Mariner took off his rucksack, stowing it by the door, and pulled out a chair, scraping it over the stone flags. ‘So you haven’t always lived here?’
Elena leaned back on the counter, shaking her head. ‘When I got married I moved to the town, and then Dad got to the point where he needed to go into a nursing home and this place was too isolated for him.’
‘God, your dad.’ Mariner remembered the hefty farm worker with his great bellow of a laugh. ‘He was scary.’
‘Not at the end he wasn’t. He got dementia; had to be cared for like a toddler.’
‘I’m sorry. Do you think he ever knew about us?’
‘Of course he did,’ she grinned. ‘And he’d never have let you get away with it if he hadn’t liked you. As a matter of fact he used to ask after you from time to time. I think he was disappointed you didn’t stick around.’ She fixed him with a pointed gaze.
Even after all this time Mariner felt bad about it and had to look away, feigning an interest in the rest of the room. ‘I was too young,’ he said eventually, aware of how inadequate that sounded. ‘I’d have been no good to you. Hadn’t a clue what I was going to do with myself.’ It occurred to him that not much had changed on that front either.
‘Don’t worry.’ Her voice was devoid of rancour. ‘I got over it — you.’
Mariner took the proffered mug of tea from her and watched her pull out the chair opposite him and sit down, resting her elbows on the table, the mug balanced between her fingers. ‘So you’re married,’ he said, at the same time observing the engagement ring on her right hand.
‘Was,’ she said, emphatically.
‘Anyone I know?’
She shook her head. ‘He was a waste of space, except I didn’t realize it until after the kids were born.’ A tabby had wandered into the kitchen and came over to rub itself against her chair; she reached down to stroke it. ‘When he gave me a divorce I wasn’t sure what to do, but this place was back on the market and at a decent price. Dad was gone and had left me some money, so I bought them out. I’m looking to run it as a B&B eventually, though as you can see, there’s a bit of work to be done yet.’
‘I was sure the place would have been bought up by townies,’ Mariner said.
‘Oh, it was to begin with. When the YHA sold it, back in the late eighties, it went to a couple who decided after about six months that they couldn’t hack it in the country. But we still get our fair share of ex-bankers and city types; plenty of holiday properties round and about. The difference is that they tend to get on with the renovations a bit quicker. Rex and I are doing this place up bit by bit and we’re pretty strapped most of the time, so we have to rely on local lads moonlighting and doing it as a favour. It’s going to take forever.’
‘Rex?’
‘My partner.’
So there was someone. Mariner had always assumed it would be so, but nonetheless he felt an irrational pang of disappointment. He hoped it didn’t show. ‘And your kids?’ he asked.
‘My son Gethyn went away on a gap year and hasn’t come back yet; he’s in Australia at the moment, so it’s just me and Cerys, my eleven-year-old.’ She looked up at him. ‘What about you? You must be married? Kids?’
‘No on both counts, though I’ve come close.’ It hurt to say it.
She studied him. ‘Hmm, that doesn’t really surprise me. You always were pretty self-contained. So what have you been doing with yourself? You had some mad idea about joining the police when you were here, though I could never quite see it.’
For the second time that day Mariner half wished he’d brought his warrant card. Instead he gave a mock salute. ‘Detective Inspector Tom Mariner,’ he said, ‘at your service.’
‘Wow. Well, that’s put me in my place, hasn’t it? Good thing I never went in for astrology.’
‘No future in it,’ Mariner said, unable to resist. ‘And you?’
‘Oh, I’ve never really settled to anything much. Aside from doing up this place I work part time doing a bit of counselling in the town; bereavement, that kind of thing. I got into it after Dad . . . you know. But whatever else my ex might have been, he’s always had a good job and been pretty consistent with the child support, so I’ve no room for complaint there.’
Tyres rumbled over the cattle grid out in the yard, a car door slammed shut and moments later a young girl came in, with long black hair and wide green eyes. No mistaking her heritage. ‘Hi, Mum . . .’ Seeing Mariner, she broke off.
‘Cerys, this is Tom, an old friend of mine.’
‘Hello, Cerys.’
‘Hello.’ She barely gave him a glance before dropping her school bag and heading straight for the fridge.
‘Not too much now,’ warned Elena, in what seemed to be a comfortable routine. ‘You’ll be having your tea soon.’ The response was a mere grunt and the girl took her snacks and left the kitchen, her departure swiftly followed by the unmistakable burbling of a TV set.
‘So how would you feel about me staying here tonight, in the hostel, I mean, for old times’ sake?’ Mariner asked.
‘Well, on principle I’ve no objection, but you should know that the place is as derelict as it looks. We haven’t even got round to fixing all the holes in the roof yet, so some of the rooms are uninhabitable, but we can probably find you a bed somewhere that’s more or less dry.’
‘I’ll pay you,’ Mariner said. ‘And of course you’ll get your reward in heaven.’
‘Yeah, if only I believed in all that crap.’
‘What, you don’t go to chapel anymore?’ Mariner pretended to be shocked. Sunday attendance had, as he remembered, been imperative.
‘Not since I found out the Reverend Aubrey had been making improper advances to several youngsters in the village, no,’ said Elena.
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Not the kind of thing I joke about,’ she said. ‘That said, I’m not sure how true it was; you know how rumours can spread.’
‘Was he charged?’
‘Nah, it never got that far. I think he claimed that there had been some misunderstandings and everyone believed him. I didn’t know that much about it at the time. It was back in the days before the clergy had developed their reputation, so even if there was something in it, it would have been much harder to make a case.’
‘Did he ever try anything with you?’ Mariner asked.
She smiled. ‘Luckily, I didn’t have the right equipment. I think his preference was for little boys.’
‘So what happened to him?’
‘Nothing much. By the time all this emerged he was pretty close to retirement anyway and he still lives up the valley, away from the village though and pretty isolated. You’ll have seen his cottage as you came down off the tops. He lives quietly and doesn’t bother anyone.’
Mariner drained his mug and replaced it on the table.
‘What have you done to your hand?’ she asked, seeing the gash torn by the bramble.
‘Argument with a thorny branch,’ Mariner said. ‘It’s fine, though I wish I’d had my ID with me,’ Mariner said, obliging her. ‘I might have challenged that re-routing of the footpath next to the estate.’
‘Ah, so you’ve found the battle line. That thin strand of razor wire is the only thing that’s keeping the residents of Abbey Farm and Gwennol Hall from tearing each other to pieces.’
‘And here was me thinking it was all peace and loveliness out here. So what’s the difference of opinion?’
‘Not so much a difference of opinion as an ideological gulf,’ said Elena.
‘The humble farmer taking on the landed gentry?’
‘Not quite; capitalist baron versus liberal leftie is more like it.’
‘Let me guess. The capitalist is the one with the guard dogs. That doesn’t seem like batty Lord Milford’s style.’
‘Oh, Lord Milford’s long gone. The old man passed on about ten years ago and since then the estate’s fallen into Russian hands.’
‘Isn’t it the tradi
tion normally to hand over to the son and heir?’ Mariner queried.
‘Unfortunately in this case the son and heir was a waster. Long before he died the old man tried to get him to take over the running of the estate, but it didn’t really work out.’
‘That sounds like a deliberate understatement.’
‘You could say that. The young viscount was more concerned with enjoying himself than running the estate. There was a half-hearted attempt to do it up and open it to the public for a while, and he even tried to promote it as a venue for weddings.’
‘It had a certain shabby charm to it, as I remember,’ Mariner said.
‘Maybe, but out here there was never going to be enough passing trade to make it work. The next money-making venture was to sell off some of the tied cottages in the village to raise some cash.’
‘I bet that went down well,’ Mariner said, sardonically.
‘Oh yes. They were sold as holiday lets, so the families living in them at the time had about six months’ notice.’
‘That smells of desperation.’
‘I think while the old man was still alive Milford junior felt compelled to try and make a go of it for his father’s sake, but it was all just for show. As soon as Lord Milford passed away the hall went up for sale. So now we have our very own Russian oligarch, known locally as the Czar, mainly because his name is pretty much unpronounceable.’
Mariner laughed. ‘That’s a bit rich coming from a bunch of people who don’t believe in the use of vowels. So what dodgy dealings has he been involved in to make his money?’
‘To be honest, I don’t know. Cerys could probably tell you more than I can. Her best friend’s mum works up there as a cleaner.’
‘Well, at least he’s supporting the local labour force,’ Mariner remarked.
‘By employing a couple of domestics?’ Elena was determined to remain unimpressed. ‘He’s kept on the estate manager, Phil Bevan too, but that’s the extent of it. All his other staff have come with him. Not that it’s of any consequence. He has nothing to do with us locals, except when he’s in residence to remind us of his presence with his wretched helicopter several times a day.’
‘A chopper flew over on my way here,’ Mariner recalled.
‘That’s nothing. Last weekend he had one of his regular house parties. He has some high-profile friends and guests at his soirées and the air traffic was pretty constant.’
‘That sounds annoying.’
‘Quite a few of us have petitioned the local council to see if anything can be done. The farmers complain about it upsetting the livestock, and the holiday cottage brigade who come out here for a weekend of peace and quiet don’t appreciate the disturbance either.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re on their side now? You used to resent the weekenders like mad.’
Gathering Mariner’s empty mug alongside hers, Elena got up to put them in the sink. ‘We don’t go around burning their cottages down any more, if that’s what you think. We’re quite civilized these days; all part of our acceptance of the evolving economy. Come on, let’s go and look at the accommodation while you’ve still got time to change your mind and book a room at the pub.’
Chapter Thirteen
Stepping back into the youth hostel, that unique smell of cooked food, musty blankets — and, in this case, the pervasive smell of damp — took thirty years off Mariner’s life in an instant, projecting him back to the successive summers he’d spent hitching around the country staying in accommodation just like it, one or two nights at a time, sometimes more. It had been a liberating existence, during the course of which Mariner had met some fascinating characters. Most of the places he’d stayed in back then no longer existed; few people these days would put up with such basic amenities, or the enforced separation of the sexes. Not that there weren’t ways around that particular rule. Over those summers Mariner had enjoyed several liaisons. There had been no shortage of young women, mostly blonde and bronzed Australian girls, as he recalled, who for some inexplicable reason seemed to find him attractive.
Caranwy had been one of Mariner’s longer sojourns, taking up five or six weeks, thanks to the dual attractions of some paid labouring work on the nearby Abbey Farm and his relationship with a certain local girl. Walking the creaking floorboards, he could almost hear the voices of the other hostellers he’d shared with during that time: the compulsory gaggle of foreign students, several middle-aged couples — usually teachers — with their belligerent kids and the occasional lone male of indeterminate age. These days the latter would be treated with some suspicion, and statistically he’d since realized it made sense that some of them must have been there for not entirely wholesome reasons.
He followed Elena along the short hallway past the boot room on the right and the kitchen to the left and climbed the steep stairs to the first landing with its communal shower and bathroom, two larger bunk rooms, for males and females respectively, plus a couple of smaller rooms set aside for couples and families — less of a priority back in the days before the YHA had become family friendly. Both of the larger dorms were in a state, a big damp patch and the ceiling wallpaper peeling off in chunks in the one, a badly cracked window letting in a draught in the other. Mariner was beginning to wonder if this had been such a good idea after all. Elena was clearly thinking the same. ‘I’d have you to stay at my place,’ she began. ‘But with Cerys . . .’
‘Of course,’ said Mariner. ‘That’s fine.’
‘It’s just that she sees her dad a couple of times a week. He’s got used to Rex being around but if he hears about someone else and gets the wrong idea . . . He can be a bit of a prick sometimes.’
‘It’s okay,’ Mariner reassured her. ‘I wasn’t expecting anything. In fact if this is going to make life difficult for you . . .’
‘No, you’re all right. Let’s see along here.’ She led the way along the landing to one of the smaller rooms, which looked in much better condition. Facing south-west, a weak, late afternoon sun had broken tentatively through the cloud and was taking the chill off the air, and the windows and ceiling seemed to be intact. Mariner put his rucksack on one of the two sets of bunks.
‘This will do fine,’ Mariner said, testing the mattress. ‘It’s loads more comfortable than where I slept last night.’
‘I can give you some aired blankets, and there’s a portable heater knocking around somewhere,’ said Elena. ‘It’ll get even colder during the night. The showers are on the electric, so they should be okay. And you can come and eat with us if you’d like to.’
‘I really don’t want to impose,’ Mariner said, truthfully. ‘That wasn’t the idea.’
She smiled. ‘So you said. It’s fine. Rex is over tonight so you’ll be able to meet him. Do you still play chess?’
Mariner pulled a face. ‘God, probably not since your dad repeatedly annihilated me all those years ago, why?’
‘Cerys is taking on the family tradition and she can already outplay me most of the time. She’d love a new opponent.’
Mariner grimaced. ‘Sounds as if she’ll destroy me too.’
‘Better brush up on your Sicilian defence then,’ Elena smiled. ‘I’m sure there’s an old set down in the games room somewhere you can practice with. We’ll see you at six.’
Mariner flashed a humourless smile. ‘Thanks.’
‘Oh,’ she called back, as an afterthought. ‘Don’t try locking the door behind you when you come over, it sticks solid anyway and you’ll never get it open again.’
After Elena had gone, Mariner sat down on the lower bunk and for a few minutes simply savoured the environment. Much as he had anticipated this moment, he hadn’t really expected it to become a reality, and so far he hadn’t been disappointed on any count; not with the accommodation anyway. This was the room he remembered most vividly. Because he’d spent the whole summer here, there were times when he’d had the hostel to himself. It was on one such night that Elena had come to him. He’d woken with a start in the smal
l hours, alerted by a movement in the room. Opening his eyes he saw a figure beside the bed, still and staring down at him. ‘Are you awake?’
‘Shit,’ said Mariner. ‘I thought I was seeing a ghost.’
Elena giggled. ‘How many ghosts do you know that wear winceyette pyjamas?’ she whispered. ‘Not very sexy, I know, but it gets cold up here.’
‘I’d noticed,’ said Mariner. He didn’t know quite what to do. He’d never had a girl present herself to him like this. She sat beside him on the edge of the bed and slid a hand under the bedclothes. ‘Well, are you going to let me in before I freeze my tits off?’
Mariner lifted up the edge of the sheets and blankets and, pulling off the pyjamas, she slid into the narrow bed alongside him, as simultaneously her lips fastened on to his. Her flesh was soft, warm and giving, and in seconds he was hard, burrowing into her and making her moan. It had been the start of his first proper relationship that had lasted the whole summer under the watchful eye of her overprotective father, which had given their encounter a special frisson, even though it turned out now that he’d known about it all along.
The room overlooked the yard and beyond, along the lane towards the farm, but afforded enough privacy, so he walked naked along to the bathroom. The showers were communal, modesty protected only by flimsy nylon curtains. The sinks in the shower room were too low to be practical, still at the height they would have been when this place was some kind of outward-bound centre for city kids back in the sixties and seventies. Mariner turned on one of the showers. It spluttered and for a few seconds the water ran brown, but the flow soon ran smooth and clean and, as Elena promised, was hot within seconds.
After the shower he changed into a clean shirt but decided against shaving. His beard was starting to establish itself and would soon be beyond the itchy stage, so easier to just let it grow. With a few minutes to spare, he took time to explore the hostel, re-orientating himself, and wondering again how sensible this whole enterprise really was. Rationalizing his behaviour, after all the turmoil of the last few weeks, this was probably some pathetic attempt to find a safe haven, coming back to a place that represented one of the rare times in his life when he had felt genuinely secure and happy. But now he was here he couldn’t clearly identify what it was he had expected to achieve. He’d been unbelievably lucky with the gamble that Elena would recognize him and make him welcome, but now what? All he was really doing was gate-crashing the life she had built for herself, and he had no right to do that. He’d stay here one night and then move on.
Buried Lies (Reissue) Page 9
