Secrets in the Cotswolds

by Rebecca Tope

  There were undoubtedly other similar enterprises across the region, out of sight up small lanes. It was as if the old stone houses in the villages, with their handsome churches and upmarket pubs, were the false facade on something much more contemporary and businesslike. Had it taken her all these years to finally recognise this reality? Had she failed to notice that there was actually a great deal more going on than first appeared? Even living in the Cotswolds, she had been slow to appreciate the fact that not everybody commuted to Oxford or Stratford for their work. She regularly passed a small industrial complex right outside her own home village of Broad Campden, after all. But it was still startling to find here, in little Barnsley, that there was a fully-fledged business park, where people were not only employed, but obviously lived as well.

  She consulted her map and tentatively followed a small path beside a wall that seemed to be going in the right direction. A man was coming towards her with a brown dog on a lead. Neither looked particularly friendly, and as they drew level, the man gave Thea a hard stare that made her flinch. She wanted to protest that she was on a public footpath, minding her own business, and he had no right to behave in such a hostile fashion. But she simply returned his stare with defiance and walked on. The dog had kept its head down, but there had been a slow tail-wag that suggested an inclination to make friends.

  Ahead of her was another field containing sheep and several large trees, which she found to be mature beeches. The path was yet again ill-defined, and without the map she would have quickly become lost. Just one more stile, she decided, and then she would either turn back, or construct a circular path that led back to the house. There was something slightly bleak about walking in the countryside without a dog. Hepzie would have tried to befriend the one with the man she’d met and forced some sort of exchange with the hostile person. All sorts of things might have gone differently, in fact.

  The final stile turned out to be the high point of the walk so far, in more senses than one. It loomed above her, at least seven feet in height, providing the only way over the equally high wall bordering the field. Thea’s feeling for history left her in no doubt that here were the remnants of a large and important estate, its boundaries constructed with great emphasis three or four hundred years ago. The wall was in good condition, unambiguously designed to repel invaders. The ‘stile’ was plainly a reluctant concession to the occasional need to get over the wall. There was no way of seeing over it, the estate concealed from view, at least from this direction.

  She climbed the stone steps, each one at least eighteen inches high. No dog could have managed it, and many children would be confounded. Anyone with stiff hips or a delicate back would have to turn away and retrace their steps. But Thea scrambled up without any real difficulty, and was immediately dumbstruck by what lay on the other side.

  The map showed a track, named Cadmoor Lane, which had led her to expect an easy path, possibly even navigable by cars – or at the least, horses and bikes. Instead there was a virtually impenetrable mass of vegetation. She could just discern an official way-marker pointing northwards, but more clearly visible was a printed laminated sign saying FOOTPATH, indicating that walkers should turn either right or left, heading west or east. Either would involve pushing through long grass, wild flowers, brambles and bracken. She decided at that point that she had definitely gone far enough. But then she saw something that made her pause and think again.

  Chapter Three

  Emerging from the dense undergrowth only ten or fifteen feet away, crouching like a wild animal and almost as wary, came a person. A female in some sort of difficulty, evidently. One shoulder looked lopsided, and the black hair was in disarray.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Thea asked.

  ‘Hmm, umm, ohh,’ came the inarticulate reply.

  ‘You’ve hurt your shoulder, have you?’ Now fully face-to-face, Thea found herself looking at a woman of roughly her own age, with features that seemed Chinese or possibly Japanese. There were signs of suffering on her face. The body language heightened this impression. One hand was clutched to the opposite shoulder and the whole stance was bowed in pain.

  ‘I think it might be dislocated,’ came the reply. ‘I fell off that … thing.’ She pointed at the monumental stile. The accent was slight, the English perfect, rather to Thea’s relief. ‘But I was already hurt, before that,’ the woman added, as an afterthought.

  ‘Gosh – you poor thing! That must be horribly painful. Can I get you to a doctor or something? Have you got a car anywhere near?’

  ‘No. No.’ The woman was breathless, but was clearly making an effort to seem less damaged. ‘I’ll be all right. I can walk.’ She kept glancing from side to side, as if expecting to be jumped on by something large and dangerous.

  ‘Well, I can’t just leave you here, can I? The trouble is, I’ve got no transport, either, so I’m not sure how useful I can be. We could go back to the business park and ask for help. Have you got a phone on you?’

  The woman began to shake her head, before realising that this was likely to exacerbate the pain. Again she said, ‘No,’ and then added, ‘Sorry.’

  Fighting against a growing sense of helplessness, Thea tried to assess the options. She looked more closely at the injury. ‘You know – I’m not sure it is dislocated,’ she said. ‘Your arm’s still at a fairly normal angle. From what I’ve heard, it would be dangling horribly if it was out of its socket. What exactly happened to it? I mean – did you land right on it? Did you fall from the top?’

  ‘I wrenched it. I tried to save myself from falling and it got twisted.’ There was a clear avoidance of Thea’s eye at these words, oddly suggesting the presence of an untruth. ‘That thing is an outrage.’ She glared at the stile.

  ‘Did you hear any popping sound? Have you put it out of joint before?’ Thea was frantically dredging up everything she had ever known about dislocations. Her father had had a brother who did it, making a famous family story that had been told fifty times. ‘There’s dreadful pain, for a start,’ she went on. ‘I can see yours hurts, but you’re not exactly rolling on the ground in agony, are you?’

  This brisk attitude had an obviously bracing effect. ‘But it really hurts. It’s burning right down to my elbow.’ An undertone of indignation roused Thea’s innate curiosity. Who was this woman? Surely she had a whole lot of explaining to do?

  ‘Where do you live? Where were you going? I assume you must be local, if you’re out without a car.’

  Again the aborted head-shake, but no eye contact. ‘No. Not local at all. I was brought here.’ An expression more of emotional than physical pain crossed her face. ‘I ran away.’

  A host of thoughts filled Thea’s head. People trafficking. An irate husband. An effort to evade detection after committing a crime. Immigration difficulties. One by one, she dismissed them as unlikely. The woman was surely too old to be a reluctant prostitute, and too assertive to be afraid of a husband. This was no retiring violet; despite her suffering she had an air of competence. An aura of assurance and automatic assumption of equality emanated from her. ‘Well, we’ll sort it out somehow. My name’s Thea Slocombe. What’s yours?’ asked Thea.

  ‘Grace. I’m Grace.’

  ‘And where are you from?’

  The woman briefly closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Thea groaned inwardly, hearing herself ask that age-old unthinking, viscerally prejudiced question. Was it only the Brits who challenged anyone of alien appearance as to their right to be on their precious island? ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘That sounds rude. I don’t mean what country. Just whereabouts in Britain?’

  She was making it worse, probably. But then Grace answered with no sign of having taken offence. ‘My father was British and my mother’s Chinese. I lived there for much of my early life, but since then I have been here. The past twenty years, anyway.’

  It was a carefully delivered summary, revealing nothing that Thea regarded as relevant. Neither did it answer the question she ha
d actually wanted to ask.

  ‘But where do you live? Have you got family here?’

  ‘No, not really.’ The words emerged as a whisper, vaguely regretful. ‘My father died.’

  Thea did not waste breath on empty platitudes about loss. Instead she stuck to the same line of questioning, intent on getting hold of something relevant. ‘You say you ran away? Who from? What’s going on?’

  Grace swallowed, and adopted a different tone. If anything, she became even more assertive. ‘You don’t need to know the details,’ she said with finality. ‘Are you local?’

  Thea shook her head, aware of her supple neck and wholesale good health. ‘I’m looking after a house in the village. I could take you there, if you like. We should call the police, if you’ve been attacked in some way. Held against your will. Whatever it is that happened to you.’

  Grace looked up with a complicated expression that seemed to involve making a decision to trust her rescuer. ‘I would be grateful for somewhere to sit down,’ she smiled. ‘But there’s no sense in involving the police. There’s nothing they can do.’ The smile was fleeting, replaced by a much harder look. ‘I’m sure they must have better things to do,’ she added. ‘Which way is your house?’

  Already Thea knew she ought to be regretting the offer of hospitality. There was something profoundly unsettling about this person. The scrappy story in itself would be a worry, but the demeanour of the woman added to the sense of venturing into something unsavoury. But Thea Slocombe, formerly Osborne, was no shrinking violet either. She was almost eager for something challenging; it could be as dodgy as it liked, if only it gave her something to focus on – it was the answer to a prayer. Drew would groan and her daughter Jessica would be horrified. Gladwin would sigh and roll her eyes – but with an understanding smile. This Grace was deeply intriguing. Small like Thea herself, and full of energy. Complicated, too. ‘You’ll have to tell me more about what’s going on,’ she stipulated. ‘I promise not to judge you,’ she added rashly.

  ‘Judge me? Why would you say that? Do I look like a criminal to you?’

  They were still standing on the tiny pathway leading through the overgrown semi-jungle, while shadows lengthened. It had to be after five, Thea realised, feeling hungry. She was not inclined to answer the irritable question thrown at her. No human beings were anywhere in sight. ‘Do you know anyone at that business park?’ she asked, following one of many possible threads.

  ‘Will we have to go past it to get to your house?’ This was another oblique answer, but Thea assumed it meant, Yes and I don’t want to meet them.

  ‘Let me have a look.’ She unfolded the unwieldy map, and found an alternative route. ‘It’s a bit further,’ she warned. ‘And it involves walking through all this overgrown prickly stuff and then along a road. It’s very quiet, though. Is somebody looking for you?’

  ‘Possibly. I was hiding here all afternoon. They might have given up by now.’

  ‘Who are “they”?’

  ‘I’ll explain – perhaps. It’s not a very nice story.’ Her lips were then pressed tightly together, giving Thea to understand that no further information was to be forthcoming just then.

  ‘Come on, then. I’m hungry, although there’s not much food in the house. I’m more or less camping there.’

  ‘How strange.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘I won’t stay long. If you could find something to put on my shoulder, that would be really helpful.’

  ‘Is it hurting horribly? Have you been like that for long? Let’s hope it’s not dislocated, then – you’re supposed to get it dealt with as quickly as possible. The ligaments get tighter or something, and it’s a lot more difficult to put it back, if you leave it.’ She wasn’t altogether certain of her medical facts, but it sounded right. ‘I don’t think I have got anything for it, though. Possibly an Ibuprofen in my bag.’

  ‘You’re probably right that it’s less serious than I thought. Just a pulled muscle.’ She rubbed it gently. ‘I must admit I’m quite hungry and thirsty, as well. It’s been a hot day.’

  They began to push their way along the path, in single file, Thea leading. They were going in a westerly direction, destined to meet the small road that formed the western edge of the village. It was all perfectly plain on the map, including something labelled a ‘field system’ on their left. ‘What’s a field system?’ Thea wondered aloud, thinking Grace might be ready to be distracted. But no answer was forthcoming, and when she glanced back at her companion, she could see that walking was proving uncomfortable. Her hand was once again gripping the damaged shoulder, as if to hold the joint in place.

  ‘Actually, I know this,’ Thea went on, aware that she was prattling to no good effect. ‘It means you can see furrows or lines where walls have been, if you know where to look. There are all sorts of Neolithic and Roman remains around here. I’ve always been keen on history, but I prefer something a bit more recent. Canals and old barns, for a start. And really old houses.’ She knew the woman wasn’t listening, but she kept on talking in a forlorn hope that the walk might seem shorter if they were engaged in conversation. Grace did not seem to share this optimism. She walked with a plodding determination that Thea found painful.

  ‘Have you been in the Cotswolds before?’ she asked.

  Again a sigh that struck Thea as impatience with the questioning. Then she answered in a flat voice. ‘Never. They brought me here from Manchester.’

  ‘Manchester? What – the airport, do you mean? Have you been away somewhere?’

  The woman frowned fleetingly and then nodded. ‘That’s right,’ she said.

  ‘And you were brought here against your will? But where’s your luggage?’

  ‘In the car. Everything’s in the car.’

  Thea tried to envisage the scenario. A terrified woman, small and powerless, threatened by criminals of some description, seizing a momentary opportunity to escape and make a run for it across unfamiliar fields and stiles with only the clothes she stood up in. The drama of it was undeniably thrilling.

  ‘You poor thing,’ she said. ‘Were they threatening you? Have they got your passport?’

  Again, there was a silence, in which some sort of internal debate was plainly being conducted. ‘Please don’t ask any more questions. I very much appreciate your helping me like this. I could tell you were going to be kind, and capable, the moment I saw you. But I won’t stay long. You don’t have to worry about me, or bother with knowing all about me. My problems are mostly of my own making, if I’m honest. All I need is somewhere to stay out of sight until the danger’s past.’ She was speaking to Thea’s back, as they kept on walking. ‘I don’t want to make any trouble for you.’

  ‘All right,’ Thea threw the words over her shoulder. ‘I can’t force you to tell me if you don’t want to.’

  ‘Please believe me when I say it’s in your own interest. All I need is somewhere to rest, and a bit of food, if you can spare it. I’ll leave early tomorrow morning. Perhaps we can call a taxi or something.’

  The prospect of having to find food for another mouth was starting to worry Thea. In any other country there would at least be a source of bread in a village the size of Barnsley – although possibly not on a Saturday afternoon. The shop attached to the Bibury trout farm would perhaps be open the next morning, to satisfy the many summer tourists, but that required a lengthy walk, there and back. Even Stephanie’s much-lauded online deliveries would hardly manage to bring provisions at a moment’s notice. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t very much to offer you,’ she warned. ‘I only arrived today, and it’s still very disorganised.’ For the first time she realised that her companion had no possessions whatever. No bag or coat, and her tight cotton jeans did not reveal the outline of a passport or purse. ‘Have you got any money on you?’ she asked with her usual directness.

  ‘No. I told you – I left everything in the car. I knew I could be found if I brought my phone with me. And no way could I use a bank card.�
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  ‘Why not? Unless the police are after you, it would be safe enough. Ordinary people can’t just track you by your card – or your phone, come to that.’

  ‘Before long, my people at home will ask the police to find me.’

  ‘So? Are you hiding from them as well?’

  ‘That remains to be seen.’

  Thea was flooded with a mixture of frustration and excitement. It was turning into a veritable James Bond adventure. She imagined helicopters appearing out of nowhere, or perhaps a malign drone, filming them and then dropping a bomb on them. She had seen Eye in the Sky and knew what was possible.

  They finally reached the road after what felt like an epic trek worthy of Doctor Livingstone, and turned left. ‘It’s about half a mile down here,’ said Thea, peering again at the map. ‘Maybe a bit more. Can you manage that?’

  ‘If a car comes, I will have to hide.’ They both eyed the barely existing verge and the thick summer hedge above it.

  ‘That might be difficult.’

  ‘Perhaps if we walk close together, they will not think … we will not seem remarkable.’

  ‘If we hear a car, we can pretend to be picking flowers,’ Thea suggested, before adding, ‘Except you’re not supposed to do that these days. They might stop and harangue us about it.’

  ‘“Harangue”? What does that mean?’

  ‘It means giving a bossy sort of lecture. Sorry – it’s a favourite word of my mother’s. She says my brother does it all the time. It’s true. He does.’

  ‘Does your mother live here? And your brother?’ She looked around as if expecting relatives to jump over a hedge at them. ‘Do you have a husband?’ The woman eyed Thea’s wedding ring. Thea noted that Grace’s hand had no matching adornment.