Читать книгу The Dead Wife - Sue Fortin - Страница 6

Everyone who visited, worked or lived at Conmere knew the lake to be both beauty and beast all at the same time. A water with two faces – the south shoreline the beauty, bathed in sunlight, the water sparkling and glistening as it gently lapped the pebbles around the edge. It was the jewel in the crown of the Conmere estate. By contrast, the north side was where the waters were dark and shrouded for most of the day in shadow cast by the Con Point Hills, which loomed large and jagged over the water. This was where secrets were drowned and silence prevailed.

It all happened in a matter of seconds, but to her, time stretched as her brain registered her body falling towards the water. So many more impressions filled her mind. The blackness of the water, that it was particularly deep at this point of the lake, that there was no gentle slope from shallow to deeper depths, and there was a tangle of weeds. She wondered if the weeds would soften her fall but then remembered she was wearing a heavy Barbour coat – one that Harry had insisted she wear that morning because the weather had taken a turn for the worse overnight. Then, of course, there were her wellington boots – she wished she’d had time to kick them off before they filled with water.

Turning her face to the side, she impacted the lake with first her shoulder and then her hip and her feet. For a moment she thought the weeds had acted as a safety net but then her head went under the water and the cold water swamped her face, rushing up her nostrils. She kept her mouth closed, squeezed her eyes tight shut and blew out from her nose. Automatically her arms flew out as she tried to paddle water, but her limbs were heavy and it was difficult to move in the thick coat. The water had already soaked through her clothing and the cold and wet wrapped itself around her arms. She kicked her feet, but her boots had gulped in the water, making it impossible for her to move.

She flung her head up and her face broke through the surface. She gulped in fresh air. A deep, huge lungful before being dragged down again. She had to get the coat off and frantically she grappled with the press studs. She must remain calm. One press stud undone. She must concentrate on what she was doing. Two press studs undone. She mustn’t panic. Three press studs undone. Her lungs were ready to burst. Four press studs undone. She grabbed at the zipper pull and yanked it down and, releasing the pin, with a Herculean effort managed to shrug the thick, waxy garment from her shoulders. Instead of falling away, it drifted almost motionless in the water. Her arms began to flap, trying to force her body upwards to the surface. The panic was taking hold now. She needed air. Lots of it. Her lungs were stinging – so painful. She mustn’t take a breath. It was an automatic bodily reaction but she knew she would only take in water if she did.

For the second time, she broke through the surface and gasped for air. She managed another lungful before she felt the pull of the water in her boots. She had the fleeting image of a figure standing on the bank. Her brain registered the sound of a dog barking.

Down again into the depths of the lake she sank. Her arms and legs were so tired and heavy, now starved of oxygen, she couldn’t move them. Didn’t they say that when a person drowned, their life flashed before them? Her lungs were once again at break point. In one last attempt she tried to move her arms to push herself to the surface but it was futile. She needed oxygen. She could no longer fight the urge not to breathe in and she felt the rush of water into her body.

Her last thought was, why hadn’t anyone tried to save her?