Ruth’s cottage seems to come from nowhere. One minute they are crawling along through the unchanging white nothingness, the next, the blue gate is beside them and they can see the three houses, their roofs rounded with snow. The security light comes on as they park outside. Everything else is in complete darkness. It is two a.m.
‘The houses either side are empty,’ says Cathbad.
‘I know.’ Judy switches off the engine. ‘I wouldn’t live here in a million years.’
Outside it is so cold that Judy feels her heart clench with shock. Cathbad, though, seems fully recovered. He jumps down and makes for the front door. The wind is stronger here and the snow has formed fantastically shaped drifts, almost as high as the windows.
‘Shall I knock? The bell’s not working.’
‘Cathbad?’ Judy hates herself for this but she’s scared. Suddenly too scared to move another step. ‘What if-’ She stops.
Cathbad takes her hands. Despite the cold, his hands are very warm. ‘Judy,’ he says. ‘You are strong. You are a wonderful, strong human being.’
And the weird thing is, she does feel strong. Strong enough to wrench herself free from Cathbad and hammer on the door. ‘Open up!’
The sound echoes inside the house. Then silence. Judy and Cathbad look at each other.
‘We’ll have to force the door,’ says Judy. ‘I’ve got a crowbar in the jeep.’
Cathbad holds up his hand. ‘Shh.’
Very slowly, the door opens. The chain is still on and a small voice calls, ‘Who is it?’
‘Police.’ With shaking hands, Judy pushes her warrant card through the gap in the door.
There is a rattle as the chain comes off and they see a blonde girl, very young and scared, a blanket wrapped round her shoulders.
‘I’m Sergeant Judy Johnson. DCI Nelson sent me.’
‘I know you, don’t I?’ says Clara. ‘You were at the party the other night.’
‘Where’s the baby?’
‘Upstairs.’
Judy bounds up the narrow stairs. She isn’t scared now, adrenaline rushes though her. Whatever she is about to see – and during the drive she has imagined every horror possible – she can cope with it. She flings open the door to Ruth’s bedroom and can just make out the cot by the bed. She switches on the overhead light and strides across the room. Kate is lying on her side, a pink blanket pulled up to her chin. She is breathing steadily. Judy takes off her glove and touches the baby’s cheek. It is warm. Kate whimpers.
‘What’s going on?’ Clara is standing behind her. She still sounds scared.
‘You didn’t answer your phone. DCI Nelson was worried.’ Judy is already punching in his number.
‘I was asleep.’
‘Boss?… Yes, she’s fine, I’m looking at her now… of course I’m sure… yes, I’ll tell her… okay.’
Clara is looking at her, almost in awe. ‘How did you get here?’
‘I’ve got a four-by-four.’
‘Why is that druid with you?’
‘I’ll explain in a minute. Any chance of some tea?’
But when they get downstairs the druid has already made tea. The sofa is covered with bedclothes so they sit at the table by the window. There is an odd intimacy between the three of them, sitting at Ruth’s table, in Ruth’s house, drinking Ruth’s tea. Looking after Ruth’s baby. Clara cradles her mug in both hands, staring dreamily into space. Cathbad puts two sugars in Judy’s cup, which is odd because he hasn’t asked whether she takes sugar. She does.
‘Did you tell Nelson?’ he says.
‘Yes.’
‘Did he say thank you?’
‘No.’
‘Was Ruth with him?’
Judy catches Cathbad’s eye. ‘Yes.’
‘The boss wants me to stay the night,’ Judy says to Clara. ‘Is that okay with you?’
Clara shrugs. ‘Suit yourself. There are two beds upstairs. A single and a double.’ She looks curiously from Judy to Cathbad.
‘I’ll take the double,’ says Judy.
Ruth is leaning forward, her head between her knees. Nelson’s voice seems to come from a long way off.
‘Are you feeling any better?’
‘Yes.’ With an effort, Ruth straightens up. ‘It’s just the relief. Knowing that she’s safe.’
‘I know.’ Nelson runs his hand though his hair until it stands up like a crest. He’s quite grey now, Ruth notices. His chin is dark with stubble. It must be nearly morning, she thinks.
‘What did Judy say again?’
‘She’d seen Kate. She was sleeping peacefully.’
‘And Clara?’
‘She’d been asleep on the sofa.’
‘Do you think she might have killed Dieter Eckhart?’
‘It’s possible.’ Nelson rubs his face. ‘Stabbing is usually a crime of passion. You say she’d written in her diary that she wanted to kill him?’
‘Yes. I didn’t read any more.’ Ruth points at the little book on the bedside table.
‘I’ll take that with me tomorrow. The scissors too, though they’ll have our prints all over them.’
Ruth shudders. ‘I still don’t like to think of her in the house with Kate.’
‘I told Judy that she or Cathbad had to sleep in the room with her.’
‘What on earth was Cathbad doing there?’
Nelson shrugs. ‘You know Cathbad. He always turns up when you least expect him.’
They both think of other occasions when Cathbad has turned up, just in time to save or be saved. Cathbad is magic, Erik used to say. He certainly seems able to materialise at will.
‘I should go back to my room,’ says Nelson. He picks up Ruth’s watch from the bedside table. Half past two.
‘Yes,’ she says. But neither of them moves.
Ruth thinks that Nelson says something under his breath, but she doesn’t hear. She shuts her eyes, moving towards Nelson as his lips close upon hers.
CHAPTER 24
In the end, Judy opts for the single bed. She just doesn’t like the idea of sharing a room with a baby. What if Kate wakes up crying? That, to Judy, is more terrifying than the hooded figure on the road.
‘It’s all right,’ says Cathbad. ‘I’ll sleep in there.’
‘I’m sorry,’ says Judy. ‘I’m just not very maternal.’
Cathbad looks at her. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘Do you have children?’ asks Judy.
‘A daughter.’ Cathbad’s voice drops. ‘I didn’t see much of her when she was growing up. I’m trying to make up for it now.’
They are standing, whispering, on the landing. This, like the snow and the tea earlier, makes them seem ridiculously intimate, as if they’re flatmates or having what Judy’s nieces would call a ‘sleepover’.
‘I’m not sure I want children,’ she says. ‘It’s such a responsibility.’
‘What does your fiancé think?’
Judy hesitates. How does Cathbad know she’s getting married? Has he noticed her engagement ring? There’s something nasty about the way he says ‘fiancé’.
‘We’ve never discussed it,’ she says, with dignity.
Cathbad grins. ‘I’d start discussing it, if I were you.’ And he disappears into Ruth’s room.
Judy washes in the bathroom, noticing that Ruth uses surprisingly expensive soap. What is it about Cathbad that always makes her feel slightly uneasy? She first met him over a year ago. Nelson had needed to get across the Saltmarsh at night, in a storm, and Cathbad had been the only person to know the mysterious hidden pathway. Judy had been impressed with him then. She did not, like the rest of the team, see him as a nutcase, one of the weirdos that often hang around police stations offering unsolicited help and advice. There is a stillness about Cathbad that attracts Judy. He is contained within himself; he doesn’t see the need to seek approval from anyone else. Darren is like a big golden retriever, rushing round and licking everyone. Like me, love me, pat me. And, yes, he wants ten children
.
The next time Judy met Cathbad had been at a summer solstice party at the Roman dig at Swaffham. It had been a fairly wild night, she remembers. She had danced with Cathbad but then she had danced with Dave and Irish Ted too. She has an image of Cathbad lighting a fire, high up on a hill. The flames in the darkness, the druids chanting, the scent of burning herbs. Ruth had been there with her archaeologist friend, Max. What had happened to him?
It was only at the naming day party that she had really spoken to Cathbad. They had talked about Catholicism and paganism and the role of godparents. Judy tries to remember whether she told him that she was getting married. She does remember that she’d found him quite attractive at the naming day, which she hadn’t before. What was different?
The spare room is tiny, just a single bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe. The rest of the space is taken up with cardboard boxes, stacked one on top of each other. It’s not exactly cosy. The top of the chest is crowded with creams and make-up. Jesus, no wonder Tatjana looks so good. There is also a book written in some incomprehensible language and a picture of a beautiful, dark-eyed child. Judy picks up this last and examines it. She spent a long time chatting to Tatjana after her hen party and she never mentioned that she had a child. She turns the photo over. On the back, in a flowing hand, is written ‘Jacob 1995’.
Judy gets into the narrow bed and determinedly turns out the light. She’d better get some sleep or she’ll be useless tomorrow. The roads will still be bad after all that snow so getting home will be no joke. She supposes that she’ll have to stay here until Ruth or Nelson gets back. She sits up.
‘Cathbad?’
He appears in the doorway, still wearing combats and a black T-shirt.
‘Cathbad, do you think Nelson is Kate’s father?’
Cathbad sits heavily on the foot of the bed. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Jesus.’ Judy considers this. It feels wrong, sitting here in the dark with Cathbad. It feels wrong because it feels right.
‘Does anyone else know?’
Cathbad shakes his head. ‘I don’t think so. They’re both very private people.’
‘But the boss is married.’
‘I’m sure he loves his wife.’
‘But what about Ruth?’
Cathbad sighs. ‘She loves him, I think. But him? He loves the baby, the idea of being a father again. But I don’t think he’ll ever leave Michelle.’
‘Cathbad?’
‘What?’
‘Are you really a wizard?’
Cathbad grins, his teeth very white in the darkness.
‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t know what I think.’
‘I’m not a wizard,’ says Cathbad. ‘I’m just someone who tries to live a certain way. In harmony with nature, in harmony with the old traditions. My mother though…’ He laughs softly. ‘A few hundred years ago she would have been burnt at the stake. She knew a spell to make your hens lay, to charm back an unfaithful husband, to make a man irresistible to women. She was a witch, all right, even though she went to mass every Sunday. This was rural Ireland. Everyone went to mass even if they were queuing up in Mammy’s back yard the next day.’
Judy tries to imagine Cathbad as a child. He seems ageless somehow. ‘My dad’s Irish,’ she says. ‘He’s a bookie.’
‘That accounts for the bond between us.’
‘Is there a bond between us?’
‘I think so, don’t you?’
Judy moves her legs, trying not to touch Cathbad. The trouble is, the room’s too small. It’s getting smaller by the second.
‘Do you want to go to sleep?’ asks Cathbad.
It’s as if he’s asking a different question altogether. Judy struggles with her answer.
‘Yes,’ she says at last.
Much later, Judy wakes from a confused dream about ice floes, hooded figures, sacred fires. Groping on the floor, she finds her watch. Five o’clock in the morning.
The landing is silent. No sound from Clara downstairs. Suddenly a soft footfall makes her jump and something rubs against her legs. She stifles a scream and, looking down, meets luminous green eyes. Jesus, she’d forgotten Ruth had a cat. Shakily she strokes Flint’s gently butting head. Where has he been hiding all this time?
In the bedroom, Kate is still sleeping, making little snuffling noises. Cathbad is lying across the double bed. Asleep he looks much younger.
‘Cathbad?’
He is awake in an instant.
‘You’ve shaved off your beard.’
Cathbad reaches for her, pulling her down on the bed next to him. He is strong, much stronger than he looks. He smells of wood smoke and expensive soap.
‘We can’t,’ says Judy. ‘I’m getting married in two weeks.’
‘It was meant to be,’ says Cathbad, kissing her neck.
I don’t believe in any of that, Judy wants to say. I’m a rationalist, a policewoman and I’ve only ever slept with one man. But, instead, she is kissing him back, greedily, urgently, moving her body against his.
CHAPTER 25
It is nearly nine o’clock when Ruth wakes up. The curtains are open and the room is full of light. There’s no sign of Nelson. She goes to the window, wearing the duvet over her shoulders. Outside the sky is bright blue and the snow blindingly white. There are no footsteps on the path down to the beach, where the sea is breaking gently against the frosted pebbles. Still draped in the duvet, Ruth pads into the bathroom. From the bathroom window, which faces the side of the house, she sees Nelson, in his shirtsleeves, clearing the snow from around his car. She watches him dreamily, not thinking of anything very much. He is working hard, his breath billowing around him, but he’s doing it all wrong, bending his back rather than his knees. Ruth noticed this once before. When was it?
How could she have gone to bed with him again? After trying so hard to keep her distance, to be independent, not to jeopardise his marriage. Perhaps she’s pregnant. Maybe they’ll continue to have sex once a year and, in a few years’ time, they’ll have a family of five. Don’t be silly, she tells herself. It’s highly unlikely that she’s pregnant again and last night was a one off. Another one off. It was the snow, the house, the relief of discovering that Kate was all right. A combination of circumstances that will never occur again. Ruth is free to get on with her life. She leans against the window, her breath misting the glass.
As she watches, another figure comes out of the house. Jack Hastings. He is warmly dressed in a heavy coat and peaked cap with the inevitable dogs running around him. He says something to Nelson and Nelson laughs, the sound echoing up to Ruth’s turret window. She retreats. She doesn’t want them seeing her there, like some overweight Lady of Shalott. Time to get on with things.
She rings Judy. There’s a long wait before she answers and Judy sounds distinctly odd, flustered, unlike herself. Is Kate all right, Ruth asks anxiously. Yes fine, says Judy, Cathbad’s giving her some breakfast now. Is Cathbad still there then? Yes, the snow’s still pretty bad on the Saltmarsh. What’s Clara doing? She’s making some tea. Please stay with Kate until I get there, says Ruth. I’ll be as quick as I can.
She showers standing up in the bath, washing her hair with some violently scented gel. It’s horrible, putting on the same clothes from last night. What was it that Nelson had said to her? ‘I can’t get you out of my head, Ruth. I try but you’re there all the time.’ She doesn’t know how she feels about Nelson; it’s all so complicated, so angst-ridden. But she knows one thing: when he said those words, a shock of pure pleasure had run through her. Nelson doesn’t love her, she knows that, but at least he can’t forget her. That’s something.
Breakfast is awkward. Nelson doesn’t meet her eye. Stella cooks them bacon and eggs, maintaining a steady flow of hostess chatter. Jack is silent, feeding bacon rinds to the dogs. Irene doesn’t put in an appearance. ‘Mother had a bad night,’ explains Stella.
‘Jack’s found me some chains for the car,’ says
Nelson, still not looking at Ruth. ‘The coast road is clear. We should be able to get through.’
‘What about my car?’
‘Better leave it here. I’ll have someone pick it up for you. The important thing is to get you home.’
‘Yes,’ agrees Ruth.
‘We ought to start as soon as possible.’
‘Have some coffee first,’ says Stella, taking the pot from the Aga.
And Ruth feels a curious reluctance to leave. She wants to see Kate, of course she does, but she also wants to stay here, having someone cook for her and make her coffee. She wants to sit by the fire and read the paper. She wants to huddle up on the sofa and look at the snow outside. She wants to be Stella’s daughter. She wants to stay here with Nelson.
But as soon as Nelson has drunk his coffee he is standing up. ‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ he says formally.
‘My dear fellow, don’t mention it,’ says Jack.
Now that Nelson has become ‘my dear fellow’, thinks Ruth, will it be difficult for him to raise the little fact of Jack’s father being a murderer? She knows that Nelson has the film in his car, along with the diary and the scissors. His next visit to Sea’s End House may turn out to be a very different affair. But Hastings, who yesterday had seemed so shaken by Hugh Anselm’s film, is all charm and smiles. He shakes Ruth’s hand warmly, brushing off her thanks. ‘Any time, my dear. Glad we could help.’
Ruth turns to Stella. ‘You’ve been so kind.’
Stella enfolds her in a hug. ‘Come again. Bring your little girl.’
‘I will.’
‘Come on, Ruth,’ says Nelson, impatient as ever. ‘We’d better get going.’
The drive to the Saltmarsh is beautiful. The fields are white, glittering in the sun, the trees like a Christmas card. Everything ugly or utilitarian – the municipal dump, the holiday flats, the caravan selling hamburgers – has been covered with this kindly layer of magic. It’s hard to believe that last night the snow had seemed terrifying, a malign force. Now it’s sleigh rides and Santa and Holiday on Ice. They pass some teenagers sledging down a hill on bin liners, children building a snowman in their front garden, a family on their way to church, ears aglow with virtue. Ruth had forgotten that it was Sunday. They do see a few abandoned cars, an upturned bicycle, its wheels still spinning, but otherwise the snow seems delightful, designed purely for fun. The main roads have been gritted and, as they get nearer to King’s Lynn, they see cars and buses. The world is getting back to normal.
The House At Sea’s End Page 21
