by Des Sheridan
They attended to Tara, Janet wrapping the injured ankle in a linen bandage for support, and then providing cups of tea. Robert explained that they had stayed at Lanouée and were heading for Malestroit to meet their friends. Pip offered to drive them over but Robert said they couldn’t contact their friends as they had no mobile signal and their friends were on the move too. They would prefer to stop here overnight. Tara was happy to let him do the talking, not wanting to put her foot in it. Quite a glib liar when he wanted to be, she noted.
‘OK. No problem at all,’ said Janet. ‘We’ll be glad of the company. And your friends can pick you up in the morning. I’ll give you our land line number and you can text it to them. You can get a weak mobile signal out near the front gate. Not great but good enough for a text. If not, Pip will drop you over in the morning and sort you out. Now, how about a spot of lunch? You look like you could do with some. We’ve had ours but I’ve got cheese, ham and fresh bread. Then we will get you sorted in the tent.’
Janet bustled off to the kitchen and Pip took Robert away to show him round the premises. Left alone, Tara looked about the room. It was large and spacious with a high ceiling and the thick walls meant it was cool despite the heat of the day. It was sheer bliss not to be walking and already her ankle felt better. It seemed they had found a haven. And that was what she needed now more than anything - she needed to feel secure.
Chapter 14
Nantes, France, 23 October 2014
Freya arrived at the Château de la Cornevière feeling very irritated. She had been requesting a meeting with Pascal for over two weeks but all she had received were his e-mail comments on her proposals. His observations were helpful but she knew – and he ought to – that a face to face briefing was essential to forge a convincing plan of what to do at Samhain. A meeting was overdue, there being only a week left before the occasion. How could he expect a first-class event if he was not prepared to invest time and thought into it? Then late last night she got a text announcing a meeting for this morning. She had to drop things, pack her bags and travel at short notice from Paris to Nantes. At least he had provided a luxury limousine to pick her up, she grudgingly admitted.
Once Pascal entered into the room she found that his demeanour was much changed from their last encounter. Then he had been impressive - calm and confident with a clear rationale for building his own tribe or tuath. Today he was on edge and preoccupied.
‘So much has been happening, Freya. We have only an hour. So to business! Explain your plan for Samhain.’
This abrupt treatment was not what Freya was expecting but she was not a woman easily thrown. She responded in kind, booting up her PowerPoint.
‘Of course,’ she observed curtly. ‘As we discussed it is a tripartite event, evolving through three concepts - connection with the Otherworld, kingship and blood sacrifice as we agreed. It will commence with an invocation of the spirits of the four winds.’
She rattled out the content, making no effort to hide her grumpiness.
‘Then Cernunnos anoints the King and Queen. The climax is the King offering a blood sacrifice of a bull before mating with his Queen.’ She flicked quickly through the slides.
‘You and Kirsten are obviously King and Queen but I am still casting for Cernunnos. Leave that with me. It will have elements of multimedia but not too much. It is not a rock concert or theatre. It has to be essentially realistic to convince. So - lighting, sound and audience participation are all part of the mix but pas de trop. In addition the clothing, broths, burners and incense mixes are as previously discussed. Kirsten, by the way, is preparing those so we will have to see how she fares. But really you ought to be taste and smell them to sign them off. Like the rest of the detail.’
Having spat out that accusation, she paused. Pascal was listening but seemed detached.
‘Pascal, are you with me?’
‘Yes. It is just that events are moving fast so I am distracted. And I don’t agree. I am perfectly happy for you and Kirsten to see to the details.’
That makes a first, thought Freya, who knew well that Pascal was a control freak.
‘Look, what is on your mind, Pascal? Tell me. Good art reflects life. You know that. Maybe we can work with whatever it is. You know, echo and reflect it in the programme for the night.’
He paused, looking at her thoughtfully then nodded. He is wondering how much to share with me, she thought. Finally he spoke.
‘Yes, you are right, Freya. You usually are. Well, where to start? The climate change conference was a terrific success which means I am now a key player in both the Waverloo Group and the operation of the larger Circle Group. And the Triskell is within my grasp!’
‘What? That’s fantastic. How come? Have you got the Irishwoman?’
‘No, they arrived at Mont Saint-Michel but evaded my welcoming committee. I lost two people in a shoot-out, thanks to her and that Brit who is helping her. But I will have her soon because I have her niece. The child is arriving special delivery at Nantes this afternoon.’
She stared at him, sifting and evaluating the implications. So he was behind the Mont Saint-Michel shootout. She was impressed. A smile crept across her lips, broadening into a beam.
‘Pascal, this is remarkable news. The Triskell! But you don’t seem thrilled?
‘I am, of course, but I need to be realistic and careful. The stakes are so high.’
She was puzzled by his low-key mood.
‘It changes everything for Samhain, Pascal. Can’t you see that? This meeting is indeed timely – and a huge opportunity.’
‘To be honest I haven’t worked it through. Go on, tell me.’
She doubted that. He had an extremely agile mind. But she would play his game.
‘Well, if I hear you correctly, we have two new personae to play with. Ruane is ideal for Queenship - she is a Seer and could bear you a child with the gift. As for the niece, tell me, what do we need a bull for? Is she a virgin? And I assume you will be incorporating the Triskell into the ceremony as well? ’
His eyes, uncertain yet tempted, were watching her closely.
‘Pascal, it all fits perfectly. Can’t you see?
He offered no comment, instead changing the subject.
‘There is more. I didn’t tell you all that happened in the cave. The Other One arrived unbidden.’
That was weeks ago! You untrusting fucking bastard, she blazed inwardly.
‘You should have told me sooner,’ she snapped angrily.
He just shrugged. We are where we are, she told herself. Taking a deep breath she moved on.
‘This is building beautifully. Just imagine the power that these two things could unleash - the Triskell and the Other One. The Devil himself will lick your arse and like the taste, Pascal!
She emitted a shrill cackle.
‘It isn’t a laughing matter, Freya.’ It was Pascal’s turn to sound waspish. ‘Each element - Ruane, the child, the Triskell and the Other One – carries significant risk.’
Freya could scarcely believe her ears. He sounded like an accountant. She quickly calculated how to respond.
‘Of course, but risk is OK. We can manage it. With Ruane and the child the issue is simple. Control them, make them cower. If one of them is difficult, threaten the one with injury to the other. The Triskell – I don’t know. Will it even work? The Other One certainly is a big risk but just think of the power, Pascal. You were born for this! You cannot fail to step up to the plate!’
To her alarm Pascal said nothing, just sat there chewing on a nail. She had never seen him like this before. Something must have spooked him. This needed bottoming out, now! How could she get beneath his skin?
Reaching into her pocket, she brought out and opened a phial and laid it on the table. She was habitually very selective in her use of drugs. They could enslave and destroy you. But she needed Pascal to open up. This unexpected lily-livered streak needed purging.
‘You are right. I suppose, Pascal, it is all a bit ragged. But nothi
ng we can’t handle. We need to talk it through clearly though. This will help’.
She motioned at the line of white powder on she had drawn out across the glass-topped table
He didn’t say no.
Chapter 15
Buedon, France, 22 October 2014
The yurt was spacious and comfortable. It was floored with decking, carpeted with rugs and even had a heater to combat the cool of the autumn evening. The showers and toilets were in a newly-built shed in a corner of the garden, so Robert and Tara were able to freshen up and wash off the day, and Janet found them spare, if ill-fitting, clean clothes to wear. In the evening she brought them dinner on a tray. The main dish was bobotie, a South African dish she said - a sort of a mild lamb curry with a savoury custard-like topping. She served it with artichoke hearts from the garden and a bottle of Shiraz. The dish was delicious and Robert and Tara enjoyed it in silence, relishing this respite from their troubles. They were both so exhausted by the events of the last two days that they made little conversation and were simply content with each other’s silent company.
Nico rang on the landline at about eight and arranged to come over to pick them up in the morning. Robert kept the conversation to a minimum, but Nico said the manhunt for them was on. Robert wondered if Janet or Pip might hear or see something about them on the local TV and just prayed that like good ex-pats they would tune by satellite into the UK channels.
The tent had a double bed so Robert said he would sleep on the couch. He extinguished the oil lamps so that Tara could undress in privacy and slip into bed, then stripped to his shorts. He was just about to settle down when he became aware of her beside him.
‘Please,’ she whispered simply, putting her arms around him. Turning, he felt her nakedness press against his flesh and his hands responded closing around her, moving from her back to her hair. For a time, surprised, he just luxuriated in the closeness of the embrace. Her bare breasts squeezed against his chest and he felt himself stiffen. Then their mouths found one another, their tongues seeking each other out with a longing that started gently then, twisting and turning, told them what they needed to know. Her hands stole down to his boxers, caressing his hardness. His breathing quickening at her touch, Robert steered her to the bed where she lay back. His tongue paid homage to her naked body, exploring her lovingly and expressing his pent-up desire for her.
When the moment came, her legs opened to receive his shaft and their bodies enjoined. The ardour of their loving was athletic. Locked in passion, her loins pushed back hard against him, her hands holding his buttocks as he lunged into her. They rocked back and forth in a powerful, thrusting rhythm. Surrendering to the physicality of their love-making, Tara let it drive her to a crescendo, calling out Robert’s name. He came just after her, their climaxes colliding like waves crashing, washing over each other, until abating into a shared, spasmodic aftermath. In the moist darkness, all the tensions of recent times transcended, they fell asleep, their bodies still entwined.
Chapter 16
Arundel, UK, 22 October 2014
Wednesday morning and James Gascoyne–Cribb was negotiating what passed for the rush hour in Arundel. He arrived at the Castle somewhat flustered. Arabella and Richard had visited the previous weekend and he had been able to dote over little Ariadne. His eyes misted as he recalled how the cast of her eyebrows reminded him so much of his late wife Clarissa. It had been like old times – like normal times before the nightmare had started – and it had set him thinking.
Eight days had elapsed since the ordeal of the thugs arriving. The youngest henchman had shown up briefly on the third day afterwards to remind James that he was still being watched. But even that was five days ago now and James found himself plagued by the same recurrent thought. These bastards needed stopping. He found it hard to credit that the henchman would still be hanging around without bothering to show his face and make the point. It was high time, James thought, that he did something! Or then again was it? He drummed the steering wheel impatiently with his fingers. Eventually the traffic queue crawled forward and he made it to work.
The litmus test of James’ concern was his betrayal of the Duke’s confidence and trust. For James it was dishonourable, for like a dodo in the modern world, he was that anachronism - an honourable man. By eleven o’clock, unable to concentrate on his work, his agitation was growing and he reached a decision. The Duke’s affairs were overseen by his most senior employee, a role that attracted the quaint-sounding title of Chamberlain. The current incumbent was Iain Fortescue, a former Colonel of the Horse Guards who had overhauled the management of the Norfolk Estate, embedding modern business practice and turning around the balance sheet. James would speak to Iain.
He found the Chamberlain in his office, a high-tech intrusion in the old building, with strange metallic corporate toys sitting on glass table tops and an outsize plasma TV screen on the wall. Not a filing cabinet in sight. Not at all James’ cup of tea but that was progress for you. Iain was a straightforward, bluff character, in his early forties, and James knew to treat him with caution. He knew he was not a man to be trifled with, so James got straight to the point, explaining that there was a personal matter that he wished to discuss. The Chamberlain raised a quizzical eye from the multi-coloured spread sheet on his monitor and stared with interest at James. James was not surprised. Never in his twelve years at Arundel had he raised a personal matter with anyone. It was simply not his style.
‘But of course, James. Sit down. Why don’t we have some coffee?’
He grabbed one of the three high-tech phones on his desk.
‘Melissa? A cafetière of Arabica, toodle-pip please.’
They made small talk until Melissa brought in the coffee. James sat facing Iain, struggling to hold the orange-coloured glass coffee cup by its completely impractical handle. How like the Colonel to have designer crockery in his office, he thought. Putting the thought aside he got to the point. In a business-like manner he explained that he had betrayed His Grace’s trust and wished to make a clean breast of the matter. The Chamberlain looked at him with astonishment and invited him to continue. James recounted his story succinctly, without undue embellishment. He didn’t flinch from eye contact with the Chamberlain, not even when describing the looting of the tomb, although he could see the Colonel’s nostrils flare momentarily with anger.
The Chamberlain interjected crisply, ‘I think James, that we will keep that detail away from the Duke’s ear, don’t you? Discretion the better part of valour et cetera. His Grace would, as the Americans say, go apeshit. Carry on.’
James’ lip curled at the vulgarity of the phrase but he continued with his story. When he finished the Chamberlain, in a matter-of-fact voice, sought various clarifications, then posed James a question.
‘And what do you think we should do now?’
James pulled out an envelope from the breast pocket of his tweed jacket and handed it to him.
‘Here is my resignation. Please pass it to His Grace. I believe it is time you called the police.’
The Chamberlain’s mouth twisted. Saying nothing, he got up and walked to the window and looked out, turning the unopened envelope over in his hands. James imagined the thoughts that must be going through the man’s head. An odd chap, this historian, very much old school. A man inclined to overdo the loyalty and deference bit. He will be offering to fall on his sword next. It is impossible to modernise the place with aged retainers like this character about.
After a minute or two the Chamberlain turned and spoke to James.
‘The more I ponder it, James, the less choice it seems to me that you had. Sometimes we can be too hard on ourselves. There are times when submission to an externally-imposed reality is expedient, not a matter of choice. His Grace’s demands on your loyalty most definitely do not extend to putting your grandchild at risk.’
‘How can you be sure? Should we not ask His Grace?’
‘Of course, dear boy, if we must we will. But
let’s think this through. More coffee?’
James realised that Iain had no intention whatsoever of involving His Grace. When Iain had topped up their cups, he sat down and handed the letter back across the table.
‘James, you are an honourable man and I know that His Grace greatly values your service to his family. But we must keep the family’s reputation foremost in our thoughts. The last thing that His Grace and the Duchess would want is tiresome publicity, so please let’s have no more talk of resignation. And I certainly will not have the police involved again. I had quite enough of them sniffing about ten days ago. But you are right about these individuals - they should not get away scot free. You know, I have a chum from the Guards – he owes me a favour in fact from years’ back. He works for the Special Intelligence Service in their swish new Vauxhall Cross building. Have you seen it? Very large and Art Deco – like a latter-day ziggurat. Look, leave this with me. I am up in London on Wednesday. I will fix lunch and have a word with him. Discretion will be the watchword, don’t worry on that score. In the meantime carry on as normal but let me know at once if your tormentors resurface. They don’t have a monopoly on muscle; I can assure you of that. Agreed?’
Chapter 17
Nantes, France, 23 October 2014
The cocaine had relaxed Pascal and made him talkative, as Freya had hoped it would. She knew that in time the truth would out. At first they explored his fear of the Other One and ways he could manage it mentally. She reasoned with him.
‘I realise that he is getting stronger and part-manifesting in some way. But remember, this time you will be using me to summon him. He is used to me and will respond to me. Believe me, I can cut the communication instantly if I need to. It has a cost. There will be a psychic reflux but I have survived those before. It will be painful but it won’t kill me. Remember, Pascal, only part of him is independent once he arrives. He still needs you as a vehicle. You are the umbilical cord. If he harms you he will be trapped in this world. He won’t want that.’
