Blood and Stone (12 page)

‘Well at least he's supporting the local labour force,' Mariner remarked.

‘By employing a couple of domestics?' Elena was determined to remain unimpressed. ‘He's kept on the estate manager, Phil Bevan too, but that's the extent of it. All his other staff have come with him. Not that it's of any consequence. He has nothing to do with us locals, except when he's in residence to remind us of his presence with his wretched helicopter several times a day.'

‘A chopper flew over on my way here,' Mariner recalled.

‘That's nothing. Last weekend he had one of his regular house parties. He has some high-profile friends and guests at his soirees and the air traffic was pretty constant.'

‘That sounds pretty annoying.'

‘Quite a few of us have petitioned the local councillor to see if anything can be done. The farmers complain about it upsetting the livestock, and the holiday cottage brigade who come out here for a weekend of peace and quiet don't appreciate the disturbance either.'

‘Don't tell me you're on their side now? You used to resent the weekenders like mad.'

Gathering Mariner's empty mug alongside hers, Elena got up to put them in the sink. ‘We don't go around burning their cottages down any more, if that's what you think. We're quite civilized these days; all part of our acceptance of the evolving economy. Come on, let's go and look at the accommodation while you've still got time to change your mind and book a room at the pub.'

S
tepping back into the youth hostel, the unique smell of cooked food, musty blankets – and in this case the pervasive smell of damp – took thirty years off Mariner's life in an instant, projecting him back to the successive summers he'd spent hitching around the country staying in hostels just like this, one or two nights at a time, sometimes more. It had been a liberating existence, during the course of which Mariner had met some fascinating characters. Most of the places he'd stayed in back then no longer existed; few people these days would put up with such basic accommodation, or the enforced separation of the sexes. Not that there weren't ways around that particular rule. Over those summers Mariner had enjoyed several liaisons. There had been no shortage of young women, mostly blonde and bronzed Australian girls, as he recalled, who for some inexplicable reason seemed to find him attractive.

Caranwy had been one of Mariner's longer sojourns, taking up five or six weeks, thanks to the dual attractions of some paid labouring work on the nearby Abbey Farm and his relationship with a certain local girl. Walking the creaking floorboards, he could almost hear the voices of the other hostellers he'd shared with during that time: the compulsory gaggle of foreign students, several middle-aged couples – usually teachers – with their belligerent kids and the occasional lone male of indeterminate age. These days the latter would be treated with some suspicion, and statistically he'd since realized it made sense that some of them must have been there for not entirely wholesome reasons.

He followed Elena along the short hallway past the boot room on the right and the kitchen to the left, and climbed the steep stairs to the first landing with its communal shower and bathroom, two larger bunk rooms, for males and females respectively, plus a couple of smaller rooms set aside for couples and families – less of a priority back before the days when the YHA had become family friendly. Both of the larger dorms were in a state, a big damp patch and the ceiling wallpaper peeling off in chunks in the one, a badly cracked window letting in a draught in the other. Mariner was beginning to wonder if this had been such a good idea after all. Elena was clearly thinking the same. ‘I'd have you to stay at my place,' she began. ‘But with Cerys …'

‘Of course,' said Mariner. ‘That's fine.'

‘It's just that she sees her dad a couple of times a week. He's got used to Rex being around but if he hears about someone else and gets the wrong idea … He can be a bit of a prick sometimes.'

‘It's okay,' Mariner reassured her. ‘I wasn't expecting anything. In fact if this is going to make life difficult for you …'

‘No, you're all right. Let's see along here.' She led the way along the landing to one of the smaller rooms, which looked in much better condition. Facing south-west, a weak, late afternoon sun had broken tentatively through the cloud and was taking the chill off the air, and the windows and ceiling seemed to be intact. Mariner put his rucksack on one of the two sets of bunks.

‘This will do fine,' Mariner said, testing the mattress. ‘It's loads more comfortable than where I slept last night.'

‘I can give you some aired blankets, and there's a portable heater knocking around somewhere,' said Elena. ‘It'll get even colder during the night. The showers are on the electric, so they should be okay. And you can come and eat with us if you'd like to.'

‘I really don't want to impose,' Mariner said, truthfully. ‘That wasn't the idea.'

She smiled. ‘So you said. It's fine. Rex is over tonight so you'll be able to meet him. Do you still play chess?'

Mariner pulled a face. ‘God, probably not since your dad repeatedly annihilated me all those years ago, why?'

‘Cerys is taking on the family tradition and she can already outplay me most of the time. She'd love a new opponent.'

Mariner grimaced. ‘Sounds as if she'll destroy me too.'

‘Better brush up on your Sicilian defence then,' Elena smiled. ‘I'm sure there's an old set down in the games room somewhere you can practice with. We'll see you at six.'

Mariner flashed a humourless smile. ‘Thanks.'

‘Oh,' she called back, as an afterthought. ‘Don't try locking the door behind you when you come over, it sticks solid anyway and you'll never get it open again.'

After Elena had gone, Mariner sat down on the lower bunk and for a few minutes simply savoured the environment. Much as he had anticipated this moment, he hadn't really expected it to become a reality, and so far he hadn't been disappointed on any count; not with the accommodation anyway. This was the room he remembered most vividly. Because he'd spent the whole summer here, there were times when he'd had the hostel to himself. It was on one such night that Elena had come to him. He'd woken with a start in the small hours, alerted by a movement in the room. Opening his eyes he saw a figure beside the bed, still and staring down at him. ‘Are you awake?'

‘Shit,' said Mariner. ‘I thought I was seeing a ghost.'

Elena giggled. ‘How many ghosts do you know that wear winceyette pyjamas?' she whispered. ‘Not very sexy I know, but it gets cold up here.'

‘I'd noticed,' said Mariner. He didn't know quite what to do. He'd never had a girl present herself to him like this. She sat beside him on the edge of the bed and slid a hand under the bedclothes. ‘Well are you going to let me in before I freeze my tits off?'

Mariner lifted up the edge of the sheets and blankets and, pulling off the pyjamas, she slid into the narrow bed alongside him, as simultaneously her lips fastened on to his. Her flesh was soft, warm and giving, and in seconds he was hard, burrowing into her and making her moan. It had been the start of his first proper relationship that had lasted the whole summer under the watchful eye of her overprotective father, which had given their encounter a special frisson, even though it turned out now that he'd known about it all along.

The room overlooked the yard and beyond, along the lane towards the farm, but afforded enough privacy, so he walked naked along to the bathroom. The showers were communal, modesty protected only by flimsy nylon curtains. The sinks in the shower room were too low to be practical, still at the height they would have been when this place was some kind of outward-bound centre for city kids back in the Sixties and Seventies. Mariner turned on one of the showers. It spluttered and for a few seconds the water ran brown, but the flow quickly ran smooth and clean and, as Elena promised, was hot within seconds.

After the shower he changed into a clean shirt, but decided against shaving. His beard was starting to establish itself and would soon be beyond the itchy stage, so easier to just let it grow. With a few minutes to spare, he took time to explore the hostel, reorienting himself, and wondering again how sensible this whole enterprise really was. Rationalizing his behaviour, after all the turmoil of the last few weeks, this was probably some pathetic attempt to find a safe haven, coming back to a place that represented one of the rare times in his life when he had felt genuinely secure and happy. But now he was here he couldn't clearly identify what it was he had expected to achieve. He'd been unbelievably lucky with the gamble that Elena would recognize him and make him welcome, but now what? All he was really doing was gate crashing the life she had built for herself, and he had no right to do that. He'd stay here one night and then move on.

Shortly before six Mariner left the hostel and walked back over to Elena's cottage. A mud-spattered Volvo estate was now parked in the yard, and Mariner had been in the kitchen just a few seconds when a man appeared from upstairs, stocky and with a ruddy outdoor complexion, his dark hair cut in an old-fashioned short back and sides that was greying at the temples. ‘Hello, you must be Tom,' he said, crossing the kitchen in two strides and squeezing Mariner's hand in a firm grasp. ‘Rex Monroe.' Mariner stood at six feet tall, but he felt dwarfed by this man, who was perhaps no taller, but seemed equally wide, muscular and strong, his physical presence dominating the whole room. It was an effect compounded by the loud checked shirt he wore tucked into jeans.

‘Good to meet you,' said Mariner. ‘I hope you don't mind my just showing up like this.'

‘Not at all.' The sentiment seemed authentic although the eyes remained a little wary. ‘I'd heard about you before, so it's good to put a name to the face.'

‘Really?' Mariner was taken aback.

‘Don't get too excited,' Elena chipped in cheekily. ‘I forgot all about you years ago. It was dad who used to mention you from time to time, especially when his mind started to go.' She walked over to the kitchen door and called into the lounge. ‘Cerys, your tea's ready.'

‘Beer?' Rex offered, gesturing Mariner to one of the chairs.

‘Great, thanks.'

They sat round the kitchen table to eat, with the TV on low in the background. When the men had finished their beer they moved on to wine.

‘It's a decent bottle,' Rex said, pouring Mariner a generous glass of something French and red.

‘Can't compete with any of the stuff Bob Sewell used to keep though,' Elena said, lifting her glass. ‘Cheers.'

‘Cheers.' Mariner smiled at the memory of the farmer. ‘His cellar was a revelation. He was the last person on earth you'd have expected to be an expert on that sort of thing. Not that I was old enough to appreciate any of it.'

‘Oh, he knew his stuff all right,' Rex agreed. ‘He's put it to good use now, too. That's where he's gone, retired to the Loire valley where he owns half a vineyard.'

‘Wow.' Mariner was genuinely surprised. ‘Who'd have thought?'

‘He was helped on his way by circumstances,' Elena said. ‘The cellar at the farm is a natural cave that links up to a whole network of limestone tunnels round here, so when we had a particularly bad rainfall in 1998 his whole collection got flooded out. It ruined thousands of pounds worth of vintage stuff. Then a couple of years later, when foot and mouth struck, he decided that it would be sensible to up sticks and go to where the weather was warmer and where he could make his own wine instead of just collecting other people's. He's doing well at it by all accounts. We get a card from him every Christmas, along with a couple of bottles.'

‘You're from round here then, Rex,' Mariner said.

‘Llangybi,' Rex said, naming one of the numerous outlying villages, ‘though I spent a few years in Aberystwyth. Came back – ooh, must be going on twelve years now.'

‘We ran into each other in Tregaron,' Elena said. ‘Rex's firm handled the power of attorney application for Dad.'

‘You're a solicitor,' Mariner deduced. So much for the rugged outdoors look.

Rex grinned. ‘Yeah, don't quite look the part, do I?' He knew he'd had Mariner fooled.

‘So how do
you
know my mum?' Cerys piped up, suddenly, fixing Mariner with a gaze.

‘I stayed here once, a long time ago,' Mariner said. ‘We were friends.'

She absorbed that. ‘Were you her boyfriend?'

For some unaccountable reason, Mariner felt his colour heightening, and he glanced across at Elena and Rex, who both seemed to be enjoying this turn of conversation rather too much. ‘Yes, I suppose I was.'

‘Why did you stop being her boyfriend?'

‘Oh, I'm sure your mum could explain …'

‘No, you're doing fine; carry on,' said Elena, far too entertained for Mariner's liking.

‘Well, I went back home to Birmingham, but your mum stayed here, so that was that.'

‘This was in the days before we had texting or Facebook,' Elena reminded her daughter. ‘We had to rely on real letters delivered by the postman.

‘We didn't even have mobile phones,' Mariner added. ‘If I wanted to talk to your mum without my mum overhearing I had to walk down the road to the phone box.'

Cerys was regarding them both with fascination, as if they were weaving fairy stories. ‘But didn't you go and stay?' she asked Elena.

‘I did once, but it wasn't really the same.'

Mariner remembered that weekend. It was pretty bloody awkward as he recalled, his mother insisting that Elena sleep in the guest bedroom.

‘Mum said you're a policeman.' Cerys had moved on.

‘That's right.'