The White Shepherd

by Annie Dalton

  ‘Is that what your mother used to cook for you?’ Isadora asked.

  ‘No, ma’am,’ Jake said, smiling. ‘My mom wasn’t exactly famed for her cooking. But my Aunt Mimi knew how to cook that dish to perfection.’ He turned to Tansy. ‘No more going off and playing detective on your own,’ he advised.

  Jake drove Anna and Bonnie back to Park Town in his hire car. My mom wasn’t exactly famed for her cooking. Jake had smoothed the awkward moment over so quickly, he’d scarcely missed a beat, but Anna had felt it, felt the jagged edges of a memory too dark to be approached.

  ‘I’ll come in with you,’ he said as they pulled up outside her house. ‘Isadora said she didn’t reset the alarm. I’d like to make sure everything is OK.’

  She gave a tired laugh. ‘Are you going to “secure my perimeter”? Isn’t that what you military people say?’

  Sitting close to him in the dark, she heard the smile in his voice as he said, ‘That’s right, but it sounds a lot more appealing when you say it.’

  It was suddenly hard to look at him. Compared to Jake, other men Anna had known seemed like boys. Jake’s brand of masculinity was unequivocally grown-up, and that attracted and scared her both at once.

  She waited in the hall while he checked around. It was an unfamiliar sensation, being taken care of by a man. She told herself she was only allowing it because she was too disheartened and vulnerable to protest, and anyway she wasn’t going to see him again.

  He came back upstairs from her kitchen. ‘Perimeter secured,’ he said, saluting. ‘Bonnie’s already curled up in her basket. She’s promised to keep an eye on you for me.’

  Don’t, Anna thought. Don’t be nice and funny and caring when you’re only going to leave.

  ‘Good night, kid,’ Jake said softly, looking down at her. ‘Remember to set the alarm, won’t you?’ He hesitated, searching her face for something which he apparently didn’t find.

  A moment later he’d gone.

  Anna reset the alarm because she always reset the alarm. She didn’t need a man to tell her how to take care of herself, a man who lived on the other side of the ocean.

  She snapped on the sitting room light, saw Laurie’s smiling face on her murder board and immediately snapped it off again.

  Her flat felt cold, bleak; a home without a heart. She pictured herself trying to sleep in that bare, unfinished room and knew that – tonight, anyway – she couldn’t do it. Not alone.

  Bonnie, Anna thought, but she must have actually spoken her name aloud because her White Shepherd immediately appeared at the top of the stairs. The look on her face was a comical mix of surprised and hopeful. She gave a cautious wag of her tail. ‘Just for tonight,’ Anna told her. ‘Don’t get used to it, OK?’

  She waited till her dog had followed her into her bedroom, then she closed the door and started getting ready for bed.

  THIRTEEN

  ‘Can’t your family help you?’ Paul said.

  Kirsty shook her head. ‘They all worship Jason,’ she said miserably. ‘Especially my mum. She’s so grateful to him for rescuing me from unmarried motherhood that she won’t hear a word against him.’ Her skin had broken out, and she had enormous shadows under her eyes. Even her coppery curls had lost their glow.

  Paul had invited Kirsty and Anna to lunch in Walsingham’s ancient oak-panelled buttery. Outside, wind and rain battered the mullioned windows. Occasionally, a sodden leaf whirled by. Apart from a lone don and a small group of postgraduate students they were the only diners, sitting at one of the long highly polished refectory tables, as tens of thousands of college members had done over the centuries.

  The food – salmon en croute and steamed vegetables – was good, but no one was giving it much attention. Kirsty’s marital troubles had reached crisis level, and Jason had issued an ultimatum, giving her two weeks to find somewhere else for her and Charlie to live. Unfortunately, Jason’s was the name on their lease.

  Anna glanced at her watch. Jake would be in the air now. She’d spent hardly any time with him, yet some merciless recording device had logged every quizzical smile, every fleeting touch and was now replaying them on permanent shuffle. For reasons that would probably require months of therapy to unravel, the memory that cut the deepest was the image of Bonnie joyously looking from one of them to the other, as if her broken universe was being magically reassembled in front of her eyes. You’re ridiculous, she thought. Kirsty was about to be made homeless. Anna was supposed to be helping her come up with solutions, not moping like some lovesick teen.

  She heard Paul saying, ‘Can’t you talk to your dad?’

  Kirsty gave a tiny shake of her head. ‘My dad says he doesn’t believe in taking sides.’

  ‘How can there be a side!’ Paul said, outraged. ‘Jason is making you and Charlie homeless!’

  ‘Talk to Citizen’s Advice.’ Anna brought herself back with an effort. ‘They’ll tell you your rights.’

  ‘And you and Charlie do have rights,’ Paul told Kirsty, grim-faced. ‘No matter what your husband wants you to think.’

  Kirsty gave another more vehement shake of the head. ‘I couldn’t stay after this. It’s like he’s ripped off the latex mask and I’ve seen the sick immature bastard underneath. I don’t want that person around me or my little boy. It’s just crap timing that I’m looking for basic-type rented accommodation just as all the students are coming back.’

  Paul turned to look out of the window though nothing could be seen through the driving rain. ‘Things might work out,’ he said vaguely. ‘Sometimes life surprises you.’

  ‘So I’ve discovered,’ Kirsty told him, with a flash of savage humour.

  Part-way through the afternoon, Anna was composing an email to the visiting American academic who was turning out to be something of a diva when an email popped up from Paul saying he needed a discreet word. Mumbling an excuse to Kirsty, she crossed the landing to Paul’s office, wondering if she was about to get the sack. ‘Have I done something wrong?’ she asked bluntly. ‘I know Nadine and I don’t always see eye to eye.’

  Paul looked startled, then whipped off his glasses. ‘Oh, I see! Because I asked you to be discreet. No, this has absolutely nothing to do with your work – which is exemplary, by the way. It’s actually to do with Kirsty.’

  Anna was puzzled. ‘So shouldn’t you be talking to her?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to seem to be …’ He seemed to search for words. ‘Cashing in.’

  She frowned. ‘Cashing in how?’

  ‘Like some dirty old man who also happens to be her boss.’ He saw Anna’s perplexed expression and said gloomily, ‘I’m making it worse, aren’t I?’ He took a breath. ‘I’ve got somewhere Kirsty could stay till she and Charlie sort themselves out. Well, as long as she needs, really.’

  ‘That’s wonderful!’ Anna almost asked him why he hadn’t mentioned this over lunch. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘That’s the problem,’ Paul said anxiously. ‘This probably makes me seem quaintly unadventurous, but I still live in the same house where I grew up.’ He relayed this information as though he was used to people thinking this wasn’t a very manly thing to do. Anna had known, in fact, because Kirsty had told her. Paul’s mother had been ill for some years, and he had stayed at home to give her the necessary support.

  ‘Towards the end of her life my mother became quite disabled,’ he explained. ‘So we built on a single-storey annexe where she was able to live reasonably independently. It’s not palatial, but there are two bedrooms and a big sitting room, and there’s a courtyard garden where Charlie could play.’

  ‘That sounds perfect!’ Anna said. ‘You should tell her.’

  ‘You don’t think she’d feel – you know, compromised?’ Paul flushed deep red. ‘I mean, I’d be living next door.’

  ‘I don’t see why. So long as everything’s drawn up legally. Seriously, go and tell her now,’ Anna said. ‘She’ll be over the moon.’

  ‘Everyone’s been tell
ing me I should let it out or sell it off,’ Paul said. ‘But my mother only died last year, and I couldn’t seem to get my head around a stranger living there. But I don’t think I’d mind Kirsty and Charlie.’ He gave Anna his diffident smile. ‘It has its own entrance. Kirsty wouldn’t have to see me at all if she didn’t want. She’s having such a horrible time, and I’d hate her to think that I’m—’

  ‘She wouldn’t,’ Anna said quickly, to spare him further embarrassment. ‘But it’s good of you to make the situation crystal clear.’

  ‘So do you think you could ask her?’ he said hopefully.

  ‘If you like, but wouldn’t you rather ask her yourself?’

  He shook his head. ‘This way, if the idea fills her with horror, she doesn’t have to try to be polite.’

  Anna flew back to give Kirsty the good news. ‘He says you and Charlie can stay there for as long as you need. If you’re interested, he can show you around after work.’

  Kirsty stared at Anna as if she had suddenly started speaking in tongues. Her eyes slowly filled with tears. ‘Sorry,’ she said, gulping. ‘I think I might need a moment to take that in.’

  ‘He says you won’t be in each other’s pockets. You and Charlie will have your own garden and your own private entrance.’

  Kirsty blew her nose. ‘I can’t believe it. I feel as if I’m dreaming. I just—’ She stopped herself.

  ‘You’re wondering why Paul felt he had to go all around the houses?’ Anna suggested.

  Kirsty nodded. ‘He knew all this when we were having lunch. Why didn’t he just tell me then?’

  Because the poor man is mad crazy in love with you and doesn’t think he stands a chance, Anna thought. ‘I think, as he’s your boss, he didn’t want to seem to be exploiting your vulnerability,’ she said, which was also true.

  Kirsty’s hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh my God, how sweet is that?’

  ‘He’s a really scrupulous guy,’ Anna said.

  Kirsty shook her head. ‘He’s like a knight in a story!’ Her lips curved into a half smile. ‘A sweet, geeky knight with terrible taste in knitwear!’

  ‘You should go and tell him,’ Anna said. ‘About the house, I mean. Best not to mention his knitwear!’

  Kirsty disappeared across the landing. Anna returned to her to-do list as rain lashed at the windows. Outside, the weather seemed to be whipping up into a gale.

  At the end of the day, Paul and Kirsty left the office together so they could pick Charlie up from his nursery on their way to look around the annex. Anna stayed at her desk for another half hour, hoping the wind and rain would ease off, then decided she’d have to brave the storm.

  Out in the high street, the air was full of the sound of water, pouring out of overflow pipes and gurgling along the gutters. A gust of wind caught Anna’s umbrella, blowing it partly inside out. It took a few moments of wrestling before she got it under control. Slightly breathless, Anna set off towards Carfax Tower and her bus stop. She heard a female voice say, ‘I need to talk to you.’ A woman stepped out in front of her, grasping her by the arm. With a clutch of fear, Anna recognized Eve Bloomfield.

  She was soaked through, her wet hair plastered to her head. In the greenish light of the storm, her pale face seemed almost luminous. Her mascara had run, making sooty tracks on her cheeks. Isadora had compared Owen’s secretary to Wallace Simpson, but at this moment she looked more like one of Tolkien’s murderous ring-wraiths. Anna remembered Laurie’s fear that Eve was capable of killing someone. At this moment she was gripping Anna so tightly that her overlong finger nails were actually digging into her flesh. Anna smelled alcohol on her breath. With a swift jerk of her arm, she released herself. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To open your eyes, you stupid meddling girl! He took you in, just like he did that slutty researcher girl. The poor sensitive little queer.’ A gleam of malice lit her eyes. ‘I bet poor innocent Laurie didn’t tell you he was responsible for finally tipping Audrey over the edge! He didn’t tell you she actually caught him and Owen at it?’

  Anna quickly stepped back, lowering her umbrella, partly to prevent it tearing itself apart in the howling wind, but mostly to keep Eve at a distance. The weather had driven everyone off the street. Rightly or wrongly, Laurie had believed Eve capable of murder. If she produced a knife now there’d be nobody to see, nobody to hear Anna’s calls for help. Raindrops, hard and stinging as hail, hurled themselves at her face. ‘Laurie Swanson’s dead,’ she said clearly and firmly. ‘Everyone involved is dead. You should just forget about all of them or it’s going to drive you mad,’ she added, though she suspected her advice was several years too late. Eve looked as unhinged as they come.

  ‘Audrey was never a strong woman, mentally or physically.’ Still in the grip of her internal narrative, Eve carried on as if Anna hadn’t spoken. ‘But Owen was her first and last love. To know that he and that boy …’ She gave a shudder. ‘Well, I’m neither sorry nor surprised he killed himself,’ she said with sudden venom. ‘Presumably, the shame and guilt of his disgusting little life had finally caught up with him.’

  Two drenched tourists ran past, a boy and girl, exclaiming laughingly in Japanese.

  Anna could feel cold rain trickling down inside her collar. Her trench-coat was only supposed to be showerproof, and like her trousers it was completely saturated.

  ‘I tried to tell that Evans girl, but she wouldn’t listen,’ Eve said, switching to a more reasonable tone. ‘Don’t you make the same mistake.’

  ‘You mean the truth about Laurie?’ Anna said, confused.

  ‘Not Laurie,’ Eve almost spat. ‘The poems. The love poems,’ she almost shouted when Anna obviously didn’t understand. ‘The poems everyone thinks he wrote for Audrey!’

  ‘I already know about the poems,’ Anna said. ‘Laurie told me.’ She was desperate to get back home and stand under a hot shower, yet something kept her out in the wind and the rain.

  Eve gave a scornful laugh. ‘Laurie Swanson couldn’t tell you who wrote them because he didn’t know, you stupid girl. Nobody knew except for Owen and me.’

  Anna felt a tingle of shock followed by disbelief. ‘You wrote them?’

  ‘I was a published poet once,’ Eve said. ‘A good one, not that anyone remembers. But I didn’t write those poems for publication. I wrote them because it was the only way I knew to bear the pain.’

  Anna had to push her dripping hair out of her face. Even her eyelashes were dripping. ‘I don’t think I under—’

  ‘The pain of loving Owen and knowing I could never have him!’ Eve’s face contorted with some private emotion. ‘But then after Audrey – you know – Owen couldn’t write. I could see it was killing him. There was so much pressure on him to produce a brilliant new collection. So I gave him mine and told him he could do what he liked with them.’

  ‘And he took them?’ Anna was appalled.

  For the first time Eve smiled. ‘Oh, yes. I’d offered him a way out, you see. Some he changed quite radically. Others he used as springboards for ideas of his own. A few he left exactly as they were, which I regard as a great compliment.’

  ‘But didn’t you mind?’ Anna said, trying to stop her teeth chattering.

  Eve looked at her as if she was insane. ‘Why would I mind?’

  ‘Because he stole your work and was lauded for it.’ Not to mention getting paid for it.

  ‘Owen didn’t steal my poems, you ridiculous girl! I gave them! I’d have done anything for Owen.’ Eve’s eyes blazed. ‘I’d have torn my heart out of my body! And it worked! It got him writing again. My poems helped to spark his genius into new life. For a short time, I was his muse.’ She gave a humourless laugh. ‘So you see, things aren’t as simple as Laurie Swanson painted them. To borrow from police termin-ology, he was the perpetrator, not the victim. The Trahernes took him into their family, and that little pervert destroyed it as surely as if he’d set fire to their house and burned it down.’ Her face twisted. ‘Poor, poor Huw.’ For a moment wo
rds seemed to fail her. ‘If Owen could have loved me, we could have made a real happy family for that boy,’ she said, shaking her head.

  Anna felt a pang of pity for this deluded woman. Even though Owen was in love with another male, more than twenty years his junior and his son’s school friend, even though he was prepared to pass off another poet’s work as his own to preserve his image in the eyes of the world, even though he was a selfish, cowardly fuck-up, Eve Bloomfield still saw him as the charismatic genius of her girlhood dreams. With just a little airbrushing here and there, she, Owen and Huw could have made the perfect family.

  A bus went by, sending water spraying in all directions.

  ‘I am going to go now before we both get pneumonia,’ Anna said, attempting to break the strange spell that Eve was exerting over her.

  Eve seemed to be gazing mistily at something only she could see. ‘They say the children of lovers are always orphans,’ she said softly. ‘I’d hoped Sara would heal him. She tried. But it’s so hard for Huw to trust people now, you see?’ She turned her misty unseeing eyes on Anna. ‘There was no love for him in that house, only obsession. Audrey’s obsession with Owen, and Owen’s for—’ She quickly stopped herself, as if even uttering Laurie’s name made her sick to her stomach.

  ‘But you still loved Owen,’ Anna heard herself say. ‘Despite everything.’

  Eve gave a gasp, as if she’d been lost in a dream and Anna’s words had shocked her awake. She passed her dripping hand across her face. Her eyes held nothing but pain. ‘Yes, I still loved him. I loved him from the very—’ Without another word, she turned and fled across the High, vanishing behind fast-moving veils of rain.

  Thirty minutes later Anna was standing under a scalding hot shower, thawing out the chill in her bones. She felt deeply disturbed. There had been a strange hallucinatory quality to her encounter with Eve which had prevented her from asking obvious questions. Such as: how the hell had Eve known of Anna’s connection with Laurie? And, more alarmingly, how did she know where Anna worked? Laurie had said Eve had been spying on Naomi. Had she been spying on Anna too? Could Eve have seen Anna the night she visited Laurie? Almost as disturbing was Eve’s claim that she had written or provided some material for Owen Traherne’s later love poems in the newly published anthology.