by I Beacham
Kiernan wondered who the we was, as she was under the impression that Ele lived alone. She knew very little about her other than her previous professional life. Ele had managed to keep her private life private and away from the ever-intrusive press. It had been a mystery—and still was—why Ele had walked away from a very successful and lucrative career. Kiernan found it intriguing, but of course, none of her business. “How old is the place? Eighteen seventies?”
Ele responded with an obvious haste to Kiernan’s show of interest and spoke with enthusiasm. “No, it’s a little older than that. I think eighteen fifties. It started out life as a vicarage, and people still refer to it as that.”
“Lucky vicar,” Kiernan said and caught an expression of amusement from Ele.
“This used to be a wealthy area with a lot of manufacturing that grew out of the industrial revolution during the eighteen hundreds. I guess the area employed a lot of people, and the vicar would have had quite a congregation, but times change. Much of the industry has dried up, and the people have left to find work elsewhere. The church eventually sold the place. The church is still here of course, in the village.”
Kiernan nodded. She had driven through Pegmire village at the bottom of the hill and seen the church. At the time, she had pondered why an unremarkable place would have such an imposing ecclesiastical building.
“When can I expect the article to appear?”
Ele broke her chain of thought. “I don’t know, but usually at least a few months after I’ve done photos. I’m guessing early spring. They plan these things well ahead. I can ask for you, if you’d like?”
Ele casually shook her head as if it wasn’t important before looking at her wristwatch. It was done in an understated way that wasn’t meant to attract attention, but it did, and it made Kiernan forge forward with her job. She had promised the photo session would take no longer than an hour, and she would stay true to her word.
After a few shots by the gazebo, they moved to a small outbuilding that had recently been converted into a studio. It was where Ele produced her watercolor illustrations of varied colorful and handsome woodpeckers.
She showed Kiernan some of her work, announcing that most of it was in the soon to be published book. While the drawings were very precise and delicate, Kiernan’s attention focused on the slim, well-manicured fingers that pointed out particular feathered subjects. She insisted on a photo of Ele holding one. Readers of the magazine would love those hands, too, for they were like fine sculptured marble, such human artwork at its best.
When they moved into the house, Kiernan found it as impressive as the outside. The inner rooms reflected grand Georgian proportions, yet simplicity in design. The owner of the house had added color and a sense of hominess to the imposing structural integrity.
She chose simple shots showing Ele stood in her hallway with an impressive wooden stairs behind her and with old-fashioned mosaic tiling on the floor. Then they moved to the warm, cozy sitting room. There was a burr elm desk in the corner by a window where Ele mentioned she sat and wrote about the indigenous bird life in the surrounding countryside. All this was photo recorded for the readers.
When Kiernan’s task was complete and she left Ele, she felt content that she had all the photographs she needed, and that Tom Mitchell would be a happy man.
Everything had gone well.
Chapter Three
Everything had not gone well.
Ele’s Sunday morning was not turning out as expected. Not that she had any great plans, just a lazy morning in bed and some quality time with Featherstone.
He was a cat with routines. Mornings were where he allowed her to lavish him with affection; a hug, an ear massage and perhaps some gentle teasing along the length of his whiskers. For this, he would trill. It was a sort of high-pitched purr reserved for special moments. When he grew tired with this sumptuousness, Ele would have to get up and feed him; there was never any discussion or negotiation. He would then disappear for the day to embark on a ritual hunting regime, only occasionally returning home for energy snacks.
She would rise and shower, dress, and move downstairs to read the Sunday newspaper. After lunch, she might do a little watercolor painting in her studio.
But none of this was going to happen this morning. She had received a call last night from a very apologetic, upset Kiernan Foyle. The photographer had stated that none of her photographs had come out, and that—again, very apologetically—she hoped Ele might allow her to come back and repeat the photo shoot that day?
Ele had agreed. What else could she do? While she was genuinely ambivalent regarding the article, she liked Kiernan. The woman with the lovely auburn colored hair and soft Irish accent had a straightforward, no-nonsense way about her, a strong sense of purpose. Wiry and athletic, not too tall, she was the type of person you might discover climbing the Himalayas, a rope over her shoulder, an ice pick in her hand with a snow shovel in the other.
She was charming too, with a welcome sense of dry humor that had made the morning enjoyable. Not that Ele sought out compliments, but she quietly enjoyed hearing the pleasant remarks Kiernan made about her old media life. It had been a while since anyone massaged her ego. She guessed that Kiernan’s editor would not be impressed if the article was delayed. Although she was freelance, Ele suspected all employment was well received in these hard economic times.
Ele checked her watch and, realizing she had a few minutes until Kiernan arrived, she moved to the hallway and inspected her appearance in a full-length mirror. She made a few minor adjustments. If the magazine’s readers really did want to know about her boring life, she could at least put the effort in to look nice.
As she fluffed her hair out to give it body, she felt a chill run down her spine. She knew she was being watched. A noticeable shadow cut across a beam of sunlight that fell in the hallway from a window behind. Ele turned sharply. There was no one there, and despite crossing to the window rapidly, she still saw no one. She felt uneasy.
It didn’t reassure her when she opened the front door for Feathers who demanded to go out. He took two steps forward and froze. His back bristled, and the fur on his body puffed out. He growled, and then with slow, feral movements, his stomach low, his haunches high, he backed back into the house, refusing resolutely to go out.
Relief flooded through her when she heard Kiernan’s car approaching up the graveled driveway. As she moved to the still open door, she saw Kiernan slam her car shut and walk toward her. She couldn’t help but admire her petite, lean physique and the way she looked so comfortable in what she was wearing. She was no sharp dresser, but everything about her looked crisp and clean, and spoke of someone who cared for her appearance.
Ele chuckled as she noted the stone-bleached jeans with sharp creases down the legs. Who irons jeans? Even the waxed dark green jacket, the type favored by country types and notorious for the distressed look, intimated it was clothing hung up when not in use. Most of the time, and at best, Ele’s was thrown over the back of a kitchen chair. Maybe it was her old-fashioned values, but it appealed to her that Kiernan took such pride in how she looked. She liked cleanliness and self-respect in people; it was a clue to how they might deal with others.
As Kiernan approached, Ele could see her agitation, and once inside the hallway, it didn’t take her long to voice its cause. She held up two cameras as she spoke. “I am so sorry. I can’t believe it. When I downloaded the file, every single shot I’d taken was ruined. It was as if I’d had a lens cover on all the time.”
“You hadn’t, had you?” Ele teased. She could see the stress Kiernan was under and didn’t want to add to it. Narrowed blue-gray eyes stared back at her, and she wondered if Kiernan resented her comment.
“I did that as a young apprentice when I worked for a local newspaper in Ireland. It’s one of those mistakes you only ever make once.”
Ele grinned. “Well, that’s reassuring. I hope you appreciate I’ve had to dress up again,” she joked as she
pirouetted. “This isn’t my usual Sunday potter-around-the-house garb.” It wasn’t. Sundays were for trainers and sloppy sweats. Here she was dressed in a charcoal gray long sleeved satin blouse that hugged her body and a pencil slim, dark gray skirt with a wide shiny black belt. Her pumps were bright patent red, like her lipstick. “I feel like a dog’s dinner,” she declared.
“Well, you don’t look it,” said Kiernan emphatically. “You’re very smart. The readers will love your look, and if I may say so, it’s even better than yesterday, if that’s possible.”
Ele fought a surge of delight. She didn’t want the unexpected compliment to make her appear vain, but it pleased her that Kiernan appreciated her efforts to dress up. Her discomfort evaporated, which was more than could be said for Kiernan.
“I really am sorry. I used my new camera, a Canon EOS ID Mark III.” Kiernan looked at it lovingly. “Works like a dream. Well, it did. Cost a fortune too. I just don’t understand it. The last time I used it the shots were spectacular. Anyway, I’ve brought old faithful with me this time.” She held up another Canon. “Bit older, but the stuff of legends. I promise you, it won’t let us down.”
The stuff of legends? Ele groaned to herself as she regarded how some of these professionals were so attached to their equipment, it almost became a living entity. She thought back to one of the film crew on the morning show who used to talk to a huge wheeled camera he pushed around the studio floor as if it were alive, and called it “my darling.”
She was grateful that the morning progressed well, but for one strange exception.
When they were retaking photos over by the gazebo, Ele focused on the camera, posing for a shot. She suddenly spun around, expecting to see someone. It felt like someone was creeping up behind to surprise her. But when she turned, no one was there. Not seeing anyone disturbed her more than if she had. It was creepy and sent shivers through her, like someone walking across her grave.
“Is everything okay?” Kiernan looked concerned, and Ele could see she didn’t understand what had upset her.
“I thought I heard something…maybe someone in the bushes behind.” It was a lie. Ele hadn’t heard anything. It was an inner sense that made her turn. She prayed Kiernan would say she saw something, but she looked none the wiser despite bothering to walk behind the gazebo and check no one was hiding there. The absence of evidence made Ele more anxious, a feeling she couldn’t shake for the remainder of her time outside. She was glad when Kiernan announced they should move into the house.
When Kiernan left, Ele felt a strange tinge of sadness. She probably wouldn’t see the rather charismatic and kind photographer again. Somehow that thought depressed her.
Chapter Four
Normally a rational and level-headed woman, Kiernan had not been calm since she looked at the digital photos of the previous day’s reshoot at Ele’s.
Her mind would not accept what she saw. At first, convinced her computer was playing up, she had spent the evening transferring all the shots onto other equipment. When that hadn’t worked, she had processed the photos through alternate software. No matter what she did, how many times she loaded and reloaded the photos, the outcome was always the same, and it continued to defy her reasoning. What she saw was not possible.
All night, her nerves were on edge as she thought about the photos and what they meant. Consequently, here she was on Ele’s doorstep—again—and out of breath. Though the weather was damp and chilly, a typical November day, Kiernan was hot and bothered. There was no question that she was out of her comfort zone, and her hands felt sweaty as she tightly grasped her laptop to her body. When Ele opened the door, Kiernan realized how much her agitation showed, for she saw the instant look of concern on Ele’s usually serene classic features.
“Something’s wrong.” Ele stated the obvious.
“You have no idea,” Kiernan breathed as she moved into the house without waiting for an invitation.
“But you said all the photos came out.” Frowning, Ele referred to the phone call she’d received from Kiernan that morning. Kiernan had tried to sound composed and reassuring. That hadn’t worked. She had ended up sounding like an alarmist trying not to sound like an alarmist, which of course, had alarmed Ele. Kiernan then insisted she might be allowed to show Ele the photos, that she might then understand what it was she wanted to bring to her attention, what it was that couldn’t wait.
“Go into the sitting room,” Ele said. “Do you want a drink or something?”
Behind the politeness, Kiernan thought she heard the birth of unbridled interest. Ele was hooked on whatever had brought her back for a third time.
A drink? Oh Jesus, yes, she thought. Would it be too soon in the day for a large neat whiskey? But she said nothing, not even bothering to answer Ele’s question. Instead, she scanned the room for a suitable area to place her laptop, to show Ele what had made her drive over here at some ungodly speed and then sprint to the door.
She moved to a small baby grand piano with an attractive embroidered cloth draped over the far end of it that Kiernan assumed was to protect its high polished veneer from sunlight. There she removed a silver photo frame from its top. The photo displayed two women stood together, their arms draped around each other and smiling into the camera. Normally, Kiernan might have given the picture more scrutiny, but right now, she only wanted to switch on her laptop and let the setup program run.
Ele placed an outstretched arm on the piano, leaning casually into it, a mixture of amusement and kind tolerance in her eyes, a warm smile on her full lips. “Okay, you now have my full, unabated attention. What’s this all about? What’s so intriguing about these photographs?”
Kiernan rubbed the bridge of her nose, something she always did when faced with a thought provoking problem, something she couldn’t solve easily. She stared straight into Ele’s eyes, registering how long her eyelashes were. Her demeanor and voice took on gravitas, her desire to explain the seriousness of what her photos exposed. “I knew I couldn’t tell you this over the phone. This is something you have to see, to try to make some damn sense of, because I surely can’t.” Kiernan looked at the screen and began opening the file she needed to show Ele.
She revealed one photo, then another, then a third. All photos were taken by the gazebo and looked as they should, but for one exception. There was a stranger—a man—in the background of them all.
The man stood as solid as any Kiernan might meet in the street. He appeared of average height and slight build, and was neatly dressed—one might almost say impeccably. He wore an overcoat that was either black or very dark gray, and Kiernan could see the white shirt and a dark tie contrasting beneath. His shoes were polished leather, and she considered he looked every inch a gentleman. This mystery man was good-looking with appealing chiseled features. He seemed to be in his mid twenties, with an old-fashioned thin moustache, well groomed dark hair swept back and tight to his head.
However, it was his eyes that frightened Kiernan. They made her think of her mother’s ancestral Irish roots and all the folklore, myths, and legends she’d grown up with. Every macabre, nightmarish, unearthly banshee, troll, and demon had become part of her Irish inheritance. Kiernan had, until now, banished all these from her mind, until she had looked into this man’s eyes. They were dark and intense, so piercing and penetrating…and so focused on Ele in every shot.
Kiernan studied Ele as she stared hard at each of the three photographs, absorbed by what she saw. She moved closer to Kiernan, tight at her side, and with her own fingers now on the keys, moved back and forth between shots, trying to make sense of them. It was a closeness that sparked an unexpected response in Kiernan, one she momentarily delighted in and yet did not want. She forced herself to remain professional and mentally chastised herself for allowing personal feeling to surface. Had she forgotten the pain of recent years so soon?
“Where’d he come from?” Ele asked the golden question that had plagued Kiernan for most of the night. “No one was t
here when these were taken,” Ele quietly stated.
“No, they were not,” Kiernan whispered. “There are others, too.” She took over the keyboard and brought up more photos, all ones in the garden. Again, the man was present. “Every outside shot, our mystery man’s in them.”
“None inside the house?” Ele asked, her voice suggesting she didn’t want to know the answer.
“No.” Kiernan hoped that fact would be reassuring. Something like this in your garden was one thing, but in the house? Not good.
Ele leaned over the laptop, captivated with each photo. Kiernan stepped back to give her the space she needed to scrutinize what she herself had examined in every minute detail since yesterday.
Ele swept hair back off her face, and long, delicate fingers tried to poke it behind an ear, but it fell back again. This time Kiernan noticed a ring on Ele’s wedding finger. For a brief moment, she thought again of the we and who that person might be. There didn’t appear to be any evidence of another person living in the house. Just a cat, and that didn’t count.
Her straying thoughts were interrupted as Ele drummed her fingernails on the piano to some unheard beat. What would Ele make of everything before her? Would she come to the same disturbing deduction Kiernan eventually had?
When Ele’s conclusion came, it wasn’t what Kiernan expected. Ele went rigid as if frozen at the keyboard before straightening her body in an unnatural slow movement. It was like watching someone trying to protect a back injury, except Kiernan knew there was no impairment. Ele stepped away from the piano and turned to face her.
Kiernan noticed the change instantly, a tangible alteration in Ele’s warm demeanor. Her body language now spoke of detachment, an unseen barrier of distance being erected.
