Carnforth's Creation (24 page)

More time and he felt calmer. She’d probably reckon it was chance too; could’ve happened months ago; might’ve blown next year or the one after. Big wigs who screwed around and handed out cash were asking for it. Security risks, possible blackmail, questions in the House, MI5, busybody secretaries. Elly would have had all that on her mind long ago.

No, the real killer was the taste it’d leave. Even if she thought him beyond suspicion she’d keep remembering that part of their last row and it’d smear her whole memory of him.

And the likeliest scenario? She’d stay on with her parents for a few days, then drift back to Delvaux. And what’d Paul do? Take it nice and slowly; no reproaches; not too much sympathy either. Just leave it to her, at whatever pace she chose to take it. Roy knew he couldn’t sit back and let that happen. There had to be some way he could get Eleanor to see that what Paul had said didn’t matter, had nothing to do with how they felt about one another.

Failure was out of the question. Without her, he couldn’t see any future. His mind was so chockful of her, there wasn’t room for anything else. Happiness, energy, confidence … she’d squeezed out the lot. He was filled with memories that killed his present stone dead. The pop scene only sickened
now – the businessmen were blood-suckers; the fans, nothing but a twitching mass of over-active glands and under-developed minds.

When she’d loved him, he could’ve clambered into his daft clothes and pranced about to order, because afterwards she’d have been there. But now? Fuck all: hotel suites in hell-hole places; reporters hassling; chicks clutching; police chiefs panicking; mayors wheeling on dopey daughters to have a front-row gawp. So jack it in? Be sued for all he’d got and more? Stay home and stare at the wall? The way Elly had wiped him out, he’d be fit for little else.

Always back to the same base-camp.
He
had
to
make
her
realize
her
mistake.
But in twenty, or however many minutes? Not a hope … he’d need
days
not minutes: because it wouldn’t be by arguing or evidence that he’d finally persuade her; but by
showing
her his love. Always it came down to time … time she wouldn’t give him. A few days back, he’d known something else: he
couldn’t
let her cheat him, because if he did, he’d be letting her cheat herself. If she surrendered to Paul, and refused to go away for a few days, then Roy knew he would have to
take
the time he needed, any way he could.

Eleanor sat beside the swimming pool at Castle Delvaux, sipping iced coffee, and reading the fat new biography of a dead philanthropist. Although Sunday, there were no
newspapers
on any of the tables dotted around the pool. Since that other Sunday, which Eleanor still felt sick to think about, she had read no paper of any kind – daily, weekly, Sunday. But the reassuringly unscandalous life of William Wilberforce
was doing no more than intermittently hold her attention.

Whenever escaping from thoughts of her father’s
humiliation
, she was plunged into still more distressing ones about Roy. She supposed it just possible he might have been indiscreet at a party, when drunk or high, but ruled out deliberate malice. In Eleanor’s eyes, his betrayal lay in deliberately concealing from her the crucial fact that
Paul
had first suggested his overtures. Nor could she believe that Paul had meant it as a casual joke. Unless Roy had taken him seriously, why keep his mouth shut all those months?

It tormented her that the most wonderful experience of her life had sprung from such an odious source. Not that she for a moment doubted that Roy had finally come to love her. What she no longer knew was whether
she
still loved him enough to endure the consequences of continuing. If she made contact, even by letter, he would force a meeting, to beg, argue, and pledge undying love. If this were still his attitude on his return from America, it would be monstrous to refuse to see him. In the meantime she had resolved to discover whether she and Paul had burned out all their feelings for one
another
. Ten days after her return to Delvaux she was no nearer an answer.

Though Paul refused to accept that she had not set out to humiliate him – and denied using Roy to place her in the wrong – he showed no signs of wishing her to leave Delvaux. His behaviour reminded her of the frozen indifference she had shown him after the concert. But whether his true feelings were as blunted as hers had been, or whether he hoped to panic her into assuming the larger share of
responsibility
for their predicament, Eleanor couldn’t tell.
Something
else had recently preoccupied her more: the lateness of her period.

The sun had become quite hot now, and as Eleanor listened to the village church bells rippling pleasantly in the warm air, she thought of going in for a swim before returning to the house.

*

Three miles away, and closing fast, Roy sat at the wheel of his Cobra, watching the black ribbon of road stream towards him like a race-track simulation in an amusement arcade. His earlier fears already seemed as far behind him as the sprawl of factories, reservoirs and suburban streets he had blazed through on his way. Only one simple aim: to be alone with her long enough for love to speak for him. Roy knew he would do anything to stop her killing the most precious thing she owned. If that meant forcing her to come away with him, he wouldn’t hesitate.

A few days before he’d been given some fantastic pot by his lighting director – no slow-down effects. Dead opposite in fact. Instead of making him want to flop about, it sharpened his senses to razor clarity (something he was definitely going to need today). A couple of miles from the house he pulled off the road, and rolled himself a joint.

When he swung between the tall gates with the stone dogs sitting up on either side, he got a feeling he’d only ever had once or twice before, like a flower opening inside; a blaze of happiness, as if telling him everything was just as it should be. Another weird sensation – looking at the sunlit grass and hedgerow flowers he felt he’d lived this day before and only had to act it out.

Half-way up the drive the park ended, and as the Cobra’s wheels hummed over a cattle-grid, he slowed down. From here he could see the gardens, but the house was still hidden. To his right he noticed a huge bank of rhododendrons, and without hesitation swung the car up on to the grass and nosed in behind them. In the silence after he cut the engine, his hearing seemed so sharp, that along with the cooling metal, the tinkle of church bells, and twitter of birds, he could even pick out the chirruping of individual insects.

The place was perfect, because hidden from the house. If he ended up needing his fall-back plan, he’d fail unless he sorted out the geography now. If he’d parked closer to the house, and then sloped off to grab an idea of the garden lay-out, he’d have had every lackey in the place after him. From the moment he’d known there might be no alternative
to carrying her off, he’d seen the importance of getting her outside. In the gardens she wouldn’t be able to start ringing bells if she didn’t like the sound of his suggestions. Shouldn’t be any problem on such a beautiful day. Nothing more natural than suggesting a breath of fresh air.

The way he saw it, there was a fair chance she’d do what he wanted. After what she’d put him through, it wouldn’t be asking much to expect her to spend a couple of days with him. But if she did freeze him out, he had to be prepared.

Before leaving the car, Roy spent several minutes
checking
, and re-checking the contents of his coat-pockets. Only when entirely satisfied did he get out.

Fifty yards away, behind a long beech hedge, lay the main body of the gardens.

With a lot of concert defences still in place, it took him some time to find an un-plugged gap. Soon after succeeding, Roy realized he had underrated the problem. The whole set-up was more like a maze than a garden. Not only the different levels, but the dozens of flower walks, avenues, and steps, made it a nightmare even to remember the route he had followed. He decided his best hope of knowing his position anywhere in the gardens was to memorize the direction of some of the larger trees. Should he need to get out fast, he couldn’t risk losing his way.

On the other side of a large paved area, flanked by statues and urns spewing out trailing plants, was a wall. Having come across three walled gardens already, Roy was not interested, but coming to a small iron gate, he reckoned he might as well take a peek. What he saw inside had him flinging himself back so fast, he had to clutch at the
brickwork
to stop himself falling. He leaned against the wall and breathed deeply.

Inside: a swimming pool, and getting out of it on the far side, Eleanor, apparently alone. The most fantastic piece of luck ever. The only trouble was the shock it had given him. It’d be taking a risk, but he had to take another look in case there was anyone else in there. Luck was with him. Nobody. And the next time he peered in, he saw her making for a
wooden hut that must be used as a changing room. As soon as she was inside, he moved.

*

Eleanor had peeled off her wet costume and was towelling herself, when she let out a sharp cry. Roy had suddenly materialized in the doorway, and was staring with
spell-bound
attention. She secured the towel above her breasts and asked if he could wait outside.

‘Outside?’ he echoed in a faint tight voice, as though the word was the most brutal he had ever heard.

‘I want to get dressed,’ she replied softly; scared by his restlessness.

‘Didn’t I ever see you dress before?’ he asked, eyes fixed on a square of sunlight on the floor. She tried a conciliatory laugh.

‘Don’t let’s start by arguing over anything so silly.’

He didn’t answer, but sat heavily on the lid of a locker.

‘I meant,’ she began gently, but changed her mind. A quivering smile had formed on his lips; his eyes grew passionately resentful.

She stepped into her pants discreetly, realizing she would not be able to put on her sun-dress without making it obvious she didn’t want him to see her body. She picked up the dress first, and then, almost in a single movement, dropped the towel and slipped the light cotton over her head.

‘Didya think I’d leap at yer if I saw anything?’

‘Of course not,’ she murmured, shocked to see tears brimming.

‘Like I was some dirty old creep.’

‘Please, Roy … I don’t know what I feel,’ she blurted out, feeling both pity and panic.

‘
You
know
what
you
feel
.’
He had not spoken loudly, but his words seemed to roar in her head. ‘You couldn’t’ve done the half of what yer did … the best tart in the world couldn’t have put on that kind of act, not without feeling fantastic love.’

Eleanor’s face was burning. In this tiny space, his
bitterness
seemed to fill every inch and corner.

‘You told Paul things … hit me,’ she gasped faintly.

‘But why, baby?’ he moaned, jumping up suddenly; thrusting himself towards her. ‘You never gave yourself a chance; let his lies cheat us.’ His conviction scared her.

‘If they’re lies, isn’t the best way to …’

‘Didn’t you
hear
me?’ he breathed, with the same aching catch in his throat.

‘I want us to talk
calmly
,’ she faltered, already desperate.

‘Like see how good I argue?’

‘No,’ she cried.

His eyes met hers reproachfully. ‘Can’t play games like that. Can’t let yer put me on trial.’ He reached out and touched her cheek tenderly. ‘Baby, he’s really fucked up your mind to get you thinking this way. “Said the wrong thing there, Roy. Caught you out with that one.” That’s not your scene, Elly.’

‘Can’t you see it from my side?’

He let his hands drop. ‘There’s one way you’re gonna believe me, and that’s come away with me. Love’s the only card I’ve got.’

‘You can’t pretend nothing happened,’ she shouted, no longer able to bear his eerie certainty.

‘Words are nothing to what’s inside o’ both of us.’ His eyes pitying her now. ‘Can’t let him put words between us.’

‘Words ruined my father … Love’s a word too.’

As if she had not spoken, he said calmly, ‘Are you coming with me?’

A proprietary arm circled her waist, and fastened there.

‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

‘
Will you
?’ His voice gentle; his fingers vice-like. ‘Honey, you’ll be doing this for yourself, not just for me. Got ter get yer away from him.’

‘You’re hurting.’ She moved sharply to free herself, but his other hand clamped around her wrist. His eyes looked strange and inexpressive.

‘It’s easy,’ he whispered. ‘My motor’s nice and close.’

Humour him, she thought – anything to get outside.

‘All right. Let’s go.’ She made as if to kiss him, but darted
aside the moment his grip relaxed. In wrong-footing him she tripped on the rope matting. Eleanor could not fathom why he looked so scared as he stood over her. Certain he would manhandle her if she raised herself, she stayed where she was. A person on the ground did not try to run away. She forced a smile.

‘Honestly, Roy I had to … I can’t just vanish into thin air without a word. Well, can I?’

He made no answer, as he fumbled in the deep pockets of his quilted coat. A moment later a sweet sickly smell hung in the air; Eleanor saw a dark stain spread across the lower part of his coat. As he pulled out a gauze pad, she scrambled to her feet.

‘Are you crazy?’ she gasped, backing away. Ether;
chloroform;
the biology labs at school. She wanted to scream, but only managed a small sob of fear.

She had never thought him particularly strong, but though struggling with all her strength, Eleanor couldn’t break free, not even when the cloth was pressed hard across her mouth and nose. Don’t breathe, don’t, don’t,
don’t
. He kept telling her to relax and stop fighting it; murmuring that he couldn’t live without her; had to be with her for a while. ‘Don’t be afraid; only a few days, right?’ Her lungs were bursting; eyes starting out. If she went limp, he’d think …

She let herself flop against him so realistically that he needed both hands to stop her falling. Eyes closed, she could not see what had happened to the pad. She breathed
laboriously
, trying to make it sound different; as if unconscious. He placed her on the floor, and she heard him move away, but still did not dare open her eyes. He seemed to be looking for something. What? As she heard him over by the locker, she scrambled up and ran.

Some of it must have got in her lungs, because she felt sick and dizzy; the ground tilted under her as she ran, making her stagger, but she went on somehow, slipping and sliding on the tiles beside the pool. She knew he was gaining by the pounding of his feet. Ahead of her, half on the grass, half on the path, she saw the long shaft of the net used to fish out
leaves. His footsteps louder; rubber soles slapping down hard. Have to do something;
do
something
. She snatched up the pole, meaning to smash it against his head; but, though swinging with all her might, it only skimmed the ground at ankle-height. At full-stretch, Roy jumped to avoid it; he landed exactly where Eleanor had climbed out dripping minutes earlier.

Eleanor staggered on, carrying with her blurred
comic-strip
images: his feet flying out under him; his body hurtling against the metal uprights of the ladder; resting a moment, as if stuck, then slipping nonchalantly into the pool. The images collided; splintered. One idea now: must reach the gate,
must,
must,
must.
Her mouth was gaping wide, breath fought for with sobbing gasps, her legs felt soft and spongy. She couldn’t bring herself to look back in case he was already clambering out. Everything began to spiral: the sun a
spinning
light-bulb; the wall, the gate. She was there … almost, almost …
there.

Outside, the ground fell away steeply and she slithered to her knees. She willed herself to rise, but her legs had become wax under the sun. A wave of dizziness. That nauseating smell. She knew she would be sick, and was – painfully. She lost count of the times.

Later. How much? Her mind kept lapsing, playing tricks. Too weak and blurry to support herself, she lay on her side; without fear imagined Roy finding her. Her head was so heavy, nothing would ever lift it; everything quite still: limbs, even eyelids leaden; only clouds could rise in this thick air.