Time's Legacy (14 page)

‘My father is always impatient.’ Abi stooped to pick up the handles of the barrow. ‘I am so sorry if he was rude. That was one of the reasons I didn’t want him to know where I was. I hoped my mother’s death,’ she paused and took a deep breath, ‘well, I hoped it might bring us closer together, but it seemed to do just the opposite.’ He hadn’t rung her mobile. No-one had. All her friends, it appeared, had decided to give her some space.

The number he had given Cal was the home phone. After some hesitation she pressed dial on her mobile as she stood at her bedroom window looking out towards the Tor. Her father answered after two rings. He must be sitting at his desk. She tried to suppress the wave of misery which threatened to overwhelm her as she thought of him alone in the echoing empty house.

‘Abigail?’ His voice rang in the room. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you had been sacked?’

She closed her eyes briefly. ‘I haven’t been sacked, Daddy. I resigned. As a matter of interest, how did you get this number?’

‘The bishop’s office. Your boss came to see me,’ her father went on without pause. His voice was neutral. She couldn’t read his thoughts. ‘Kieran Scott.’

‘I am sorry.’ She gave a wry smile; she thought of Jesus as her boss. She toyed for a second with the thought of her father and what his reactions would be to an encounter with Jesus Christ, wondering who would win the argument.

‘We talked. He’s an interesting man.’

‘He’s an ordained priest,’ she retorted. Had Kier turned up without the dog collar, knowing her father was an atheist? If so he was a hypocrite – something to add to all his other sins in her eyes.

‘He explained he had been your employer. Why did you feel the need to run away from him?’ Her father sounded merely curious, his tone level. She still couldn’t guess where he was coming from.

‘Didn’t he tell you?’

‘He said he misinterpreted your feelings; he said he might have frightened you. He is extremely sorry that he upset you.’

‘And he’s asked you to be his spokesman?’ She was incredulous.

‘Not in so many words. I liked the man.’ She detected a note of embarrassment. ‘He believes in God which I suppose is his prerogative, but he assured me he would never require anyone else to do the same. We talked about the chemistry of the universe. We talked about definitions. He agreed that a great deal of the received attitude to mysticism is a nonsense which the church as an institution could well do without.’

‘I see.’ Abi pushed open the window and leaned on the sill, staring out at the garden. So Kier was crawling to her father. Thank goodness she had insisted no-one tell him where she was staying. The thought, as soon as it occurred to her, was dashed. ‘He said he hadn’t been told where you are,’ her father said. ‘But I don’t see why you don’t want him to know. Why not give the man a chance?’

‘Because, I don’t want to see him ever again. He was violent. Did he tell you that? He was threatening and he has destroyed my career.’

Her father let out a sound which sounded very much like ‘Tosh!’ ‘He said you had over-reacted,’ he continued with exaggerated patience. ‘He said you leaped to conclusions. Silly girl. You’ve always done that. I told him given time you would come round.’

‘I beg your pardon!’ Abi was incandescent with fury. ‘How dare you say that! You had no right.’

‘I had every right. I’m your father. I know you better than anyone, even you yourself if you would just admit it. If you are going to persist with this stupid God stuff, you would be much better to do it under the firm guidance of a man who knows that the whole thing is a metaphor.’

Her hands were shaking. Somehow she resisted the urge to switch off the phone and cut him off. ‘You haven’t told him where I am, have you?’ she said furiously. ‘Please tell me you haven’t. Please, don’t encourage him to think that I am amenable to persuasion. I don’t want to hear from him again. OK?’ She paused. There was no answer. He had hung up.

Abi sat down heavily on the settle and stared at Cal in despair. ‘My father knows where I am.’

Cal shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose it was hard to find out. I know Ben wouldn’t have said anything, he knows that you wanted your whereabouts kept secret, but he was dealing with the bishop’s office. I imagine there are several people there who would know. If your father rang and said he’d lost your number and that it was urgent, there might have been someone who thought it OK to tell him.’

Abi nodded. ‘Will he tell Kier, though? Knowing I don’t want him to has given him power over me. He liked that. I could hear it in his voice.’

Cal came and sat down opposite her. The fire was still unlit. A bed of grey ash lay in the hearth, illuminated by a patch of sunshine which had strayed down the huge chimney. The dogs had gone out somewhere with Mat. ‘Abi, if your father could find out, so could anyone, I’m afraid, but remember, you are safe here. If your father comes, even if Kier comes, they can’t drag you away. We will give them a cup of tea, talk to them nicely and then ask them to leave. If they don’t go, then you can go and stay somewhere else for a day or a week or a month if necessary until they do.’ She grinned broadly. ‘I defy anyone to stay here if Mat decides he doesn’t like them. You don’t know him well enough yet, but the dear old stick can make himself extremely prickly when he wants to. And no-one is going to threaten you or hurt you with the Cavendish brothers on the premises. OK?’

Abi nodded, speechless for a moment. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. It was ridiculous, feeling like bursting into tears because someone was being kind to you. Cal had the tact to look away. She stood up. ‘Tea before you go out again?’

The small church, dedicated to St Mary of Wood Leigh, was a gem. Like Woodley itself, it rose on an outcrop of rock and sand, one of the many small ‘islands’ rising from the levels, the churchyard surrounded by a low wall of warm honey-coloured stone, the lych-gate carved from gnarled oak. Letting herself in, panting after the steep climb between the moss-covered gravestones, Abi stared round, feeling the atmosphere wrapping itself around her like a warm blanket, reassuring, calm, steady. Even without glancing at the short history of the church for sale at the entrance for the princely sum of twenty pence, Abi had guessed that it was incredibly ancient and built upon an even more ancient sacred site. She could feel it. Something from the distant past, an older sanctity which predated and somehow transcended its life as a Christian church. Firmly she pushed the feeling aside. She had come here to pray to her own god.

Closing the door softly behind her she walked up the aisle. Instead of pews there were about two dozen rush-seated chairs, grouped roughly into two ranks on either side of a central aisle. She sat down on one about halfway up the nave. She hadn’t brought the Serpent Stone with her. It seemed wrong somehow to bring it into a church.

‘You’re still there then.’ She whispered the words into the spaces. Was it really several days since she had prayed? What had happened to her daily prayers, the structure of her faith? ‘I’m sorry. I did my best. I really thought I would be good at the job.’ She looked up at the east window. The colours in the stained glass were murky, greens and ochres, old colours, natural stains from the hills and fens around the church. The figure of Christ on the cross was primitive. Medieval. In spite of the barbaric pose, the huge nails through his wrists and ankles, the face of the Lord sported a huge grin. She found herself smiling back. ‘So you knew it was all going to be OK,’ she said quietly. ‘Not so easy for the rest of us.’

She loved the smell of old churches. People always said they were redolent of ancient incense, but that wasn’t it of course. Just stone. And old hassocks and crumbling hymn books and candles. And prayers. The atmosphere was very still. When she had come in it was sleepy; gentle. Lost in dreams. Now almost imperceptibly, it was changing, something was stirring. She looked round nervously. It was as though someone – or something – was watching her. She glanced back at the window. The smile had gone. What she had taken for a loving grin was a grimace of pain. Scrambling to her feet she turned and made for the door. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I thought it would be all right.’ Scrabbling for the door handle she let herself out into the wind. The sun had moved. It was low in the sky and the shadows were lengthening. Closing the door firmly behind her she felt the breeze tugging at her hair and she pulled off her hairclip, shaking her head and turning back, retraced her way down between the moss-covered gravestones, towards the orchards at the bottom of the manor’s gardens.

7

Lydia stared at her brother-in-law, in shock. ‘Why have you come?’

He smiled, the shape of his mouth so like his brother’s it caught at her heart. ‘You think I’ve come across the whole world just to find you, Lydia?’

‘Yes, that is what I think!’ She held his gaze, her eyes sparking defiance.

‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I am on a mission for the Emperor.’ The smile had quickly settled into a sneer of disdain. ‘Where is Gaius? I seem to have missed him on my way up the river.’

‘He’s not back.’ As soon as she said the words she regretted it. Now he would know she was alone and defenceless. Apart from the children. Romanus was standing behind his uncle, staring at him in awe.

Flavius stepped past her into the house and looked round. The slight flare of his nostrils was enough to make her see it through his eyes. His and Gaius’s parents, her parents, all from well-born senatorial families had had large, rich town houses in Rome with costly mosaic floors and elegantly carved furniture, attended by slaves. They were influential and powerful. When she followed Gaius round from country to country they had almost always had comfortable Roman-built houses, or lived in richly appointed quarters on large vessels as they plied their trade across the Tyrrhenian Sea. When they settled in Damascus, that house had been the grandest of all. They had loved it there, until Flavius had arrived to chase them away again. She followed his gaze around this, their home for the last thirteen years. It was large and well appointed for a round house, but, compared to a villa, it was so very small, built of timber and wattle and cob, thatched with reed. Their living quarters around the walls were curtained off with woollen hangings – ornate and beautifully woven, granted, but hardly substantial walls and now in the daytime drawn back. The central hearth was surrounded with simple stones. Outside in the kitchen hut, their utensils and pans and crockery were of fine workmanship, the imported wine they drank of the best quality, their olive oil and fish sauce for which Gaius had never lost his fondness, stored in elegant amphorae in stands near the cooking table. Their clothes were well made, the table and carved stools sturdy and attractive as were the beautifully woven wicker chairs, but to Flavius it must look as though they lived like peasants. She flushed uncomfortably. ‘We plan to build a villa here one day,’ she said defensively. His answering smile conveyed derision.

He turned and looked at Petra, who was reclining on a couch near the fire, swathed in rugs. ‘And who is this? Surely not the baby you had in Damascus?’

Lydia nodded, biting her lip.

‘And this is your son?’ He looked Romanus up and down again ‘He is much like my brother. Like me, I suppose.’ He grinned at her and turning, pulled up a stool, placing it next to Petra. ‘So, young lady. Why in bed at this hour? Are you not well?’

Petra shook her head. She appeared to have been struck dumb by the arrival of her uncle.

‘Please leave the children alone, Flavius!’ Lydia said sharply. Two dogs who had been lying watchfully by the fire rose to their feet. They slunk towards the doorway.

Flavius glanced at her mockingly. ‘Why, Lydia? That would be rude. Besides, I have gifts for them. My baggage is following. They hadn’t yet unloaded it from the boat when I found to my surprise that I had relatives in the area and decided I must come straight here. It is so strange that the gods should have sent me straight to your door, isn’t it. As I said, I come on the Emperor’s business, but how delightful that I should be able to settle my own at the same time.’ He pointed at another stool and gestured to the boy to bring it and sit next to him. ‘Come, Romanus. We need to get acquainted, young man. I shall make you my especial envoy. A young pair of legs and eagle eyes. You shall be my messenger and for your pains you will have a commission from the Emperor Tiberius himself and be paid.’

‘Romanus!’ Lydia’s voice was sharp. In the shock of seeing Flavius she had completely forgotten the reason for her son’s trip down to the mere. ‘Where is Mora? Did you bring the medicine for your sister?’

Romanus scrambled to his feet. He flushed scarlet. ‘Mama! Mora is away, but Cynan says he will tell her to come the moment she returns. And the medicine is in the dugout. I forgot! I’m sorry.’ He glanced apologetically at his uncle. ‘I will go back and fetch it. I will run all the way.’

‘Do so, please.’ Lydia walked over to Petra and laid her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘It will not be long, sweetheart. Your brother can be there and back before dark.’

‘I doubt that!’ Flavius glanced out of the doorway. ‘It is already growing dull out there. It seemed a very long way to me.’ He shivered. ‘Surely it can wait till morning.’ He looked back at Petra. ‘What is wrong with the girl?’

Petra shifted uncomfortably in her rugs. ‘It can wait, Mama. Don’t make Romanus go out again. There is a little of the mixture left, isn’t there?’

But Romanus was already at the doorway. ‘I’ll go. It doesn’t matter if it gets dark. I can see by the stars.’ Before anyone had time to argue he ducked outside and disappeared. Flavius walked to the door after him and stared out. ‘What strange half light.’

‘It is dusk. The sun goes down slowly in these islands,’ Lydia said at last. ‘It is often so beautiful one can only stand and watch.’ She gave a rueful smile. Behind them a servant was moving round in the shadows lighting the lamps. She was fair-haired and slender, dressed much like Lydia in a woollen gown with leather boots on her feet. She threw more logs on the fire and gently added another rug to Petra’s shoulders. Flavius, after rising to pull the curtain across the doorway and blocking out the windy scene outside with a shudder had turned to watch, a speculative glint in his eye. ‘Is this girl a Briton? With a good wash she could be pretty!’