Twisted (64 page)
She stepped back as he turned on the engine again, and stood watching him as he reversed slowly down the track, turned at the gates and drove off. Going back to the cottage, she picked up the sketches, stacked them together and placed them into the folder. She sat and counted out what money she had left, and calculated how much she might make from selling the Land Rover. She alternated between crying and feeling rejected and angry, but with most of her possessions already packed she decided she would leave – maybe she’d get a few dollars if she sold the hens. Just as Reid had said, it was over.
Reid drove for hours, aimlessly at first, but gradually he began to enjoy the freedom of having no pressure and no deadline. He decided that he would make his way to the desert and take in the atmosphere – if nothing else it was a place to go before he returned to London. He stopped by a roadside market and bought some hand-made leather sandals with thick black soles made of discarded tyres, a pair of loose white drawsting trousers and a white cheesecloth shirt. He even bought a wide-brimmed straw hat and laughed at his reflection in a parked car’s window.
He headed through Culiacán, on to Guasave, and then parked alongside the roadside in Los Mochis, sleeping in the camper van for the night. He kept on driving the following day, in no kind of a hurry and not worried about the passing hours. Every now and again he consulted a map and ate from roadside food stalls as he passed through Navojoa and Obregon until finally he saw the signpost to Guaymas. Stopping only for gas, he drove onto the toll road 15D and then headed onto route 15N. The whole journey had taken ages, but at last he was close to his destination, the Sonoran Desert.
He parked the camper van in what appeared to be a makeshift car park, where wooden boards warned about the lack of any cover, to not to go walking in the heat of the day and to carry plenty of water. There was no other vehicle around and it was as Jo had described, desolate. The one landmark was the sign pointing to the original location of where
Catch-22
was filmed, and it was covered in windblown sand. Taking out a rolled-up straw mat and a bottle of water, he began to head towards the massive stretch of desert sand. The heat of the day was fading, but the sand even through his rubber-soled sandals was hot and made him walk with a high step. He paused frequently to take a few deep breaths. Closing his eyes he could feel the most extraordinary emotional release and a satisfying sense of calm and peace enveloped him. He continued for about an hour, hardly able to believe that there was not one other person visible and gradually, as Jo had predicted, the sand and the sky became perfectly divided as if there was a crystal ocean beyond and he belonged there.
Something sparkled as if caught by the sunlight. He blinked in uncertainty but drew his hat lower, kept up his high-step walk and then paused to drink some water. He had never experienced such an expansive feeling, every muscle seemed to relax and his eyes slowly became accustomed to the brilliance ahead, and then he saw the figure nearly a mile away in the distance.
As he got a little closer he could just about make out that there was someone under a black umbrella with their back to him. He watched as the umbrella was raised then lowered slightly, and suddenly a shaft of light appeared to reflect on something that sparkled and created a glistening white streak that shot across the horizon in front of him.
The distance was distorted like in a mirage and he was closer than he had realized, and as he moved silently nearer he felt an incredible excitement. Unable to see who was sitting beneath the umbrella, he continued, the black silk shifted sideways and again there was that shard of light, and he was within a few feet before he came to a halt, standing directly behind the umbrella. A delicate suntanned hand and arm moved out from beneath the shade and then pulled back in. He leaned forward until he could see who was beneath the umbrella.
The white-blonde hair was short and silky, the tiara was worn low and the sunlight hit the central diamond, making it appear as if an electrical current had lit it. She was wearing a white smock, her sandals lying side by side on the bright rainbow cotton rug. He was shaking and unable to speak, as she turned without any sign of surprise, rather child-like and inquisitive. Her eyes were thick-lashed and a vibrant blue, and she stared up towards him.
All the months, all the searching and wretched consequences faded into a quiet acceptance. He had found Amy Fulford, and the sense of relief was overpowering, because he knew now that it really was over.
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