Secrets of the Mist

by Kate Ryder

  Nick smiled, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he turned and walked through an open doorway into a small side kitchen. He either hadn’t noticed the colour of my cheeks or had kindly chosen not to comment. From the doorway, I watched as he switched on a kettle, spooned coffee into a couple of mugs and produced a carton of milk from the fridge. I liked watching him; he was so easy on the eye. I hoped I wasn’t staring.

  ‘That’s lucky,’ he said, ‘just enough milk for two. Must have known I was going to have company.’

  I removed my jacket and, dragging my eyes away from him, hung it over the back of a chair and looked out of the French doors at the sculpture. ‘That’s beautiful.’

  ‘Thanks. Glad you like it.’

  ‘What wood is it?’ It had a wonderful mellow quality.

  ‘Yew. From the grounds of The Hyde, the care home in Walditch,’ he explained.

  I wondered if it had been modelled on anyone in particular and remembered I needed to check out the ring situation. He came into the room holding two mugs. As he handed one to me, I surreptitiously glanced at his left hand. Instantly – ridiculously – unaccountable relief flooded through me; there was neither a ring nor an impression of one.

  Pulling up a couple of chairs, he invited me to sit. ‘A couple of years back, a few trees came down in high winds in the grounds of the home,’ he explained. ‘They offered me the yew as they know I like to work with different types of wood.’

  ‘Is it one piece?’

  He nodded. Indicating to the furniture in the room, he said, ‘I do this to pay the bills but my first love is sculpture.’

  I was feeling ludicrously shy. Me, an Irish girl who had kissed the Blarney Stone several times during her lifetime! I searched my mind for something intelligent to say but I was falling prey to paralysing mental fog.

  Thankfully he broke the silence. ‘So, how’s the waitressing coming along?’

  I looked up and saw the merriment in his eyes. ‘Brian’s put me back behind the bar. Much safer.’

  He laughed. ‘It’s obvious from your lilt you don’t come from this neck of the woods. What’s blown you our way?’

  ‘A feeling,’ I said, surprised at my honesty.

  He looked at me curiously. ‘A feeling? That sounds interesting.’

  I found myself telling him about the months I’d spent filming in Dorset and how The Olde Smithy had spoken to me. ‘It just seemed meant to be,’ I explained. ‘The whole process was so easy and before I knew it I was in possession of the keys.’

  ‘Time to put down roots, maybe?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  Glancing at the small amount of coffee that remained in the bottom of my mug, I wondered how long I could string out this serendipitous meeting.

  ‘I’ve always lived around here,’ Nick said without any regret in his voice. And then, exaggerating his Dorset accent, he added, ‘Us Corbins go back centuries in these ’ere parts.’

  ‘That’s so nice, not having to wander the world looking for work but making it happen in your own county of birth.’

  He considered me. ‘And where were you born?’

  I told him I’d grown up in Dublin and had followed my dreams into film and TV and this had eventually brought me to London. As the minutes ticked by, I became aware of a deep sense of well-being and a delicious peace settling upon my soul. The mug of coffee was long since empty when the phone rang.

  Nick checked his watch and quickly rose to answer it. ‘Didn’t notice the time,’ he said into the mouthpiece. ‘See you in twenty.’ He replaced the receiver and turned to me. ‘I’m late and will have some explaining to do!’

  Ludicrously, my heart sank. As he held out his hand for my mug I got to my feet and passed it to him, praying my face wouldn’t betray me and give away my heightened emotions. I recalled the Bridport Arts & Crafts group had arranged an early Christmas gathering because he wouldn’t be around over Christmas. To mask my disappointment, I asked, ‘When are you off to Australia?’

  ‘The nineteenth.’

  Ten days.

  ‘Can’t wait. Visiting my brother,’ he explained as he put the empty mugs in the sink. ‘Now, there’s a guy who couldn’t settle locally. Moved to the Gold Coast as soon as he’d scraped together enough money. Been there ever since.’

  I put on my jacket and, picking up the packages, walked towards the door.

  Nick shrugged on a reefer jacket. Switching off the lights, he followed me out into the main courtyard and locked the door behind him.

  It was past six and the other shops were in darkness, but an old-fashioned lamp post cast its yellow light across the cobbled yard. There was a brisk chill to the early evening air. I hunched deeply into my jacket and zipped it up to the neck. In companionable silence we walked up the alleyway and emerged out onto the high street where a passing couple stopped and greeted Nick. They chatted briefly, and the girl coolly looked me up and down. As they walked away, she linked arms with her male companion and looked back over her shoulder.

  ‘Don’t forget Greg’s on Friday, Nick,’ she called out brightly.

  ‘I haven’t, Becky. See you there.’ Turning to me, he motioned to his right. ‘My car’s this way.’

  ‘I’m in the car park,’ I said, looking in the opposite direction. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’ Suddenly feeling awkward, and before I knew what I was doing, I held out my hand. He didn’t accept it but simply smiled.

  ‘Don’t forget to give Jamie a ring,’ he said, as he walked backwards away from me down the street.

  *

  I worked the following lunchtime shift. It was busy, and by the time I finished it was mid-afternoon. I walked back to the cottage and stood by the phone for several minutes, taking deep breaths and trying to calm my nerves. Twice I picked up the phone and punched in part of the number only to bottle out at the last minute. This was ridiculous. Quickly – before I had a chance to change my mind – I phoned the number printed on the business card, half-hoping there would be no reply.

  ‘Nick Corbin.’

  His lovely soft voice resonated deeply within me, and I tried to catch the thought frustratingly teasing my subconscious.

  ‘Hello, Nick. Maddie O’Brien here.’

  ‘Hi, Maddie. You got back OK?’

  ‘Oh yes, thanks. No problem.’ I had expected hesitation while he tried to remember who I was. He had wrong-footed me again.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I need a carpenter.’ Immediately devastated at how upfront that sounded, I grimaced.

  ‘Well, you’ve phoned the right number!’ Once again, I heard the amusement in his voice.

  My cheeks burned. ‘I have a faulty window that lets in the weather and I’m also looking for a small dining table and chairs,’ I explained in a rush. ‘I was hoping to sort it before you depart for sunnier climes.’

  ‘Four- or six-seater?’ he asked.

  ‘A small six if possible. If not, a four would do.’

  ‘No trouble. I’ve got a couple tucked away out back. Good weight chairs too. I’ll have to come out and measure up for the window and I could bring the table and chairs with me then. When’s a good time for you?’

  I paused, not wanting to sound too eager. ‘Well, let me see. I’m working tomorrow lunchtime but any time after that would be fine.’

  He said he’d visit as soon as he’d closed up shop and I explained where the cottage was. After he’d rung off I stood outside the back door in the courtyard to cool down. I’d been standing there for a few minutes, deep in thought, when I heard Storm hissing and growl a warning. When I’d walked through the kitchen he was happily eating from his bowl in the corner, but now he stood with tail erect and hackles raised, staring through the doorway into the sitting room.

  ‘Storm,’ I said soothingly. ‘What is it?’

  The growling turned more insistent. Entering the kitchen, I crossed over to the doorway and looked through. The room was empty but the cat continued to stare inten
tly at the corner by the bread oven.

  ‘What do you see?’

  I moved into the sitting room and was immediately struck by the heavy silence. The room was shrouded in a fine mist and to my heightened senses there seemed a slight vibration in the air.

  Who are you?

  Once again, I was drawn to the hidden alcove. My fingers searched the oven floor and around the walls as far as my arm could reach. But, as before, there was nothing there.

  ‘What are you trying to show me?’ I said out loud.

  As soon as I spoke, the room cleared of mist and the sounds of the world returned. Looking back through the kitchen doorway, I noticed Storm once again eating from his bowl. I perched on the arm of the chair, feeling irrationally deflated. I definitely needed to find out more about the history of The Olde Smithy. I shivered as I recalled Dan saying the cottage would give up more of its secrets as time went by. Sadly, I realised I missed him.

  *

  The following morning I awoke in high excitement. I worked the lunchtime shift at the pub, merely going through the motions with an increasing sense of anxiety. On returning to the cottage I tried to calm down, but by the time the afternoon drew to a close I was decidedly agitated. At around five, a van pulled up. Glancing out of the window, I saw Nick striding across the green towards the cottage and my heart raced. Taking a deep breath, I opened the front door and forced a smile. He greeted me casually.

  ‘Come in,’ I said, moving back from the door to allow him to enter. And there he stood, Nick Corbin in my hallway. I turned and he followed me into the dining room.

  ‘I love these old cottages,’ he said, looking around appreciatively. ‘They’re so solidly built and honest.’

  I agreed, noticing he wasn’t as tall as Dan and didn’t have the same trouble with the beams.

  ‘This is where I want the table to go.’

  He nodded.

  ‘I hope the one you’ve brought will fit.’ Silently, I cringed. What a stupid thing to say.

  ‘It will,’ he replied, with a wry smile. ‘But if you’re not happy with it I’ll make you another. After all, the customer is always right.’ He looked across at the glass room divide. ‘That’s fantastic!’

  Partly separating the dining and sitting rooms was a large internal window made up of small-paned, leaded stained glass; the different colours creating a subtle mood in each room. He walked towards it and touched it lightly. ‘This is very old glass.’

  ‘I don’t know much about it but the estate agents played heavily on it in their sales particulars.’

  ‘If you want to know more about its origins the glassmaker next door to me would be able to help. Pru has a wealth of knowledge.’

  As he ran his hand gently over the glass I shivered involuntarily, imagining what it would be like to feel his touch. He glanced at me with a quizzical look. Quickly, I suggested we brought in the table and chairs from his van and, true to his word, the table fitted just fine. The seats of the solid pine chairs were smartly upholstered with a blue and cream striped fabric and I was pleased with the overall effect.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea or something stronger?’ I asked.

  Nick was carrying in the last chair from the van, a writing pad, steel tape and pen balanced on its seat. He set the chair down and glanced at his watch. ‘Better not. I’m pushed for time tonight. I’ll just measure up and see what I can do for you.’

  I swallowed my disappointment. He followed me upstairs and I paused outside the bedroom, suddenly overcome with shyness. As I pushed open the door the bed loomed, mocking me; almost filling the room. Once again, I felt the start of a blush. What was happening to me? I was not this wilting lily.

  ‘Great use of space,’ Nick commented, as he surveyed the room cleverly created within the roof void.

  ‘It is good, isn’t it? I’m short of storage though.’ Stacked against one wall were a number of packing cases filled with clothes, still looking for a home.

  ‘You could easily fit a wardrobe under the eaves,’ he suggested, indicating the far wall under the sloping ceiling. ‘That would work. Now, which window is the problem?’

  I pointed to the one overlooking the courtyard. He opened the offending casement and started to measure up, jotting down a series of calculations on his pad.

  ‘It’s great you’ve still got wooden window frames. So many of these old cottages have had the life modernised out of them.’ He leant out of the window and strained, peering up at the roof. ‘This cottage was probably thatched at one point.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ I asked, savouring the fit, muscular outline of his body.

  ‘You can tell from the height and pitch of the roof.’ He came back inside and closed the window. Glancing at his calculations, he said, ‘I can do one of two things. I can either shave off the inner edge of this frame; the two openers will sit snugly together then and keep out the worst of the weather for the time being. I’ll pack out the hinges to compensate. Or I can make a new window frame, but I won’t be able to do that until after Christmas.’

  My thought processes were lightning-quick. If I asked him to ‘make good’ and have a new window frame on his return from Australia, I would have the excuse of seeing him before he departed as well as once he returned. I was about to ask him to do that when his mobile rang. He fished it out of his back pocket and glanced at the screen. Turning his back to me, he looked out of the window.

  ‘Hi.’

  Inexplicably, I felt agitated.

  ‘No, I’m in Walditch. Shouldn’t be too long, I’m almost done here.’ He looked back at me and smiled.

  That smile…

  ‘OK. I’ll pick up a bottle on my way back.’ He slipped the phone back in his pocket. ‘Sorry about that.’

  I gestured it was nothing but my mind raced with a thousand questions. I was desperate to know who’d be sharing that bottle.

  ‘So, if I come over Monday after work I can get you weather-tight?’

  ‘That’s great, Nick. Thanks.’

  He followed me downstairs and I thanked him again for delivering the table and chairs.

  ‘No trouble.’ With a wry smile, he handed me an invoice. ‘Now the painful part.’

  I noticed the stylised writing and smiled to myself. Something about Nick reminded me of an older, more chivalrous era, and it came as no surprise that his characters were carefully formed, resonant of a time when these things mattered. I wrote out a cheque and handed it to him.

  I said goodbye and stood watching from the door as he walked across the village green and climbed into his van. Why did he always make me so flustered? Sure, he was great-looking and, from what I could tell, his body was fit, but it wasn’t as if I was some naïve little wallflower with no experience of the opposite sex. And what made me think that I knew him? Was it just me, or did he share that feeling?

  As he drove away from the kerb Nick looked back at me and smiled.

  5

  Monday seemed an age away and so I decided to busy myself in the cottage by further exposing the oven in the inglenook. I searched the outhouse for a bucket in which to collect the stone and noticed Storm busy devouring a mouse at the back of the potting shed.

  ‘And you always make out you’re so hungry!’

  I started working away at the stones around the already exposed entrance. The stonework was tight. I used a wallpaper scraper and screwdriver to dislodge the render, these being the only implements to hand, and as the minutes ticked by the stones began to work loose. By early afternoon there was a definite opening measuring approximately twelve inches square, and all the time I was aware of a curious, rising excitement. I stopped to make a drink and heard Storm scratching at the back door. As I opened it, he rushed in and dropped the remains of a mouse at my feet just as the phone rang. I was thanking Storm for my gift as I answered it.

  ‘Hi, Maddie. Has someone brought you a present?’ asked Dan’s sister.

  ‘Caro! So good to hear from you.’ I reached across and
deposited the remains of the small rodent in the swing bin. ‘Just the cat presenting me with an extremely mauled mouse.’

  ‘Very thoughtful. Is that a delicacy in your part of the world?’ She chuckled.

  ‘I’m not that desperate yet,’ I replied. ‘The pub feeds me quite well, you know.’

  We chatted for a while and she asked what I was doing for Christmas. She seemed relieved when I said I was visiting family in Dublin.

  ‘I’ll be back for New Year’s Eve, though. Brian’s asked me to work that evening. Double pay, which will be useful.’

  Apologetically, she broke the news that Dan and Lucy were to celebrate Christmas with her and John. I experienced a sharp twinge of regret.

  ‘How is Dan?’ I asked. ‘I hardly ever get a call from him now.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me, Maddie. We don’t see much of him these days either and when we do I’m always shocked at how shattered he looks.’

  I remembered what he’d said. Poor, dear exhausted Dan…

  ‘Hope he’s getting what he wants out of that relationship.’

  ‘So far he hasn’t complained, at least not to me,’ Caro said, ‘and John and he talk quite openly and nothing’s been mentioned. But I do worry about the swiftness of it all, Maddie. It seems as soon as Lucy arrived in London she moved in with him, though Dan says otherwise.’

  I groaned inwardly. This sounded permanent. Dan was always so protective of his space. Rarely had he invited me to stay over, even when we were in the initial stages of our ‘relationship’; he’d always ended up staying at my flat. We changed the subject and she promised to visit me in the spring. We chatted a while longer before Caro wished me a Happy Christmas and promised to be in touch early in the New Year. Sadly, I thought of Dan and realised how fortunate I was to have had him as a friend and lover for all those years. How mockingly cruel hindsight can be; I hadn’t fully appreciated how lucky I was. Lucy would ensure the distance between us now grew.

  To rid me of these depressing thoughts, I returned to the bread oven and began to remove the debris from its base into the bucket. As I worked I became aware of a mounting feverishness and an hour later, having swept the oven clean, I stood back to admire my handiwork. I had discovered precisely nothing and was consumed by unaccountable, overwhelming despair and anti-climax. Sternly telling myself I should not be prey to these unchecked emotions, I found the business card Nick had given me and phoned the number.