The Moon Spun Round (10 page)

‘Well, I’m a graphic designer. I was working for a big London advertising corporation, but I thought I’d try something on my own. It would be good to work directly with the client, a more personal service for local businessmen. It would have to be on a very small scale, of course.’

‘Most businesses around here
are
small. Not much money for big advertising campaigns.’

‘That’s just it. Computer-generated design work cuts down the costs because there’s no need to spend a fortune on printed leaflets and letterheads and so forth. I could work one on one with the client, design items to suit their individual needs, and then provide them with the software to print off their own stuff as it’s needed. Could save them a fortune.’

‘Now that does sound interesting.’

‘In fact I can handle their whole publicity presentation package, including newspaper advertising and PowerPoint presentations. And I can set them up an interactive website and teach them how to use it. Or at least I will be able to when I sort my computer out.’

‘Oh, the tablemats go in the top drawer there. You having technical problems?’

‘I set the computer up yesterday and it seems to be working OK, but I can’t get access to the internet.’

‘Phone line OK?’

‘Well, the phone’s working all right and I had the telephone company install a new phone jack in the office. Must be something wrong with the modem. Perhaps it got damaged in the move.’

‘Ayden Drayton. Now he’s the chap. Lives in the village, got a shop in Newmarket. I could have a word with him if you like. Get him to give you a ring. What do you think, Abbie?’

Abbie raises her eyebrow and gives a shrug, continues to spoon ground coffee into the plunger.

‘You don’t approve? I thought he was
the
computer expert round here. You know his wife, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do know his wife, poor woman.’

‘Why, what’s wrong with her?’

‘Nothing a good divorce wouldn’t cure. The man’s a smarmy little creep
who can’t keep his hands off anything that isn’t male. Thinks he’s Hallowfield’s answer to Tom Cruise. But, yes, I’m sure he could help with your computer problems, Sally. Make sure you keep him at arm’s length, that’s all.’

‘Makes a nuisance of himself, does he?’ George slams the dishwasher door. ‘I know he fancies himself a bit, but I didn’t realize it was that bad. Hasn’t been coming on to you, has he?’

‘Of course he has. Why should I be the only one left out? Don’t worry, George, I’m a big girl. I can look after myself.’

‘Even so, you shouldn’t have to put up with that sort of thing. If a fellow’s over-fond of the women, he should still respect a chap’s wife.’

‘That’s just it. I don’t think he
is
fond of women. In fact I think underneath all that sexual innuendo he actually hates them. It’s a power game with him. Uses sex as a sort of weapon. You know the type, don’t you, Sally?’

‘Oh, yes, I know exactly what you mean. Thanks for the warning. But I do need to get my machine up and running. At least I’ll know what to expect.’

‘OK, I’ll get onto him for you, if you’re sure you want to risk it. Meanwhile,’ says George, ‘I’ll make a few phone calls, see if we can drum up some business for you.’

S
ALLY HAS BEEN BAKING
. Not intending to slide into bad habits, she’s making an effort to cook proper food. Living alone, it’s all too easy to pop a supermarket frozen dinner into the microwave. A quiche is cooling on the table, ready to go with a tossed salad tonight, and, as the oven was heated, she has tried out a new recipe for carrot cake. If it turns out all right, she’ll invite Abbie over for coffee later.

Although Cat has been witness to the process, Sally has the impression that her mind is somewhere else. She’s been unsettled all morning, pacing to and fro, even refused her breakfast. Sally feels like one of those television chefs, giving a running commentary on her culinary art to a television audience that’s not paying attention.

For the first time in her life, she’s living alone. Before Jonathan, she had shared a flat with two other girls, and at college there was a big accommodation block filled with students. It takes some getting used to, this isolation, but she’s beginning to love the freedom of it. Every moment is hers to do with as she wishes—no one to answer to, nothing to justify. But easy to slip into bad habits. One could spend all day in bed, eat out of tins, throw garbage out the window. Not good. Hence, self-discipline and home baking. And thank God for Cat. She, of course, has made a seemingly effortless adjustment to her new lifestyle, as cats do. ‘But what about me, eh Cat? I’m bred to live as one of a pair, a family, a group. Humans were never designed to exist in isolation.’ I’m like an old maid, she thinks, living alone with my cat, talking to it because there’s no one else who will listen. I’m turning into Mad Martha.

At the sound of a car pulling up at the gate, Cat ceases to pace the floor and leaps up onto the worktop, crouching, ears flat.

‘It’s OK, it’ll be the computer man, that’s all.’ Cat utters a deep, throaty moan. ‘I’ll have to let him in. You’re going to have to get used to visitors, you know. Don’t worry, he won’t stay long.’ Sally brushes flour from her sweater and ruffles her short layers of hair into shape.

Leather toolcase in one hand, the man leans the other arm on the doorpost and smiles down at her. He is tall and broad-shouldered, good-looking. His dark brown eyes widen as he judges her, conveying surprise and admiration, and many other things she doesn’t want to know about.

‘Mrs Crawford?’ His voice is rich, carrying a subtle trace of mockery ‘Ayden Drayton at your service. Your neighbour, Mr Hunter-Gordon, asked me to call in. Says you’ve got a problem and I’m the man to fix it for you.’

‘Oh, yes, that’s right. Thank you for coming so quickly.’ Sally feels caught off-guard, even though George rang early that morning and told her to expect the engineer. She’s conscious of Cat behind her, shoulders hunched and muttering under her breath.

‘If you could show me the patient.’

‘Yes, of course, please come in. Don’t mind the cat, she’s in a strange mood this morning. It’s in the back room, this way.’

‘Prefer dogs myself. Nice house. Not been here long, have you?’

‘Moved in last week. That might be the cause of the problem. Transporting it, I mean, though I was very careful. In here.’

‘Who re-installed it when you got here?’

‘Well, me of course.’

‘That’s probably the fault, then. Complicated things computers, all those wires, easy to get it wrong. Should have got a man to do it.’ He stares at her, not breaking his gaze, until she’s forced to look away.

‘Well, I think I know how it goes together. Besides the computer itself seems fine. It’s just that I can’t dial out. I had a new phone jack installed and the phone is working OK. I thought it might be the modem.’

‘You know what a modem is, then?’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘I tell you what, why don’t you let me take a look while you make me a coffee.’

‘Oh, of course. I’ll go and put the kettle on.’ Glad to escape to the kitchen, she grabs mugs and a carton of milk. The spoon clatters onto the tray and she finds her hands are shaking. Cat is still complaining.

‘What the hell’s got into you, Grouchpuss?’

Cat looks towards the hallway and the back room. She bares her teeth and utters a hiss and a spit.

‘I absolutely agree with you, but I do need to have the machine fixed. Just bear with it a while longer, will you? I’ll get rid of him as soon as I can.’

She carries the tray through to her office. He’s sitting in her chair, leaning back comfortably, his body claiming her territory. As his fingers skip over the keyboard, lines of white lettering scroll down a black screen. He continues to watch the monitor and she has a chance to assess him. Not as attractive as she’d thought—or rather too good-looking, like an overblown rose, too lush, too sensuous. How old? Thirty-five-ish, waist thickening: another ten years and it will be a beer gut; full lips moulded by condescension into a permanent smirk.

‘You’ve got a virus.’ He makes it sound like an insult, the result of some promiscuous lapse of vigilance.

‘Oh, you’re joking. I’m always so careful. You can see I’ve got a full security system. It was fine last time I used it in London.’

‘That’s how these things work. Lie dormant in the system. Could have been there ages. When you tried to reconnect it, that’s when it became activated.’

‘How would that affect the dial-out?’

‘Disconnects the modem. You were right there. Clever girl.’

‘Can you fix it?’

‘I can fix all sorts of things. Lucky I brought this with me.’ He brandishes a CD. ‘My little Magic Bullet. You’d be amazed at what I can fix with one of these.’ He inserts it into the drive, attacks the keyboard again, then reaches for his coffee. ‘We’ll just let that run for a few moments. Won’t take long.’

‘I didn’t know if you took sugar.’

‘No thanks, love. Sweet enough as I am. I can see you don’t come from round here.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Too classy for Hallowfield. Kensington or Chelsea would be more your sort of style. Still, it’s nice to see a good-looking woman in the village for a change. So, you’re all on your own then, are you?’

‘My husband died recently.’

‘So George was telling me. Must be difficult without a man around.’

‘How do you mean?’ God, I shouldn’t have said that, she thinks the moment the words leave her mouth.

‘Well, you know how you women are? Need a man to look after you, see you right. Or are you one of these independent types, think you can manage without us?’

‘I’m not alone out of choice. And, like a lot of other women, I’m sure I’ll learn to manage. Especially when I get to know more people in the village. I don’t
think I’ve met your wife yet, have I? What’s her first name?’ She looks at him steadily now, having scored a point.

‘Claire. No, you wouldn’t have met her. Doesn’t go out much.’

‘At home with the kids, I expect?’

‘No, we don’t have a family. It’s just that she’s not good in company, finds it difficult mixing with people.’

‘She doesn’t work then?’

‘No. Suffers a bit with her nerves. Nothing serious. Gets stressed, that’s all. She does a bit of voluntary work, though. Helps out at the charity shop run by that vicar’s wife.’

‘Oh, where’s that?’

‘Up the other end of the main street, one of the old Victorian terraces. Don’t suppose it will last, never does with Claire. Her nerves, you see, things always get too much for her. Mind you, the woman who runs the place is a right nutcase. Enough to send anyone round the twist. You’d think, him being a church man, he’d have more control over her, wouldn’t you?’

‘I don’t think I’ve met her yet.’

‘You soon will do, no doubt. Her and that neighbour of yours, George’s wife, thick as thieves they are. Same goes for most of the women round here. Especially that dark one.’

‘I probably don’t know her either.’

‘Naomi, that’s what she calls herself. She’s another one lives on her own. Now her I wouldn’t trust at any length. You want to keep well clear of her, I’m telling you. Got some strange ideas. Doesn’t seem to like men much.’

The computer emits a loud bleep and something on the screen is flashing. ‘There, I think that’s the one. Right, we’ll soon knock this little intruder on the head.’

His eyes are off Sally now and on the machine, fingers darting across the keyboard. A momentary release. The room is too small for more than one person, the other chair too close to his. She stands, leaning her back against the filing cabinet, sips her coffee and tries to re-order her thoughts. He’s a powerful force, more powerful than this space can contain. He exudes that certain type of male energy, offensive yet magnetic, and she’s both attracted and repelled by him. Abbie was right: aggressive more than passionate. And, strangely, she can sense something of Jonathan in him; that disturbs her more than anything. She wants him out of here. Of course she can handle him, and yet…He knows how to evoke that visceral weakness in her that causes her to distrust her own instincts. He knows the weight of his influence, knows women like her, knows all her frailties, the cracks in her shield. Oh yes, she wants him out of here.

‘So, it should work now?’

‘That’s the theory.’ He leans across to remove his disk from the drive, his arm unnecessarily close to her hip. He looks up at her, asking with his eyes. ‘Let’s try it, shall we?’ He clicks the mouse. The Explorer program opens along with the dial-up box. There’s the joyful little sound of the dial code and the sustained tone of a connection being made. The home page comes alive.

‘Thank God for that’ There’s too much relief in Sally’s voice. ‘Well done.’

‘Easy when you know how.’

‘Well, thanks anyway’

‘My pleasure.’ He raises himself out of the chair, his body stretching, blocking her path to the door. His hand grips the cabinet beside her, trapping her. ‘If you have any more problems, you just call me. I’m nearby so I can come by any time.’ His other hand produces a card from his pocket. ‘My number’s on here.’ He traces the edge of the card along her cheek. His eyes hold hers. Sally is paralysed, her pulse pounding, her breath freezing in her throat; a small creature caught in the headlight of an oncoming truck. ‘An evening would be good. Then I wouldn’t have to rush things, we could take our time.’

A sudden streak of grey flashes across the room, a ball of fur and fury. Cat lands on his arm, falls, claws grappling his hand, full weight catching the skin. Then she’s on the floor.

‘Bloody hell!’ He kicks out, but Cat is already out the door. He grasps the injured hand, blood oozing through the fingers.

Sally is stunned. At first she can’t speak, then, ‘I’m sorry. So very sorry. Let me see to it. I’ll fetch a wet cloth.’ She escapes to the kitchen. He follows her, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket.

‘Don’t bother. It’s not too bad, just a scratch.’ The white cloth is dotted with scarlet, but he’s right, they’re only puncture wounds that will soon scab over. ‘That cat of yours is crazy, ought to get it seen to.’