Across the Sands of Time (6 page)

The rain had started up again, the stinging drops blending with the tears on Polly's cheeks, blurring the ink on the page so that the words were no longer legible. And still she stood there, her head bowed, until a salt-laden breeze snatched the letter from her grip and carried it away.

 

Thea woke with a start. The dreams again, and so real! She bit her lip, peering around her, reluctant to accept that these strange dips into the past were somehow tied up with the house. The house that was to be her future home. Could she face living here? Did she want to try?

Some superstitious streak deep within her cried out against it. But the real Thea, the sensible down-to-earth side, rose in challenge. All things had a rational explanation and this was no exception.

Getting up stiffly, rubbing her aching neck, she gathered together the material for the kitchen suppliers and left the house.

She drove slowly along the Parade, fragments of the dream still running through her mind, and turned into the street where Dominic lived. On the side lawn Trina was getting to grips with a large marrowbone.

Dominic opened the door.

‘You remembered about the brochures … well, come in. Coffee's brewing.'

It wasn't until she had entered the newly-decorated beamed and flagged-floored living-room that she was swamped by a feeling of déjà vu. She had seen this place only moments ago, when Polly had poured out her troubles to her aunt! Thea swallowed hard, trying to check the peculiar swimming sensation in her head.

‘Hey, are you all right now?' Dominic's soft Irish voice came from what seemed like very far away. ‘Here, sit down, put your head low. That's the way. Better?'

‘Yes, I think so.'

She sipped the water Dominic handed her, avoiding his concerned gaze.

‘I can't think what came over me.'

‘It could be the fumes from the paint. I noticed myself how strong they were. Let me open a window.'

Fresh air rushed in, salty, reviving.

‘I'm fine now, really. What a lovely room. Bigger than it looks from the outside.'

‘Yes, it's a conversion. The big house was made into two smaller ones at the start of the last century. The people I bought this one from made a lot of improvements. Central heating, that sort of thing.'

She hardly took in what he was saying. She did not understand this – any of it. She swallowed again and thought, a little hysterically, what an extraordinary topic this would make for the Historical Society if only she had the nerve to speak of it!

 

Bryony steered her way through the hordes of afternoon shoppers, heading for Grange Road and a place to eat. Normally she met up with Liz for lunch but today the other assistant at the boutique had gone home poorly and the midday break had been delayed waiting for the boss to come and relieve her.

She was rounding a corner when she literally collided with Geoff.

‘Hi, there. Where are you off to in such a hurry?' He laughed.

‘The nearest café. I've missed my lunch and I'm famished!'

‘Me, too. Come on, the Vine's across the road. I'll treat you.'

He ushered her into coffee-scented and discreetly-lit confines of the wine bar and placed their order.

‘This is nice,' Bryony glanced round, relishing having Geoff to herself for once. ‘Do you come here with Thea?'

‘Sometimes. She's got a weakness for the Danish pastries. Want to try one?'

‘Do I!'

Their food came and though Bryony did her best to talk, Geoff seemed distracted.

‘Is something wrong?' she said at last.

‘Sorry. Got things on my mind, I guess.'

‘Well, spill. Tell Aunty Bryony all about it!'

He sent her a smile, quick, apologetic.

‘Oh, you know. Dad laid up, and just when we've increased the milking herd. Can't be helped but the double workload.…'

‘It's worrying for Ma, too. And Thea expects me to drop everything and shop around for fittings for the house. Why it can't all be got from the same place I can't imagine.'

‘Is that what you're doing here now?'

‘No, I've dropped in to see the accountant. Dad offered to come instead but he's not up to it.'

‘I'm truly sorry about your father, Geoff. He's a lovely man.' On impulse Bryony reached across the table and gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze. At that exact moment, unbeknown to the pair at the table, Thea walked by on her way to the kitchen suppliers and happened to glance in.

She stopped short, staring, and then collected herself and hurried on.

‘You have Dominic Shane looking after your cows, don't you?' Bryony continued. ‘He and Thea are getting a bit chummy. I saw them laughing together down by the Harbour House. They didn't see me, though.… Oh, well, I suppose he walks his dog a lot along the estuary.'

Geoff's face tightened. Realizing she had gone too far, Bryony decided on a swift change of topic.

‘Anyway, tell me about the additions to the herd. Have you bought in new stock or are they home-bred cattle you've run on?'

She'd evidently hit the right note. Geoff, coaxed into talking about the subject dearest to him, relaxed visibly and Bryony was astonished at how he made what seemed a dry subject fascinating. Plates cleared, he glanced at his watch.

‘My appointment's at three. I'd better make a move.'

‘And I should get back to the shop. Thanks, Geoff. It's been great.'

‘My pleasure,' Geoff said, smiling.

Outside they parted company. Geoff made his trip to the accountant and returned home in time for milking. He had promised to meet Thea at the Harbour House that evening and was a little late setting off – an all-too-frequent occurrence recently, he acknowledged with a stab of guilt.

On the Parade he passed Dominic Shane, who sent him a smiling salute. With Bryony's words still smarting, Geoff acknowledged it curtly and drove on to the house where Thea was waiting.

‘I'd just about given you up,' she greeted, kissing him. ‘Five more minutes and then I was leaving. I've a show tomorrow, so I need to groom the ponies. How's your dad?'

‘Brighter, I think. The audits were good from the accountant so that's bucked him up a bit.' He glanced into the bare, echoing lounge. ‘Looks great now the walls are plastered, doesn't it? I like the roughcasting between the beams.'

‘Me too. Makes it look more authentic.'

‘Thea, I'm sorry about all this. I fully intended doing more here myself but—'

‘I know, you've got enough on your plate right now.'

Impulsively she gave him a little hug to show that there was no ill feeling. The gesture, so typical of her, only served to increase his present feeling of inadequacy.

‘I saw Dominic Shane on the way up here.'

‘Really? I was at his house earlier. He'd got some brochures for Dad and gave me a guided tour while I was there.'

‘Is that right? You and he seem to have got remarkably friendly.'

Thea looked taken aback.

‘Dominic's our vet. Of course we're friends. Geoff, what is it? Why are you glowering like that?'

‘I just don't like it. After all, we're supposed to be engaged. Oh, I've nothing against him as a vet. We have him ourselves. It's his attitude. Has he been here?'

‘I've shown him round, yes. What's wrong with that?'

‘Depends on the way you look at it.'

‘Like you and my sister, you mean? Oh, don't try and deny it! I saw you together this afternoon at the Vine.'

‘You were in town? Why didn't you come in and join us? I bumped into Bryony on the way to the accountant and—'

‘Oh please. Spare me the lies. I saw you both. She was holding your hand.'

‘Thea, it was nothing.'

‘Oh really? It didn't seem that way to me. I considered the Vine our special place. Bit insensitive, Geoff, to take her there.'

‘It's not as you think. I came across Bryony in town and bought her lunch and that's all there was to it.'

‘But you more or less told me that something at Roseacre couldn't wait. And then I find you eating out with Bryony! What do you expect me to think?'

She took a deep, shuddering breath.

‘It's not working between us, is it? I know you've been under a strain lately and I've tried to make allowances for it. But I feel you've lost interest … in us.'

She looked around the echoing room.

‘Who's made most of the decisions over the house?' she went on. ‘Me! Who's done all the running around and chasing the builders when they've failed to turn up? Me! We never even have a proper evening out any more.'

Once started she could not stop. She was aware of Geoff's incredulity as she removed his ring from her finger.

‘You'd better have this,' she said, her voice wobbling on the brink of tears. ‘We can discuss everything else another time.'

Spinning round, she left the house and ran to where she'd
parked her car. Geoff, collecting himself, went after her, but by the time he had negotiated the piles of builders' rubble and stacks of unused materials, she was already firing the engine.

He stood on the cluttered forecourt, running dismayed fingers through his hair, watching the car go bumping off down the rutted track in a cloud of dust. Presently the dust settled, and there was nothing but the whine of the motor growing fainter, and, overhead, the mocking screech of a lone seabird.

 

The jazz club off O'Connell Street was crowded and noisy. Richard, having checked that the instruments were ready for the second session of the night, elbowed his way to the bar.

‘There you are!' Tracey beamed at him over her tall glass of chilled fruit juice. ‘Everything OK?'

‘Couldn't be better.'

Richard regarded her appraisingly. In her short black dress that glittered when she moved, her dark-red hair upswept, jet earrings bobbing with every vivacious turn of her head, Tracey looked the part of a lead singer.

The Irish were known to be a discerning audience and the roar of applause had been gratifying. Richie Dene and his band, Richard thought with a joyful lift of his heart, were on the road to success!

‘Mind if I join you?'

The sultry tone was arresting. Richard turned to see the young woman who had hit the limelight in the visitor's spot smiling at him. Her close-fitting, off-the-shoulder white dress was in sharp contrast to Tracey's black, and she had a rippling mane of chestnut hair and smoke-grey eyes full of mystery.

‘I'm Aisling Cleary,' she continued.

‘Would that be Ashleen spelt A-I-S-L-I-N-G?' Richard said, aware of the sudden silence of his mates and Tracey's wary attention.

‘It would, so! You're a quick learner, Richie Dene!' Again the lazy smile. ‘And how're you liking Dublin?'

‘Very well – what I've seen of it. And it's Richard, actually,' he countered. ‘Richard Partington. Dene's our stage name. Drink?'

‘A glass of white wine would be perfect. Thanks, Richie.'

Giving the order to the barman, he then did his best to respond to the questions that were fired at him in a voice that slithered like silk around his senses.

No, they weren't planning to stop long in Dublin, the band was due in Wicklow the following week. No, they weren't London based but were from the north-west.

‘A place called Parkgate on the Wirral peninsula. Shouldn't think you'll know it.'

‘Would that be Cheshire?' Interest flickered in the amazing Irish eyes. ‘Oh, but I do. My ex went over to work there. Dominic Shane?'

‘Your joking! Dominic's your ex-what? Boyfriend? … Husband?'

‘Just my ex,' she said with a little shrug of her shoulder. ‘He was resident vet at the Ferlann Ridge Sales.'

‘Was he now!' Richard's mind boggled. He had always suspected there was more to Dominic Shane than met the eye.

Why had he come to Parkgate if he already had such a good job?

The buzzer went then for the second half of the performance and there was a rush for the best seats at the front of the room.

‘See you around.' Aisling's eyes swept the group with a mischievous glance before she slinked off to join her companions.

‘Wow!' the saxophonist said softly, and the other three grinned.

‘That's one trouble!' Tracey muttered with a sideways glance at Richard.

He smiled broadly.

‘You're jealous!'

‘No … I just don't like her type. She's got a good voice, though, I'll give her that.'

‘Absolutely,' Richard endorsed. He turned to the others. ‘Ready? We'll start with that Duke Ellington number….'

Midnight was striking when Richard at last left the venue.

As always the others had gone on ahead and as he came out of the side door into the damp warmth of the autumnal Dublin night he glanced around for Tracey. They always met up after a gig to discuss the performance and iron out any glitches.

Tracey was not there, but someone else was.

Richard's gaze widened as he took in the white-clad form that left the shadow of the building and smiled up at him.

‘Well, hello again, Richie,' Aisling Cleary said silkily.

 

‘Thea darling, what's wrong?' Mae asked breathlessly. ‘I thought you were setting off early to the Gredington Show. When I came down and saw the car and trailer still in the yard I wondered what had happened.'

She had crossed directly to the stables and discovered Thea in Dancer's box, her face buried in the pony's mane, weeping bitterly.

‘Is it Geoff?' Mae enquired gently.

In response Thea held out her ringless left hand. Sighing, Mae fished in her trouser pocket for a clean tissue and handed it to her daughter.

‘It's all gone horribly wrong, Mum,' Thea said on yet another gulping sob. ‘It all started when we began the renovations on the house. Maybe it was the dreams.'