The loss of that feather from another dimension assumed a morbid significance from which I could not free myself. Had I been able to hold on to it, all would have come right between Neil and myself. As it was, there was probably no hope.
In the meantime I had committed myself to the sitting with Ray, and though I hoped that wet weather might release me from it, the day dawned uncaringly brilliant, blue and gold with frost on the grass and wraiths of mist disappearing over the hills. There was to be no reprieve; I should have to suppress my uneasiness and sit again for Ray.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he said as he started up the car.
“What in particular?” I didn’t want to think about last night.
“I gather that bastard Sheppard slapped you down. He’s got one hell of a temper, hasn’t he? We nearly came to blows later.”
I drew a deep breath. “Ray, what exactly are you trying to say?”
“I didn’t realize you’d had a word with him yourself, but I saw he’d upset you so I tackled him about it.”
I wasn’t surprised Neil had lost his temper. He was hardly likely to submit to being taken to task by Ray. He must be wishing most heartily that he had never set eyes on me.
“Promise me something?” I said after a moment.
“What?”
“Not to mention Neil Sheppard for the rest of the day.”
“With the greatest of pleasure.”
We drove to the spot where we had parked before and climbed the hill with our accoutrements. Ray was quieter than usual and I was incapable of small talk. Within minutes I had settled myself on the canvas stool, the stole draped round my shoulders and my face turned resolutely to the sea. I hoped he would not be working on my eyes; they were not at their best that day.
The coast of Ireland was obscured by a gauzy haze, but nearer at hand several small boats bobbed on the blue water and, as ever, the gulls circled and wheeled, circled and wheeled, their haunting cries floating back to earth like the lament of lost souls.
“You’re very subdued today,” I remarked during our coffee break. “What’s the matter?”
He glanced up, then away and out to sea. “I’ve been indulging in a bout of self-analysis and it’s not all that edifying.”
“It doesn’t sound like one of your pastimes.”
“You forced me into it, with some of the home truths you were handing out yesterday.”
“And what conclusions did you reach?”
He smiled briefly. “Chiefly, that if I’m to get anywhere at all with you I’ll have to take myself in hand.”
“Ray –”
“Yes, I know: Neil Sheppard’s the light of your life at the moment but I don’t hold out much hope in that direction. He’s as stubborn as a mule and if I didn’t get through to him last night, nothing will. So all being equal you may yet settle for me if I change my spots in time. And if you did, I wouldn’t need to be so bitter and twisted anyway.” He stood up and tipped the dregs of his coffee on to the grass. “But enough of this philosophizing! Back to work!”
We took up our positions again and another couple of hours passed. By way of a mental censorship I was concentrating on planning a series of exotic dishes for my first week at the Viking.
“I’ll have to start looking for somewhere to live,” I said aloud.
“Digs, you mean?”
“I’d rather buy a cottage if I can find something suitable.”
“It’ll be pricey. Property’s expensive over here.”
“So I believe.” I shifted my position slightly. “My back’s stiff. Isn’t it time for lunch?”
“We can stop now if you like.”
We ate in an almost companionable silence. Despite my misgivings and against all odds, we seemed to be back on a more or less firm footing.
“You can take a few more minutes if you like,” he remarked as I prepared to return to my stool. “I’m not satisfied with the coastline so I’ll be working on that for a while. Go and stretch your legs while you have the chance. I’ll call when I need you.”
Glad of the extended respite I walked over the uneven ground and stood for a minute or two watching the boats far out to sea. At my feet a sheep-track ambled away down the seaward side of the hill and I started to follow it aimlessly, the wind lessening as I dropped below the level of the hill. Eventually the track petered out on a small grass-covered ledge.
I sat down cautiously, resting my back against the warm rock. The hill behind protected me from the strong offshore wind and there was still warmth in the late October sun. The incandescence of sun and water hurt my tender eyes and I closed them. I had not slept well the night before and almost without realizing it, drifted into a deliciously soothing doze punctuated by the mewling gulls until one cry, louder than the rest, brought me fully awake. Ahead of me the sun still danced on the water. I leaned my head back, looking up the slope of the hill behind me – and my heart seemed to freeze. While I’d slept the wind had dropped and a curtain of mist had descended, draping itself over the top of the hill while the lower slopes remained bathed in sunshine. Mist on the hill!
I scrambled to my feet, my heart suddenly clattering at the base of my throat. Why hadn’t Ray called me? He surely couldn’t be painting in this! And in that moment I knew that he had called, that the cry which had jolted me awake had come neither from the gulls nor over the shrouded hilltop but from inside my own head.
A cold sickness gripped me as I started back at a stumbling run up the sheeptrack, frightened out of all proportion by the sudden descent of the mist. Within a few feet the sunlight disappeared and the drifting barrier came down to enfold me, clogging eyes and mouth with its smothering grey moisture.
“Ray? Where are you?” My voice met only walls of whiteness which blocked it, closing it in. Surely if I continued along this track I should come to the painting site; but I remembered vaguely that on the way down the track had forked and I couldn’t in my panic recall which direction I had taken. The ground was beginning to level under my feet. He couldn’t be far away.
“Please answer, Ray!” I plunged forward and at once stumbled and nearly fell. At my feet was the stool I had been sitting on that morning, my handbag still propped against its foot. I retrieved the bag and with hands outstretched like a sleepwalker moved on until my recoiling fingers touched the framework of the easel. Edging my way round it, the breath tearing at my lungs, I was confronted by my own face, hair blowing, eyes dreaming. A loaded paintbrush rested on the palette at my feet and half hidden beneath it, dulled by a bloom of moisture, lay a small cigarette lighter. I picked it up and slipped it into the deep pocket of my skirt.
He couldn’t have gone without me, surely? Perhaps he had set out to look for me and become lost as I had in the mist. My skirt brushed against his stool and I sank weakly on to it, but there was latent disadvantage in being below normal height in this floating blindness and I stood up quickly. I drew breath to call again but the mist thrust cotton-wool fingers down my throat stifling the unborn cry and in the same moment I realized I was no longer alone. Someone, as in my dream, was waiting there in the mist. For me?
Instinctively I started to edge away but the clumsy movement wound the folds of my long skirt about my legs and I tugged at it to free myself. Where was Ray? What had happened? And what was there about this moment in time that it should have transported itself to me in advance by way of warning? Was I about to die?
Inches away a twig snapped and with it the last of my self-control. With only the vaguest sense of direction I flung myself forward, sobbing and choking with terror, wrenching my ankle on the uneven stony path, slipping and sliding in a frenzy of escape. Down, down to the blessed sunshine – nothing else mattered. Once out in the clear air the danger would miraculously melt away. If I could see, I should no longer be afraid. And it was then, with safety almost reached, that I saw him through the thinning strands of mist, the man from my dream turning slowly to face me, blocking off my descent.
The scream tore itself from my throat before I was aware of its conception and high above me in the invisible sky the gulls echoed it mockingly. It was still ringing in my head as I felt my arms seized and shaken and a voice, hoarse with shock, demanded urgently, “Chloe! Chloe for God’s sake what’s the matter?”
It was Neil.
My knees gave way and as I sagged he caught me up, holding me against his body for support. “What happened?” he repeated. “Are you hurt?”
Wordlessly I shook my head, the abrupt cessation of fear too swift for me.
“Is Ray with you?”
“I can’t find him,” I said, and burst into tears.
“Then I’d better take you home. What frightened you so much?”
“Someone was up there.”
“Apart from Ray, you mean? Stop crying now and tell me what happened.”
Incoherently I explained about leaving Ray painting and the mist coming down while I slept.
“And he wasn’t there when you got back?”
“No, that’s what I can’t understand. But someone was.”
“You saw him?”
“No. He stepped on a twig and I panicked and ran.”
“Your imagination was probably playing tricks by that time,” Neil said gently, “and I’m not surprised. I must say it was very irresponsible of Ray to go off like that. I hope for his sake he has a plausible explanation.”
My breath was steadying now, the tears drying on my cheeks, and it was beginning to dawn on me that this solicitous questioning was a distinct improvement on the cool rebuff of last night.
A very few steps brought us to the final outposts of the mist and incredibly, as I’d almost stopped believing, the sun still shone. Neil’s car was parked at the foot of the hill, next to Ray’s. I came to a halt.
“You see! He can’t have gone!”
“I spotted his car from the main road. That’s why I stopped.”
“But if he hasn’t gone and he isn’t up there, where is he?” My voice was beginning to rise again. Briskly Neil opened his car door and gave me a little push. “In!”
“But I can’t just go off and leave him!”
“It seems he went off and left you. We could leave a note if you’ve any paper with you.”
I opened my bag, which surprisingly I hadn’t dropped in my headlong flight, and tore a page from the diary. On it I scribbled, ‘Lost you in the mist so am going home. Chloe.’ I handed it to Neil, who wedged it behind the windscreen wipers of the blue Renault. A moment later he was beside me and we were bumping over the rough ground to the main road.
“What were you doing here anyway?” I asked curiously.
After a moment’s silence he said levelly, “I had you on my conscience. I didn’t behave too well last night, did I?”
I bit my lip. “I’m afraid I made rather a fool of myself.”
“No, it was I who did that and as you guessed it was because of that phone call. It was the timing of it that was so fatal. I’d been thinking about you continuously since I’d left you the previous evening, and all at once it seemed that I may have been getting things out of proportion.” I felt him glance sideways at me but I was incapable of saying anything. “So I decided to keep my distance for a while. Then last night, when you explained what had happened, you disappeared before I’d had a chance to take it all in. Ironically enough, it was Ray who got through to me. I saw red at the time, but he was quite right.”
“He told me you almost came to blows.”
He smiled fleetingly. “If it’s any consolation I had a pretty bad night and I called round at lunch time to apologize. Martha told me you were having a sitting and roughly where, so I drove in this direction on the off-chance that you might have finished, and happened to catch sight of Ray’s car. Then I noticed that the hilltop was covered in mist and remembered the dream you’d told me about, so I came up to look for you. About Ray, though; is that sinister bond between you finished now that his uncle’s dead?”
“I don’t think so. I heard him calling just now. That’s what woke me.”
“Heard him?”
“In my head, I mean.” I shuddered. “Up there in the mist it was exactly as I’d dreamt it, even to you appearing suddenly in front of me.” I paused. “In the dream, you were part of the danger.”
But Neil was not to be distracted by discussing my dreams. “You know, I think Ray’s really fond of you, in which case letting fly at me on your behalf was decidedly out of character.” Again the quick, interrogative glance. “I know I keep coming back to this, but you are quite sure your feelings for him haven’t changed?”
“I’m sorry for him,” I said quietly, “but that’s all.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Quite, quite sure.”
He drew a deep breath. “And you’ll forgive me for being such an idiot last night?”
I could only nod in reply but it seemed to satisfy him.
Hugo was in the garden when we stopped at the gate. His first glance must have taken in my tear-stained face, because he came quickly and opened the car door.
“You found her, then.”
“Yes. Ray’d gone off somewhere and the mist came down, so I thought I’d better bring her back.”
“Thanks very much. All right, honey?”
“More or less. I’ll feel better when I know where Ray got to.”
“He’ll probably phone when he gets back. Come in, Neil. You’re welcome to stay for supper if you’ll take pot luck.”
Looking back on that evening it stands out like a small oasis of happiness between my previous misery and the grief and suspicions that were to follow. The warmth of the room and my happiness in being with Neil combined to create in me an almost drugged state of euphoria, so that although I was expecting a phone call from Ray, I was not unduly worried when it didn’t come.
When it was time for Neil to go and I went with him to the front door he held me for a moment and kissed me gently. “I won’t press my luck any further at the moment, but I’ll be back. All forgiven now?”
“All forgiven,” I replied, and there was a deep well of thankfulness inside me as I closed the door behind him.