China Garden

by Liz Berry

  “We could wait. I could come out to you when I’ve got my degree.”

  “Three years?” he said derisively.“All those Adrians and Jonathans?”

  Clare said hotly,“It’s more likely to be you going off with girls.”

  There was a long silence. Clare said, hopelessly,“We’ll work something out.”

  “Right.” He turned his head slowly, and looked at her. His eyes were almost black, dilated with a pain which made her catch her breath. As he looked at her his expression changed slowly, went completely blank for a few moments, then changed again. His eyes glittered recklessly.

  He leapt to his feet, laughing, pulling her up with him.“Right. We’ll work something out. Come on. Let’s go.” He caught her hand and began to run down the hill.

  “Wait a minute,” Clare said, breathless and relieved.“Where are we going?”

  “To celebrate. I’ve got something to show you.”

  “But what?”

  “Wait and see.”

  They skirted the other side of the lake, keeping to the trees, and crossed the Elysium Bridge by the Great Cascade. Clare began to hang back, reluctant, but instead of turning to the Upper Lake as she expected, he plunged into the deeper woods that climbed the lower slopes of the big hill.

  “We’re going up Barrow Beacon Hill?”

  They had dropped into a walk and he had his arm around her shoulders holding her hard as though he was afraid she would run away. He smiled down at her. She smiled back, wordlessly, and unable to resist, put her arm around his waist, feeling the warmth of his bare skin under her fingers, the awareness tingling up her arm. She thought despairingly, when I’m near him now I have to touch him.

  The trees closed in. He pushed back some low branches which concealed an overgrown path, which Clare would never have noticed.

  The land rose and rose again. They climbed upwards through the woods and came out into open land, tawny with standing corn. The path thinned into a track, and they climbed steeply up again into open grass land.

  “Is it much further?”

  “He grinned at her.“City girl.”

  She smiled, suddenly carefree because the sun was shining, they were together and he was in a good mood now.

  The view stretched below them green and gold and blue, layer upon layer of distant hills, as far as the eye could see, glowing in the heat haze like a promised land. Clare took a deep breath.

  “Worth a bit of muscle?”

  “Oh yes!”

  The wind blew warm and steadily out of the west. It was utterly quiet, no birds even, just the sound of the wind moving in the grasses, surrounding her with a sense of exhilaration and freedom. Suddenly it seemed there was nothing to worry about, nothing but Mark and herself and the sound of the wind. Everything would be all right.

  “Why didn’t you bring me here before?”

  He shrugged.“The time wasn’t right. You have to be ready for this hill. Ready to be free.”

  She looked at him uneasily, hearing the curious undertone in his voice.

  They left the path and turned into a wider trackway of crushed chalk that ran up along the broad top of the ridge of the land.

  Clare said,“It’s odd, this road.”

  “Trackway. That’s what they’re called. All over England. There’s a network of them. The old straight trackways. All in the high places.”

  “It’s old?”

  “Old when the Romans came. Nobody knows who made them. Maybe the Stone Age people. They were sacred ways. They buried their dead along them. Over there, see that thing like a whale? That’s the long barrow.”

  Clare stared at the barrow, which was over a hundred metres long and four metres high, remembering the pictures she had seen in Salisbury Museum. She wondered again why the excavation had been stopped and where the crystal skull had been found.

  Up here there was a sense of timeless peace. Everything in its right place and time. A time for dying. A time for loving.

  She thought about lying naked with Mark, and her body flared to life.

  He pulled her against him. She could feel his warm strong muscles against her side, and turned her face away, so that he would not see the burning colour in her cheeks. Had he picked up her thought? Telepathy was real, wasn’t it, between people who loved each other?

  She felt her body trembling and tried to move away, but he held her closer, his thigh brushing against hers.

  Had the barrow people walked on the hill here holding each other, five thousand years ago?

  Mark let her go, and climbed over the single wire that bounded the trackway, holding it down for her to climb over.“Here we are.”

  The turf under her feet was incredibly lush, as springy as a mattress. She said, without thinking,“Where is the stone circle?”

  “What stone circle?”

  “Why, the one I’ve seen from the China Garden.”

  He looked at her curiously. She rushed into speech again.“There ought to be a big stone about . . . here. She tapped her foot in a dip in the ground.“And another over there.”

  Mark was staring at her intently. He moved forward, heeling away the turf with his heavy boots. She heard the studs catch on a harder surface. The turf broke away and a round shoulder of stone glinted through the loose soil where the turf had been.

  Clare swallowed and said quickly,“I expect the soil is thin up here and the rock is just below the surface all over the hill.”

  He shook his head.“This is limestone country. But that’s some sort of sandstone, like the other sarsens here. See the quartz in it?”

  Clare said, relieved,“There are stones here then? I’ve not imagined them.”

  “Standing stones. Not a circle. At least not now. Over here.”

  Hidden from the trackway in a hollow, just below the summit of the hill, there was a group of ancient standing stones, leaning together like a band of drunken men. Beyond, standing apart, was a single huge stone at least three metres high, and broad, with a large hole right through it at waist height. Clare ran across the turf delighted, wanting to touch the ancient stone. It felt surprisingly warm and alive, and her palm tingled as she moved it over the surface.

  “That’s the Ring Stone.” His voice sounded hoarse and tense. His mood had changed again, Clare thought impatiently. She did not want to be weighed down with his changing moods when she felt so good.

  She walked around the other side of the stone and looked through.“Oh, you can see the House from here. It’s much higher than Raven Hill, isn’t it? You can see for miles.”

  Framed in the surround of stone, Ravensmere was tiny and perfect, nested in its park and gardens.

  “It’s like looking through a camera lens,” Clare said, fascinated.“You can see the China Garden, and that big Scots pine and Kenward Farm. They’re all in a line.”

  She slid her hands around the opening, feeling the warmth of the stone, as though it held the sun’s energy.“It must have taken them a long time to make a hole this size with only bits of flint and horn to chip it away and polish it.”

  Mark did not answer. He stroked her neck gently and kissed her ear.

  “I wonder why they put it here. Are there any stories about it? I mean they are healing stones, aren’t they? Does it cure rickets or scrofula or murrain? What is murrain? What do you have to do?” Clare realized she was babbling on, trying to dispel the sexual tension that had built up between them. Where had the peace and stillness gone?

  Mark was watching her but she couldn’t meet his eyes.

  She was too conscious of him, wanting him to kiss her.

  He gave a hard laugh, suddenly, making up his mind.“All right. Okay. I’ll tell you. First you’re supposed to run round the Ring Stone nine times—three times three. Come on.” He caught her hand, laughing maniacally, and dragged her laughing and screaming round and round the stone.

  “... seven ... eight ...”

  “You’re mad. Crazy,” Clare panted, laughing and giddy.“... nine
!”

  He spun her into his arms and kissed her fiercely until they were both shaking and breathless. She felt his body surging against her and tried to pull away, elated, exhilarated, frightened.

  “That’s it?”

  He let her go.“Now you join hands through the stone. Give me your hands through the hole, Rosie.”

  At once she felt the energy, the electricity begin to flow between them, flowing through her, tightening her stomach, making her body tremble again. She leaned through laughing at him, and he kissed her again, but differently—a sweet, gentle kiss, almost as though he was promising something. She felt his lips trembling.

  “I love you, Clare,” he said, and his voice was shaking too.“I love you.”

  Then he was laughing wildly, and hauling her bodily through the opening in the stone into his arms. She shrieked with surprise and laughter, taken unawares. But he had pulled too hard, taking the weight of her as she came through, and he fell backwards into the thick, sweet grass, shouting and laughing, with her on top of him.

  They rolled over and over, and then all laughter had gone and they were kissing, their bodies hot and alive, moving against each other. He pushed up her T-shirt, to kiss and caress her breasts, and when he unzipped his jeans and pulled away her shorts, she made no move to stop him. Then there was only his body plunged deep into her own, the wild rhythm of their bodies and a tumbling into exquisite sensation.

  There was a dog barking far away, then much closer.

  Clare said, dazed,“Someone’s coming.” She scrambled on her shorts somehow, and dragged down her T-shirt.“Please, Mark.”

  He zipped himself unhurriedly, and grinning, stuffed her briefs into his pocket.

  And then they were joined by a dog, a joyfully barking red setter with a glossy coat, bouncing around them, tail wagging furiously, an idiotic grin on its face. It was delighted to find Clare, and did its best to smother her with kisses.

  She pushed it away, laughing, and knelt up, trying to smooth her dishevelled hair back into some sort of order, her face flushed into wild rose.

  An elderly man in tweeds, with a walking stick, came striding over the turf, smiling at them.

  “Get off, Rusty. Leave her be you great fool. I’m afraid he’s taken a fancy to you. We always like a walk up to the old stones at this time of year. They say they go down to the river to bathe and drink on Lammas Eve, but I never saw them.” He laughed jovially.

  Clare buried her scarlet face in the dog’s coat, making a fuss of it, taking time to regain her composure.

  “I brought a young lady up here once,” the man smiled again.“We’ve been married over fifty years. Well, we would be wouldn’t we? We joined hands through the old Wedding Ring here.” He slapped the stone affectionately.“And we did the circling for good luck.”

  Clare’s hand stilled in the dog’s fur. She raised her head slowly and looked at Mark. He stared back, his eyes challenging, glittering with some deep excitement.

  “This is called the Wedding Ring?” she said to the man, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

  “The Wedding Ring, and those old stones over there are the Revellers—drunk at the wedding, see? It’s a marrying stone. In the old days people got married here. You ran around it nine times for good luck and joined hands through the hole with your true love, and then you were married.”

  He laughed.“A lot cheaper than the church hall and a satin dress, eh?”

  Clare’s colour had all drained away. She forced a smile and got up.“It’s only a superstition.”

  “Well, I don’t know. These old stones have strange powers. I wouldn’t play around with them myself. They certainly brought good luck to me and my wife. Well bound for fifty years.”

  Clare shivered.

  Mark put his arm around her shoulders, but she shrugged it off and moved away, not looking at him.

  The man called his dog.“Well, I must be off. Good luck to you both. A long life and a happy one.” He walked away, the dog racing ahead of him.

  “He saw us,” said Mark, grinning.

  “I suppose you think that was funny,” Clare whirled on Mark furiously.“You knew it was a marrying stone.”

  “I’m not laughing,” said Mark. His eyes were brilliant, watchful.

  “It doesn’t count,” she said wildly.“It can’t count if one of the people doesn’t know about it.”

  “We joined hands through the stone. We kissed. We circled the stone three times three to do the binding.”

  “This is stupid. I am not married to you. I’m not.”

  “Aren’t you, Rosie? It feels like it to me.”

  “No!”

  “It’s too late to argue.”

  “It’s stupid, just stupid.”

  “And consummated too.”

  She said, disgusted,“You tricked me.”

  “No tricks. You wanted it too.”

  “I thought you really cared,” she said bitterly.“I thought we were friends. That you wanted the best for me, like I do for you. But real friends don’t cheat each other. You’re playing stupid tricks just for the hell of it. It was all just a game, wasn’t it? A game to trap me. Just a bit of sex on the side. I suppose you’ll go away and tell your mates all about it and you’ll all have a good laugh.”

  “You’ve got it wrong. Do I look as though I’m laughing? You think I go blabbing things around the village?”

  “I don’t care. In future just stay away from me.”

  He gave a hard laugh.“Listen, it was a gamble. A last throw of the dice. I had to try, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t want to see you again.” Her voice broke.“I won’t be trapped.”

  “Rosie ...”

  “Don’t call me that. Just stay away from me, do you hear? Just stay away.” She turned and ran away down the track.

  Chapter 20

  Mark did not stay away. He haunted the stables and the kitchen at the House, where he was a favourite of Mrs Anscomb and Mr Bristow, and Frances too. Often Clare would walk in and find Mark leaning against the kitchen units deep in conversation with her mother, or lounging in a chair in their sitting room watching television with her.

  He went on talking to her as though they had never quarrelled, turning up on his bike, suggesting places to go, but Clare couldn’t answer, could not even bring herself to look at him before turning and walking away. She was hurting too much inside, too angry and disillusioned. He had made a fool of her. There had been no need to lie to her and pretend there was something special between them, that he was in love with her. She had been completely taken in.

  At first she intended to go back to London at once, and stay with Sara, but Ravensmere seemed to have woven invisible threads about her, and she couldn’t make up her mind to go. Not quite. yet. Besides it seemed silly to shift now, when in only a few weeks she would be leaving anyway.

  She spent her time working hard in the garden centre, helping to harvest and pack the herbs, or sitting and talking with Mr Aylward, the only place that was Mark-free.

  At night, unable to sleep, she lay awake long hours. She did not go to the China Garden, reluctant to do the Maze Dance in case it took her to the Fifth Moon Gate. She had no wish to be reminded of the Ring Stone on Barrow Beacon Hill.

  Two days later Mai told her that they had chopped back the fig tree, and that the Fifth Moon Gate had been re-opened.

  When the calling came that night, insistent and urgent, she was unprepared. It was so strong she knew at once that it was very important, that she would have to go. Disobey them at your peril. Tabitha was already waiting, and they made their way to the China Garden in full moonlight.

  The Fifth Moon Gate was indeed open, but there was no unearthly energy-light, and no stone circle, just the ordinary view of Barrow Beacon Hill.

  Clare turned her back quickly and began to thread the long path to the centre, feeling the sway of the Dance as she turned and turned again. By the time she began the return, the moon was directly overhead.
She moved faster and faster, blinded by the radiance which seemed to engulf her in a pale gold burst of light. She closed her eyes, and found herself stumbling giddily into the Second Moon Gate.

  Tonight she had been sure, somehow, that the Maze Dance would reveal something especially important, but the open Gate showed only a misty view of Kenward Farm venerable and ancient, half-way up the hill on the other side of the valley.

  As she watched, two small figures came down the farm track. They were the children she had seen before, just the two little girls. This time the younger girl was clinging to a small pony, and the older girl was holding her on protectively. Then the younger girl deliberately broke free, kicked her mount into a gallop, laughing and waving her hand too confidently. Her red hair streamed out behind her. The next moment she had tumbled off, a bad fall, and the older girl was running forward anxiously, picking her up and cuddling her.

  Clare too had started forward involuntarily, and found herself crashing into the great pile of wood logs and cut down trees which was heaped against and blocking the Second Moon Gate.

  In the morning Frances said, worried,“Mr Aylward’s very restless and anxious today. He keeps asking for you. Perhaps if he sees you he’ll settle. Don’t stay too long though.”

  He was sitting at his huge desk, legal-looking papers spread before him. He was wrapped in his rug, despite the heat of the morning and the fire in the hearth. He seemed to have sunk into a light sleep. Clare stood quietly and watched him. The bones of his face looked as though they were covered with pale grey tissue paper, spotted with blotches of pale brown like a bird’s egg. She felt a sudden flood of anxiety, love and grief that she had found him too late and that they had so little time together.

  In her head she begged for healing for him, and felt an answering warmth and tingling in her fingertips as she took his long hand, like a fragile parcel of bones which might fall to pieces at any moment.