Hold Back the Dark Page 9

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he said again.

  Only last night she had said to Danny, ‘I’m not likely to forget what I owe to Nicolas Dargan,’ for taking Nigel away. But today he couldn’t have been kinder. The Thomases, father and sons, thought she was the girl in his life, and it was fun to pretend to herself that she was, for a little while.

  They drove into the hamlet to the five-barred farm gate. Beside the gate was a white post that would carry a ‘Bed and Breakfast’ sign during the holiday months. Now the chains swung empty in the wind and the whole effect was rather gibbet-like, but the gate was opened by a smiling woman who looked pleased they were here.

  Bryn Thomas introduced her, ‘This is Megan. Meg, Miss Rickard and Mr Dargan. They’ll be wanting a bath and a meal—we can go to that, can’t we?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Megan. She had a pretty lilting voice and she was still a pretty woman, plump and dimpled, and her eyes lit appreciatively at the sight of Nicolas. ‘No trouble at all,’ she said. ‘What you got, then?’ she asked her husband. Mr Mansell and Ralph were undoing the rope to transfer the griffin, and Bryn unwrapped it so that she could see.

  She looked disappointed. ‘Oh, yes—well, very nice.’

  ‘Miss Rickard chose it,’ said Ralph, the younger son, who had his mother’s twinkling eyes.

  ‘Very nice,’ Megan repeated. The wind was rising now so that even down here it nearly had Clarry off her feet. Nicolas caught her and got her back on balance.

  ‘Get inside,’ he said.

  Megan’s skirts were flapping round her legs and she put her hands on her dark curly hair as if it was a hat that might blow away. ‘Come in, my dear,’ she said to Clarry, and drew her through a door that opened into a kitchen.

  Clarry was almost breathless, even from that brief buffeting, and she gasped what any fool could see, ‘There’s quite a gale blowing up!’

  ‘There is that,’ Megan agreed. ‘I was glad to see the lads coming. It’s no place to be up there when it’s gale force.’ She gave Clarry a knowing grin. ‘Although that man of yours looks as if he could stand up to a fair old battering!’

  Clarry smiled, ‘He could take some shifting.’ That little protective move just now had given Megan Thomas the wrong idea too, and it was easy to enter into the spirit of the thing, pretending that Nicolas was her man, although he would have done the same for anyone who had gone spinning in front of him.

  Megan switched on lights as they went, leading the way upstairs and past a number of closed doors. This was a good-sized house. If there were only three of them living here there would be room for tourists, and in the summer it would be brighter and warmer. There was a chill in the air now, and when Megan opened the door of a bathroom it looked clean and cold and unused.

  She got a towel out of a cupboard. ‘I’ll get you some soap,’ she said, ‘and I’ll put a match to the fire in the dining-room.’ She was back with the soap almost before Clarry was out of her coat. ‘I pretty it up,’ she said. ‘Pink curtains and mats and that. I wasn’t expecting anyone, you see.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ said Clarry. ‘Thank you.’

  Everything was lovely today. Finding the griffin was like being granted a wish. It meant there would always be something to remind Nicolas Dargan of her, after the work was done and she and Danny had driven away in their blue and gold van.

  It even meant that she could come back to King’s Lodge. It shouldn’t be too hard to find out when Nicolas was at home, and she could say, ‘I was passing by and I dropped in to say hello to the griffin.’

  The water was warm, not hot but warm enough to get the grime out of her fingernails. She didn’t let it run, it was going to be in demand from other taps, but she washed her hands and her face and then went slowly about getting the tangles out of her hair with a wide-toothed comb and using the limited make-up she carried in her purse—a lipstick and a mascara wand.

  She had brushed the mud marks off the knees of her jeans, and this was the best she could do. When she looked at her reflection she thought she had often looked worse, and she knew why her eyes were brilliant and her lips curved in a pussycat smile.

  I look like the cat with the cream, she thought; or in this case the girl with the griffin. But it isn’t the griffin. It’s being here with Nicolas that’s lighting me up like a Christmas tree. I can’t wait to go downstairs and join him, talk to him, laugh with him, touch him. It was crazy but it was exciting, and she walked along the corridor and down the stairs feeling absurdly happy.

  Megan came out of the kitchen, wearing an overall now, and said apologetically, ‘I’ve lit the fire for you, but it’ll take a while to warm up.’

  The dining-room also had an air of being out of business for the winter. It was a big room and would have looked out up to the rising hills if it had not been getting dark out there. A central light burned and in the tiled fireplace a fire was still smoking and sullen.

  A sideboard, a standard lamp, two armchairs near the window and half a dozen tables with chairs furnished it. On summer mornings, with holidaymakers tucking into their breakfasts, it would be a cheerful place, but now it was uninviting and cheerless. Clarry dropped her duffel coat on to one of the armchairs, although if the room didn’t warm up she would be wearing it again. Her teeth were starting to chatter and she thought, I hope we’re getting hot soup or something.

  A phone rang and stopped ringing and she wondered if she should phone the Lodge and ask to speak to Danny. The housekeeper had heard Nicolas telling Clarry they were going to a sale of garden statuary, but not where it was. Danny might be worrying about her not getting back before now. But somebody must know about the Welsh ironmaster’s garden, Paul Burnley probably, and Nicolas would think she was fussing, and there was always the car phone. She could get through on that on the way home.

  She heard Nicolas’s voice and another man’s, then Bryn opened the door and both men stood in the doorway surveying the bleakness of the room. ‘We eat in the kitchen,’ said Bryn. ‘You’re very welcome to join us.’

  ‘Thank you, we will,’ said Nicolas, and Clarry remembered that it had been warm walking into the kitchen, and she had had an impression of shining copper pans and chairs around a big table as Megan guided her through.

  Megan was in there now, stirring a saucepan on an old Aga stove. The smell was appetising and two more chairs were pulled up, and Clarry and Nicolas sat down with what was left these days of the Thomas family in the family home.

  ‘Just the two, we’ve got,’ Megan told Clarry. ‘Mansell and Ralph, and Mansell’s got his own home now. Bryn was one of ten, so they needed all the bedrooms then, I can tell you! Would you have—?’ She looked at Clarry’s ringless hand. ‘No, I suppose not. No?’

  ‘No,’ said Clarry.

  ‘Ah, well, plenty of time for that,’ said Megan, and Clarry concentrated on a spicy potato soup, anxious not to catch Nicolas’s eye.

  He looked almost immaculate again, although the shirt under the jacket had to be dingy. The old Windsor armchair was big enough to seat him comfortably. The fare of soup and a Welsh hotpot followed by blackberry and apple pie was excellent, and Megan blushed prettily when he told her so.

  He ate heartily and he seemed at home, almost like one of the family. I suppose when you’ve manhandled a monster down a mountainside together it’s bound to give you a fellow feeling, Clarry thought; because Nicolas Dargan and the Thomas men were getting along famously.

  Ralph was talking now almost as much as his father, ranging from Welsh international rugby football to what was going on locally. All the Thomases seemed to have the gift of the gab, Nicolas Dargan could be good company in any gathering, and it was all relaxed and convivial.

  When the talk came round to the sale of the statues they felt they knew Clarry well enough to tell her what they thought of her choice. ‘What are you going to do with a thing like that?’ Megan asked, and she said,

  ‘Put him in a garden.’

  ‘Not my garden!’
Megan gave a little shudder. ‘Give me the creeps, he would! Tell you what I do fancy, though. One of the girls. Look very nice on the patio, one of the girls would.’

  Bryn shook his head. ‘I don’t know about that. Depends what they’re asking for them.’ Clarry could see him wondering if he should ask Nicolas what he was paying for the griffin, and thought it unlikely that a price had been fixed. Nicolas Dargan of Dargan Enterprises took what he wanted and settled later, but no one cheated him, and he would be able to tell them what the sisters might fetch on the open market.

  The phone rang hesitantly, a jangle rather than a full bell, and Megan said, ‘That’s playing up. It started just before you got back.’ She got to her feet and there was silence round the table, so that Clarry was listening to the wind again.

  So were the men. Father and son exchanged anxious looks. ‘It’s out first light,’ said Ralph, and his father nodded. The sheep would have to be accounted for then.

  Megan’s voice reached them from the phone in the corridor just outside the kitchen door. She was not saying much, but what she did say sounded like bad news. ‘Oh, my goodness, I don’t like that. Mansell? You there, Mansell?’

  She came back. ‘That was our Mansell. He says there’s trees down, it’s a bad night to be on the road.’ She was talking to Nicolas. ‘Got to get back tonight, have you?’

  ‘You can put us up?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course I can.’

  He said to Clarry, ‘I’ll ring through.’

  ‘It went dead,’ said Megan. ‘I reckon the lines are down.’

  ‘There’s a phone in the car,’ said Clarry, and to Nicolas, ‘Would somebody tell Danny?’

  Megan’s bright eyes widened and Nicolas said solemnly, ‘She has a grandfather who worries about her.’

  ‘They do, don’t they, the old folk?’ Now Megan’s smile was frankly roguish. ‘Well, he’ll know she’s safe enough with you.’ As safe as she wants to be, the smile said, obviously enjoying every minute. And for a moment Clarry almost felt guilty about that.

  She stood up as Nicolas crossed to the door, with some idea of speaking to Danny herself, but when the heavy old door opened she got the brunt of driving rain and drew back astonished at the wildness out there. Thick walls and the laughter and talk around the table had muffled most of the storm, but nobody would choose to be out on a night like this. There would be accidents. Conditions would be treacherous.

  From the doorway she saw Nicolas getting into the car and Megan put a hand on her arm, pointing out, ‘No sense getting wet through yourself. Handy things, aren’t they, car phones?’

  This one was right now, or poor old Danny would have been pacing the floor all night. He wouldn’t be thrilled, knowing she was with Nicolas, but he would be relieved to hear that she was safe and staying put.

  They left the door open a crack, and Clarry watched through a window. In the light in the car she saw Nicolas talking on the phone, making a brief call, then hurrying back head bent against the wind and the rain.

  He came in shaking the rain from him, and told Clarry, ‘I spoke to Mrs Haines. She’ll tell Danny we’ll be back in the morning.’

  Pictures flashed through Clarry’s mind of how that news would be received at King’s Lodge. The face of the housekeeper, turning from the phone, eager to tell whoever was near her, ‘That was Mr Dargan. They won’t be back tonight. Him and that girl who got soot all over him this morning.’

  Danny’s face, showing nothing, greeting the information with a grunt. And Fiona Stretton glittering with fury, if anyone was rash enough to tell her. Which somebody would, because nobody liked her much, and Clarry smiled. ‘That’s all right, then,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll make up a room,’ said Megan, and Clarry squealed,

  ‘Two rooms!’ Nicolas had just been going to say that. He would have said it quietly and that would have been that, but her shriek made them all smile.

  ‘Separate rooms, of course,’ said Megan, eyes dancing. ‘Well, there’s plenty to choose from if you’d like to come along.’

  Only Clarry followed her upstairs, where she opened a door on a room that was adequately furnished. With no luggage Clarry would not be needing the wardrobe nor the chest of drawers, and the mattress looked new and springy, stripped of bedclothes.

  She said, ‘This will be fine.’

  ‘It’s a nice big bed,’ said Megan. A generous double, Clarry noted. ‘And I’ll put Mr Dargan next door.’

  Clarry was irritated to find herself blushing, but she could hardly explain that Megan was right off the mark, seeing any connection between a big bed in here and Nicolas Dargan only a few paces away.

  All the same, Clarry’s cheeks were hot and Megan must be noticing. She looked as if she was, and suddenly she said, ‘Of course, you won’t have anything, will you, not meaning to stay over, like. Shall I lend you a nightie?’

  ‘That would be kind.’ It was cold up here. Her jeans were grubby, she couldn’t sleep in them, and her undies were skimpy.

  When Megan had gone to fetch some nightwear Clarry began to wonder if she had interpreted that blush as a bashful realisation on Clarry’s part that she would be entertaining her lover nearly naked. If he had been her lover it would have been natural and nothing to blush about, but Megan might think a nightdress was more romantic for starters, especially in this icebox of a room where a naked lady could look like a plucked chicken.

  She came back with two nightgowns, and one could have been part of a trousseau. It was in the palest of shell pinks, full and frilled and beribboned. Clarry exclaimed, ‘This is so pretty!’

  Megan held it up, beaming. ‘I got it for my honeymoon,’ she said.

  ‘Really?’ It looked new.

  ‘When Mansell and Jennie got married just a year ago,’ Megan explained, ‘Bryn and I decided we were due for a honeymoon ourselves. We missed out the first time, you see, got no further than my auntie’s in Cardiff, so this time we went to Paris.’

  ‘Really?’ said Clarry again.

  ‘Just for the week,’ said Megan. ‘Lovely, it was, and I bought myself a few pretty things. You’ll look lovely in this. I didn’t look so bad in it myself.’

  ‘I’m sure you look beautiful in it,’ said Clarry.

  ‘That’s what my Bryn says,’ Megan dimpled, and Clarry thought how sweet it must be to have a man who loved you as a bride after all those years.

  The second nightdress had no glamour at all. It was a warm voluminous winceyette, with long sleeves and buttoned up at the back, much more suitable for the kind of night that was ahead for Clarry. She said, ‘If you don’t mind, I think I’d better take this one. That one’s so special, I’d be scared—’ she hesitated. Scared of what? Having it ripped off her in a moment of unbridled passion? There was no danger of that, but Megan seemed prepared to take the risk, because she looked thrilled.

  ‘You wear it,’ she said, and when Clarry shook her head, ‘I tell you what, I’ll leave them both.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Clarry, and Megan handed over the nightgowns and went to fetch the bedding.

  Clarry helped her make this bed and an identical one in the room next door. Megan obviously thought the second bed was a pure formality, but when it seemed she was going to say something about that Clarry said hastily, ‘I’ve always wanted to go to Paris. Do tell me about it. Where did you stay?’ steering Megan into a happy account of her second honeymoon.

  Megan pulled the curtains together in both rooms, shutting out the stormy night, and left the light on in the corridor. ‘We always let that burn all night when we’ve got guests staying,’ she explained. ‘On account of the stairs, you see.’

  Halfway down the stairs warmth seemed to wrap around Clarry when voices from the kitchen reached her. Nicolas’s voice, deep and amused. Bryn was telling a tale. He went on with it, but Nicolas looked across at Clarry, and as she settled into her chair beside him he touched her hand as if he was glad to see her back.

  They stayed in the kitc
hen. Megan brought out a bottle of homemade elderberry wine which Clarry thought tasted juicy and rich, probably packing a punch, so she made her glass last. Bryn declined it, ‘Never was a wine man,’ and produced a whisky which he poured for Nicolas and himself. Ralph and Megan took the elderberry, and it was cosy.

  Nicolas listened more than he spoke—he always did, Clarry knew that, but it was his personality that kept the talk going. They might not be aware just how successful he was, but they did know he had charm and class and looked like a good man to have on your side.

  He’ll have three more fans here after this, Clarry thought, and Megan has lent me her Paris nightgown so that I shall be warm and happy in that big bed upstairs. The jolt of desire that swept through her knocked her dizzy for a moment. The room shivered, but she sat quite still, trying to listen to Megan who was on about tourists who went strolling into the hills in really nasty weather and needed the mountain rescue team to get them down again.

  ‘No sense at all, some folk,’ said Megan. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me if there’s not somebody up there now.’ There was no let-up in the wind howling round the farmhouse, rattling the door, nor in the sound of rain on the windowpanes.

  When the lights went out it should have been no surprise, but Clarry’s choked cry was immediate and instinctive. They came on almost at once and she quickly changed her expression, blinking instead of staring wildly. There were no further flickers, the lights stayed steady, and it was Megan who reminded her menfolk that they had to be up early in the morning.

  They broke up the party reluctantly, and Clarry was sorry herself to be leaving the warm kitchen. The water was running hotter now, but the bathroom was too cold to strip for a bath. She washed and in the bedroom got into the winceyette nightgown, then jumped into bed, pulling patchwork quilt, blankets and sheets up to her chin. Megan had given her a hot water bottle and said archly and softly, ‘I don’t suppose you’ll be needing this, but take it anyway.’

  Clarry had taken it with a twitchy smile and said thank you and goodnight, and now she couldn’t make up her mind whether to leave it at her feet or hug it, but one thing was sure, she needed it.