The Warrior’s Princess. Barbara Erskine

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      Someone had mended the broken window. Dan stood on the terrace looking at the clean pane of glass glittering in the afternoon sun. There was a small smear of putty in one corner. He scratched at it thoughtfully with a fingernail then turned to stare out across the garden. A slow tour of the entire property made it clear that she had gone. There was no sign of the car and his careful scrutiny of the rooms through the windows showed the house tidy; empty. He could sense the emptiness all around him.

      He retraced his steps grimly to the front door and felt in his pocket for the keys; the spare set of keys he had found hanging on the hook in the kitchen before he left to face the wrath of his wife.

      ‘For God’s sake, you might have told me you were going to be away all night!’ Natalie’s voice replayed in his head yet again and he frowned in irritation. ‘I was imagining all sorts of things. You might have been in an accident!’ Then she had paused. Her eyes had narrowed. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me you were book shopping again. But you weren’t, were you! You spent the night with her, didn’t you! You bastard! I might have known. You weren’t book shopping, you were shagging the English teacher!’

      He had denied it of course, again and again and eventually, he thought, she had believed him. But he had to make sure Jess didn’t rock the boat. A bead of sweat appeared on his upper lip. He could not afford to wreck his marriage. Not now, not with his career poised to take off. Not ever.

      Standing at the foot of the stairs he glanced up towards the landing. A stray beam of sunlight illuminated the ceiling, and spotlit the painting on the wall, an ink and wash scene of jumbled stones and yew trees not unlike the scene he could see from the window as he walked slowly upstairs.

      The bedroom door was open. He walked across and stared in. She had left no personal belongings there. The cupboards and drawers were empty, the chest of drawers had no clutter to show where her combs and cosmetics had lain. He went over to the bed, neatly made with an immaculately smooth patchwork quilt and with a sudden rush of anger bent to tear off the covers. He fell to his knees and pressed his face into the sheets, inhaling the faint scent of her body, almost masked by the odour of whatever laundry rinse had been used in Steph’s washing machine. Digging his clawed fingers into the pillows he groaned. The silence of the room seemed to thicken as he knelt there and he shivered. And after a moment or two he looked up.

       Where are you? Can we come out now?

      The child’s voice was very faint.

      He clenched his fists into the sheets.

       Where are you?

      ‘No!’ His face a rictus of fear and anger, he staggered to his feet. Hurling the pillow across the room, he threw himself at the door and out onto the landing.

      In the kitchen he paused, trying to calm himself. Imagination. That’s all. Stupid imagination. A reaction to Jess’s insane behaviour. For a moment he had felt as though some alien force had gripped him. An anger like nothing he had ever experienced. He walked over to the sink and bent over it, splashing some cold water onto his face. He had to get out of there. Fast. And get back to Shrewsbury before Natalie became suspicious again.

      As he headed for the door his fingers brushed against the bunch of keys in his pocket and he drew them out. Jess had gone for good. That much was obvious. He was not going to need them again. Better to hang them back where they were on the hook. Leave no sign that he had been here. He walked over to the notice-board and stood staring at it. Someone had left a note there he hadn’t noticed before. KIM ‘S NUMBER, it said. Followed by a string of figures. Kim. He smiled grimly. Was that where Jess had gone? It was obvious when he thought about it. She thought she could run away from him. Hide. Tell her sister a pack of lies about him. She had forgotten he had known Kim almost as long as she had; that Kim had even fancied him once, long ago, when they were all at college together. He scowled and reaching for the phone put it to his ear. The dialling tone confirmed that it had been reconnected. Only one way to tell where Jess was now and how much she had told them. Slowly he began to punch in the numbers. If she could get an invitation to Rome, so perhaps could he. He looked down at the keys, still in his hand. Perhaps he would keep them after all. Who knew when he might need them again.

      ‘So, where do you suggest I start my research?’ Jess directed her question at Kim as the four of them sat down to eat that evening. She helped herself to a chunk of focaccia from the bread basket.

      Kim shrugged. ‘How on earth would I know? Have you looked on the net? Libraries? Museums? Roman remains?’ She reached into the oven with her padded gloves and produced a bubbling dish of cheesy pasta. ‘We do all those in spades in Rome.’ She slid the dish onto the table and chucked the gloves onto the worktop behind her. ‘OK. Eat, bambini!’

      ‘Have you heard your ghostly voice since you’ve been here?’ Will asked thoughtfully.

      Jess glanced at him suspiciously. ‘No. Or, only in a dream.’

      ‘So, she hasn’t followed you.’

      Jess shook her head. ‘Ghosts don’t do that, do they? Aren’t they tied to specific places?’

      They all shrugged.

      ‘We need an expert on ghosts,’ Steph said with a smile.

      ‘Carmella!’ Kim exclaimed. ‘She СКАЧАТЬ