‘Pity.’ Andy was feeling more and more uncomfortable. It was silly to feel him watching them; it had to be her imagination. Just as it must have been her imagination thinking Rhona was watching her that night in Kew.
She shivered. ‘It’s cold in here.’
Sian gave another quick glance round the room and then headed back into the living room. ‘I’ll leave him a note. He’s bound to come back sooner or later.’
Walking over to the table by the window she found a spiral-top pad and reached for a pen. As she was writing there was a sudden bang outside. They both looked up. ‘What was that?’ Sian exclaimed.
‘It sounded like a door banging,’ Andy said nervously. ‘Perhaps you didn’t shut the shed properly.’
‘I’ll check before we leave.’ Sian tore off her note and left it prominently on the centre of the table.
Andy felt an overwhelming wave of relief as they let themselves out and locked the door behind them. When Sian headed round the side of the house to return the key to its hiding place she followed closely behind her. The shed door was indeed hanging open, swinging in the wind. The cloud was dispersing as they watched, the landscape opening up before them, revealing a panoramic view across the countryside below.
‘It’s breathtaking, isn’t it,’ Sian said as she latched the door firmly in place.
Andy was speechless with delight as she stared down. Cloud still laced the green of the valleys and foothills below them, white and fluffy as sunbeams spotlit different areas in turn.
‘I’m glad you like my view.’ The voice behind her made Andy spin round to see who had spoken.
There was no one there.
‘Did you hear that?’ she gasped.
‘What?’
‘A voice. A man’s voice. Meryn’s voice? He said he was glad I liked his view.’ Andy turned round, scanning the garden behind them, her wild hair flying. ‘No. No, I’m sorry. I’m hearing things. It must have been the wind. There’s no one here.’
Sian gave a cryptic smile. ‘I thought you two would get on. Perhaps he’ll come back now he knows there is someone interesting up here for him to talk to.’
When Andy let herself back into Sleeper’s Castle later she found the message light blinking on the telephone. It was her mother. ‘Darling, ring me back when you get a chance. I’ve had an idea which I hope you will like.’
Andy sat staring at the phone for several minutes before she complied. She used to think that she and her mother had a special telepathic link, but over the years she had lived with Graham it had gone. Now her mother resorted to the phone when she needed to speak to her daughter exactly like anyone else.
‘Mum? How are you?’
‘I’m fine. I wondered if you needed anything from the stuff you’ve stored here. Now you’ve moved in, you might want a few of your books around you.’ Nina hesitated. ‘I know you didn’t have time for your old interests when you were living with Graham, but now, maybe they will come back and, if you like, I could drive up and spend a weekend with you and bring anything you need. Only if you would like me to, of course.’ Her mother’s voice was rapidly losing its confidence in the face of Andy’s silence.
‘How did you know?’ Andy said at last.
‘Know?’
‘Never mind. Yes please. I need any books I’ve got about dreaming; my mind, body and spirit books; my ghost books. And I would love it if you came to stay. Whenever you like. As soon as possible.’
6
Nina Dysart arrived the following Friday evening. She stood for a few moments staring up at the house after she climbed out of her car then she made her way towards the front door.
‘Mum!’ Andy had heard the car. ‘Come in. It’s so good to see you.’ They exchanged a long warm hug.
Mother and daughter did not resemble one another. Andy was tall, her eyes grey, her hair light brown, shoulder length and curly. Her mother’s hair was white, cut short and neat, and her eyes an intense brown. While Andy’s clothes inclined towards the colourful and artistic, Nina was always immaculately dressed in carefully matched neutrals. She wasn’t as tall as Andy and her figure was petite, but there was no mistaking the fact that they were mother and daughter. Their mannerisms were similar, their voices blended, they both talked at once and then paused and laughed and both started again.
‘Oh, Mum, it’s so good to see you!’ Andy caught her mother’s hands and squeezed them. ‘I have missed you.’
Nina pulled free and gave her daughter a quizzical look. ‘You can’t have missed me so soon, darling. Not possible. So, what’s wrong? Have you made a ghastly mistake coming here?’
‘No!’ Andy’s denial was adamant. Then she paused. ‘No,’ she said again, less sure this time.
‘So, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Supposing you show me round,’ Nina said. ‘Then you can give me an incredibly strong cup of coffee after that horrendous drive, then we will talk.’
Unloading the books almost defeated them. They brought in half a dozen cartons and stacked them in the living room. Andy stared round helplessly. ‘I’d forgotten I had so many. I hadn’t thought about shelves. I will have to have some made I suppose.’
‘Rubbish. Not in someone else’s house. Buy flat-pack. Have you got a handyman who can put them up for you? I think you mentioned a gardener?’
Andy gave a hollow laugh. ‘I don’t think I would dare ask him.’
‘Why?’ Her mother paused in the middle of what she was doing and stared at her.
‘He doesn’t seem to approve of my presence here. Don’t worry.’ Andy straightened her back with a groan. ‘I am capable of assembling a flat-pack. It can’t be that hard. In the meantime let’s pile the books round the walls in here.’ She glanced helplessly out of the window. There were at least four more boxes in her mother’s car.
It was like meeting old friends. Every few minutes she stopped to look at the book she’d just unpacked and run an affectionate hand over the cover. ‘I have missed all the mind, body and spirit stuff. It was such a passion of mine for so long.’ She gave Nina a wan smile.
‘Not everything about Graham was good for you,’ her mother put in tartly. ‘I know you loved him to bits and you worked well together, but he rode roughshod over so much that was you, my darling. He moulded you into his ideal woman.’
Andy wasn’t sure whether to be angry and amused. ‘You make me sound like a Stepford wife!’
‘No. But it was odd for you to cut such a large part of your own personality out of your life. He didn’t like animals, did he? So you didn’t have any pets. He wasn’t interested in history or old buildings. You used to do such wonderful paintings of ruins in landscapes, do you remember? And you loved visiting them. You used to cook; you adored cooking. With Graham, I know because you told me once, you ate out all the time or had snacks because he didn’t see the point of wasting time in the kitchen.’
Andy nodded ruefully. ‘Do you know, I’ve lost the instinct to cook. I have this beautiful Aga here and I haven’t done more than boil the kettle or heat up a can of soup.’
‘QED!’ Her mother stared round. ‘This lovely kitchen going to waste. Now that I know what I’m destined to have for supper I will insist tomorrow we go shopping and stock the larder, then you can start cooking. I want decent food while I’m here and you can practise on me.’
Andy sat up a long time after her mother had gone to bed, thinking over everything she had said. She was right. So much of what made Andy Andy was on hold, battened down somewhere at the back of her head. She thought about that wonderful feeling of freedom she had experienced on her first night here, the joy of going out into the garden and feeling the wind in her hair and the raindrops on her face. For a few moments she had become a wilder version of herself; a more authentic version. Then she had slid in her daydream to the garden in Kew, drawn inexorably back to civilisation.
She was sitting at the kitchen table, her back to the Aga, feeling its warmth a
solid comfort gently enfolding her. She was thinking about her father. Her interest in the supernatural came from him. The solid acceptance of the weird and wonderful being a normal part of an amazingly varied and extraordinary world. She remembered as a child exploring old castles and abbeys with him. He was the one who had discouraged cameras and made her sketch instead. ‘That way, Andy, you capture the heart and soul of a place.’ Even when he remarried he found time to go on encouraging her. Nina, who had showed no bitterness at the break-up and seemed to accept the status quo with extraordinary equanimity, would pack her off on the train north where she would be welcomed into her father’s new family by his lovely Northumbrian wife, with first one then two then three new siblings, all boys, and all of whom she adored. They still got on well. She had missed them too. She had seen very little of her father in the last ten years. Perhaps Graham had taken his place. A father figure. She frowned. That was not a pleasant thought. She would get in touch with Rufus soon, re-establish ties, maybe go and see him.
Behind her the cat flap clicked and Pepper appeared. He trotted over to his empty food bowl, examined it and turned to look at her reproachfully. She smiled. ‘You are not going to try and persuade me you haven’t had your supper, my friend. I remember distinctly giving it to you because my mum watched me and she thinks you get too much to eat.’
Pepper turned his back on her, sat down and began washing his face. She was sure he understood a lot of what she said. Nina was right there too. She had missed having dogs and cats around her. It was wonderful to have a cat again, even on loan. And as Pepper had reminded her, she was here to look after him. If she was going to see her father again he would have to come down to see her.
Pepper yawned and without realising it she did too.
Still exhausted from their long ride Catrin lay back in another unaccustomed bed, staring up at another stranger’s ceiling and drifted off to sleep. Her dream was different this time; in it she was back at home; the violence and the shouting were gone. Sleeper’s Castle was quiet. In the silence she could hear the sound of the brook outside the window, enveloping her, wrapping her in the comfort of the darkness. For a while she lay without moving, then as the first birds began to sing across the cwm she rose from her bed. Her eyes were still closed as she walked towards the stairs. Her father was asleep in his own bed, for once snoring gently on his pillow stuffed with dried hops to soothe his dreams. Sleepwalking down the stairs and across the hall, she went towards the kitchen. The other woman was there, asleep at the table, her head cushioned on her arms.
In her dream Catrin stood looking at her for a long time without moving, then slowly she crept across the flagged floor towards her. Andy moved uncomfortably and reached out an arm without waking. Catrin stepped back sharply, watching. Andy didn’t move again, her breathing slow and regular. Once more Catrin approached and cautiously stretching out her hand she touched the corner of the table with the tips of her fingers. The table was plain scrubbed pine. The table in Catrin’s kitchen, the table where Joan prepared their meals, was made from a huge chunk of solid oak, criss-crossed with cuts from her cleaver as she prepared their meat and vegetables. Catrin stood still, holding her breath, then she turned and tiptoed back out of the kitchen.
Andy didn’t stir but somehow she was aware of the shadowy figure, seeing it cross the great hall and walk slowly up the stairs. In her dream Catrin climbed slowly back into bed and lay down. As she snuggled once more onto her pillow she gave a small sigh. The room was Andy’s room, the bed in the corner where Andy’s bed stood, the window the window Andy looked out of down to the moonlit garden below. She could see the mullions, trace the lines of the stone, the smooth curve of the chisel, the rough edges where the man who made them had drained his tankard of ale, smacked his lips and returned to work slightly the worse for wear.
Andy woke suddenly and sat upright, staring towards the window. There was a faint glimmer of daylight filtering into the room. There were curtains now, but the mullions were the same.
She had staggered up to bed only four hours ago after waking to find herself in the kitchen, her head cushioned on her arms. There had been no sign of Pepper and her neck was agonisingly stiff. She had forced herself to stand up, turn off the lights and head next door towards the stairs, then she had stopped, aware of a presence in the house. Her mother. Of course, her mother was asleep upstairs in Sue’s room.
She paused on the landing, listening. There was no sound from the other bedroom. Making her way to her own bed she slipped off her shoes and lay down under the duvet fully dressed. In seconds she was asleep.
She remembered the dream after a shower and a change of clothes next morning. The Catrin of her dreams had been standing staring down at Andy as she was asleep in the kitchen. She could see herself, unconscious, vulnerable, unaware, the young woman creeping towards her, extending her hand as if to touch her, then gently stroking the corner of the table instead. It had been so real. Catrin was younger than she had realised, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. She was slim beneath the bulky clothes, with rich chestnut hair slipping from beneath her linen coif and gentle concerned eyes.
‘You’re up early.’ Nina was already in the kitchen when she went downstairs. She was listening to the Today programme as she made breakfast. The table was laid. Pepper was sitting on the windowsill watching the proceedings with what looked suspiciously like approval.
Andy approached the table and held out her hand to touch it, stroking the corner lightly with her fingertips.
Nina turned off the radio. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I dreamt there was a woman in here. I fell asleep where I was last night after you went to bed and she was standing watching me. She reached out to touch the table near my hand.’ Andy shivered. ‘It was strange. Very real. It was as if she was studying me; watching me. She’s called Catrin.’
Nina put the coffee pot on the table. ‘Get some of that down you. You were so exhausted last night I’m not surprised you dreamt vividly.’
‘I can’t help wondering if I was actually awake.’ Andy reached for the coffee.
‘Dreams can be incredibly real sometimes.’ Her mother produced two slices of warm toast and put butter and marmalade on the table.
‘I know. I’ve been having some truly violent dreams since I arrived here. Battles.’
‘That sounds like stress and exhaustion to me.’ Nina sat down opposite her. She surveyed her daughter’s face. ‘You don’t have to stay here, darling. I’ve told you before, you can always come home with me.’
‘No! No, I love it here!’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely sure.’ Andy hesitated. ‘It never even occurred to me that the house might be haunted until someone mentioned ghosts at a supper party I went to last week. Even then, I wasn’t worried. You know me.’ She smiled at her mother. ‘Catrin is part of my dreams, but I think she is a ghost as well.’ She paused. ‘If she is, if there are ghosts here, it’s interesting. It doesn’t bother me.’
‘You’re sure it doesn’t frighten you?’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
Nina screwed up her face. ‘As I reminded you, darling, this is not my department. I am impervious to ghosts. If you want to discuss it, you should ring your father. But my instinct is to leave well alone. Living up here completely alone is going to be quite enough of a challenge, I would have thought, especially as winter sets in. Have you thought about that? What you will do when it snows?’
Andy smiled, glad of the change of subject. ‘Sue left me a book of instructions. She has actually been a bit more organised than I thought. I suspect she wrote it all out when she first decided to let the house. She left it in the drawer with the cat food. She talks about stocking the freezer, getting an extra couple of months’ supply of logs, contacting the farmer who lives up the lane and who will plough it through with his tractor if it gets closed with snow. It all seems very efficient, and if dear old Sue, whose natural habitat is Bondi Beach, can hack
it here, so can I.’
‘That all sounds very organised, as you say,’ Nina said, reassured. She leant forward purposefully. ‘Now, talking of being organised, what have you done about your job?’
Andy reached for a slice of toast. ‘Nothing.’
‘Why not?’
‘In case you hadn’t noticed, Mum, Graham is dead.’ Andy gripped her mug tightly with her fingers.
Nina ignored the comment. ‘You didn’t always work exclusively for Graham,’ she said crisply. ‘There are plenty of other people out there who would love you to illustrate their books. Thank God that’s a job you can do, even out here. Have you been in touch with Krista?’
Andy shook her head wordlessly. Speaking to her agent was something that hadn’t even crossed her mind.
‘God, Andy! You need a kick up the backside, darling.’ Her mother was incredulous. ‘Money doesn’t grow on trees. You’re going to have to live. I bet Sue isn’t paying the bills for this house. Even if you’re getting it rent-free – you are getting it rent-free, aren’t you?’ – she barely waited for Andy to nod before proceeding – ‘you’re going to have to pay the bills, pay for food, petrol, everything. And if necessary a solicitor. No!’ she raised her hand as Andy opened her mouth to protest. ‘You are not going to let that dreadful Rhona woman ride roughshod over you. You’ve had a couple of months to get over Graham’s death, and I know you feel you never will, but you have to pick yourself up and dust yourself off.’ She stopped. ‘Did you ever hear such a string of clichés! But I’ve always found that clichés are what people need when they’re in crisis. That is what they are for. One hasn’t time to think of bons mots. One needs a good cliché.’
Andy managed a laugh. ‘If anyone is riding roughshod, Mum it might be you.’
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