‘Too many memories? Don’t I know exactly how you feel!’
‘Do you, Dominic?’ She looked at him closely. ‘Do you really? What a puzzle you are sometimes. Could we make a pact? I let you in on something really weird that’s happened to me, and you tell me what you meant by what you just said.’
‘It’s a long story.’ The amazingly blue eyes never left her face. ‘And not a very nice one.’
‘Still, I’d like to hear it,’ she said evenly.
He seemed to consider, then grinned suddenly.
‘Sure, it’ll have to wait while I feed Trina, or won’t she be ringing up Justice For Dogs with a complaint of neglect?’
Thea didn’t raise a smile but waited. She was growing wise to Dominic Shane. A funny remark was usually a ruse to get out of a tight corner, and this time she wasn’t playing.
‘OK, fine,’ Dominic said, relenting. ‘Tell you what, Thea, me girl. Let’s see to Trina and then what if you and I can go to the pub for a bite to eat? I don’t know about you, but my revelation could need fortifying with something stronger than the lighter beverages.’
This time Thea allowed herself a grin.
‘You’re on,’ she said.
Richard’s head swam. They had arrived at Limerick only to find that the original venue for the gig had been double booked and he and the boys had spent the best part of the day looking for an alternative. Quite by chance – or so Richard thought at the time – they had bumped into Aisling Cleary.
Having valuable contacts in the Irish jazz scene, she had made a few calls on her mobile and presently they were unpacking their equipment at a lugubrious-looking but seemingly popular premises on the outskirts of the town.
They had an hour to prepare before the club opened. While Tracey was getting ready in a cramped little dressing-room behind the stage, the boys tore around setting up microphones and loudspeakers. Richard had to be everywhere at once, checking for sound quality and the lighting.
On stage, the drummer’s long, sinewy hands executed triplets and paradiddles as if his very life depended on it.
Aisling, perched elegantly on a tall stool by the bar, watched the proceedings covertly, her long-lashed smoke-grey eyes not missing a thing. Richard looked up from wrestling with a mike that refused to adjust and sent her a friendly wink.
Whatever Tracey’s opinion, tonight they owed a lot to the glamorous Irish girl. To show his gratitude Richard had awarded her a prime slot in the guest spot. The smile she’d bestowed on him had said it all.
‘Right, lads,’ Richard shouted, his eye on the clock over the entrance. ‘That’s about it, here. We’ve got ten minutes to change. Let’s move!’
They made it with seconds to spare, leaping on stage as the doors burst open and the punters came pouring in. This was a different audience from the more cosmopolitan Dublin and Wexford crowds. Jeans and cycle jackets of battered black leather predominated, with hair spiked and dyed a myriad of hues.
All this Richard took in at a glance, before the PA system uttered a warning stutter, the house lights slowly dimmed and the usual stomach-grabbing hush descended. Raising his saxophone to his lips, Richard blasted out the first phrase of notes and, as the group came in gratifyingly on cue, gave himself up to the music.
‘Sure, you were great. Just great,’ Aisling praised when the buzzing, up-tempo night was finally over.
‘You weren’t so bad yourself,’ Richard returned with a grin.
Tracey, at his side, nodded her agreement. She still hadn’t exactly warmed to Aisling, but potential disaster had been overcome and they had her to thank for that.
They had all gone for a meal after the show. Now, the other members of the group had claimed utter exhaustion and taken themselves off to the hotel they had booked into, leaving Richard and Tracey, as always, to mull over the performance. Aisling looked to have no thoughts on following the rest of the band’s example.
Richard was just beginning to unwind. Accepting the coffee Tracey handed him, he looked at Aisling.
‘So what are your plans now? In fact what are you doing over here anyway? I thought you worked in Dublin.’
‘I did,’ she replied, shrugging laconically. Every movement she made was measured and graceful.
When she had first turned up at the Dublin club her sultry appeal had intrigued him. Now, a few weeks along the line, he was able to see through the glitz to the determined and manipulating creature beneath. He could even find it in him to tease her a little.
‘Did? You mean they’ve given you the push at Ferlann Ridge?’
‘Indeed they did not! Wasn’t I the best admin officer they had on the floor! Sure, I left of my own accord to follow a singing career. I’d been offered a contract for a permanent spot at the Dublin Club and there’ll be others. The money’s good and I enjoy it. Besides, it was never the same at Ferlann Ridge after Dom went.’
Tracey looked at her sharply.
‘Dominic Shane, you mean? He’s a vet in the Wirral.’
‘That’s right. I’d heard he got another job pretty quickly. Well, he would. He’s a brilliant vet. You’ll know about the trouble.’
Richard looked blank.
Aisling lowered her voice to a confidential tone.
‘We were getting married, had the house, furniture, everything. I don’t need to tell you how expensive all that is.…’ She shrugged. ‘I … well, let’s just say I’m not one for doing things on the cheap! The chance to make a quick buck came along.…’ She grinned ruefully. ‘Didn’t come off, as it happened. Then the balloon went up. Doping isn’t the done thing in the racehorse trade.’
‘Dominic was accused of horse doping?’ Richard was incredulous. ‘Heck! I bet the press had a field-day!’
She nodded.
‘It did get a bit nasty. The only way Dom could hold on to his career was to get out and start again, go somewhere else where he wasn’t known.’ Aisling hesitated, as if she were weighing up her words. ‘The thing is, I need to see him. It’s a private matter but it’s in his interest. I’ve tried to contact him but it’s hopeless. He doesn’t reply.
‘You’ll be going back to the Wirral when the tour is up so you’re sure to see Dom. I wondered if you could put in a word for me?’
Richard thought fast. What was she up to? Something about the story just didn’t ring true. Tracey looked about to speak but he silenced her with a glance.
‘Aisling, we haven’t made any specific plans beyond the tour,’ he said carefully. ‘There could be something in the pipeline for us, so we may not be going home.’
Finishing his coffee, he sent Tracey a nod.
‘Don’t know about you, but I’m bushed love. Shall we go?’
They all stood up and Aisling, who was staying with friends in Wicklow, reluctantly took her leave.
‘That was a clever cop out,’ Tracey said as they walked hand in hand to their hotel.
‘Well, you can’t be too careful. We don’t want to be dragged into anything we mightn’t like, especially as Thea seems to have hit it off with Dominic.’
‘Has she? It’s true the engagement’s off, then?’
‘Yes. I’m not really surprised. Geoff’s a great guy but there was no spark there, somehow. Thea and Dominic? Well, maybe. Anyway, I don’t want to be the cause of trouble. I wouldn’t put it past Aisling to go tearing over there with whatever scheme she’s cooking up.
‘We don’t even know the full picture. All we heard was her side of the story, and even that seemed evasive. Frankly, I suspect there’s more to it than she’s letting on.’
‘She’s cunning, that one. Dominic’s well rid of her. I can’t think why he took up with her in the first place.’
‘Can’t you?’ Richard looked amused. ‘But she’s done him no favours. I can’t honestly see Dominic getting mixed up in a doping scandal, can you? He’s far too ethical for that.’
‘Oh, it’ll be her. She’s the sort who can’t stay out of trouble for long. Funny business, all
the same. Dominic Shane had it made here. Something pretty dire must have happened for him to settle for a job at Parkgate. I’d love to get to the bottom of it all. I don’t know, all these mysteries! And talking about mysteries, what’s this about “something in the pipeline”? Or aren’t I supposed to know?’
‘’Course you are.’ Richard dropped a kiss on the top of her tawny head. ‘I got a text from the agent so I called him back during the interval. Remember the album? Apparently it’s getting great reviews, even better than the guy thought. He wants us to do the round of the London clubs – maybe Germany later on next year.’
‘Wow!’ Tracey flung her arms around Richard and hugged him in glee, all thought of Aisling Cleary and shady dealing fled. ‘That’s fantastic, Rick! Come on, let’s break the news to the boys!’
‘That’s more than my life’s worth! No, the morning will do.’ An arm around her shoulders, he ushered her along to her room, grinning down at her.
‘Good, eh? Wait till they hear back home. If there’s anything that’ll make Dad see things our way, it’s this.’
Geoff eased the cattle wagon up the exit from the M53 and signalled for Heswell and home. It hadn’t been a bad day at the market, considering. The calves had fetched more than he expected, and a chap with an interest in pedigree Friesian stock had approached him about purchasing a promising young Roseacre bull they had been running on.
Wasn’t afraid of paying the price, either. Wait till he told Dad!
It was drizzling rain, dusk drawing down, the wipers hissing busily, though the road was fairly quiet. Ahead, just before the interchange for Thornton Hough, Geoff made out what looked like a breakdown and slowed his pace accordingly.
As he overtook, the old grey car looked familiar, as did the slight, worried figure bent over the engine.
Geoff gave the horn a blast of greeting, chuckling to himself. Trust Bryony to choose her moment!
He pulled into the kerb and stopped, winding down the window.
‘Run out of petrol?’
‘Oh, Geoff, it’s you! Thank goodness! No, of course it isn’t the petrol. The wretched thing just died on me.’
‘Could be the electrics. Let’s have a look.’
He jumped down and, getting Bryony to train the torch, tinkered with the engine. As he worked the rain decided to come down all the heavier. After a few moments he gave up.’
‘Look, you’re getting soaked and you’ve no coat. I’ll take you on to the farm and come back in the truck with the towing ropes.’
‘But I need to get back to the flat,’ Bryony said. ‘Liz will be furious if I’m late. We’re supposed to be going out tonight.’
He shook his head.
‘It’s not looking likely. Best thing would be to ring her from the house and tell her it’s off.’
‘I’m not being towed,’ she said stoutly. ‘I’ve never done it before. I’d be useless.’
‘Now there’s a surprise!’ He grinned at her good-naturedly. With her hair in rats’ tails about her face and her mascara running down her doleful face, she still looked chocolate-box pretty.
‘Not to worry. One of the lads will do the honours. Grab your bag and any other valuables you don’t want to leave in the car and let’s go. Look at it, belting down! Give me the keys and you get in the cabin. I’ll lock up here and be right with you.’
Bryony’s spirits rose visibly as they chugged along to Roseacre.
‘I was so relieved when I saw the wagon. I thought it was you, but I hardly dared hope!’
‘Knight of the road, me.’ He grinned. ‘For some obscure reason, that stretch is notorious for broken-down vehicles. I’m always rescuing damsels in distress. The last one was ninety if she was a day! She screeched at me to get a move on because she had to get home to feed her cats!’
Bryony giggled.
‘It’s true. Ah, here we are. This rain’s in for the night.’
He paused, frowning towards the main yard to the big dairy farm. All the lights were on and there seemed to be a lot of undue hustle and bustle. Geoff swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry with foreboding.
‘What’s going on here? I don’t like the look of it….’
Parking the wagon in the big open-ended barn, they got out as the back door of the farmhouse opened and Geoff’s mother emerged. Her face was very troubled and Bryony went immediately across to her, gripping her arm.
‘Mrs Sanders, what is it? Has something happened?’
Tears brimmed in Helen Sanders’ eyes but she seemed incapable of speech, her eyes seeking her son. At last, the words stumbled out.
‘Geoff … it’s your dad. He – he was found unconscious in the parlour. He would start the milking himself when I told him not to! I told him!’
‘Where is he now?’ Geoff asked gently. ‘How was he?’
‘Jim Stokes saw to him while I called the ambulance. They left about five minutes ago. Oh, Geoff! If anything happens.…’
Jim Stokes, the cowhand, hovered uncertainly in the background.
‘Might be best if you went with the missus, Geoff,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll see to things here for you. If I’m honest, lad, it didn’t look too good….’
Chapter Five
‘I’ll need my bag!’ Helen Sanders gasped, panicking. ‘And my keys. Where are they? Oh, poor Mike! Will he be all right!’ She looked anxiously from one worried face to the other.
The ambulance had vanished into the stormy November dusk. Geoff had hurried off to fetch the car from where it was parked in the barn, leaving Bryony and Jim Stokes, the cowman, on the rainswept farmyard with Helen.
Agitatedly she turned towards the farmhouse where light spilled out from the spacious pine-furbished kitchen, then changed her mind and, oblivious to the deluge, began turning out the pockets of her lightweight trouser suit in a desperate search for the missing keys.
The rain continued to hammer down, dowsing the three of them thoroughly, whilst from the milking parlour came the forlorn bellows of cattle anxious to be rid of their burden of milk.
‘I’d best get back to the cows,’ Jim muttered, before making his escape.
Bryony, gathering her wits, took a firm grip of Helen’s arm.
‘Mrs Sanders, let’s get out of the rain and wait for Geoff. That’s right. Look, here are your keys on the table. Now, why don’t you sit down for a moment and let me fetch whatever you need?’
‘Thank you … so kind.’ Helen allowed herself to be guided to one of the tall ladder-backed chairs and subsided into it. Her skilfully made-up face began to pucker.
Bryony fetched a box of tissues from where it lay on the dresser and left them to hand.
‘Try and keep calm. Mr Sanders is in the right hands. Is your handbag upstairs? I’ll get it, shall I?’
‘What? Oh, yes, please, if you wouldn’t mind. It’ll be on the chair by the bed. My coat’s there too. Perhaps I should put a few things together for Mike.’
‘I wouldn’t right now,’ Bryony soothed. ‘Just get yourselves to the hospital. Geoff can always slip back later for whatever you need.’
The sound of the car drawing up outside galvanized Bryony into action. She fled out and up the wide, soft-carpeted staircase, located the Sanders’s bedroom and Helen’s coat and bag, then sped back down to the kitchen again.
A blast of the horn outside had Helen jumping to her feet. Bryony hastily helped her on with her coat, handed her the bag and keys and ushered her back out to where Geoff held open the passenger seat door of the big family saloon.
‘’Bye. Best of luck,’ Bryony bid them as Geoff bundled his mother into the car. ‘Don’t worry,’ she told Geoff. ‘I’ll stay here until I get some news.’
Geoff sounded brisk and in control.
‘Thanks, that’s brilliant.’
Moments later he was pulling out of the farmyard, rain lancing in the powerful beam of the headlamps, muddy water from the swimming yard spurting from under the tyres. Bryony, watching them go, then turned and d
ucked back through the downpour to the house.
Pewter, the Sanders’s sleek grey cat, lay comatose in front of the Aga, its long tail curled neatly around its paws.
Taking a few long breaths to calm her racing pulse, Bryony shook the raindrops from her springy blonde curls, removed her sodden jacket and put it on the Aga rail to dry, and glanced round. Helen Sanders had obviously been preparing the evening meal when disaster had struck. Half-peeled vegetables, a bottle of the coarse red wine generally used for cooking, and a freezer pack of what looked like diced beef lay abandoned on the worktop, beside an attractive country-ware casserole dish.
‘Better get on with that,’ she said to the unresponsive cat. ‘They’ll need something to eat when they get back. Oh, heck, I nearly forgot. We were going out tonight … I’d better phone Liz.’
She delved into her bag for her mobile and called her friend’s number.
‘Bry?’ Liz answered almost immediately. ‘What’s going on? I thought you were getting back early?’
‘Sorry, Liz. Something’s cropped up. My car packed in and Geoff came along and we ended up at the farm. It was panic-stations here, Liz. His Dad’s been rushed to hospital. Geoff’s just gone there with his mum. She was in such a state! I felt really sorry for her. Anyway, I said I’d stay here for now – well, you never know. I don’t think things looked too bright.’
‘That’s awful. What about your car? D’you want me to phone the garage?’
‘No, the chap who works on the farm’s here. He might be able to sort it out for me. Look, I must go. You might as well carry on without me. I could be here ages.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. Cheers, Bryony. Good luck.’
Bryony clicked off, slipping the phone back into her bag. The kitchen seemed very quiet. Wondering how Geoff was getting on at the hospital, and trying not to think the worst, Bryony picked up the sharp little kitchen knife and began to peel the vegetables.
Cooking wasn’t exactly her best skill, but she did her best, adding a generous dash of the wine and a couple of bay leaves from the spice rack on the wall. She put the dish into the Aga, then filled the kettle.
Across the Sands of Time Page 8
