound in Holly’s ears. She struggled awake to find the room full of daylight. Her body felt relaxed for the first time in days and her mind was as clear and sharp as a cut in a piece of glass. She could remember every detail of the night. They hadn’t slept much. They hadn’t talked at all.

She turned over. Mark lay beside her, curled on his side, sleeping peacefully. The lines of his face were softened. Something pierced Holly’s detachment and made her breath catch in her throat. She looked at him for a moment, then got out of bed and tiptoed over to the wardrobe. She almost tripped over the clothes piled on the floor. Turning the key in the door she took out an old paisley robe of Ben’s she had borrowed the last time she had come down.

Light was streaming into the long living room and her phone was full of messages. She ignored them. It was the doorbell that was ringing, on and on. Bonnie was agitated, waiting by the door, tail waving. All Holly could think was that if Ben had timed his arrival back now it would be difficult to work out which of them had the more explaining to do.

She opened the door and found Fran on the step, shivering inside her jacket. It was another sunny morning but they were standing in the shade of the building and the shadows were cold.

‘Holly!’ Fran’s eyes were puzzled, her voice full of concern. ‘Thank goodness! I thought you’d disappeared too. Are you ill or something? I heard about Ben—’

‘You already know?’ Holly blinked in shock.

‘The whole village knows,’ Fran said. ‘You can’t keep secrets around here.’ She bit her lip. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I caused a problem for you but when I couldn’t get you last night I called your grandparents. I thought perhaps you might have gone over to Oxford. Oh, and I rang Guy as well. What the hell happened there? He told me you had broken your engagement—’

Normally Holly could cope with Fran’s ramblings but this morning her head hurt. ‘You rang Gran?’ She felt a sick, swooping sensation in her chest. She could not imagine how Hester and John had felt to hear that Ben had vanished and that Fran couldn’t get hold of Holly either. No wonder she had hundreds of messages on her phone. She was surprised they weren’t there, hammering on the door.

Fran’s gaze dropped to her note, still resting on the mat at the bottom of the steps. She frowned. ‘Didn’t you see my message? We’ve been worried about you.’

Holly drew her robe more closely about her throat. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll ring Gran straight away and let her know I’m OK.’

Fran was watching her as though she knew there was something wrong but could not quite work it out. ‘Are you feeling ill? Has it all been too much for you? I’m so, so sorry about Ben. Has there been no word? I just don’t understand it. It’s not like him.’

There was a sound upstairs. Fran started to say something else but Holly spoke quickly.

‘I’d better go and get dressed. I’m really sorry, Fran. I’m feeling a bit weird about it all to be honest. I’ll come and seem you later.’

Fran huddled deeper in her jacket. ‘You poor thing! No wonder you haven’t got up yet. Look, do you want me to come in and make you a cup of coffee? We could talk—’

There was another sound from upstairs, too loud to ignore. Fran frowned. ‘Holly, is somebody here already? What’s going on?’

Holly shivered. ‘Sorry, Fran, it’s not really convenient to talk right now.’

‘Has Ben come back?’ Fran demanded.

‘No,’ Holly said.

‘Then did Guy come down after all? Because last night he said—’

‘No,’ Holly said again.

She saw the moment that the penny dropped in Fran’s mind, the widening of her eyes, the look of comical shock on her face. Fran clapped a hand to her mouth. Her gaze roved over Holly’s tumbled hair, her bare feet. ‘Oh Holly,’ she said, ‘What have you done – Oh my God, you haven’t … Say you haven’t. What’s happened to you? You never do things like that!’

Holly caught her arm urgently. ‘I can’t talk now. Please, Fran, it’s a bit complicated.’

Fran looked torn between stunned horror and concern. ‘Holly, you’re in shock. I’ve read about this. When people go missing their relatives can suffer from something called suspended grief, not knowing whether someone is dead or not—’

‘Thanks, Fran,’ Holly said. Despite herself she could feel a flicker of a smile starting and some sense of normality returning. Fran’s monumental lack of tact had always been cheering rather than anything else. ‘I’ll talk to you later,’ she said. ‘Really, I will. I’ve got things to sort out.’

‘I can imagine,’ Fran said dryly. Then she looked past Holly’s shoulder. Holly saw her expression freeze before Fran rearranged her face into ultra-casual indifference.

‘Mark,’ she said brightly. ‘Hi. How are you?’

Holly spun around. Mark, fully dressed, was standing in the doorway. He nodded to Fran.

‘Hi, Fran.’

Holly felt her stomach dip as though she were on a roller coaster. The previous day she hadn’t spared a single thought for who Mark was or what he was doing at Ashdown. Now, though, she realised that far from being a random tourist who would disappear in the morning, he must live there and would be going precisely nowhere. Her stomach tightened and panic fluttered in her throat.

‘You’ve heard about Ben?’ Fran had waited for Holly to speak and then, when she hadn’t, had rushed in to fill the awkward silence as best she could.

‘Just now,’ Mark said. His gaze was on Holly’s face, dark and inscrutable. ‘What happened?’

‘He’s missing,’ Holly said. ‘He vanished a couple of nights ago.’ It felt ridiculous, surreal, to be standing here like this politely discussing her brother’s disappearance when she had neglected to mention it before.

‘Holly didn’t tell you—’ Fran began, then saw the expression on Holly’s face and gulped. ‘Well, anyway, I’d better …’ She waved her hands about in mute confusion. ‘I’ll be at home later so give me a ring, Holly … Or call round. Whatever.’ She was edging away down the path as she spoke. ‘Take care.’

She hurried off towards the gate and Holly went back inside. Mark stepped back to allow her to pass him. She could feel his gaze on her face and she felt the heat burn beneath her skin. Suddenly the paisley robe felt far too flimsy and she felt far too vulnerable.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly, before Mark had the chance to say anything and the situation became even more excruciating. ‘I should have told you, but …’ She stopped. She had no excuses. She couldn’t even connect with how she had felt the day before, how isolated, how desperate she had been not to be alone.

‘That’s OK,’ Mark said. His tone was level but she had an unnerving conviction that he was angry. ‘I knew you were upset, I just didn’t realise—’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’m sorry to hear about Ben,’ he added. ‘Are the police looking for him?’

‘No,’ Holly said. ‘They think he’s just gone off somewhere and that he’ll turn up.’ Her eyes were burning and it felt as though something sharp was wedged in her throat. She could not believe how right everything had felt whilst she had been with Mark and how wrong it all felt again now. That was the trouble with forgetting, she thought. It didn’t last long before everything crowded back in worse than before. She should have realised; realised she couldn’t lose herself, realised she couldn’t escape her fears about Ben.

‘I wouldn’t want you to think …’ She stopped. Mark waited. She felt a spurt of anger that he wasn’t making it easy for her.

‘I didn’t mean to use you,’ she said. ‘I don’t usually do this sort of thing.’

Mark shrugged. ‘I heard what Fran said.’ He picked up his jacket off the back of the sofa. ‘Just for the record, neither do I. Except that we both did.’

There was another sharp silence then Mark sighed.

‘I don’t want to leave you if you’re upset,’ he said. ‘Holly, please, talk to me.’

The look in his eyes was gentle and it made Holly feel more angry. She remembered his tenderness the previous night and how she had driven it out with need. She didn’t want it now, either. She couldn’t deal with it.

‘I’m fine,’ she said. She drew the robe tight about her throat. ‘Thanks.’

‘Right,’ Mark said. He reached for the latch pausing for a second as he was about to open the door. ‘It might help to know,’ he said, ‘who you are …’

‘Oh!’ Holly jumped, the colour flooding her face again. ‘Holly Ansell. Ben’s sister.’

‘And who is Guy?’

Holly hesitated a second. ‘Guy is … was … my fiancé.’

She saw Mark’s expression harden. ‘Okay. I get it. Well, I’ll go then.’

Holly didn’t try to stop him. She heard the door slam behind him and felt the silence of the house press in on her. She fumbled on the dresser for her phone. She needed to ring her grandmother. Guilt swamped her. Everything else could wait. She didn’t need to think about it now.

She pressed the button to call her grandparents’ number. Hester answered on the second ring.

‘Gran,’ Holly said. ‘I’m so sorry not to have called before—’ And submitted quietly to her grandmother’s scolding, hearing the fear beneath her words of reproach.