Seeker, The

by Brindle, J. T.

  May was suitably impressed. ‘It looks good enough to eat,’ she grinned. ‘The cake does you proud, gal.’

  ‘It’s the one thing I’m really good at,’ Libby said. ‘My mother was a great cook.’ Nostalgia welled up inside her. ‘It’s been two years now, and I still miss her dreadfully.’

  ‘It’s only natural to miss her.’ May had her own regrets. ‘I lost my mum nearly twenty years back and it only seems like yesterday.’ She blew out her cheeks in a sigh. ‘Life goes on though, gal,’ she said, wisely changing the subject. ‘So, who else is helping at the party besides me?’

  ‘It’s just you, me and Miss Ledell. Daisy told her she was having a party and the old lady volunteered. Daisy’s with her now. I’ve arranged to collect them later.’

  May glanced about. ‘Where’s Jamie?’

  ‘The little bugger was into everything this morning, so Dave took him into the office.’

  ‘How many little monsters have you invited?’

  ‘Ten in all.’ With May here, Libby was beginning to get into the party spirit. ‘Do you think you can cope?’

  May had already swallowed a stiff brandy before she came out in the cold. Now, with a coffee and ginger nut, she was ready for anything. ‘Just watch me, gal.’

  Libby burst out laughing. She glanced at the pine clock above the door, horrified to see how swiftly the time was passing. ‘Come on, there’s a mountain of things still to do.’

  At twenty minutes to three, everything was ready. The pine dresser was bedecked with balloons and streamers. On the shelf were ten little presents all lined up for the guests. ‘You know what children are like,’ Libby laughed. ‘They all want a little present, even if it’s not their birthday.’

  The walls were festooned with birthday cards and garlands shouting ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAISY’, and the table was groaning with food – little sandwiches and dainty sausages, tiny pork pies bought at the supermarket that very morning, a huge plate of gingerbread men, and enough jelly and trifle to make them all sick for a week. Set round the big kitchen table were ten chairs, with ten place mats and ten homemade crackers.

  ‘The kids will love it,’ May remarked approvingly.

  At ten minutes past three, Libby got ready to collect Daisy and the old lady. ‘The children shouldn’t be arriving until half past,’ she told May. ‘If anybody turns up early, put them in the lounge. I’ve slipped a film of Mary Poppins into the video player. It’s all set up. All you have to do is switch on and away you go.’

  ‘I might want to entertain them myself.’ Twirling round on the spot, May showed a rather chubby, black-stockinged leg. ‘I’ve been to a few wild parties in my time and I’ve been known to do a good striptease.’ When Libby swung round in amazement May looked indignant. ‘What? You don’t like the idea?’

  Laughing, Libby shook her head. ‘I’m just wondering who’s going to give me the most trouble, you or the children.’ With that she threw on her coat and headed for the front door. ‘If Dave comes back, tell him I’ll only be a few minutes.’ He was so snowed under with work, she wasn’t really expecting him until later, though he had promised to get back for Daisy’s party.

  The house where Miss Ledell lived was little more than a mile away from the Walters’ place, but the lane was narrow and winding with potholes and cart tracks that made driving an uncomfortable business.

  The trees were ancient, thick and broad, standing guard on the banks like old warriors of time. In summer the spreading mantles of foliage blocked out the sun, and even in wintertime, like now, the gnarled and twisted branches were woven in a pattern so tight and confused that little daylight was able to penetrate.

  Libby drove carefully over the ruts and bumps, easing the old Escort higher up the bank, where the way was easier. She never failed to appreciate the solitude of this beautiful place. The house and grounds had a beauty all their own. Like the old lady herself, they exuded an air of grace and timelessness.

  Approaching the house from the lane, Libby was forced to slow down in order to ease the car through the narrow gates. As she did so, she raised her eyes to the house, pleasure flowing through her. Low and rambling, with wide windows and thatched roof, it was a delightful sight. She well understood why Daisy loved to come here.

  Inside the house, Daisy was seated at the piano, her small, fine fingers travelling lightly over the keyboard. Beside her sat the old lady, hands folded, eyes closed and a look of sheer pleasure on her face. As Daisy played on, the haunting strains of a love song filled the air. All too soon the melody ended, and for a moment the silence was overwhelming.

  Turning to the old lady, Daisy looked for reassurance.

  Her eyes opened, heavy with tears. ‘Oh, Daisy, that was so beautiful.’ Her voice trembled, her hands crushing against each other as though she suffered a terrible agony.

  ‘Do you think I might have a piano like yours one day?’ Daisy had come to love the old lady’s piano. She had learned to make it talk and sing. Each time she left it, she counted the minutes until she could return to make it live again.

  ‘You really love the piano, don’t you, child?’ Daisy always gave her so much pleasure. When the time came for her to leave, she would miss the girl.

  She looked about the room, at the panelled walls and the gilt-framed paintings that hung there, the long floral curtains and the pretty patterned carpet, and her heart was alive with so many memories she could hardly bear it. This place, and the girl, had been the saving of her.

  Her gaze fell on the wall above the fireplace, at the small painting there. It showed a young couple, so obviously in love. Above them the sun poured out of a blue, cloudless sky. The girl was smiling up at her man, a tall, dark-haired young fellow, with handsome looks and strong, capable frame. Holding her hands in his, he gazed down at her. In that split second when their love was captured, there remained between these two something uniquely wonderful; a bond so powerful that nothing and no one could ever break it. Not in this world, or the next.

  The old lady gazed at the painting a while longer, remembering the moment as if it was yesterday. It was the most glorious summer’s afternoon, and they had gone to the river for a picnic. Just as they were preparing to leave, an old man had begged them to stay so that he could sketch them. ‘You look so happy,’ he told them. ‘Such a beautiful couple.’

  Flattered, they stayed while he got to work, and in less than an hour he finished the sketch. When they asked to see it, he refused. ‘If you’re here next Sunday, I’ll have something special for you,’ he promised.

  The following Sunday they returned to the same spot and so did the old man. What he gave them was a small, beautiful painting taken from the sketch, framed and signed. This was the painting that now hung over the old lady’s fireplace, as fresh and vibrant as it had been on the day it was given. It was the old lady’s most precious possession, filled with sunshine and love. The girl’s crimson dress was picked out in painstaking detail – short, tapered sleeves and sweetheart neckline, with the warm breeze lifting the flared skirt and swirling it naughtily about her shapely ankles. The young man wore a blue blazer and light grey trousers, his thick dark hair tousled by the wind.

  At first glance it seemed like any other picture of a young couple. Yet, if one looked deeper, there was something very strange about the painting. Something out of place and disturbing.

  Daisy’s voice brought the old lady back to the present. ‘When I grow up, I want a red dress just like that.’

  ‘And why not?’ Miss Ledell smiled. ‘You would look lovely in a dress like that.’ Touching the girl’s long hair, she felt a kindred spirit. Daisy was special. Daisy was her only hope.

  Another longing glance at the painting. Bitter-sweet memories flooded through her. Yes. She would miss Daisy when the time came. A child’s laughter; the music; this room. She would miss it all. Then she reminded herself how small a loss that would be compared to the loss she had already suffered.

  Suppressing the painful emotio
ns, Miss Ledell stood up, her attention drawn to the window. ‘Your mother’s here,’ she said brightly. ‘It’s time to go.’

  ‘What about my drawing?’ Daisy asked excitedly. ‘The one I finished last week. You said I could have it on my birthday.’

  The old lady slowly shook her head. ‘Tonight,’ she answered thoughtfully. ‘You may have the drawing when you come back… tonight.’

  Frowning, Daisy reminded her, ‘I’m not coming back until Monday.’

  The old lady smiled knowingly. ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘I can’t wait to show my drawing to Mum and Dad,’ Daisy gabbled on while the two of them made their way to the front door. ‘I’ve never drawn anything like that before.’ Again she sought reassurance. ‘Do you really think it’s lovely?’ Daisy’s words were spoken with the innocence of a child. She could not know how they tore the old woman apart.

  ‘You will never know how lovely,’ Miss Ledell answered softly.

  ‘Will you let me draw some more?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ That was the plan. ‘There will be many more,’ she promised, ‘and each one will tell a story.’

  ‘What kind of a story?’

  ‘A love story.’ Again the old eyes clouded over. ‘Take your present.’ Handing the girl a large, soft parcel from the hallway table, she urged, ‘Go on now, my dear. Tell your mother I’ll just be a minute.’

  After Daisy had gone, the old lady stood quite still for a moment, a great sadness coming over her. ‘I’m sorry, child,’ she murmured. ‘I wish there was another way.’ She had come to love Daisy. The last thing she wanted was to use her. She had tried so hard, but it was too difficult a task for her alone. Too many forces stood between her and her destiny. Unforgiveness. Evil. These were powerful enemies.

  With a heartfelt cry, she covered her face with the palms of her hands, the anguished eyes momentarily clouded by a terror that had long held her prisoner.

  ‘Forgive me, child,’ she whispered, ‘but you and your father are the only way back for me.’ After a moment she straightened her shoulders, a new determination flowing through her. ‘You mustn’t despair,’ she told herself. ‘The waiting is almost over.’ Clenching her fist, she pressed it hard into her chest. ‘I feel it in here.’

  Hurriedly she put on her coat and hat, and then went into the kitchen. Here she transferred a number of scones from the tray to a wicker basket. She covered the scones with a square of gingham and retrieved two earthenware jars from the larder, one filled with cream, the other with homemade elderberry jam. She placed them in the basket beside the scones. ‘That should fill a few small turns.’ She hoped Libby would be pleased with her modest efforts.

  Libby was delighted. ‘But you really shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble.’

  ‘It was no trouble.’ In fact she had forgotten what a pleasure it was to bake. Music was her food. Music and painting, and tending her ever-changing garden, these were things of the soul. Living alone, steeped in the past and obsessed with her thoughts, she found little joy in earthly matters.

  The party was soon under way. Delivered in their party gear, with shining faces and Daisy’s presents tucked under their arms, the children were bubbling with excitement. Their parents didn’t linger. ‘I should think they’re glad to see the back of the little sods,’ May declared with a laugh. ‘I don’t blame them either. The sight of ten monsters congregating is enough to send anyone scurrying for the nearest exit.’

  All the same, she was thoroughly enjoying herself. Mopping up the spills and occasionally reprimanding the more unruly elements, she was soon in charge. ‘She’s like a sergeant major,’ one cheeky lad remarked. ‘I’m glad she’s not my mum.’

  ‘So am I!’ Standing within earshot, May gave him the fright of his life. His silence lasted all of one minute, after which he took great delight in pinching Rosie Dunn’s bottom. But Rosie was a big girl and able to look after herself. In the end, and much to May’s satisfaction, the boy came off worse.

  When Dave and Jamie arrived home, they could hear the sound of children’s laughter emanating from the house. Jamie ran ahead. ‘Come on, Dad!’ he called. ‘I hope they haven’t eaten all the trifle.’

  Libby came out to greet them. Sweeping Jamie into her arms, she asked, ‘Have you been good for your daddy?’

  ‘Ever so good.’

  ‘Go on then. Into the kitchen with you, and don’t worry, we’ve saved some of everything for you.’

  While Jamie dashed to the kitchen, Dave gave Libby a hug. ‘How’s my best girl?’

  ‘A bit ragged round the edges.’

  ‘You don’t look it.’

  ‘Flatterer.’

  He kissed her then, a long, lingering kiss that spoke volumes. ‘You’ll have to wait,’ she said knowingly.

  He laughed. ‘You’re a cruel woman.’ Tightening his arm about her waist, he gently propelled her towards the kitchen. Screeches of laughter filled the house. ‘Sounds like the kids are enjoying themselves.’

  ‘You’re just in time to see Daisy open her presents. After that we’re all going into the lounge to play games.’

  Before Dave could answer, Daisy came rushing out of the kitchen. ‘Oh, Daddy, I’m so glad you’re home!’

  ‘Now, would I miss your party?’ Stooping to kiss her, he whispered, ‘If you’ve invited another boyfriend, I’m gonna be real jealous.’

  Blushing to the roots of her long, blonde hair, Daisy protested, ‘Don’t be silly, Daddy! I’m too young to have a boyfriend.’

  Deliberately raising his voice, Dave glanced up at Libby. ‘Bet your mother had a boyfriend when she was your age.’

  ‘Behave yourself, you.’ Playfully cuffing him round the ear, Libby ushered Daisy into the kitchen. ‘Present-opening time, then everyone into the lounge!’ She could hardly make herself heard over the din.

  Miss Ledell handed out the visitors’ presents and there followed a few minutes of frenzied excitement.

  ‘Cor!’ one lad shrieked. ‘A Luton Town football shirt.’

  ‘Look what I’ve got!’ someone else yelled.

  Another boy was close to tears. ‘Don’t want this! Dolls are for girls!’ It was all soon sorted out to everyone’s satisfaction. ‘It was an orange or an apple in my day,’ May remarked. ‘That’s if you were lucky enough.’

  ‘It’s my turn now,’ Daisy said. Going to the dresser, she collected her pile of presents and opened them one by one, with every face turned towards her, every eye eager to see what she’d got. Libby and Dave had bought her a complete set of Take That records; Jamie had raided his fat piggy bank to buy her a book token, and May had given her a blue, embroidered jewellery box. ‘Next year I’ll buy you something really special to put inside,’ she promised.

  While all this was going on, Dave stood at the back of the room drinking coffee, his gaze on Daisy and his expression one of pride. Libby had done well, he thought. He finished his coffee and absent-mindedly dipped into the biscuit barrel. He smiled wryly on discovering the barrel was empty. He thought about putting the kettle on for another coffee, but decided instead to have a cool drink. There was still some lemonade in the jug. He found a glass and poured himself a long drink, his dark eyes following the rush of cool, clear liquid as it ran into the glass.

  Instantly his mind was filled with another image: the stark image of a young woman standing in the rain.

  Imprinted deep in his subconscious, the memory continued to haunt him. Not because it had been a shock to see her suddenly appear, distressed and soaked to the skin; and not because she had just as quickly disappeared without trace. The image clung to him because, God help him, he had been oddly attracted to her. It was puzzling. The woman was a complete stranger to him and he had glimpsed her for only a moment and yet the memory was so vivid, so deeply woven into his mind that he was able to recall even the smallest detail.

  Suddenly afraid, without knowing why, he mentally shook himself, deliberately concentrating on all that was going on around him. Things he
understood. Normal things.

  Just then Libby glanced up and smiled at him. Returning her smile, he sipped the lemonade, his face shining with love as he looked at the three most important people in his life. He loved them so much, it was like a physical ache inside him.

  He was glad he’d managed to get back in time to see Daisy open her presents. But he felt like a fish out of water. A children’s party was no place for a man. Yesterday evening he’d spent hours blowing up balloons. He’d helped pin the decorations to the wall and carried whatever Libby thrust into his arms. But now, with everything done and the children engrossed in having fun, he felt out of place. As soon as he could slip away, he would retreat to the study and get down to some urgent paperwork.

  While Dave watched his family, the old lady watched him. If Dave had seen her, he might have been shocked, so intent was her gaze. With her burning eyes locked on to him, she fed on his every feature, his every move and gesture. She let her mind wander back over the lonely emptiness of so many years and her tired old heart was close to breaking.

  Without warning, Daisy ran across the room. In her arms was the old lady’s present. She cradled it like a mother might cradle an infant at her breast, the limp, blood-red garment flowing over her arms. Her face soft with pleasure, she murmured, ‘Oh, thank you. It’s so beautiful!’ It wasn’t like a present at all. It was more a secret between her and the old lady.

  ‘Thank you, my dear. I’m glad you like it.’ She had feared Daisy might not care for her choice of present, but now, seeing that small, delighted face, she was filled with new hope.

  Holding the garment before her, Daisy was enchanted. ‘It’s like the one in the picture, and you made it just for me.’ The dress was soft to the touch, incredibly heavy, yet light as a feather. It seemed to pulsate against her skin.

  ‘I made it because I knew how much you wanted a dress like that, and because you’ve worked so hard, you deserve something special.’ The girl must never know the true reason she had made the dress.

  A small voice called out, ‘Put it on, Daisy. We want to see you in it.’ Other eager voices joined the chorus.