The Ghost Fields (Ruth Galloway) (34 page)

Neither of them speaks much on the drive. Judy has her eyes shut and appears to be asleep. Ruth is thinking about her conversation with Frank last night.
I might even be able to stay for good . . . if you wanted me to.
Does she want Frank to stay for good and what did his offer actually mean? He explained that he was taking a break from TV and planning to write a book. The tenants would be leaving his flat in Cambridge and he could easily come to England and write ‘for six months or so’. The fens, he thought, would prove a great inspiration. And Ruth? Would she inspire him? Maybe she could even make a start on her own book, the sequel to
The Tomb of the Raven King
. Maybe they could work together, exchanging proofs and reading their work in progress to each other. ‘There would be no point in me staying,’ he’d said, ‘if you didn’t think that there was some future for the two of us.’

Did she think they had a future? She had been so used to thinking of their affair – if it is an affair – as a time-limited thing, a holiday romance if you like. And now it has become something altogether more serious. At least Frank isn’t suggesting that they move in together but, even so, he is certainly implying that their futures are in some ways interlinked. Are they? And what has this to do with her embarrassing fantasy of marrying Nelson? ‘Do you, Ruth Alexandra, take this man . . .’ She brakes fiercely to avoid a puddle and Judy wakes up.

As they park on the grass verge by Blackstock Hall, geese swim serenely on a lake beneath the trees. But surely there wasn’t a lake there before? Wasn’t that the field where cars were parked on the day of the funeral?

‘Blimey,’ says Judy, rubbing her eyes. ‘Did the house always have a moat?’

Ruth looks across at the Hall. The streams that used to criss-cross the fields have merged to form a sea of water, black and sinister in the evening light. The house now stands on an island, like a lighthouse or a ruined castle. Although there are lights at the windows, the whole place has suddenly taken on an uninhabited aspect. It feels like the last place in the world to attend a party.

‘Shall we go round to the back door?’ says Ruth.

The south side of the house is dryer and the driveway is clear, although they have to skirt several large puddles. It’s now too dark to see much but there’s a feeling that the water is very near, lapping at the edges of the kitchen garden. It’s still raining hard.

Ruth knocks on the stable door and Sally answers almost immediately. She is smartly dressed in black with pearls round her neck.

‘Thank goodness you’ve come,’ she says. ‘Nell and Blake are stuck in London. Apparently the trains are all up the spout. And the film people are having a meeting at the Le Strange Arms, though they should be along later. I hope so. There’s enough food and drink to sink a ship.’

Under the circumstances, it’s not the best of metaphors.

The drawing room has obviously been tidied up for the party. The firelight glitters on the rows of glasses and cool jazz ripples from Chaz’s iPod. Old George is wearing an actual dinner jacket and bow tie. He beams at them with the most warmth he’s ever shown.

‘Welcome, ladies. What would you like to drink?’

Ruth and Judy are a disappointment in this respect. They both opt for orange juice but Chaz, who brings the drinks, compensates by adding ice, lemon and a cocktail stirrer.

‘Where’s Cassandra?’ asks Ruth.

‘Oh, she’s coming with Dave,’ says Chaz. It takes Ruth and Judy a few beats before they realise he means Clough. Young George, also in black tie, hovers around with trays of canapés.

‘Where’s Frank?’ he asks Ruth. ‘Is he coming later?’

Ruth doesn’t like to think that she and Frank come as a package. ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘I presume he’s coming with the TV crew.’

‘I hope they get here,’ says Chaz. ‘Cassie texted to say that the A17 was already pretty bad.’

Ruth looks at Judy. Neither of them wants to get trapped at Blackstock Hall. In the silence that follows Chaz’s remark they can hear the rain falling outside.

‘Don’t worry,’ says Young George. ‘If it gets too bad, you can always stay the night here. We’ve got plenty of room.’

That’s what I’m afraid of, thinks Ruth.

Michelle and Tim are also listening to the rain. They are lying on a four-poster bed in a luxurious country house hotel, an open bottle of champagne on the bedside table. There’s a free-standing copper bath at the end of the bed. ‘I can run it for you if you like,’ the porter had said, rather lasciviously. ‘Rose petals and everything.’ ‘That’s OK,’ said Tim, giving the man an over-large tip just to get rid of him. ‘We can manage.’

But, having gone to extraordinary lengths to plan this night away, the lovers seem slightly at a loss as to what to do next. Tim thinks that they should have sex, get the moral hurdle over with, then go out for a meal. It’s only five o’clock after all. Michelle is staring up at the draped canopy It’s hard to know what she’s thinking.

Tim raises himself on one elbow and strokes her hair.

‘I can’t believe we’re really here,’ he says.

‘Nor can I,’ says Michelle. There is nothing in her tone to indicate whether the realisation is a dream or a nightmare.

‘And we’ve got the whole night,’ says Tim.

Michelle looks at him, saying nothing. There’s a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose that he’s never noticed before.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ says Tim, kissing her neck and sliding his hand downwards.

He hears her breath quicken and, for a few minutes, it seems as if he will get his reward for all the months of patient waiting in car parks and jacuzzis. Then Michelle sits up, doing up her silk blouse.

‘No,’ she says. ‘I’m not ready.’

Tim counts to ten under his breath. ‘What do you want to do then?’ he says, trying to sound understanding and not resentful. ‘We can hardly go out for a walk in all this rain.’

‘We could have tea in the garden room,’ says Michelle. ‘It looked really nice on the way in.’

Tim had hardly noticed his surroundings. He had been so eager to get into the bedroom and consummate their non-relationship. He feels that he has drunk more tea over the last year than ever in his life. He honestly thinks that if he doesn’t have sex with Michelle soon he will die of frustration.

‘OK,’ he says, breathing hard. ‘Let’s go and have some tea.’

At Blackstock Hall, the rain continues to fall. Ruth has discussed the Bronze Age with Young George and the
Antiques Roadshow
with Old George. Judy and Chaz have shared memories of growing up in the King’s Lynn area. Now an uneasy silence reigns in the drawing room. Sally enters, wearing an apron over her smart black dress.

‘There’s food in the dining room. Why don’t you have some before the others arrive?’

Ruth doesn’t think she can be the only one to doubt whether the others will ever arrive. Nevertheless she likes the idea of some food. She and Judy follow their hostess into the dining room.

This room faces east and the curtains are open. Ruth goes to the window and gives a gasp. The kitchen garden, the orchard wall and the family graveyard have vanished and rolling towards the house is a long silent wave of water.

Old George is looking over her shoulder. When he speaks, his voice has a kind of fatalistic hysteria.

‘The sea’s rising,’ he says. ‘It’s my mother’s curse. We’re all going to be drowned.’

Frank, Paul and Earl stand in the porchway of the Le Strange Arms, contemplating the flooded car park.

‘There’s no way you can drive the limo in this,’ says Earl. ‘It’s a goddamn deluge.’

‘What about the party?’ says Frank. ‘They’re expecting us.’

‘I’m sure Ruth can cope without you,’ says Paul. ‘If she’s got any sense, she’ll have stayed home anyway.’

Frank doesn’t answer. Although Paul hasn’t said anything, Frank knows that he’s angry with him for ending the relationship with Gloria. For his part he hopes that Ruth has stayed at home. He doesn’t like to think of her stranded at the Hall, surrounded by mad Blackstocks, worrying about Kate.

‘I’m sure you guys can stay at the hotel tonight,’ says Earl. ‘They’ve had a few cancellations, what with the weather and everything.’

Paul turns to accompany the producer inside but Frank stays under the porch trying to get a mobile phone signal. It suddenly seems vital to contact Ruth.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Ruth. ‘I think we should leave.’

‘But you’ve only just come,’ says Sally.

‘Look at all that rain though,’ says Ruth. ‘And I’m sure it’ll be worse on the coast road.’

Given that Old George is still going on about drowning and floods and Sodom and Gomorrah, Sally can hardly argue. She fetches their coats and accompanies them to the back door.

‘Drive carefully,’ she says.

‘I will,’ says Ruth. She is relieved to see that the driveway is still above water. Will her car be all right? They must hurry. As she steps outside, her phone pings. It’s a text from Frank.

Are you at blkstk hall? floods here. pls take care. ring me.

I’ll ring when I get home, she thinks. Back to Kate and safety. She and Kate might even stay at Cathbad and Judy’s for the night. If they really are flooded, it would be cosier to be with other people. Bob is back from his travels and he’ll feed Flint.

‘Are you ready?’ she asks Judy.

Judy is standing in the kitchen doorway, clutching Sally’s arm.

‘I’m really sorry, Ruth,’ she says. ‘I think my waters have broken.’

CHAPTER 32

Ruth stares at Judy in horror. ‘They can’t have,’ she says. ‘Cathbad said the baby was going to be late.’

Judy gives her a twisted smile. ‘Cathbad was wrong.’

He can’t be, is Ruth’s first incoherent thought. He’s never wrong. She stands rooted to the spot as the rain runs down her face.

Luckily, Sally takes charge. ‘Come and sit down,’ she says, leading Judy back into the kitchen. And, although re-entering the house feels like the very last thing in the world that she wants to do, Ruth follows.

Judy is sitting on a chair by the Aga, breathing hard.

‘Are you having contractions?’ asks Sally briskly. ‘How far apart?’ She turns to Ruth. ‘Don’t worry. Remember, I told you I used to be a nurse?’

Of course. A wave of relief rushes over Ruth. Sally used to be a nurse; she can take charge. Oh, how could she ever have thought Sally vague and ineffectual? The woman is an angel.

‘I’ve been having twinges all day,’ says Judy, ‘but I thought they were just Braxton Hicks.’

Having twinges all day! Ruth can hardly believe her ears. How could Judy have let them come here, to this house in the middle of the flood plains, knowing that she was having labour pains? Not for the first time, Ruth wonders if all police officers are certifiably mad.

‘How far apart are they now?’ asks Sally, draping a towel over Judy’s lap.

‘I don’t know,’ says Judy. ‘Maybe five or ten minutes.’

‘Are they getting stronger?’

‘Yes,’ says Judy, her eyes wide. She looks at Ruth. ‘I’m sorry. I should have said.’

‘It’s OK,’ says Ruth. She comes forward to hold Judy’s hand.

‘Time the next contraction,’ says Sally. ‘I think we should get you to hospital. We’ve got time if we go now.’

‘But what about the floods?’ asks Judy, squeezing Ruth’s hand tightly.

‘Chaz has got a four-by-four,’ says Sally. ‘That’ll get through. But you need to go now. I’ll fetch him.’ She hurries out of the room.

The pressure on Ruth’s hand becomes unbearable. ‘Are you having another contraction?’ asks Ruth. There’s no answer but Judy is breathing heavily, her eyes on the ceiling. What did Sally say? Time it. Ruth looks at the clock on the wall.

Chaz and Sally are back before the contraction is over. How long was it? Four minutes? Five? Ruth doesn’t know.

Chaz, like his mother, is wonderfully calm. ‘Ready for the hospital shuttle? I’ll go and fetch the car. Don’t worry, my jeep’ll get through anything. It does smell a bit of pig though.’