Cupid's Arrow (9 page)

The mint tea was very hot and very sweet, and the cake, which was poppy seed, was drenched in a lovely lemon syrup, very yummy. I suddenly felt hungry and thirsty, and ate two slices of cake and drank two cups of tea. As we ate and drank, Valerie – she insisted I call her that – showed me the sketches she'd been working on: pictures of people in modern dress but with fantasy touches to them. For instance, one person had a tiny dragon in their cupped hands, another person had a crown on their head with eyes rather than jewels set into it. They were quite amazing, but sort of disturbing, too. 'They're for a new tarot deck I was making for Raymond,' she explained. 'It was his own idea – he wanted to show how ancient myths and symbols still have meaning in modern life.' She looked down at the sketchbook, and her hands twisted around each other. 'I decided I wanted to keep doing it, despite ... I want it to be a memorial for him, something really wonderful. Something he would have loved. I'm going to get it printed when I've finished, and call it the Bellerive Tarot.'

I swallowed. 'That's a great idea,' I faltered, not sure how I should react.

'Do you think so? It's different, isn't it? You must know a lot about tarot – do you think people will take to this?'

'I don't know much about it at all, it's Mum who's really into it,' I said, adding hastily, 'but I'm sure it would work fine. Those sorts of things are very popular, aren't they?'

I could have kicked myself for sounding so stupid. I only wished I genuinely knew more about all this sort of thing. But I only knew what I'd heard from Mum and most of that went in one ear and out the other. But, to my surprise, Valerie smiled – the smile making her poor face even more lopsided – and said, 'I understand. I don't use tarot myself, though I love the symbols and images, so rich for art, you see. But the meanings people try to pin down for them, well, it seems to me like trying to force order out of chaos – to try to get certainty about life, which is very uncertain. Frankly, I prefer playing cards to reading them.'

'Oh, so do I,' I said, relieved. 'I love poker and stuff, we play a lot of that at school.'

'Did you hear that, Remy?' She turned to her son, who had been sitting silently observing us, his face showing little expression. 'We've got ourselves a third player again! Go and get the cards, darling – let's have a game.'

'Are you sure, Mam? I –'

'Of course I'm sure. Didn't I just say so?'

'Okay,' he said, getting up and leaving the room. I had the feeling there was something wrong, something off-key, though I couldn't work out what. To cover my unease, I said, 'Are all the pictures in here yours?'

There were quite a few in the room – mostly fantasy-style paintings of girls with unicorns, fairy revels, dragon riders and a scene at a tournament – and most of them weren't exactly my kind of thing, though I could see they were really well done. But there were also a few framed portrait sketches, incredibly vivid things, swiftly drawn with just a few lines of charcoal. I didn't know most of the people, but could recognise one of Remy, and one that must be of Raymond, because it looked like the photo in his books.

'Yes,' said Valerie, 'they're all mine.' She saw my glance towards the sketches, and went on, 'Not all of those, though. See that one there, of Raymond? That's Remy's. And that one, too – and that one.'

'They're so good,' I said, amazed. He hadn't said anything about being good at art.

'Of course. He is very good. He just doesn't do it often enough. I've told him he's good enough to make a living at it, but he won't listen. He can be stubborn, my boy. Like his father.'

I held my breath, remembering what Remy had said. But she didn't seem upset. She didn't say any more about her husband, but there was nothing that felt uneasy about it. She'd simply said what she wanted to and that was that.

Remy came back then with a pack of cards, and we sat down together, with Patou snoozing at Valerie's feet, and played a few games of poker, punctuated by sips of mint tea and more cake. I reckon I'm pretty good at poker, but those two were a whole lot better than me. It wasn't until the third game that Valerie said, 'A couple of years ago, we used to play a lot with Raymond. He'd come here once a week to play, then he got tired of it and didn't play for ages.' I thought I knew then why Remy had been reluctant – perhaps he thought it would upset his mother, remind her of her dead friend, but if it did, it didn't seem to have a bad effect on her – quite the opposite. She chatted on and on about Raymond and how he was such an interesting man, and so knowledgeable about so many things, and how kind he was and how she owed him a great debt and all sorts of stuff like that. I'm afraid after a while it washed over me rather because I was concentrating not just on the game but watching Remy out of the corner of my eye – his long fingers around the cards; his long legs stretched out in front of him; the laughing flicker of his golden eyes; the bit of sunlight that touched the top of his head, gilding the brown so that it looked almost the same colour as his eyes. I thought how beautiful and how mysterious he was and how there was something about him that just set him apart from any other boy I'd ever seen and how I wanted to stay here and never go away.

Then I remembered the time. My God. What was the time? Mum had said I should be back by one o'clock. I looked at my watch. It was 1.45! I couldn't believe it. Surely I hadn't been here that long? I'd set out from the house at ten, and now here it was, nearly two! I certainly hadn't noticed the time passing, not at all. I said, 'I'm sorry, I'm going to have to go. I was supposed to be back for lunch. I'm so sorry.'

'That's okay, dear,' said Valerie. 'I quite understand. Nice to know you listen to your mother.' I saw an irritated expression flash across Remy's face for an instant, but all he said was, 'I'll take you back, Fleur. It's easy to get lost round here.'

'Oh, I'm sure I'll remember the way, I'm quite good at it, I've done orienteering at school, I'm quite good in the bush.' I didn't want him to think I was too eager, or that I expected anything, or anything like that. But of course I was hugely relieved when he shook his head and said, 'I'm sure you're very good but you don't know these woods and they're much more difficult than you think. Plus I know a short cut. You'll get back to the house much more quickly.'

I said goodbye to Valerie and even kissed her on her good cheek without flinching at all. To tell the truth, I had almost forgotten about the state of the left side of her face. I mean, not altogether forgotten but it didn't seem to matter anymore. The twist of pity I'd felt on first seeing her had quietened into a kind of admiration because she didn't let it stop her. At least, not in her own home. But there was that story about her Marie Clary had told, about her not leaving her home, not even to go to Avallon. Presumably it must be true – but how did that square with the confident, friendly woman I'd seen in there, apparently at ease with herself and the world? How did it square with the kind of bravery that continued making a commission for a dead friend – as a loving memorial for him? I had no idea. It was a mystery, like so much about this place, and these people.

'I really liked your mum,' I said, as Remy and I walked down the path and out of the gate, Patou nosing along beside us.

'Good,' he said. 'She really liked you too.'

'Good,' I repeated, feeling like a parrot. 'That's really good.'

'Mmm.'

I snuck a look at him – his face had a shut-in sort of expression that I couldn't read at all. I said, 'What's the matter?'

'Nothing.'

'Really?'

'Really,' he said, with a touch of anger in his voice, and was quiet then for a little while.

Oh dear, I thought, as we trudged off silently down the path. Don't tell me he's a moody sort, there's bound to be something wrong, you just don't meet someone this gorgeous without there being complications. Otherwise, he'd have a girlfriend already. But how do you know he doesn't, Fleur, you dork? Has he said anything to you about it, one way or the other? And what are you thinking of, anyway, as if he can
be
your boyfriend, like you've only just met him and all that stuff you thought about him, well, it's just in your own mind and not his at all.

I've been out with guys before, only two or three, but it's never lasted long, and it's never been serious, though in Year 9 I really really thought I was in love with Jeremy, the older brother of one of my friends. But just about everyone was in love with him. He was just so cool, really good-looking and funny and a great guitarist. Trouble was he never noticed me at all, and finally I came to my senses and realised it was never going to happen and went out instead with Tim Sanders in my year, who'd been asking me out for ages. That was fine but it didn't mean anything. This felt different – a bit like the crush I had on Jeremy in a way but much much stronger, deeper and weirder.

We'd reached the crossroads now. But instead of setting off back down the way we'd come, Remy said, 'Follow me,' and he took off through the trees to one side, Patou scampering along beside him. It was quite easy going at first, because there was quite a lot of space between the trees, but soon there were more bushes and undergrowth and stuff and I got caught a couple of times by brambles. Remy and Patou forged on ahead – I couldn't see a track or path at all but I presumed they knew where they were going so I just followed on blindly, fuming now because it felt like he was dragging me through something difficult for some reason of his own. He was clearly in a bad mood and I had no idea why and it was beginning to bug me, because I had a feeling it was something to do with something I had done or said but didn't know what. All the happy feelings I'd had before, and the sense of being in a bubble of enchanted time, that was all vanishing and all I was left with was this uncomfortable rush through prickly woods with a prickly guy who was angry with me for no good reason. And I'd get back to the house and Mum would be furious as well. Hell, what a disaster of a day.

'Damn!' I tripped on a mossy stone that jutted up suddenly in my path, I tried to save myself, half-fell, and put my hand straight into a nice big patch of nettles. It stung like crazy, though I tried to pretend it didn't. Remy turned around with a frown on his face to see what was making the commotion.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' I said, though my hand had immediately gone red and felt swollen. But he came back towards me, looked at my hand, said, 'Hang on,' and plunged off to one side of where I stood. Patou stayed with me, panting and grinning at me, looking so cheerful that I felt a little comforted. Dogs can do that for you, can't they? They're so simple, compared to humans. They either love you or they hate you and that's that and you know where you are with them.

Remy came back with a couple of big soft leaves. 'Dock leaves,' he said. 'They're good against nettle rash.' He took my hand and wrapped the leaves around it and he looked at me and said, 'I'm sorry, Fleur,' and that was all, but I could feel my heart beat faster and warmth rush up into my limbs. I said, briskly, 'I'm fine, my hand doesn't hurt that much,' pretending I didn't know what he meant, and he gave me a little smile and said, 'That's okay, then,' and we set off again, with me feeling much better, ridiculously much better, even though the hand throbbed a bit still under the dock leaves.

Soon we emerged from a tangle of bushes onto a clearer patch of ground. The trees grew much thinner here and in the middle of them, scattered around, were rocks. Big grey rocks, more like tall, rounded boulders, some of which were piled up together, looking a bit like the walls of a ruined house, caved in on each other, with cracks of darkness here and there where there were openings. I stopped. There was something about that place that caught at me ...

'Strange spot, isn't it? It's known locally as
la Maison de la Dame –
the Lady's House,' said Remy, stopping too.

'What?'

'There's a story that a fairy used to live here. People just call her
la Dame,
the Lady, because you're not supposed to say a fairy's name, it brings back luck.'

'A fairy?' There was nothing fairy-like about the grey rocks, the ruined walls. At least nothing that I could recognise as fairy-like.

'Not a little pretty thing with wings,' said Remy, with a faint smile. 'The sort that looks like a lovely woman but is actually very dangerous and cruel. The sort that lies in wait for you to put a spell on you and make you wander in the woods till you're lost and can never get home ...'

I shivered. 'That's a horrible idea.'

'Don't worry. The Lady's prey was always male. She'd not have been interested in you.'

I shrugged. 'Stupid story. How can people believe that stuff? Come on, let's go or I'll never get there. And Mum will be –' and then it hit me, like a hammer, just what it was about that place. I said, 'Oh God, Remy, let's get out of here, let's, quick, quick,' and he took one look at me and came over to me. He took my hand – the one that wasn't covered in dock leaves – and he said, very gently, 'Don't be afraid, they're only rocks, it's only a story,' and he led me away from that place, quietly, without saying another word, holding my hand till we were well clear of it.

It wasn't until we had left it far behind, taken a turn that led down to the riverbank path and I could see where we were going, that I could bring myself to speak again. I said, 'I'm sorry – I thought – I thought it was like a place in a dream – a nightmare I've had – twice – and I thought that it was the same one – but it can't be – I've never been there before so it can't be. Can it?'

'I don't suppose it can,' he said quietly, watching my face. 'At least I suppose not. But I don't know, for sure. Dreams are strange things.'

'Yes,' I said, swallowing on a lump in my throat, because the images from the dream were flooding in on me, not only the grey rocks, but my fear, the running, the person pursuing me
with a bow and arrow.
My heart thumped uncomfortably and I thought about what he'd think if I told him the whole story. What would he say? And what does it mean? But it couldn't mean anything, it must just be a coincidence, everyone knew that in dreams things didn't mean exactly what they showed but something else, some deeper meaning. That's what Dreaming Holmes said. That's what all the dream interpretations said. My dream wasn't a literal warning about being chased by a hunter with a bow and arrow near a place that looked like the Lady's House. It was symbolic, not real. Not something that was going to happen in real life, but something that was troubling me underneath. Supposedly. Something from my other life, not from here because I hadn't met Remy when I had that nightmare.