24

Rowan’s shadow was long and black on the dark floor of the rock. Behind her the sun had lost most of its brilliance and was slowly sinking towards the horizon. From the east clouds were moving. A chill wind had sprung up. She sat in the centre of the wide, flat space, looking out over the village. As far as she could see the view spoke to her of nothing but peace and tranquillity—such things she so desperately needed for herself.

Following Alison’s rebuff she had come up here to the Stone. She felt bewildered, and totally alone. Hal . . . and now Alison. And on top of the crushing disappointment over the Child. For that was how she had thought of it. But it never had been, she told herself; it had never even been the beginning. She had merely been a week late; it had been nothing more than a minor malfunctioning of her body.

Near her right foot was a dark stain just discernible in the fading light. There were splinters of glass there too. She could make out dusty footprints as well, scores of them, all over the floor of the rock. There had been many people up here, and recently. After a few more moments she got up and moved towards the rough-hewn steps. Into her mind came the memory of Alison’s words when they had visited the Stone together: I’ll be bloody glad to get off this heap of rock. For some reason it gives me the creeps. Touched briefly with the same cold feeling, Rowan quickly descended the steps and hurried away down the hillside.

She half walked, half ran along School Lane until she reached the High Street. Reaching it she paused for breath and in doing so caught a glimpse of her reflection in a shop window. Her hair was all awry. Her blue woollen dress was marked with dust from the Stone. Her hands were filthy and there was a dark smudge on her cheek. She turned away from the sight.

As she hurried on along the street she suddenly saw David Lockyer emerge from the main door of The Swan and cross over the road towards his front gate. He was right in front of her. Momentarily she checked her stride, coming to a halt. She felt she wanted to hide; she didn’t want to see him; she didn’t want to see anyone. It was pointless, though; he had seen her; there was nothing for it but to go on.

He was standing there at the gate as she drew level with him and she saw the look of surprise come over his face.

‘Rowan . . .’ He moved a step closer to her as she came to a hesitant stop on the pavement. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

She just stood there, wordless. She knew that if she spoke she would cry. He spoke again, concern clear in his voice and his face:

‘There’s something wrong. What is it? Tell me.’

Briefly closing her eyes she shook her head and made to step past him. He reached out, though, and grasped her firmly but gently by the arm. He turned her towards him and looked into her face.

‘What’s happened?’ he said. ‘Please, tell me . . .’

She made no answer.

‘Where are you hurrying off to like this? Home?’

Another shake of the head in reply: no; she didn’t know . . .

‘I think you’d better come in for a minute,’ he said.

He opened the gate and she allowed him to lead her along the path to the front door and into the house. In the cluttered sitting room she sat on the sofa. He took an armchair facing her.

‘Something’s very wrong, isn’t it?’ he said.

The gentleness and the compassion she heard in his voice were all that were needed to break down the last of her self-control. Putting her hands up to her face she began to cry.

Lockyer, she became aware, was now at her side, one large hand on her shaking shoulder. He said nothing; just let her weep, waiting for her sobbing to cease. After some minutes she grew quiet again and she took the Kleenex he held ready and wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, sniffing, ‘the only time I ever seem to see you is when I’m in some kind of trouble.’

As she turned to look at him he gave a smile. ‘Anytime,’ he said, ‘if I can be of help.’

She nodded her thanks.

‘Would you like to tell me what kind of trouble you’re in now?’ he asked.

‘Oh . . .’ She felt the tears might return and she took a deep breath and fought to control herself. ‘I—I don’t know,’ she said hoarsely after a moment. ‘I just—just feel that—everything’s gone wrong. Everything.’

‘What has gone wrong?’

She shook her head. She couldn’t tell him about the baby, about Hal, about Alison. . . . ‘Just—everything,’ she repeated.

He looked at her for a few seconds then got up. ‘I think I’ll have a drink,’ he said. ‘I’ve just had a couple in The Swan, but now I think I could do with another. I think you could as well.’

She said nothing.

‘Is whisky okay?’ he said.

‘Fine.’ She whispered it.

He poured the drinks, handed her one and sat beside her again. ‘We seem to have done all this before,’ he said.

‘Don’t remind me.’ She was aware of his closeness.

‘Is your hand all right now?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘And have you settled in all right? You’ve had a few weeks here now.’

After a moment’s hesitation she said: ‘We’re leaving.’

‘Leaving? You’re going away from here—from Moorstone?’

‘Yes.’

‘But why?’

‘It’s not my decision.’

‘Your husband?’

‘Yes. He’s set on it now. He doesn’t like it here. He can’t settle.’

‘That’s a pity . . .’

‘Yes . . . it is.’ Sadly she shook her head. ‘And I was just beginning to feel I belonged here, too.’ Suddenly she got up. ‘Oh, God, just listen to me! I just come here and pour out all my troubles to you. It’s unforgivable.’ Turning, she caught sight of her reflection in the glass above the fireplace. She’d quite forgotten what a spectacle she made. ‘And look at me! It’s enough to frighten anyone to death.’ Making an effort to smile she said: ‘Would you mind if I washed my face and put a comb through my hair?’

In the bathroom she washed her face and hands and used his comb to put her hair in order. Afterwards in his small hallway she brushed some of the marks from her dress. When she returned to the sitting room he held out her glass to her. She saw that it had been refilled. ‘You look a little different now,’ he said, smiling.

‘Well, that’s something.’ She took a sip from the glass and sat down again. ‘When I’ve finished this I must go,’ she said. She was still feeling the effects of the sherry.

They talked as they sat in the quiet, comfortable room, but the talk didn’t always come easily and it was interspersed with silences. She was so aware of being there with him, in his house, alone. At last she put down her empty glass and rose from her seat. ‘I really must go,’ she said. ‘Leave you in peace.’

‘Please—don’t go on my account. I don’t have anything special to do.’

She shrugged. ‘Anyway, I . . .’ Her words tailed off. Then she said, ‘Could I—do you mind if I use your phone?’

‘Of course not.’

She moved to the telephone, dialled, listened for a while and then replaced the receiver. So he hadn’t come back. He had gone on to London.

‘Nobody home?’ Lockyer said.

‘Nobody home.’

‘Was it important?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. Taking a couple of steps towards the door she added, ‘Anyway . . . I’d better go . . .’

‘I’ll drive you home.’

‘No . . . no . . .’ She paused. ‘I’m not going home. Not yet.’

‘Isn’t he expecting you? Hal?’

‘He’s in London.’

Lockyer had got up from the sofa and now stood just a couple of feet away from her. They faced one another.

‘Why don’t you stay a while longer?’ he said gently, smiling.

She looked at him for another moment then lowered her eyes and turned away. She shrugged. ‘Why not?’

It wasn’t right. No part of it was working out the way it was supposed to. Lockyer was moving within her and all she could do was ask herself the question What am I doing here? She had expected, hoped, to derive some kind of comfort from all this. But there was none. There was no warmth. There was no pleasure. There was nothing. There was just this man who was slamming into her body. This man who, in filling her, only added to her emptiness; his every stroke only serving to tear aside the flimsy curtain that had disguised the reality behind it, only driving deeper within her her growing despair.

When it was all over and he lay panting at her side she lay stone-cold sober and unmoving, staring with dull eyes up at the ceiling.