Creature Comforts. Trisha Ashley
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Название: Creature Comforts
Автор: Trisha Ashley
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежные любовные романы
isbn: 9780007580446
isbn:
‘I saw you behind the wheel, that’s what I saw,’ he said. ‘And Harry next to you, with a dirty great branch sticking through him, dead as a doornail.’
I felt slightly sick. ‘Judy said I mustn’t have been wearing a seat belt and was thrown forward, that’s why I had such bad head injuries. But you got me out of the car, didn’t you? Why did you do that?’
‘It was on its side in the ditch and there was an almighty smell of petrol,’ he said shortly. ‘Simon and Cara got themselves out of the back, but I thought the whole thing might go up any minute and better to move you than you be burned to a crisp.’
‘Well … that was kind of you, then,’ I said, disconcerted.
‘Tom turned up as I was getting you out; he’d have done it if I hadn’t.’ He shrugged.
‘Was there anything on the drive that might have made me swerve?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. You probably just came too fast at the dip and then slammed the brakes on. You could have killed my boy, like you killed the boss’s son.’
‘Not on purpose,’ I reiterated, thinking that he himself had actually done all right out of the tragedy, because he’d lived an easy life since Baz moved abroad. And Simon seemed to have got on well too, working his way up the career ladder as a gardener with the National Trust.
‘How’s Simon doing?’ I asked on that thought.
He gave me a darkly glowering, suspicious look. ‘I suppose they’ve already told you he’s head gardener over the other side of the hill, at Grimside, now,’ he said tersely. ‘In charge of that herbarium, or whatever fancy name they’ve called the walled herb garden.’
‘Herbivarium?’ I suggested, and he shrugged.
‘Old Cripchet charges people through the nose to see it, then sells them half-dead plants for stupid prices.’
‘Actually, I didn’t know Simon was there, but I’m glad he is, because I want to talk to him as well. In fact, I’m going to talk to everyone who was there on the night of the accident,’ I said. ‘I should have done it years ago.’
Dan’s face darkened alarmingly and he took a hasty step forward, gripping the shotgun tightly, though more as if he’d like to beat me to death with it than shoot me. That was not a comfort.
‘You leave him alone – you’ll leave us all alone, if you know what’s good for you,’ he threatened. ‘And you’d better tell that aunt of yours to look for another place to take her mutts, because Rufus, the new owner, doesn’t want her on his land.’
Then he turned on his heel and went off up the private path towards Sweetwell, slamming the small wicket gate behind him. I hoped Howling Hetty would get him.
Angry and unsettled, I stared after him until he disappeared among the trees, before carrying on towards the Spring. Goodness knows, I needed soothing even more now than I did before! But on the plus side, at least I’d got the most dreaded interview over with and I now knew that Simon was working within easy reach. I could just walk through the gates like any other visitor to the herb garden and then look for him.
Come to think of it, since Cara had married Sir Lionel Cripchet, I should be able to kill two birds with one stone … or I would, if Cara deigned to acknowledge my existence.
I wasn’t holding my breath on that one.
I hurried down the path as fast as the overgrown bushes and brambles along it would allow, for I now had an almost overwhelming urge to immerse myself in the strangely opaque greeny-blue waters – and not only in my usual ‘wash away my sins’ manner, but now, after the encounter with Dan, a ‘wash that man right out of my hair’ one, too.
The clearing lay dreaming in the crisp April sunshine, the usual hint of magic tingeing the air. Tom’s small stone cottage looked as if it belonged in a fairy tale, tucked behind a white picket fence, with a neat row of beehives at one end and a dovecote at the other, where there was a slight flurry of wings as an occupant exited.
The wild wood pigeons called and somewhere a blackbird whistled sweetly. Then a red squirrel bounded gracefully and airily across the grass, pausing briefly to turn its tufty ears and bright, inquisitive eyes in my direction. I thought there couldn’t be a spot that had more spirit of place – somewhere where the passing of centuries seemed tangible, soft and enfolding. You could feel a connection with the earth, or the life force – or even, if you’d been bashed around the head enough, an inner angelic voice telling you what to do.
Mine was telling me to go and get into the pool.
The stone wall surrounding it was silvered with circles of lichen and I had a plastic token for the old turnstile at the entrance, which had once graced Southport pier. It let me pass through with a well-oiled clanking noise, and once inside, everything was just as it had been on my last visit.
When the Romans rediscovered the pool, they deepened and extended it into a rectangular bath big enough to swim two or three strokes each way in. They’d roofed it, too, and built other rooms off it, heated by an ingenious hypocaust system, but all the stones were taken to make Spring Cottage, and now the only evidence that there had once been a superstructure lay in the hummocky shapes under the short turf.
I climbed up to the cave, took a pointed paper cup from a stack on a shelf inside and had a drink of the water, which tastes weird, though not unpleasant.
Then I changed in one of the wooden sentry huts by the pool, before sliding into the water, which, because I’m so short, came to about shoulder height. I ducked under and it closed over me as softly and silkily as cold milk. Then I turned and floated starfish-wise on the surface and the spring sun fell golden on my closed eyelids.
Debo once told me that the young Roman soldiers would have swum naked, and ever since then I had often thought I could hear echoes of them laughing and chatting … but then other times I’m convinced I can hear faint pagan chanting.
That day I wasn’t aware of any past swimmers sharing the space with me, just the softness of the water on my skin, the sun warming my eyelids and the sweet warbling of birds in the trees.
I always brought my worries and fears to the pool and now I felt them drain away, leaving a sense of peace and lightness behind in their place.
I was prepared to let go of Kieran, too, though not without some regret for the love I’d once felt for him and the hopes I’d had for our future.
He’d seemed such a kind, generous man, easy-going and popular with everyone … except, now I came to think of it, with Debo. She’d flown out to India for a visit just after we’d got engaged and immediately befriended one of the local stray dogs that attached itself to her. She’d decided to take it back home to Halfhidden with her, though of course, she couldn’t do that straight away, and I was left in charge of organising all the vet’s checks and inoculations and the rest of it, until I finally managed to get the dog onto a plane and off to her new life. (She was a sweet golden brown creature СКАЧАТЬ