Kingdom Page 3

  ‘Dawn hung herself less than an hour later, before the police could take her. Thomas disappeared, very effectively too because he hasn’t been heard from to this day, but I guess that wasn’t difficult given the personal fortune he had. The police suspected that he might have had something to do with his wife’s death but no one really had the heart to pursue him. He’d been through enough and anyway, Hill’s testimony was more than the coroner needed to close the case.’

  ‘And that’s when Cristian went to live with his Aunt on the Isle of White.’

  I feel awful as this realization sinks in. When Cristian had abandoned me I had spent the next few weeks writing silly poems about him and scribbling nasty comments on the walls and desks of Hartford junior school. I only stopped when I was threatened with suspension. I want to go back to school tomorrow, find those desks and clean all my graffiti from them or add a note to this generation that I was wrong and that Cristian Chevalier isn’t smelly or mean but kind and handsome and so terribly terribly sad. Suddenly I‘m tired, so very tired; drained by the nervous emotion of the evening and the aching I have to hug Cristian. Dreams are the only option I have to hold him, until tomorrow, so I kiss mum goodnight and go to look for him in them.

  Chapter 4

  Morning brings a clear blue sky and a chilly breeze but no text from Ruby. I’m quite concerned now. Jonathon is worried about his sister too but he knows as well as I do that she is prone to going off the radar every six months or so to spend a couple of days doing god knows what to boyfriend Pete. Having said that, Ruby would normally have gotten in touch, if only to send a row of grinning yellow faces and kisses. Still, if she can’t be bothered to interrupt her love life to say hi to her friend, why the hell should I interrupt mine? Cristian is waiting, gun cocked and ready I hope! This smutty thought stays with me until I reach the gates of Hartford Manor. They are open this time so there was really no need for me to stop on the main road and check before entering the woods. It’s no surprise to me that the place doesn’t feel half as menacing as it did last night. But it is a surprise that the trees are menacing at all and the journey through them is by no means a comfortable one, causing me to glance in the mirrors and out of the side windows more than I would normally do during the forty minutes of M62 to Manchester. It’s about now that I realize why I am here, that I’m committed to spending the next few hours trudging through my nightmare looking for something to kill. Guns and Cristian should be enough to keep me feeling safe though.

  Around the final bend the hunting party is already in full swing; tots of whisky and huge belly laughs being passed around by three men as they lean on Range Rovers and toss treats to the black labradors busy worshipping them. Cristian sees me, straightens his posture, beams a grin and waves. The car has hardly stopped and he is all but dragging me out of it to begin introductions. Not very gentlemanly I must say Cristian!

  ‘Terry, Stan, this is Rose, the lady I was telling you about.’

  Telling them things about me that makes them roar with laughter eh young man? Once again, not the behavior of a Chevalier gent that I‘d been expecting. Do you think your father would…..I stop this playful tease instantly and vow not to even think about thinking about joking with Cristian’s family, no matter how obscure the connection or how funny the gag may be in my head.

  ‘And these two hounds are Bruce and Lloyd. Careful though, I have known them lick a man to death.’

  The dogs are ridiculously welcoming considering that we have only just met but a click of Stan’s fingers is all it takes to control them and they leap onto the tail gate of the lead vehicle, quickly settle down and understand immediately that the serious business of the day is afoot. Cristian puts his arms around my shoulder and leads me to the rear vehicle, opening the door and ushering me in before closing it for me. Now that’s better. As he walks around the front of the car he talks loudly, something about a buck deer that Stan had seen yesterday down by the river. Once he is seated next to me inside the car his macho shouts simmer down and I’m glad to see that it’s me and not the deer that is to be his true quarry today. He leans over and kisses my cheek.

  ‘I really enjoyed last night Rose. I hope you did too.’

  Oh I did boy, and without hesitating I kiss his lips as they retreat to tell him so.

  ‘And I’m not going to let you get away so easy this time mister.’

  Oh my God Rose! What the hell have you just said! Oh right, yeah, because there aren’t many easier ways I can think of to get rid of an annoying seven year old girl. Pulling pigtails probably wins it but it’s definitely a close call between that and arranging to have your mother murder your sister and then hang herself.

  ‘Rose, believe me when I tell you that there’s been hardly a day when I haven’t thought about you, about us even, during the past few years. Your emails, phone calls, texts, they were always the highlight of my day. I could have been only a signature away from closing the deal of my life and I would leave the board room to take your call. And trust me Rose, that has happened!’

  These are the words I want to hear. And okay, Cristian’s declaration of his love for me, (because that’s exactly what he means even if it isn’t what he said) could seem sudden to some but only those who weren’t privy to the calls and contacts that he had just mentioned. They were the essence of our relationship, not last night which was nothing more than an affirmation (for the benefit of that clueless world outside ours) of what we both already knew. How I ever doubted this fact is beyond me but now, having been presented with all the evidence I need, I can finally relax and start to enjoy this very precious thing that I had lost but have now found; Cristian Chevalier.

  My absent dreaminess is snapped back into focus by a sharp blast from the car horn, necessary to move the dogs from our parking spot. We’ve arrived, at the brow of a gently sloping meadow and for a moment I’m hopeful that we won’t be hunting the woodland after all. Stan soon crushes this idea with a point of his shooting stick towards a clump of trees that mark the start of a steep bank, tilted down toward the river. Cristian grabs his gun from the rear seat and steps down from the car. He’s excited again, replenished with macho winks, one of which he throws at me before setting off at a pace. I manage to grab his hand and haul myself after him. It’s not easy to keep up with legs which are so much bigger than mine and I feel like a child again, that is until he stops sharply less than fifteen paces down into the woods. He pulls me toward a low, almost horizontal branch and asks me to hold his gun so that he can use binoculars. I hesitate.

  ‘It’s okay Rose, it can’t go off. See?’

  Cristian waggles the two parallel barrels which are hanging loosely from the stock. I can see the golden discs of powder charged cartridges waiting there ready to murder and it makes me feel uncomfortable. Other than the squirrel, I can’t recall ever seeing an animal die and I hope today is a washout as afar as that goes. I take the gun from him and hold it away from me with two arms outstretched. My stance makes him smile but it isn’t mocking. I hold my breath so as not to be the one who might startle what ever it is that Cristian is scanning for but have to exhale because he seems to be taking ages. I’m actually on the point of boredom and my arms are very tired when Cristian lowers his head a little and motions a slow, flat hand behind him for me to do the same. Or at least that’s what I thought the signal meant and I feel more than a little stupid when he turns and looks down at me kneeling on the ground.

  ‘No Rose, I mean can I have the gun’

  This is going well.

  ‘See that line of trees to our left? Well Terry and the dogs are up behind them on the bank. I think I saw a glimpse of the buck working his way down to the river. Should see him in a moment or …there he is! See him!’

  The animal is magnificent. More than built for the woods, this lad was built by them; huge chestnuts for eyes and stout, moss covered branches for antlers. It’s no good, I’m going to have to say something. Cristian will understand, I’m sure he will,
but as I open my mouth to protest he puts me back in my place.

  ‘Should be a better cut of meat than the venison we ate last night don’t you think Rose? And that was pretty darn good even if I do say so myself.’

  What the hell was I thinking? This whole scene epitomizes the very country life that I’m hoping one day to be a part of. Actually no, this is more than that. This is life itself, nature in its very purest form; eons of evolution helping one species in its quest to be nourished by another. I mean, who is man to deny one of the strongest forces in nature, to deny the hunt? I give Cristian the gun to let him take his place in the food chain and with my action there’s a sudden tension in the air. Everything’s senses ratchet up a notch. The dogs and Terry hold on the bank, perhaps sensed by the deer’s twitching nose. Cristian shallows his breathing and steadies his aim. Stan’s whispered advice doesn’t detract but adds to the anticipation as he points out that the shot is too far, too close to the branches and that a clean kill will need the animal to step another four or five nervous paces into the river. But the deer isn’t moving forward. He’s had enough to drink and is stepping backward, starting a cautious, short step turn that will soon line him up for a bolt back into cover. Stan knows this animal well and his anticipation of losing the kill causes him to swear under his breath (although to his credit he does follow this quickly with a hushed apology). I take his experienced judgment that the shot can’t be made as a signal to relax and stand fully. Cristian knows it too and lowers his head but strangely holds the gun firm and ready to fire. It takes only seconds of him freezing like this for me to think that something more than the spoiled shot is wrong.

  ‘Cristian ? Are you okay?’

  No answer so I step towards him, crunching sticks and leaves so loudly that Cristian’s prey must hear me. Stan stops me. The deer is indeed moving again, only this time towards us! He doesn’t look like the same animal at all now. There’s no skittish flicker of tail or ears. His head is raised and he is taking proud, confident steps, high and graceful hooves that clatter pebbles in the shallow water. Purposeful he seems too, as though none of the natural instincts that surely must be racing through his body can override this march towards his death. Cristian eventually raises head again and the deer immediately begins to come to his senses, flares nostrils and widens eyes as the fear of his open surrounds hits him. But it’s too late. Before the deer returns fully to follow instinct, a thunderous bang drops him to his knees and rattles a thousand birds from their roosts. Only when the last echo has bounced short of my ears and the screeching, flapping bedlam has calmed can the woods return to their preferred eerie silence.

  ‘You are one lucky sod Cristian.’

  This time it’s me who must apologise but Stan doesn’t take any notice and carries on scrambling down the bank to collect the trophy whilst calling back to Cristian at how unbelievably lucky that shot was. Stan’s amazement reinforces my impression that we had both just witnessed something very unusual here and I’m confused.

  ‘Is that normal Cristian? I mean one minute he was going away and the next he….’

  ‘Like I said last night Rose, I find that there aren’t many minds that I can’t bring around to my way of thinking these days.’

  Chapter 5

  I heard a mother lull her bairn,

  and aye she rocked, and aye she sang.

  She took so hard upon the verse

  that the heart within her body rang.

  "O, cradle row, and cradle go,

  and aye sleep well, my bairn within;

  I ken not who thy father is,

  nor yet the land that he dwells in."

  And up then spake a grey silkie

  as aye he woke her from her sleep,

  "I'll tell where thy bairn's father is:

  he's sittin' close by thy bed feet.

  "I am a man upon the land;

  I am a silkie on the sea,

  and when I'm far frae ev'ry strand,

  my dwelling is in Sule Skerry.

  A boat is approaching. Forty miles westward from Orkney it has traveled, lashed by the north Atlantic, a barnacled blue bow battling through the winter surf. The helmsman is struggling to control his craft, desperate to gain purchase with a narrow strip of shingle that rattles its pebbles in annoyance at the foaming waves grinding it. The beach is tantalizingly close and the only landing offered by this remote and ancient isle. For the fishermen who trawl these waters, the lump of guano caked rock that they call Sule Skerry (barely the size of Hartford Manor’s grounds) serves only one purpose; to protect the automated lighthouse that warns them away and guards the entrance to the Pentland Firth. But the man in the boat is no sailor and his purpose is far graver than to trawl herring and toss their guts to gulls. Finally his frustration wins out and he leaps into the freezing foam. Waist deep he drags the boat, scrapes his knuckles on the mollusk infested rocks as he anchors to them. Hands bleeding, stung from salt, the tatty invader continues; suit jacket torn on the left arm when he snagged it on the motor housing, pants ripped for a second time now as he catches a rusty nail whilst clambering back into the boat to collect the most precious of the three pieces of cargo bundled there. The girl, no taller than his waist, is sleeping from freezing exhaustion and he needs to get her somewhere warm quickly. With her hitched across his broad shoulders it isn’t too difficult to carry the short distance over flat topped basalt to an abandoned keeper’s house. The door is open (as he knew it would be) and the kerosene fire on the far side of this cluttered store room (once a rest area for weary lighthouse men) is full of fuel. Placing the girl gently on a pile of sacking he stays low to twist the ignition knob on the burner and the fire lights with the first spark. He pulls back the hood of the girls coat, sweeps salty wet strands of grey hair from her wrinkled forehead and kisses it gently.

  ‘Won’t be a moment princess. You get yourself warm and dry.’

  The second load is much bigger than the first. This one is properly bound in an old sheet, tied around with rope every twelve inches or so. It’s all the man can do to maneuver the load from the boat and so he doesn’t even try to carry it, electing instead to grab the top binding and drag it into the keep. He takes more care to stash it than he did to get it there though, propping it up in a corner of the room furthest away from the fire. A final time he feels the cloth, checks a small slit six inches down from the top to be sure that everything is okay and the right way up. Happy with the examination he leaves once more to collect his third and final load.

  The third load is small, hardly a load at all. It isn’t wrapped and it isn’t heavy so the man can easily raise the cage to his eyes as he carries it across the rocks. Poking a finger through the wire, he touches the furry back of one six rats inside and drags air through lips squeezed tightly enough to make a squeaking sound. The rats show some interest in him but not much until he has them settled on the floor of the keep, chunks of dried food from his pocket popped though the bars. The girl is beginning to wake.

  ‘Are they okay daddy’

  ‘Oh yes love, all of them are fine. You know, I think they might even like sailing.’

  The girl hasn’t decided whether to wake or not and so she only half heartedly groans her protest.

  ‘Not them daddy, the other things. Are they okay?’

  The man leaves the rats to feed and goes to sit on the floor next to his daughter.

  ‘They are princess, absolutely fine. Now you try and rest and I‘ll wake you when it’s time to eat. Bean’s okay?’

  ‘Hmmm, yummy, but tell me again, what colour are they, and I don’t mean the beans silly!’

  The man smiles.

  ‘They’re green princess, like the grass you play on. Now go to sleep.’

  Finally able to relax after years of toil, Thomas Chevalier leans back against the white washed wall of this abandoned building set on the remotest lump of rock in the British Isles and sighs deeply. He’s done it, fulfilled his part of a ghastly bargain. All that remains is
for him to wait for his reluctant partner to arrive and seal the deal.

  Chapter 6

  Tonight is a big night. Cristian phoned me at work yesterday to let me know that he has some people arriving today and that they’ll be staying with him until Friday. From the names he gave, and the way he grouped them, I assumed that they’re in couples; six people in total and all of them friends from his time spent in the Isle of White. I think one of them may have been his auntie and her husband. Anyway, this gave me a huge problem, one of the three biggest quandaries that a girl can have. These are; career or kids (hopefully not going to be an issue for me!), towel or tampon (yuk!) and how long to wait before sleeping with your man. It’s the third one that I’m wrestling with. Now under normal circumstances I’m not the type of girl to be so cold and calculating about passion, wouldn’t give it a thought this early in the morning (after all I’m not Ruby!) but Cristian put me on the spot when he texted me whilst I snoozed this morning. He wanted to know if he should tell his driver to hang around tonight and return me home after the party or not. I can’t decide whether he’s being tricky or remarkably insensitive but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt this time and put it down to a bloke’s immeasurable capacity for dousing the fire with practicalities. Either way it doesn’t help me. I’ve texted Ruby to ask her advice and don’t even know why I’m bothering to wait for a reply because I already know what she would do. Jonathon’s chipped in with his contribution already though and he’s as insightful as ever. Despite being only sixteen, his opinions often make a lot of sense, crude as they sometimes are.