Across the Sands of Time (15 page)

Her young voice was bitter and Mae looked up sharply.

‘Oh? But I thought the three of you were getting on so well at the farm.'

‘Oh, we are! I mean, we don't fall out or anything and Helen's been marvellous to me. Mum, I – I think I'm in love with Geoff. But to him I'm just Thea's pesky little sister. Sometimes I can't bear it!'

Hearing the throb of tears, Mae took her daughter's hand.

‘Darling, I don't think you're seeing things clearly. Geoff's just lost his father. Mike Sanders was a huge presence in his life – in both their lives. The farm revolved around him. He made Roseacre what it is today.

‘Right through the recent farming problems, particularly in the dairy trade, Mike kept their heads above water. They survived when others went under. Geoff's got a hard job stepping into his father's shoes. He's got a lot on his mind, love. I should imagine it's given him a few sleepless nights. Don't you think?'

‘I suppose so,' Bryony said slowly. ‘I hadn't really thought of it that way. Geoff's so good on farm. It doesn't seem a strain to him, though putting it that way, you could be right. Helen once said something similar but I'm afraid I didn't take it on board. You know me!'

‘Yes, I know you!' Mae laughed. ‘I should go on as you are doing, being at Roseacre and not making any demands. Give him time. One day he'll see you differently and, believe me, it'll be illuminating for him.'

Bryony's voice dropped to a whisper.

‘And Thea?'

‘Your sister's got other things on her mind at present.'

‘Like Dominic Shane? Have you heard the rumour that's going round? Apparently there's a question mark over his integrity. Something to do with doping when he worked at Ferlann Ridge?'

‘There'll always be talk, you know what people are. They get hold of a story and then it grows feet and legs. I like Dominic. He seems genuine enough to me.'

‘Me, too and Geoff won't hear a word against him. Says he's a brilliant vet and you know how careful they are at Roseacre as to who looks after their cattle. No, it's the horse people who are spreading the gossip, namely Bob Perrit.'

Mae frowned.

‘I do hope this doesn't mean trouble for Dominic – and for Thea. Oh, dear. You do have to wonder about Dominic Shane though. He could be one of those unfortunates who attract trouble no matter how clever or hard-working they might be. It's what your Gran Dene calls the black dog of fate snapping at the heels.'

‘I hope not. It'll be tough on Thea otherwise. I think she really likes him….'

Bryony drew in a breath and let it out again in a long sigh.

‘Mum, I don't want Thea to think I've fallen out with her. Not that she could be blamed for believing the worst about me and Geoff. But I behaved like an idiot.'

‘No,' her mother said stoutly. ‘You did your best. Call it growing pains. We've all suffered them one way or another. Ah, the kettle's boiling. Fetch the cake tin, please, Bryony, there's a chocolate sponge. What a good thing we Partingtons don't run to fat or we'd never be able to fasten our waistbands!'

 

Thea hadn't quite known what to expect of Ireland. On the Friday evening, Dominic had been waiting for her as the plane touched down. They had driven through the brightly lit streets of Dublin, Dominic pointing out places of interest, Thea craning her neck to see the enchanted city she'd always wanted to visit.

‘We'll come back another time and I'll show you round properly, ' Dominic promised. ‘Look, there's the Liffey. Doesn't the water look black under the sky? That's how Dublin got its name.
Dubh lin
is the Gaelic for black water.'

Thea felt a little shiver touch her.

Soon they were out of the city, leaving the bright lights and heaving traffic far behind, driving through suburbs that were seemingly endless. Then, ahead, Thea saw the glitter of the sea and stretches of pearly sand spiked with dark rocks. Rain pattered on the windscreen and water gushed beneath the speeding tyres.

‘The watery song of Ireland!' Dominic laughed. ‘Don't worry. It'll clear up. Tomorrow is going to be fine.'

‘I'm more concerned about here and now Dominic, where are we heading?'

‘A little place on the Wexford coast I thought you'd like. It's an old fishing lodge turned into a hotel. I've made it my base for now. Anyway, I had to find somewhere that would take Trina.'

Thea looked over her shoulder at the dog who lay sprawled on the back seat, dozing blissfully.

‘She seems in her element.' She looked back at the man by her side. ‘Dominic, what's all this about?'

‘Patience, girl.' He smiled. ‘We're nearly there. Let's get you settled in and then I'll explain.'

They pulled into the forecourt of a quaint white-walled building where lights spilled out on to the wet flagstones. Inside, sound was muted, faces welcoming. Over a delicious meal in the low-ceilinged dining-room to the lilting background of an Irish harp, Dominic told Thea about his meeting with Murty Miles.

‘Murty's a great fellow. No one could condone what he did but … well, money's a great temptation to anyone and at the time he was in desperate straits. And now there's his health problem. He's in a bad way, Thea. You have to make allowances.'

Thea gave a slow nod.

‘So what now?'

‘I've already spoken with the Irish Jockey Club. They've agreed to put things in motion. It'll be more a formality than anything. My name will be officially cleared and I'll be free to come back here to work if I so wish.'

‘I see. And … Aisling?'

‘Thea.…' Dominic reached out and covered her hand with his. ‘Whatever Aisling and I had, it's over. She's accepted it. There's no reason why we can't stay friends and one day I'll introduce you. But not just yet, I'm thinking. Meanwhile.…'

The deep blue eyes that held hers spoke volumes.

‘Let's get this business with the Jockey Club over with,' Thea said, a little breathlessly. ‘It'll be easier to think straight then.'

‘That's true.' Smiling, Dominic withdrew his hand and sat back in his chair. ‘So, have you heard anything from that brother of yours lately?'

‘We keep in touch.' This was safer ground. Thea fought to
control her treacherous emotions and won. ‘Mum and I miss Richard lots. Dad too, though he'd never admit it. According to the reviews in the jazz columns, the band's going from strength to strength. Have you heard their album?'

‘I'd have a job not to.' He grinned. ‘Every time I turn on the car radio some DJ or other is playing a track from it. Tracey Kent looks like having a hit with that number of hers.'

Thea nodded.

‘“Stardust”. She used to sing it back at the Parkgate club.'

‘I know.'

‘The band is still here in Ireland. Somewhere.'

‘I know,' he said again, pausing, laughter in his eyes. ‘What if I were to tell you there's another reason for dragging you out here rather than staying in Dublin?'

Picking up the house menu from the table, he turned to the back page and pointed.
Special Entertainment
, Thea read silently.
Saturday, November 25. The Richie Dene Band and Tracey Kent
.

‘That's tomorrow!' Thea cried. ‘It never entered my head I'd see Richard while I was here. Oh, wow!'

T
hea sat in the window embrasure of her hotel bedroom, gazing quietly out into the silent Wexford night. An almost full moon bleached the landscape of colour. To the right, the forest was a black line etched against a sky scattered with stars, whilst on her left, the sea broke gently on to the pebbly shore.

She had forgotten how evocatively beautiful Ireland was and felt moved to wonder how Dominic could ever have walked away from all this. It couldn't have been easy.

It dawned on Thea, suddenly and with a tug of pleasure, that in the few short hours she had been here she had fallen deeply in love with the country.

With Dominic, too. But that had been a more gradual process, an unfurling. First had come attraction, then friendship, and now this heady feeling that left her breathless and not altogether in command of her emotions.

Below, within the hotel grounds, lights spilled from some of the windows of the row of timbered cabins where guests who had their dogs with them were accommodated, the main premises being kept for those who did not.

‘Cosy we are, Trina and myself,' Dominic had said as they lingered, relaxed and replete after an excellent meal, over liqueurs and coffee in the hotel lounge.

‘Just as well, as it's turned out. I could be over here for quite some time.'

Thea had been astonished at how his words had affected her. Parkgate and no Dominic seemed an unthinkable prospect. No
coming across him walking the dog along the estuary, no willing help to be had with one of her wayward ponies … no looking out for his tall figure at the History Society meetings.

Dominic now felt very much part of her life and all at once the weeks stretched bleakly ahead.

‘I'll miss you,' she'd said impulsively, and Dominic had smiled, little creases appearing round those amazingly blue eyes.

‘That's great! But what's to stop you from coming out here at weekends?'

‘Well, a number of things,' she replied ruefully, her heart lifting that he wanted her here at his side.

‘I couldn't expect Dad to keep seeing to the ponies. He's not all that comfortable with them and he's bound to grumble. Mum's fine with them and I know she'd stand in if I asked her, but it wouldn't be fair. She's got enough on her plate.'

‘Pity that little sister of yours isn't around,' he mused. ‘Still, I dare say we could find a way round that.' Dominic held her gaze, lighthearted, teasing.

‘So what else is keeping you at Parkgate?'

‘School. The Christmas term is so demanding. Plays, children's parties, carol concerts – you know. I often wonder how we fit it all in but we do, somehow.'

‘Do you like teaching?'

‘Well … yes, I suppose.'

Even to her own ears she sounded doubtful and made an effort to be more positive.

‘Yes, I do. The day-to-day routine can be tedious, though that can be said of any job. I wouldn't mind a change of school but … I don't know. It's convenient where I am. I remember how thrilled I was at getting the post. It's five years ago now. Seems longer.'

‘Would you consider going away?' Dominic asked. ‘A teacher friend of mine went out to Canada on a twelve-month exchange. He liked it so much he stayed.'

Thea swallowed. That wasn't exactly what she had thought he was going to say and the sense of despondency and disappointment
that ripped through her was disturbing. Did he want her around or didn't he? The uncertainty was agony.

‘No, I wouldn't go down that route,' she said. ‘I know there are great opportunities to be had overseas, but I wouldn't walk out on Mum and Dad right now. It would be too much after what's happened with Richard and Bryony. The time to do it was straight after finishing university.'

‘Have you any regrets?'

‘Perhaps, just a few. At the time the decision seemed the right one. Geoff was around then of course. And I was able to have the ponies and do the showing circuit – something I'd always wanted to do. Anyway, I've liked being at home. I've never been very adventurous!'

‘Depends how you define adventurous.' Dominic laughed. ‘I'd call tackling the pony showing circuit enterprising. Anything to do with horses is. Speaking for myself, I've had enough “adventure” to last a lifetime!'

Thea looked at him, her blue eyes full of empathy.

‘What happened to you was one of those horrible quirks of fate that takes matters entirely out of your control. But it'll get sorted, Dom. Then you'll be free to start again.'

‘It was my belief that I'd already done that. I like the Parkgate job, get on fine with my colleagues and the work's interesting. It's a growing practice. There could be a partnership in the offing if I play my cards right.'

‘You'll stay on, then? You may feel differently when your future is more … settled.'

‘Think so?' he'd said obtusely, sending her a burning glance that had brought a wave of colour to her face and made her thankful for the concealment of soft lighting and flickering firelight.

They'd stayed on, talking and sharing viewpoints, touching on subjects Thea had never before aired or even thought to. What surprised her was how in tune they were. It had never been like this with Geoff. That had been a relationship based on mutual liking, familiarity and similar backgrounds. That was all.

Marriage with Geoff would have been predictable and safe.
She'd have done her best to be a good wife to him. They'd have settled into the same comfortable routines she had recognized and admired in Geoff's parents and in her own.

This – Dominic – was something entirely different and so exciting she wanted to hold her breath lest it should be suddenly snatched from her.

The clock had chimed the witching hour and Dominic, saying he should give Trina a last run before retiring, had kissed her goodnight and left.

Thea had come straight up to her room and prepared for bed. Now, sitting at the window, washed by wintry moonlight, the memory of his kiss burned on her lips.

Catching the end of her long plait of hair, she twirled it absently. So much had been said over the course of the evening … and so much left unsaid. She hadn't spoken of the snatches from the past that dogged her sleep, sapping her energy and making her wonder if she were losing her wits.

Once, several weeks ago now, she had been going to tell Dominic about the dreams. They had gone to the Thatch at Raby with the intention of each spilling out their innermost problems. Dominic's confession had turned out so startlingly serious that by comparison the dreams – or ‘timeslips', or whatever they were – had seemed harmless and rather insignificant, and she'd glossed over them.

But not before Dominic, with the reassuring insight of the true Celt, had put it simply.

‘You must listen to the dreams, Thea. Sure, they could be trying to tell you something.'

A cloud sailed over the moon, flinging the sea and land into shadow. Yawning, Thea rose and went to bed. She had thought that here, away from Woodhey and all it represented, she would get some respite from those startling glimpses into the past. But the dreams came as they always did, plunging her back to when Parkgate had a thriving fishing community and the Harbour House was the tavern which served it.

With deft, powerful strokes, John Royle guided the boat in to slide against the Parkgate quayside. Heedless for once of the catch of mackerel and herring in the hold that comprised his livelihood, he seized the painter and sprang ashore.

With the tide almost at full, the boat rode barely a couple of feet below the quay and John, pausing only long enough to loop the painter round a bollard and secure it, headed off towards the tavern, leaving the boat – and the fish – bobbing idly on the water.

It was no good. Throughout the long hours of the night as he emptied his nets and recast them, John's mind had dwelled on Polly and what a fool he had been to let her go so readily.

Never once had he balked at wrestling against the sea at its most rough and dangerous, and yet when it came to the girl he loved and the prospect of her being given in wedlock to a man he considered his better both socially and financially, his nerve had failed him and he had backed down.

Polly had upped and fled and now he had no idea where she could be. But he'd find out. He surely would!

In the tavern yard, the stagecoach had arrived and the lad was changing the team. The new horses, fresh from the stable, snorted and stamped as they were hitched to the carriage, keen and ready to be away. In the doorway of the tavern, a handful of disgruntled travellers looked equally anxious to be gone, if for a different reason.

‘Disgraceful! The worst night's lodging I have ever experienced, ' muttered a middle-aged man whose coat of fine grey worsted, plain cravat and smoothly fitting breeches and highly polished footwear declared him not short of a coin or two.

‘I shall not be stopping at this establishment again.'

‘Nor will I.' His travelling companion, an older fellow in a tattered periwig, beribboned coat and breeches and high boots, gave a disparaging sniff. ‘Man and boy, I've stopped off at the Harbour House on my way to Chester. Never again! The food! Not fit to throw to a dog! And as for the bed.…'

He scratched suggestively at his wrist.

‘'Tis said the landlord's wife is sick to dying,' a gentle-faced lady
proffered. ‘One must make allowances, I suppose. But dear goodness me, how glad I shall be to get home!'

‘Passengers aboard!' the coachman hollered, and the small body of people surged forward and boarded the vehicle, pushing ill-temperedly in their eagerness to be free of the place where they had spent such an uncomfortable night.

Waiting till the coach had rumbled out of the entrance, John crossed the straw and dung strewn yard and entered the premises of the tavern by the rear door. In the kitchen, a scarlet-cheeked maidservant was stirring a large black cooking pot that hung over the blazing fire.

Piles of dirty platters and pots littered every surface and the floor was thick with trodden-in mud and spilled food. From the tap-room beyond issued a loud lamenting from whom John rightly judged to be the landlord.

‘Listen to him!' The maid sniffed. ‘Madam's taken a turn for the worse, and it's only now hit him that she's bad. And not likely to get over whatever it is that ails her, poor lady! Have you brought the fish?'

‘I'll see to it later.' John had stopped in his tracks. ‘Mistress Dakin is worse, you say? Have they sent for Polly?'

‘No, nor is it likely. Don't know where she is, do they? Morning, noon and night the master's bewailing the fact. But he's only got himself to blame. I'd have done the same in her shoes and made myself scarce.'

‘Surely someone here must have an inkling as to where Polly is?' John pressed.

The girl shook her head and a few greasy strands of hair came adrift from her cap. She shoved it back, scratching absently.

‘She could be dead and gone for all we know. Never a word has there been. Never a word!'

At that moment the cooking pot boiled over with a hiss that threatened to put out the flames, bringing the girl's attention abruptly back to the matter in hand. Seizing a cloth, she pushed the pot off the fire.

‘Landlord's through there if you want him,' she said, with a jerk
of her head. ‘Not that you'll get much sense out of him. Don't forget the fish, will you? I'll need it for the stew.'

Moving on to the tap-room, John stood in the doorway and surveyed the scene before him. The low-beamed and flag-floored chamber, whilst displaying a masculine rough-and-readiness, had always been spick and welcoming, with a good fire burning and clear evidence of spit and polish.

Now, it was in a similar state to the kitchen. Used tankards littered every surface and a great deal of the floor space. A dismal fire struggled for life in the wide inglenook. There was a sour smell of strong ale. At a low table smeared with food and drink, Wallace Dakin sat with his head in his hands, mumbling and groaning and seemingly oblivious to all around him.

John cleared his throat, causing the man to glance up blearily.

‘Who is it? Oh, it's you, Royle. What d'you want?'

John regarded the landlord with a mixture of pity and exasperation.

‘Man, look at you! This won't get you anywhere, will it?'

‘So what would I care, eh?'

Wallace picked up a jug at his elbow, righted an overturned beaker and poured a generous helping of the liquor, slopping it carelessly.

‘Sit down, lad. Have a drink. It's good French brandy. You won't get better.'

‘Ssh!' John cautioned, casting a furtive glance around. At this time of the morning the place was deserted, but voices carried and anybody could have been passing.

Common knowledge though Wallace's sideline was, such talk was dangerous. Those who benefited were adept at turning a blind eye; others knew better than to open their mouths. A few – a very few, it was true – had no such qualms. Tempting gains were to be had for certain information. John could have named one or two who'd have no qualms at seeing the Harbour House go under.