Miriam's Talisman (33 page)

Hello, Chloe? Angie here. It's half past two now. Did you manage to get home all right? They said at the airport they'd get a message to you. I've just got back from the hospital. You're not to worry, Paul's going to be fine. The injuries aren't too bad. Well, nothing that won't mend. They're going to keep him in for a few days. Call me soon as you get back, won't you? I'll be at home
.

I knew.

Even before I rang Angie back, I knew what had happened. Oh, not the details of course, but I knew who was responsible and why. I was as much to blame. I should
have asked, should have made him tell me where Paul was, why he hadn't come. Instead I just went along with it all, enjoying the ride. My hand shook as I lifted the receiver. She answered straight away.

‘Chloe? Oh thank goodness. I've been ringing all afternoon, left messages all over the place. Where have you been?'

‘I'm at the cottage. Fell asleep. I'm sorry. I didn't know.'

‘You didn't get my message? Oh, no! The stupid woman. She promised. How did you get home?'

‘Never mind that now. What's happened to Paul?'

‘Look, you're not to worry, he'll be fine. There was an accident. It's not serious. Well, it is, I suppose, but he's going to be all right. I feel awful. It was my fault really. You know what I'm like with animals.'

‘Angie, just slow down. How badly is he hurt?'

She drew a deep breath.

‘One ankle's broken, the other badly sprained. Dislocated shoulder. Concussion. Cuts and bruises. There's a nasty gash on his head.'

‘What was it? A road accident?'

‘No, he fell.'

‘Fell? OK, tell me exactly what happened. Start at the beginning.'

‘Well, it was this morning when he came around to collect the car. I'd just got out of bed and put the kettle on. He was very early, so I said I'd make us a quick coffee before he left. Anyway, he followed me through to the kitchen and we were just standing there talking and there was this noise. Sort of scuffing and thumping. It seemed to be coming through the kitchen ceiling. At first I thought
it was a burglar. I said we should call the police. Paul went outside and saw there was something on the roof and told to me to come and look. You won't believe this, but it was a bird! It was on the low part where the kitchen extension is, sort of hopping along the ridge trailing its wing. It was still fairly dark, but we could see it was enormous. I'd swear that it was six feet across. Obviously it had escaped from somewhere and got itself hurt. Well, I couldn't just leave it, could I?'

A heavy feeling, like a pool of lead, was growing in the pit of my stomach. The weight of it dragged me down into a chair.

‘So what did you do?'

‘Well, I told Paul to just keep an eye on it while I went back inside to ring Kevin. He's one of the practice vets, knows a lot about birds of prey. By the time I got back outside, Paul was already on the roof. I'd told him to wait, but you know what he's like—Oh, sorry.'

‘Then what happened?'

‘Well, he'd put the stepladder up against the guttering and climbed up. You know how steep the roof is there and the slates were all wet and slippery. I begged him to get down, but he wouldn't take any notice. He said the bird had broken its wing and he was going to try to hold onto it until Kevin got there. He insisted that the bird was tame and he could handle it.

‘Then, all of a sudden it took off. Swooped down on him. I'd swear it went straight for him. Paul lost his balance and slid down the tiles. He managed to get his foot on the guttering and steady himself, and for a moment I thought he was OK. Then the bracket gave way and next thing he was on the ground. I did what I could, then called the
ambulance. Fortunately it was quick—it turned up the same time as Kevin. All a bit chaotic.'

‘And what happened to the bird?'

‘The bird? Oh, I don't know. Flew off somewhere, I suppose. I went with Paul in the ambulance. They did no end of X-rays and tests. Took ages. They seemed to think the gash on his head was where the thing attacked him so they gave him tetanus jabs and stuff. Anyway, while that was going on I rang the airport to let you know you wouldn't be picked up. I didn't know what else I could do. I thought you'd get home somehow. Then I waited until they found him a bed. They said he's all right to have visitors. Just a moment, I'll get you the number of the ward. I've got it written down…Oh, yes, and there's more bad news. I'm afraid it's your car. When I got back from the hospital, well, it just wasn't there. I've rung the police and reported it. They said they'd send someone around, but that was a while ago now and—'

‘It's all right Angie, I've got Fifi.'

‘
You've
got it? But how? I mean…Oh hell, Chloe, you could have let me know.'

‘Look, I'm sorry, I can't explain now. Tell the police it's a mistake. I've got to go.'

‘Hang on, you'll need to know which ward—'

But the receiver was down and I was back at the window. The orchard was in darkness now. The branches creaked, shadows moving upon shadows. There had been no message. He hadn't exactly lied to me. Would he know it was a lie? Did he even know what a lie was?

The machine reran the message from Marcus. I listened to it twice through, then lifted the receiver off the hook and laid it down beside the phone. I don't know how
long I stood there or what I was thinking. I wasn't even consciously aware of making a decision. I trod each stair as gently as I could, not daring to wake him. I could see his outline against the whiteness of the sheet and I wanted to cry. I wanted to go to him, to curl up in his warmth. If he spoke to me, if he touched me, then I knew I would stay with him and I would never know.

Snatching some clothes and shoes, whatever came to hand, I crept from the room, and dressed downstairs in the dark. If I moved quickly I would be back before he even realised I had gone. My handbag was lying on the hall floor where it had fallen when we came in. The car keys were still in the ignition. I must speak to him about that, I thought. I kept the revs down as I pulled away, praying the noise did not disturb his sleep.

God, was I so naïve as to believe he hadn't heard every word?

The doorbell echoed through the house. A hollow sound, then silence. The hallway was in darkness. They must be out. I was about to press it again when a light sprang up through the stained glass panel.

‘Oh, Chloe! Heavens, child, come in, come in. Janet, it's Chloe!'

‘I'm sorry. I should have rung. I hope it's not a bad time. If you're busy …'

‘No, no. Not at all. You know you're always welcome. You got my message then? Good, good. We weren't sure exactly when you'd be back. Look dear, look who it is!'

Janet appeared, fumbling for her glasses. She held her arms out and I felt an urge to rush into them. I needed
someone to cry onto. Instead I gave her a formal peck on the cheek.

‘Now, would you like some tea or coffee, dear?'

‘Would you think it awful if I asked for something stronger? A scotch perhaps?'

‘Of course not. Rough journey, was it? Have you eaten?'

‘No, but please I don't want to be a bother. It's bad enough me turning up unannounced like this.'

‘Not at all. Marcus has been like a cat on hot bricks for two days now, waiting to talk to you. Come through to the kitchen—I'll make you a sandwich.'

I sat at the kitchen table while Marcus poured us all a drink and Janet stripped the remains of their lunchtime chicken. There was a large brown envelope in the centre of the table. Marcus pulled it towards him, holding it in both hands.

‘So, how was your journey? I want to hear all about it. And what about Miriam's husband? Did you find him?'

Janet laid a plate in front of me and I felt obliged to take a bite for the sake of politeness.

It was the first time I'd actually spoken to anyone about Harold. It brought him back to life. Janet asked the questions. Marcus listened. He sat on the edge of his chair, his knees pressed close together, fingers running along the sharp edge of the package. I told them about the countryside and the lodge and the lake and Harold's woolly hat. I talked and bit into the bread, then talked with my mouth full. I told them about the pick-up truck and the fishing and the way he fell asleep all the time. I wanted to be with him so much it hurt. And I wanted to get it said so that we could talk about other things. My
eyes were on the envelope. There was nothing written on it. It gave nothing away.

‘There, I knew you'd be hungry.'

The plate was empty. It took a moment to figure out where the food had gone.

Marcus coughed a little and fidgeted.

‘You said on the phone that you had something to show me. A translation.'

‘Yes, that's right.' He settled his glasses on the bridge of his nose. ‘I have a connection at Oxford, George Benson, professorship in ancient languages. I doubt you'd know of him. He and Miriam met only a few times. Anyway, I rang him the morning after you came around, and he invited us down for a couple of days.'

‘Oh, I didn't mean you to go to so much trouble.'

‘It was no trouble, I assure you. He lives in Brighton and we welcomed the excuse for an unexpected holiday. Besides I was intrigued, and so was George, as it transpired. Obviously, from the way it was presented in its own binding, it had to be something special. As I anticipated, it didn't prove too difficult for him. The actual handwriting is Miriam's, of course, therefore modern and clearly written. George said that was half the battle, so to speak.'

He opened the envelope, drew out the little brown leather book and passed it to me. I held it with fearful reverence, as if it were a time-bomb about to explode in my face.

‘What is it? A story?'

‘It appears to be something written for you. Yes, he said there was a story in it, one with an unusual theme. He'd never come across anything like it before. But it's
interspersed between a personal message. I have to confess that temptation overcame me and I asked him to let me take a quick peek at the passages concerned with the folk tale. I hope you'll forgive me.'

‘On the phone you said something about the pendant.'

‘Yes. Now, that was the really extraordinary thing. You'd asked me about it, hadn't you, that very evening? I told you, didn't I, Janet, how we'd looked at it?'

‘That's right, dear. I remember because I noticed myself that you were wearing it, Chloe, and I was going to ask you about it. And that was really strange, because for years I'd admired it on Miriam but always forgot to mention it. And there I was doing the same with you.'

‘Marcus said it's an eagle: Iolair. That's right, isn't it? How does that connect with the story?'

‘Here, you must read it for yourself. But I should warn you, George said that the whole thing is rather…Well, to be blunt, he said Miriam may have been becoming a little confused towards the end. She may have lost the boundaries between myth and reality. I don't know. I haven't read all of it: it was obviously intended for you. You'll have to judge for yourself.'

He pulled out a folded wad of creamy paper, several sheets thick, and smoothed it flat on the table. He was almost bubbling as he handed it to me. The centres of the pages were covered with a neat handwriting in clear blue ink. A wide margin on all sides was dotted with reference notes and remarks, alternative translations and general comments, all in red and green, which I supposed held some significance for George Benson. It was the central text that filled my attention. I read the first line:

This was it. This was the key, I knew it. I was suddenly conscious of Marcus and Janet watching me, smiling and eager.

‘I'm sorry, you must think me very silly, but I think I need to read this on my own.'

Marcus looked confused and disappointed.

Janet stood up. ‘Of course you do, my dear.' She patted her husband's shoulder and spoke in a loud, theatrical whisper. ‘It's her grandmother's. With her so recently…naturally she wants to be alone with it.'

‘Yes, you're right, of course. I'm sorry, Chloe. I wasn't thinking. I was so excited about the document that I forgot—I mean—'

‘Why don't you take her down to your study? It's quiet down there.'

We descended into the darkness. Marcus snapped on the desk lamp, creating a pool of light against the shadowed corners. As I sat down, he backed away, fumbling with the buttons on his cardigan.

‘Just call out if you need anything.'

Then I was alone, although I still felt as if there were eyes watching me from the hidden corners of the room. My hands were trembling. I laid the pages out on the desk and began to read. I have the book and the translation with me now, but, even without looking, I can remember most of it word for word.