Don't Look Back (24 page)

A note had been posted when I was showering. It said just two words –
breakfast outside
. I opened the door. On the step had been left a small basket filled with bread rolls, jam, butter and coffee. James was nowhere to be seen, but I sat on the cool stone breaking the crusty rolls into pieces and smearing them with jam. I had company. The birds and hares were tame, eagerly pouncing on any dropped crumbs.

I took a deep breath and got out my phone. I had to get in touch with Harry. I composed a text telling him that I needed some space to get my head sorted and to solve Patrick's disappearance. I'd be in touch soon.

On my way to Benedict House I looked for Eurydice and stopped dead. She was visible again, but this time from the other side of the bush. James had clearly been busy. He was determined she should be reunited with Orpheus and must have been moving them closer. Or was he moving them towards the bridge, where they belonged? No matter what James said about it being too dangerous to go there, I had to take a look in case Patrick had left something for me. Now seemed a good time, before I could be talked out of it again. I made my way to the weeping willow and walked on to the glade. I stayed at a safe distance, and climbed
up on to the lower branch of a tree to give me a vantage point.

My stomach lurched. Cerberus was pacing back and forth, even bigger than I remembered. The memory of the puncture wounds in James's neck hadn't faded. Dogs usually went for the throat if they were aiming to kill, and I knew from my father that this breed was different from others. Once they sank their teeth into a victim their jaws locked and were difficult to prise apart. There was no way I was going to be able to cross that bridge. Why had the dog stayed? It didn't make sense. James was adamant Cerberus would never have left his dad's side, which meant his dad had deliberately left him behind. It also meant he couldn't be living close by. Maybe Mrs Benedict hadn't been confused when she said that Cerberus was waiting to be reunited with his master. I needed to tell James.

As I was making my way back to the house something suddenly occurred to me; if I couldn't get over the bridge, then neither could Patrick, so that was one place I wouldn't have to worry about following his footsteps.

My sense of timing hadn't failed. I made it to the house on the dot of ten.

Sister Catherine subjected me to an unusual degree of scrutiny. ‘You came back,' she said.

I faced her directly. ‘I came back.'

‘Are you ready to complete your trial?'

This irritated me, because she obviously thought she'd won. ‘Do I have a choice?'

‘I've already explained to you, Sinead, that you've always had a choice.' I didn't argue and my silence must have pleased her. I watched her rub her hands together with what looked like satisfaction. ‘You'll soon be back to the start.'

Back to the start.
What did she mean? I wasn't going to redo all the tasks she had set for me. When I reached the last room, I certainly wasn't going to begin all over again. She must be mad to think that.

I waited for her to explain. ‘
Domus dei
,' she murmured.

‘I already know about the first church, remember? And you still haven't helped.'

Her face softened imperceptibly. ‘When the time is right I'll be there for you.'

When the time is right.
Sister Catherine
had
won; I'd thought I could save time and skip her stupid trial, but I could see now this wasn't going to happen. She wasn't going to give me any answers until my fourteen days were up.

‘You may begin work upstairs, Sinead.'

Sister Catherine left me at the first door at the top of the grand staircase. I was nervous about bumping into James's gran again and quickly went inside. This room looked to be the master bedroom because of the intricately carved four-poster bed. I endured another interminable morning choking on dust. At midday I took my lunch outside. My mind was more active than ever. Neither the snake connection nor the statues seemed to lead anywhere
concrete. The key was a non-starter as well. James had tried it out in every lock upstairs without any luck, so he'd given it back to me. Had Patrick changed tactics? Had he gone to ground? And something was different about Sister Catherine; she seemed almost regretful that she couldn't help more, as if her hands were somehow tied.

My feet kicked up the dusty gravel. I was beginning to feel like James, chasing shadows in this strange place. The first church still felt like my best clue, and in her own weird way Sister Catherine had confirmed this. I would start my search close to the house and work outwards. Perhaps there was still some kind of marker that had been covered up over the centuries, or maybe Patrick would nudge me in the right direction somehow. I tilted my head. The silence here was usually profound, but I could hear whistling and it wasn't a bird. I stood up and followed the sound to the back of the house, to the corner where the wild flowers were rampant. I wandered through an ornamental arch. In contrast to the woods, every plant and flower here was light, airy and delicately overgrown, swaying without the slightest breeze.

I drew back behind a trellis and slowly peered out. James was digging in one part of the garden and whistling. He didn't know he was being watched and seemed engrossed and happy in his work. He was wearing rolled-up jeans and a frayed cotton shirt open to the navel, his hair glinting in the sun. I sighed and a symphony played somewhere in my head. I shouldn't have been peeking, but it would
be worse to be discovered tiptoeing away. I gave a small cough.

‘Sorry, James, I … didn't know you'd be here.'

‘Did you sleep well?' he asked, stretching lazily.

I laughed. ‘Like the dead again.'

He pointed to his spade. ‘I'm trying to tame everything here so Gran can sit outside more. She's cooped up in her flat so much.'

‘I met your gran,' I said. ‘She cooked me breakfast yesterday morning.'

James seemed a little embarrassed and knelt down, tugging at a weed. ‘Was she … OK?'

‘Erm, she was … just fine. Thing is, James … I went back to the bridge this morning and Cerberus was still there, pacing about. Your gran told me he was waiting to be reunited with his master. She spoke as if he'd been here for a while.'

‘Cerberus is still here?'

I nodded. ‘I think your dad must have left him behind and … gone far away, even abroad.'

James looked at me, stunned. ‘You're right. He never would have left Cerberus unless he had to. He loved that dog so much – more than he loved –'

He left the rest unsaid.

‘Why's he hanging around the bridge?' I asked. ‘It's almost if he's guarding it.'

James rolled his eyes. ‘Dad probably trained him to do it years ago, to stop me from going over there.' His face
darkened. ‘I was so convinced Dad was close. I've been having more dreams about the white knight …'

I had to nudge him to continue.

‘Now … when I see him … he's covered in the hare's blood … and his eyes stare at me like they're accusing me of something. I wake up soaked in sweat.'

My heart went out to him. ‘James … even I can work this out. You feel guilty about your dad killing animals and trying to make you copy him. Subconsciously you think you've got their blood on your hands.'

‘I wish I could stop it,' he said, his expression anguished.

‘It will stop when you meet your dad again, when you confront him about his behaviour.'

‘
If
I ever get to meet him. I thought I had a lead the other day, but it came to nothing.'

‘What was it?' I asked.

His mouth twitched at the corners. ‘When I was asking around the village one of the girls I went to school with hinted she knew something about my dad and if I took her on a date she'd tell me.'

My stomach muscles clenched. ‘Did you … take her out in the sports car?'

‘Yeah … How did you know?'

‘Just a … kind of … lucky guess. Did … did she tell you anything?'

James grimaced. ‘No, she giggled a lot and went on about how she'd had a crush on me when she was ten. It was a complete waste of time.'

He pushed up his sleeves and sat on a dilapidated bench. With his arms behind his head the gap in his shirt widened to show even more of his chest. I sat next to him, hearing the bleached wood creak ominously. One thought superseded all others. If James had told me about his date, we'd be together now; there was no doubt in my mind. Why hadn't he? Did he think I'd be jealous or had it just slipped his mind? I had a gnawing pain inside to think that I'd messed things up between us and wasted so much time.

‘Any more leads on Patrick, Sinead?'

I tried to speak normally. ‘I asked your gran about Benedict House first being a church. She said the church was demolished and the house built on a completely different site.' I held up my hands. ‘I know the estate is huge, but I'm looking for any sign of where the church might have once stood. In his note Patrick described it as some kind of gateway.'

James gave me a sidelong glance and I wasn't sure if he'd forgiven me yet. ‘Will you still help me?' I asked. ‘You know the grounds so well.'

He nodded but still seemed distant. We sat for a few more minutes, both ill at ease. My arms were folded tight across my chest, while James was absorbed in picking particles of soil from his fingernails.

‘Have you everything you need in the gatehouse?' he asked eventually.

I wondered if he was being funny. He must remember
that I'd left Patrick's flat with nothing. ‘Well … I don't have any clothes or toiletries or … er … underwear.'

James smirked. ‘We're not that different in height. I'll pass some of my things over.'

I tried to banish the image of James taking off his clothes to hand them to me. ‘I wonder who lived there before. The place is immaculate, and I can still smell faint perfume.'

‘Sister Catherine,' he answered simply.

For some reason this completely floored me. ‘Sister Catherine?' I gasped. ‘Why didn't you tell me?'

James looked puzzled. ‘Why would I?'

I was unusually flustered. ‘It's just that … when we explored the priest's hole you didn't mention it.'

He screwed up his face. ‘I didn't think it was a big deal.'

He was right. It wasn't a big deal, but I still felt the need to ask: ‘When did she leave the gatehouse? Do you know?'

James blew out air unconcernedly. ‘A couple of days ago. She said it was time for her to go, and I helped her move a few things.'

‘Did she say why?'

‘She said we'd be having a new guest to stay and she needed to make room for her.'

My heart was racing. ‘She definitely said room for
her
?

‘Mmm … is that a problem?'

‘No problem,' I whispered hoarsely.

Sister Catherine hadn't known I was going to stay in the gatehouse. How could she? I was just being paranoid. She probably
invited
guests to stay all the time and it was nothing to do with me. Even so, my stomach fluttered with disquiet. And what about James? I'd messed things up between us so badly, but it wasn't too late. Why didn't I just go to him? My heartbeat was driving me crazy. I covered it with one hand, but that did nothing to quell the relentless boom that sounded out my loneliness, my desire to be with him and every miserable second that I wasn't. Why didn't James come to me? Because he didn't know the reason why I'd given him the brush-off and probably thought I was horrible. I could leave the gatehouse now in the moonlight, walk to the main house and throw stones at his window. It was that easy, so why didn't I just do it?

It was after midnight when I finally got off to sleep. I dreamed that I was standing in front of a row of identical wooden doors, holding Patrick's key. I inserted it into
the first lock and the door opened on to an empty space, pristinely white and clinical. In despair, I ran to the next one. When I looked into the distance the doors had joined in a circle and I was back to the beginning. But I couldn't stop looking. It felt as if this fruitless search went on all night. In despair I began to bang on the wood with my fists.

I sat bolt upright in bed, my heart thumping with the impact of the dream. I flinched. The knocking on the door was real and James was shouting my name. I looked around for something to put on. Wrapping the white cotton bed sheet around me I stumbled into the bathroom, rinsed my mouth with toothpaste and hurried to open the door.

‘You look like Eurydice.' James smiled, taking in my makeshift robe. He offered me another basket of food. ‘It's after nine. You were still zonked.'

I didn't ask how he knew this, because there was only one way. The gatehouse was tiny, and the flimsy curtains didn't meet properly – he must have looked in on me while I was sleeping. I put the basket down, catching the sheet just before it slipped off. ‘I didn't bring a dressing gown, or a towel,' I said shyly.

James produced a carrier bag from behind his back. ‘There's a towel in here, and the other things I promised.' I muttered an embarrassed thank-you. He walked about ten metres and couldn't resist looking back, his eyes half-closed in the sun. Now was the time to say something. I could run into his arms, remembering to keep hold of the sheet. I was
so full of yearning that I was dumbstruck and stood like an idiot looking at him. James gave me a regretful smile and turned to go. I watched him walk away, hurt rising in my throat. This was how it would feel when he left to go back home, and I made up my mind right there and then not to watch him go. My heart would stop beating with the pain.

But he wasn't on his way back to Australia. He was only walking to the main house. Another golden opportunity wasted. Why was I so inert, so incapable of seizing happiness? I knew he still had feelings for me. He couldn't make it any more obvious. What had happened to my determination to capture every moment?