Rope of Sand

by C F Dunn

  The door from the courtyard slammed open in answer, and Harry came in with a mass of cold air and darkness, followed by Ellie, each carrying a huge box stuffed full of packets and foodstuffs, which they dumped on the table. Ellie gave her parents a hug, lingering longest with her mother. I felt as if I were intruding on something unvoiced, but understood, and wondered if I should leave. Harry had no such reserve. “I’ve put your bags in your room, Dr D’Eresby.” He grinned.

  “Thanks, and you can call me Emma – unless you would like me to call you Master Lynes, that is?”

  “Aw shucks, Dr D’Eresby, ma’am, that would be just great.”

  I pulled a face at him, which he thought very funny. Ellie watched us, unsmiling, and I wondered if she thought I should act my age, whatever that meant.

  Jeanette broke her silence. “You’re a lecturer at the University of Cambridge?” I detected a note of respect in the way she said it.

  “Yes, I’m here on a research project.”

  “Is that a fixed-term position? Is it held for you, or do you have to reapply for your post? It must be a senior lectureship you hold.”

  I cut my toast into quarters, wondering what lay behind her questions. “It is a permanent position, but it isn’t that senior. I don’t hold a Chair, or anything like that.”

  She looked disappointed. “Never mind. You must be glad you’ve a position to go back to, and there must be opportunities for advancement, I expect.”

  I wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. I didn’t know whether Matthew had said anything to them about the possible future we might have together. It seemed unlikely as we had only just agreed it ourselves.

  Ellie hovered behind her mother, her hands gripping the top rail of her chair. “So, you are supposed to go back at the end of the year?”

  “Yes…” I said.

  “Then you’ll be leaving, won’t you?”

  “Ellie!” her grandmother said sharply. “That’s none of your business.”

  Ellie flicked her long toffee-coloured hair over her shoulder, giving me an arch look, blatantly unrepentant.

  “We’ll see,” I said noncommittally, taken aback by the aggressive stance the young doctor had adopted since our first meeting, when she cared for me after Staahl’s attack. She had been cool then, but this bordered on ice age. Dan shuffled his feet looking embarrassed as Pat briskly collected mugs from the table. “Time we were thinking about dinner. Ellie, you can help me. I think we’ll eat in here tonight. Dan, if you’re looking for your father, he’s in the study. Perhaps you’ll take Emma through so she knows where it is.”

  I followed him back through the hall. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, solemnly surveying me with dark blue eyes from behind glasses. His suit emphasized the heavier set of his shoulders, and he carried a little more weight around his waist and face than either his father or Matthew although, for all of that, he moved as easily as they did. He was not as fair-skinned either, having a more naturally bronzed complexion as if he tanned easily, but he smiled in a similar way, and his eyes creased with the same humour. At this moment, though, he looked confused, and he scratched behind one ear.

  “I’m sorry about that; Ellie’s not normally rude. I don’t know what got into her. I’ll have a word with her later on.”

  I shook my head. “It’s all right. It must be a bit strange with me being here. I’m sure she didn’t mean it.” I thought about the look she gave me, and wasn’t persuaded by my own argument.

  “Well, now, I hope not,” her father said, equally unconvinced, but he smiled readily and changed the subject. “The study’s through here…” He had his hand on the door handle when it opened suddenly.

  “… I’ll see what I can do,” Henry was saying over his shoulder as he almost stepped into him. “Dan, you’re back! How’d it go? Any news? Come and tell me over a beer, son.” He gave him a bear hug in greeting, then saw me hanging back. “Dr D’Eresby, we’re just coming through.”

  “Please call me Emma – everyone else is,” I urged him.

  “Emma it is, then, thank you. I’m going in search of food if my brood have returned.”

  Matthew joined them on the threshold of the room, smiling at me over Henry’s shoulder and making me feel better instantly. Standing together, the resemblance became more striking than ever.

  “It’s good to see you safe back, Daniel. We’ll catch up later,” Matthew said as he took my hand in his.

  They were barely out of sight when I turned on Matthew. “Don’t ever leave me alone that long again,” I rushed.

  “Why? What’s happened?”

  I took a breath; he didn’t need to know about Ellie. “Nothing, it was just too long not to see you. I missed you, that’s all.”

  “That’s all?” he queried. I reached up and kissed him to make my point. “Mmm.” He caressed my face, his eyes suspicious. “I suppose I’ll have to believe you. Have you been given the third degree by Pat?”

  I shook my head. “No, we’ve been making polite conversation over tea. You promised to show me the rest of the house.”

  “I did indeed. Have you met Maggie yet?” he asked almost casually as he led me through to a room opposite the kitchen where a fire burned low in the grate.

  “No, is she avoiding me?”

  He didn’t answer but the familiar tightening of his mouth was a bit of a giveaway. “This is the drawing room,” he said needlessly.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s one of the principal reception rooms…”

  I poked him in the ribs, remembering not to do it so hard that I risked breaking my finger. “Don’t be facetious. Why is Maggie avoiding me?”

  He looked as if he were weighing up whether to tell me. “I don’t think she’s come to terms with me seeing you.” That didn’t seem enough to justify the tension that surrounded this woman.

  “And?”

  “And… nothing. Do you like this room?” He turned me around so that I could see it.

  “It’s fine, very nice,” I said huffily, not doing it justice. Cushions on the sofa had been dimpled by someone who had recently sat there, and a book lay open on a table where a reading lamp spread light in the darkening room. I craned my neck to read the spine: In the Mind of a Killer. “What does Maggie do?” I asked.

  He lifted my hand and kissed my palm. “She heads up the psychiatric unit of the hospital in town.”

  I remembered the stark, masculine face staring at me. “Is she married, or seeing anyone, or anything?”

  He pushed up the sleeve of my sweater and planted a series of tiny kisses along my wrist that tickled, making me giggle. “You’re doing that on purpose; I was just asking.”

  He sighed and pulled my jumper back over my wrist. “I didn’t think I needed a reason to kiss you, but since you ask, no, she’s single. It’s just her in her flat with her cats. I don’t think she’s ever been interested in relationships of any kind other than with the family – and even those are limited.”

  “And I’m a relationship too far for her?”

  “That’s one way of looking at it, yes.”

  Since I didn’t know any better, it seemed the only way I could look at it. He was beginning to look twitchy so I brought the subject back onto safer ground. “This is a lovely room; it has beautiful proportions. Do you choose all the furniture? And what happens when you move? Do you take it with you?”

  He touched the golden satinwood surface of the table and ran his finger along the thin line of inlaid ebony. “I choose the furniture and, yes, when I can, I take it with me depending on the circumstances. This piece I haven’t had for very long, but this…” he went to a handsome display cabinet and opened the glass door, “… I’ve had since I watched it being made.” He picked out a fragile-looking glass object from among a group of pieces. About eight inches high, it resembled a finely wrought winged glass horse, with a dragon’s tail curling up its back to where the broken end must once have formed a narrow fluted cup at the top,
held above the animal’s head. Its translucent apricot body shimmered with flecks of gold, its wide, wild eyes, tail, and clawed feet coloured a deeper, richer salmon.

  “It’s a candlestick?” I turned it over in my hands gingerly, feeling its fragility.

  “Yes, a hippocampus – a winged water horse – made by a master craftsman. It must be nearly two hundred years old now.”

  I gave it back to him in case I dropped it and compounded the damage. “Why did you buy it?”

  He held it out in front of him, a faint smile just evident. “I chose it… why did I choose it? It’s such a long time ago.” He drew his eyebrows together as he tried to remember. “I bought it because it’s a fantastical creature, like me. Neither of us should exist, but we do.” He placed it carefully back in the cabinet and closed the door.

  “For which I am grateful,” I whispered.

  He looked at me. “Are you?”

  “Of course I am!”

  “To whom? My uncle for his betrayal, which led to this, or to God, for allowing it to happen?”

  He had caught me off guard, and I took a while to answer. “Not your uncle, no – betrayal can never be good – but God? Yes, I am thankful you are here, for whatever reason, or purpose – or none.”

  He grunted. “Do you think I might have a purpose, then?”

  “Of course – don’t we all have a part to play? You’re already fulfilling a purpose in what you do, aren’t you?”

  “Can there be a purpose in living for ever?” He wasn’t really asking me, but searching for an answer that had been eluding him for all of his existence. I put my hand tentatively on his arm and he glanced down at it, then placed his over mine, finding reassurance in my touch.

  “I’m not sure if we necessarily know what path we tread, Matthew, or why, until we are already on it. Even then, sometimes we don’t find out until we get to the end. I wouldn’t have known that I would be here with you six months ago when I booked my flight to America. I knew I was coming to find something, but I didn’t know it would be you.”

  He lifted his hand and gently splayed my fingers on his arm, running his index finger in and out of the indentations they made before answering. “I think I knew you were coming – not you exactly – but someone. I can’t explain the feeling. It was like waiting for an electrical storm: you know it’s coming long before you see it; you feel it in the air.”

  “Spoo-ky,” I shivered.

  “And I’m not?” he said, more lightly this time.

  “No, you’re not in the least bit sinister, and I should know.”

  “Of course, you being an expert on monsters,” he smiled, all darkness gone. “Hmm, you’re chilly.”

  I went and sat down while he built up the fire before joining me, and I curled up next to him in the hook of his arm.

  “But then, you’re not a monster, Matthew, so you wouldn’t spook me.”

  “So if you had a choice, what would I be? A zombie, a vampire – what?”

  I shrugged under his arm. “I don’t know; that’s all Gothic novel stuff. I suppose you could describe your life as being rather Gothic, though…” I stifled a laugh. “How about Shelley’s monster?”

  He fingered his chin, pulling a face. “I would rather you suggested Dr Frankenstein. That would be a little more flattering.”

  “Yes, and a little more dead. He didn’t get a second chance.”

  “If not him, how about a vampire? They’ve gained more kudos over the last century. Quite popular again now, I believe.” He pretended to bite my neck and kissed it instead, sending a shiver of pleasure through me.

  “Mmm, and there’s a certain attraction associated with them, of course. Definitely a possibility, but for one thing…”

  He had reached the base of my throat, becoming absorbed in his task. “What’s that?”

  “You’re not, are you?”

  He sat up. “No.”

  “Alien?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Elf?”

  He laughed.

  “Mutation?”

  “Probably closer.”

  “You don’t know what made you the way you are, do you?”

  “No, not for certain, but I’m working on it.” The fire popped and a blue tongue of flame flared before it became green and died. He stared into the heart of it, the light in his dark pupils subtly changing as I watched.

  “Matthew, is that what all this research is about?”

  “Mmm.”

  “And when you’ve cracked it, what then? Is it just a question of gaining a deeper understanding of what you are or why you are, or are you looking for something else?” He didn’t answer. I turned around in the circle of his arm. “Matthew?” He looked away so that I could no longer see his eyes. “You’re not looking to change yourself, are you?”

  “Would that be such a bad thing?”

  “Yes!”

  “Why?”

  I put both my hands around his face, making him look at me. “Because you’re you. I love you as you are. I don’t want you to change.”

  “Do you want me condemned to this shadow life forever, when you can leave it and find peace?”

  I slowly shook my head. “Is that how you see it? A life of nothing but shadows? But surely where there are shadows there has to be light?”

  “Would you seek immortality, Emma, if you were given a choice?”

  “But you weren’t given a choice were you? Your uncle took that away from you!”

  “Are you saying that I should accept this life because I wasn’t given a choice in the first place, is that it? Fait accompli – no going back.” The darkness filling him spilled into his voice, and I couldn’t look at him any more in case I disappeared into it.

  “No…”

  “So, would you choose to live forever?” I couldn’t answer him. “You wouldn’t, would you?” He put his fingers under my chin and raised my face so that I looked into his. “Even though we could be together.”

  I thought of being with him, inseparable by death, ready to take the plunge into the unknown if he asked me. I swallowed, pulling back from the brink. “I don’t know, Matthew. I’ve never had to think about it and there are so many issues to consider. It would be easier if that decision were to be taken away from me, but then, immortality is not an option, is it?” It was his turn to look away. “Is it?”

  He took a very long time to answer. “No, it isn’t,” he said eventually, “and I wouldn’t wish it on you.” He smiled suddenly, a tight, drawn smile. “Not a vampire or a monster, then, just an anomalous entity waiting to be resolved. And you, Emma – still willing to wait with me? What does that make you?”

  “Patient. And hungry.”

  He laughed, hugging me close and lifting the atmosphere in an instant. “Well, that’s something we can sort out at least. We’d better see what’s on offer that will tempt you, even if I can’t.”

  I put my fingers over his mouth. “Don’t say that, please, Matthew. Temptation doesn’t even come close.”

  He put his lips against my brow. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I know. I was trying to make a joke, but obviously not a very funny one.” He stood up and I joined him, finding my legs unexpectedly shaky. He put out a hand to steady me. “Low blood sugar,” he said. Food would undoubtedly help, but it wouldn’t ease the inexplicable trembling that unsettled me – but then, I didn’t know what would.

  Dinner proved interesting. We all sat around the big family table in the warm kitchen looking like an episode from The Waltons. I say all, but one chair remained stubbornly vacant until it was removed and the setting taken away. Matthew and I sat at one end of the table, our legs touching, tension stretching across my shoulders like the string of a bow. In full view of everyone, he took my hand and, to my surprise, said grace. Not a modern version, but straight out of the mid-seventeenth century. Pat then took over and the bewildering array of food was passed around until our plates were piled high. Matthew had a setting laid in front of him,
and a token of each food arrived before him on a plate.

  “Normality, just in case,” he murmured, “and in celebration of what I once was,” he said even more quietly. I nodded and looked despairingly at my own full plate.

  I did pretty well, all things considered. I remained quiet for most of the meal, and the family left me alone to gather information about each of them from the rapid scattering of banter that tattooed the conversation. As a result, I made considerable inroads on the food, and avoided the usual comments my lack of appetite inevitably caused. Nonetheless I felt relief when the end of the meal came, and I stood up with everyone else to help clear away.

  “No, you’re the guest. You go and sit back down, this won’t take long.”

  I put my foot down at that. “Pat, I really would like to help.” She took one look at the set of my jaw and at the grinning Matthew – whom I tried to ignore in case he made me laugh – and gave in.

  There is such relief in having something practical to do, especially when among strangers; it takes the searchlight of their interest off you. At home, I couldn’t wait to escape the cramped, damp kitchen space with its walls dripping condensation from the old gas stove and the Belfast sink. How anyone cooked for the family in there was a bit of a mystery. I dreaded Nanna’s attempts to teach me to cook and Mum didn’t have much success either, although she would rather have been on a tennis court than in the kitchen with me. I took as little pleasure in combining the ingredients and cooking them as I did in their consumption. Nanna persevered until even she relinquished her obdurate granddaughter to the all-embracing arms of history. It would have helped my cause had Beth had a similar outlook, but my sister loved food, and spent many happy hours ensconced in the kitchen with Dad. As I couldn’t see the point in trying to compete, I didn’t, and retreated to the less contentious issue of cleaning and tidying.