After collecting the luggage and paraphernalia from the car, Matt and Bill followed, with Cathy in pursuit, protectively clutching the vinyl bag that held various gifts and little treasures, not least of which was the tallow doll.
Edna was a woman in her late fifties, ‘salt of the earth’, Matt’s mother always used to say. She had been coming to the house every weekday since as far back as Matt could remember. When his parents were alive, Edna and her husband Joseph had been invaluable to Slater’s Farm… Joseph being Abel Slater’s right-hand man and knowing all there was to know about breeding, buying and training good horse stock. And Edna, who could turn her hand to whatever duties Mrs Slater required of her.
Since the tragic death of Matt’s parents, he had come to rely on Joseph and Edna Tully – Joseph was manager of the yard, and Edna seemed happy to spend her days at the house, doing all the things that a man may not do quite so well. Now that Matt had taken a wife, Edna was looking forward to retiring, when she would ‘visit my sister in Bedford a bit more often’, but she had assured Cathy, ‘Whenever you want me, child, you’ve only to let me know.’ Cathy liked her. She and Edna had become firm friends and certainly each seemed to fill a need in the other, with Cathy not having a mother to confide in, and Edna never having been blessed with children.
‘That was good of Edna to prepare a meal for us,’ Cathy told Matt now, as the two of them relaxed in front of a small log fire. Normally, at this time of year they wouldn’t dream of lighting a fire but, after returning from the heat of Australia, the May evening seemed surprisingly chilly. Now, after the delicious ham salad and apple pie with cream, Cathy felt wonderfully contented. The table lamps gave off a soft warm glow, the firelight flickered and danced, creating weird fascinating shadows all around the room, and, with Matt’s arms about her as the two of them lounged in the squashy comfort of the settee, Cathy thought herself to be the luckiest woman in the world. It had been an unforgettable honeymoon, a wonderful homecoming, and the half-hour spent lazing in the bath seemed to have melted away that deep sense of fear which had troubled her these past few days. There had been times when she had wondered whether it stemmed from a deeper anxiety, a long-held insecurity that had started when she had been deserted by her mother. Since then Cathy had been almost afraid to commit herself to a close relationship; always terrified that it would never last. She had felt that way with Matt, not daring to hope that things would come right for them, yet loving him so much that she lived in dread of losing him.
‘It’s good to be home.’ Matt bent his head towards her, touching his mouth against her neck, raising all kinds of longing in her. Her answer was to turn her face to him, reaching up to meet his lips and shivering with delight when his mouth came down on hers, his long fingers feeling their way into her pyjama top, caressing the softness of her breast. He knew how to please her, to arouse her. Eagerly she twisted her body towards him, the tip of her tongue tracing his lips, her two hands undoing the belt of his bathrobe. Slithering the palms of her hands across the hard expanse of his chest, she teased his nipples, loving the sensation she felt when the thick dark hairs touched her fingertips.
What had been a tender kiss now became more ardent, she felt her need for him growing inside her. Softly moaning she pulled away, uncurling from the settee and standing before him. Slowly she undid the lower buttons of her pyjama top, afterwards letting it slip down her shoulders and fall in a rumpled pile at her feet. Next came her pyjama bottoms. Her dove-grey eyes never once left Matt’s face; his passion was obvious as he roved his gaze over her slim shapely figure, sensuously silhouetted in the golden glow of the fire. For a moment he made no move, choosing instead to enjoy her nakedness, his love for her flooding every corner of his being, raging through him and firing his desire until only the feel of her in his arms and the taking of her in a way that only a man could know, would satisfy him.
Now, when Cathy came towards him, he rose to his feet, his fingers clumsy in their eagerness to shed the bathrobe. There was nothing between them now. In the quiet solitude only the crackling of the logs disturbed the brooding atmosphere. Tenderly, he laid his hands on her shoulders, pushing her down into the soft rug-pile, pressing himself on to her, his fingers rippling tantalisingly over her skin, feeling out the places he had come to know as her most sensitive… that soft indentation at the base of her neck, the curve of her spine, the dip in her soft inviting thighs. ‘Oh, Cathy… Cathy!’ His mouth murmured against hers, moving along the creamy whiteness of her throat, down to the hard, erect peaks of her small, round breasts. Her closeness was intoxicating to him. Thrills ebbed in and out of his heightened senses, and the desire within him hardened until he could wait no longer. Keeping his mouth over hers, his tongue playing, exciting, thrilling her to impatience, he reached down. She stirred, softly moaning. When she opened to receive him, he arched away, teasing, making her want him all the more. And then he felt her – glorious, aching for him.
Savouring the moment he slowly entered her, laughing softly when he felt himself being sucked in as her legs came up to wrap around him. There was great love in him as he pushed deeper inside her, the sensation was powerful, all consuming. In his delight he murmured her name, raising his face to gaze on her. Parting his lips he sought her mouth, sighing inside when the kiss was more exquisite than he had ever known before. A frenzy took them both, he making long invasive inways deep into the soft moistness of her flesh, and she pushing up to meet him, now and then crying out, pulling him into her, her head tilted back, her mouth open, and her face a study in rapture. Seeing her that way gave him pleasure. Thrill after thrill engulfed his senses. His need grew stronger and in the instant when his desire soared within him, he glanced up, the thrills burst inside him, cascading through him, sapping his strength.
But with the ecstasy, came riveting shock. The shock of looking not into Cathy’s face, but into the face of a stranger! Dark eyed and stunningly beautiful, she smiled at him, and then the eyes were bitter, black with loathing… simmering with evil. The face was real, and then it was not.
Rolling away, he dared to look once more, a terrible confusion reigning in him. Cathy’s soft grey eyes gazed on him. She leaned up on one elbow, her face brushing his. ‘Love you,’ she murmured. One fleeting kiss before she rose and then she was gone into the kitchen, leaving him bewildered. Was he going crazy? As he pulled his bathrobe on, Matt convinced himself that it had all been a trick of the firelight. There was no ‘stranger’; how could there be? It was Cathy’s eyes he had seen smiling back at him, a trick of the firelight, nothing more. Just a trick of the firelight.
It was almost midnight. Cathy was soundly sleeping, but Matt was too disturbed to sleep. For a while, he paced the bedroom, his anxious eyes watching Cathy’s sleeping face. He could not rid himself of the feeling that there was something eerie happening to him. He had no way of knowing what it was, or whether in fact it really was all in his imagination, but there was fear inside him. Real, crippling fear. A fear he had never known before. An awful terror he could not explain. Long into the early hours he paced the floor. There was no sleep in him this night. And no peace of mind.
Outside, some way down the lane, the hatchback was parked in a position from which the occupant could see the cottage. He watched now, his eyes intent on the shadow of Matt walking up and down. He watched until the bedroom light went out and all was still. In the light from the glove compartment he made an entry in his notebook. Beneath the heading ‘Mrs Hinson’ it read: ‘Watched the house until dark. Nothing untoward.’
8
It was a strange sort of day for mid-July… overcast and unusually cool, without even the lightest breeze to stir the air. On this day – when Matt’s fears were diminished by the quiet contentment of the past two months – it seemed that nothing could ever again destroy his peace of mind. But something did. Something so strange and horrifying that it struck at the very heart of him, threatening everything that he held dear.
Throughout the
stable yard there was great excitement; six o’clock on this Saturday morning saw an army of young grooms, boys and girls alike, all busily engaged in feeding the horses, mucking out the stables and generally preparing for an enjoyable day of horsemanship and competition.
Opening the gate, Matt waited for Cathy to come into the stable yard, his dark gaze running appreciatively over her slim figure. She had a particular energy about her, a glow that outshone everything round her. Dressed in thigh-hugging denims and a loose emerald-green sweater, with her corn-coloured hair tumbling in disarray to her small straight shoulders, she had the look of a child, possessed of a certain innocence and fresh beauty. Now, when she smiled on him, making extravagant gestures, bowing in mock servile manner and telling him with wide mischievous eyes, ‘Why, thank you, sir,’ his heart spilled over with love and he wondered how he had ever lived without her, for she filled his life with sunshine.
‘Get to work, wench!’ he replied in a grim voice, pointing towards the stables while she slunk away, trying not to laugh, especially when she saw how the stable-hands were watching, thoroughly enjoying what she and Matt had believed to be a little private entertainment.
The yard was a happy place, bristling with people all going about their work. All morning long the air echoed to voices uplifted in song, in accompaniment to the transistor radio which blared through the speakers from the tack-room. Now and then a burst of merry whistling could be heard emanating from the inside of the stables; everybody knew everybody else and they were all part of the same happy family. The horses were already out of the stables, each one tethered to a ring by the individual stable doors, and each animal standing patiently, knowing the routine and being resigned to it. Some were having their flanks scrubbed, others were being curry-combed and brushed, some were having their manes plaited or their hooves picked. While all this was going on, they would stand like gentle giants, unperturbed, uninterested. The noise did not bother them, nor did the less experienced grooms who noisily hurried into the stables with empty wheelbarrows and hurried out with the barrows piled high with still-steaming horse-droppings and soiled straw.
Skilfully separating the two commodities with the long fine-pronged pitchforks, the youngsters threw the straw on to one mound and the droppings on to another. Later, the trader would transfer the rotting mountains to his lorry, paying good money for the privilege. The stench was overpowering, thick and warm, it spread over the yard like a creeping blanket, permeating every nook and cranny with its unique fragrance; it was not unpleasant to those who had grown accustomed to it, but it clung to everything and everyone like a second skin.
Most of the horses here were privately owned, the owners paying upwards of two thousand pounds a year to keep their expensive mounts stabled, and exercised to peak fitness. Abel Slater had been a farmer here, but over the years his agricultural interests were sold out. His great passion was horses. Matt had inherited his father’s talents and had built on the excellent reputation enjoyed by Abel Slater, by carrying on the same traditions, breeding and selling valuable event horses. More often than not, these same horses remained at Slater’s Farm, because the new owners were more than happy to let Matt and his well-qualified staff train and stable them. In a single season a horse might be entered in only a dozen events, yet it must be kept fit and ready at all times.
Today, most of the horses were being made resplendent before Matt’s fleet of six horse-boxes would transport them some twenty miles away to Soulbury, where the biggest annual event in the horse owner’s calendar was due to begin at ten a.m., and would go on until late afternoon. The competitions were open to anyone, and already the huge number of entries in each class indicated that this would be the biggest show yet.
Normally Matt and Cathy, who were both accomplished riders, would not miss the opportunity to take part in such a competition; besides which they were always eager to see how the horses performed – a clutch of trophies taken by the animals trained at Slater’s Farm was always a good advertisement. On this occasion, however, they were expecting a potential buyer for two particular geldings which showed excellent promise as top showjumpers. Matt had placed a very high price on them. He knew their value.
‘I can never get used to the yard when it’s quiet like this.’ Matt stood by the gate, his arm round Cathy and his curious gaze travelling the deserted stable yard. It was eight a.m. The last of the horse-boxes had disappeared down the lane and on to the main road. Now there were only the two of them left, amid a strange calmness that seemed all the more unnerving after the earlier bedlam.
‘Afraid I’ll take advantage of you?’ Cathy murmured threateningly. ‘Do you think I’ll have my wicked way with you?’ Her grey eyes shone with villainy as she looked up at him.
He laughed aloud, walking on towards the tack-room and taking Cathy with him. ‘You’re a bad one,’ he chided playfully, ‘but I think I’ll keep you all the same.’ He thought he would never be more contented than he was right now. These past weeks had been heavenly; Cathy’s awful nightmares had stopped and only this morning she had told him of her growing eagerness to have a child. Previously when he mentioned how he would love a family, Cathy had not been quite so enthusiastic, always telling him, ‘Not yet, Matt, we’re only young. There’s plenty of time.’ And then this morning her attitude had changed. She had given him no indication, and he was both astonished and thrilled.
There had always been a deep need in him, a strong belief that he must build on the slender history left to him by his father. On the day of his father’s funeral, when he alone represented what was left of their history, the need to create the seeds of a whole new dynasty began to grow in him. But it was not so great a compulsion that it dictated his life. When, later, he fell in love with Cathy, he made no mention of his deeper feelings. He adored her, even though she showed no enthusiasm for having children. He quietly hoped the day would come when she might change her mind. Today was that special day. Tonight, he would wine and dine her in that lovely restaurant along Bedford embankment, and later they would make love. His heart lurched at the thought. Tonight, a whole new life might be conceived… a son, God willing, to carry the name of Slater down the ages. A son, to right the wrongs of the past and create a new beginning.
‘Penny for your thoughts.’ Cathy had never seen him so lost in thought. Somehow it disturbed her.
‘Oh, they’re worth much more than that, sweetheart,’ Matt told her, opening the tack-room door and ushering her in. Once inside he caught her roughly in his arms, looking down on her uplifted face, his hunger for her bright in his eyes. ‘You haven’t forgotten what you told me this morning?’ he quizzed.
‘I haven’t forgotten.’ She had been smiling at him, but now the smile fell away. A darkness came into her senses, a strange and overwhelming feeling of malevolence. Suddenly she resented him. Confusion and chaos split her emotions. Reluctantly she pulled away; the surprise on his face was hurtful to her. ‘And you haven’t “forgotten” that we have a very important visitor coming here this morning?’ She glanced at the big round clock on the wall over Laura’s desk. ‘He’s due at ten o’clock. That’s less than two hours, I hope you realise?’ Going to the harness rack, Cathy collected two head-collars. Throwing one to Matt, she reminded him, ‘There’s a great deal to be done… Sergeant and Copper to be put out in the paddock, their stables to be mucked out… the horses warmed up so he can see them at their best and…’
‘Hey! Whoa! I do know what has to be done.’ He was puzzled by her abrupt change of mood. Now, as she hurried out of the tack-room, he detected something odd about her, something different. He had been close to Cathy long enough to know when she was acting completely out of character. He prayed it was not starting again; the nightmares, the fear. He had hoped against hope that it had all gone away. Now, he was desperately afraid that it had not. His bubble of happiness cruelly punctured, Matt went in pursuit of her. He had to know that all was well between them, or there would be no peace for him this day
.
The day went well. The geldings were sold for four thousand pounds each, and after, Matt had suggested they should saddle Sergeant and Copper and go for a brisk canter. The new cross-country course over their land had proved to be a marvellous asset, not only for exercising their own horses, but also bringing in revenue from other owners. Cathy’s dark brooding mood had thankfully lifted. The ride was invigorating. Matt’s big bay was pulling at the bit and Cathy drove her horse like a demon, flying the hedges and galloping over the fields like a thing possessed. Several times Matt called out to her, cautioning her, fearful for her safety, especially when an overhanging branch sliced into her temple, causing a small gash. But she was a good horsewoman, and soon his spirit was as wild as hers.
It was nearly evening when Matt and Cathy returned to Slater’s Farm, hungry, dirty and exhausted, but contented, and greatly exhilarated. ‘I didn’t realise we’d been gone so long,’ Matt shouted to Laura, who was emerging from one of the stables.
When Laura saw Matt and Cathy she hurried forward, eager to tell how well the horses had done at the show. She also looked dishevelled, her hair untidy about her long thin face, and her jodhpurs stained black by the horses’ sweat. ‘It’s been a long day,’ she said, subconsciously tapping the leather riding crop against her boots. ‘All the horses are fed and stabled.’ She glanced up and down the yard – deserted almost, except for themselves and the curious horses who now poked their heads out of the stable upper doors to watch them with large, soulful brown eyes. ‘Young Joanna’s still here, though. Her horse has a nasty kick on the knee. She’s attending to it now.’
The Tallow Image Page 16
