River of Destiny (65 page)

Zoë stood in the dark on the edge of the landing stage watching Leo row away from her. He rested on his oars for a moment and raised a hand to wave. She waved back then resolutely she picked up the bag, as always surprised at how heavy the sword was, and headed up through the trees towards the lane. The second they had kissed goodbye and he had lowered himself back into the dinghy she had felt her courage deserting her. She wanted to call him back, she wanted to hurl the bag with its cursed contents into the river but she didn’t allow herself to hesitate. There was too much at stake. Their happiness and maybe Rosemary’s life depended on her taking this thing back to where it was found.

A breath of wind touched the back of her neck with cold fingers and she shuddered. She had Leo’s torch in her pocket but she didn’t want to use it, it would only draw attention to her if there was anyone in the fields. Her eyes were anyway rapidly getting used to the dark. She could make out the sky above the hedgeline now, the clouds swelling heavy and dull across the deeper black behind them. She was trying to walk quietly, glad of her rubber-soled sailing shoes. Somewhere nearby an owl hooted and she stopped in her tracks, her skin prickling with terror. ‘Stupid!’ she muttered. She took a deep breath and moved forward again, afraid now that she would miss the gap in the hedge that Rosemary had cut. Somewhere behind her Leo was quietly pulling up the sails, slipping the mooring and drifting silently out into the river. There was no going back now. If she failed he would be in danger not just from the police but from the sword and its curse. She tightened her grip on the bag handles, feeling her palms wet with sweat, and walked doggedly on.

She had almost passed the gap in the hedge when she saw it at last. She stopped and headed towards it, feeling her feet slip on the wet grass of the bank at the edge of the lane. Then she was in the field stumbling over the furrows, feeling the weight of the newly turned mud hanging from her shoes. There was no shelter, nowhere to hide as she made her way towards the centre, thankful there was no moon at least. She couldn’t see the state of the site in the darkness; all she could make out was the silhouette of the small oak tree which stood out above the mound. Then suddenly she saw a light. She stopped dead, her heart pounding. There was someone there.

There was no point in turning back. Whoever was there might see her at any moment. She crept on, bending low, and realised as she drew slowly closer that the light came from a small tent which had been pitched at the edge of the copse. Almost as she recognised the faint outline she heard music and suddenly a muffled shout of laughter. Holding her breath she crept closer, aiming now for the far side of the copse furthest away from the tent. If the people in it were there on guard they weren’t making a very good job of it; the entrance was firmly zipped up.

She felt better when she had reached the copse and crept into the shelter of the trees. The undergrowth had been cut back and the barbed wire had gone, but there were still a few small trees and shrubs which gave her enough cover in the darkness as she felt her way forward. Suddenly she noticed there was another tent, this one larger and square and in total darkness. It had been erected over the site of the excavations and appeared to be deserted. She paused, taking stock. She had reached the burial mound; whoever had taken the sword did not appear to have dug very far to find it. Surely the important thing had been to get it here. She didn’t have to put it in the grave itself.

As she stood pondering what to do her eyes were caught by a movement in the distance. A shadow had moved in the tent and then as she watched the tent flap was unzipped from within and a figure stepped outside and stretched, yawning so loudly she could hear it from where she was crouching. She dropped to the ground and remained motionless. It was unlikely he could see her even if he turned round, but her heart was thudding like a hammer as she lay, her face pressed into the grass. He had flicked on a torch and she was aware of the powerful beam directed into the trees above her head and sweeping round the site.

‘I can’t think why they would assume anyone would come out to such a godforsaken spot with all that fog coming in!’ The man’s voice was clear as he spoke over his shoulder to someone in the tent. ‘I’m going to take a slash then I’m for my bed.’ She hardly dared breathe, held her breath praying he wouldn’t come in her direction. He didn’t. Minutes later he had ducked back inside the tent and the flap was zipped up once more. She waited several more minutes then cautiously she scrambled to her feet. She had to get rid of the sword, and quickly, and get away from here. She glanced over her shoulder back towards the river. It was growing misty and Leo was out there on the water alone.

Somehow she forced herself to take a step or two forward. Beneath her feet the ground was a tangle of grass and weeds. She couldn’t dig a hole; stupidly she had brought nothing to dig with. Crouching down again she felt the ground round her in the darkness and found almost at once what appeared to be a rabbit hole. Her fingers touched bare earth and she felt the crumbly soil opening up beneath them. Moving as quietly as she could she put the bag down and drew back the zip. She pulled out the sword, cursing as the newspaper rustled in her hands. At last it was free of its wrapping. She shoved the paper back in the bag and carefully pushed the sword down into the hole. It met resistance almost at once, but she persevered, waggling it gently, not wanting to force it, feeling a strange sense of reverence now that she was returning it to the earth. As soon as it was level with the surface of the soil she stopped, looking down at it blindly in the darkness. Strangely she found she wanted to pray, but she didn’t know what to say.

‘I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have been taken away. It belongs here,’ she whispered. It seemed inadequate, but it was all that was needed. She bowed her head in silence, then slowly she began to fill in the earth over the rusty blade. Either it would remain there for ever or perhaps tomorrow, perhaps months hence, it would be rediscovered by the archaeologists and they would decide its fate.

It would be up to the gods of old what happened next.

Somewhere a bell was ringing. Footsteps echoed over the floor and a flurry of voices was speaking over her.

Rosemary frowned and for a moment her eyelids fluttered.

‘She’s waking up.’ A male voice, deep and authoritative. ‘Where is her husband?’

She heard that. Steve. Dear old Steve.

‘He went home for a few hours. Have you got his phone number?’

She managed to open her eyes for a second, but the light was too bright and the effort was too much.

After picking up the buoy Leo climbed back into the
Curlew
’s cockpit and ducked down into the cabin. Carefully he drew the curtains across the portholes, then he lit the lamp, satisfied the light was unlikely to be seen unless someone was right down on the river bank. Sitting down, he let out a deep sigh.

Zoë was an amazing, gutsy woman and he had been astonished to find that he was deeply and genuinely besotted with her. The question was, did she feel the same about him? He rubbed his hands across his cheeks, feeling the ridges and irregularities of his scars. What did she see in him? He was a flawed man in so many senses, and now accused, on top of all the rest, of being a paedophile. He had no doubt she would do as she said and go and try to rebury the sword, but after that, would she come back? What had he to offer a woman like Zoë?

He bent and rummaged in one of his bags, pulling out a sketchbook. He opened it at his sketch of her and studied it, running his hand wistfully across her face, lingering over her eyes, her wildly blowing hair, the half-smile on her lips, then he glanced at the tide tables piled up on the end of the bunk. Should he wait for her at Max’s as he had promised or would it be better for them both if he quietly slipped away and disappeared from her life for ever, leaving Max to clear his name.

Putting out the lamp he went up on deck and stared round. The tide was almost high. It was time to leave. Once he reached Max’s he would decide.

Quietly and methodically he began to ready
Curlew
for a voyage, raising the sail again, tidying the decks, tying the dinghy to the stern and at last casting off from the buoy. In total silence the boat moved slowly out into the middle of the river, drifting on the tide as Leo hauled in the mainsail and pushed the tiller over. He gave a wry smile as the curved brown sail hung above him in the dark. Ghostly was the only word he could think of to describe it.

Once he had drifted into the fairway there was wind. He sat at the tiller as the yacht drew steadily away, moving slowly but inexorably down, past the sleeping countryside, houses in darkness, fields deserted, the woods asleep as the moon sailed in and out of sight behind the clouds. The mist hung over the water in pale drifting threads; somewhere he heard a fish jump and at last the quiet bubble of the water beneath the forefoot as
Curlew
gained in speed.

A bird called from the saltings along the river’s edge, eerily close in the darkness, and he heard a quick swirl in the water as another fish broke the surface. He could smell the mud as the tide began to fall.

He sailed on past Waldringfield sailing club, past The Maybush Inn with the blue umbrellas tightly furled against the damp night air, on past fields and woods, holding course with a single finger on the tiller. There were more wisps of mist round him now, rising off the water.

He would be there before long, and then he would make his decision.

The sword safely buried, Zoë wriggled backwards on her stomach for several metres then at last she climbed to her feet. There was no sound from the tent. The lights had been extinguished and with it the radio. She could hear nothing but silence and, as she reached the muddy field once more, the squelch and suck of her shoes as she stumbled across the furrows towards the hedge. If she had left footprints behind it was too bad. Nothing had been taken from the site so hopefully no one would look.

It seemed to take hours to make her way back towards The Old Barn but she reached it at last. She knew Ken wouldn’t be there but even so she pushed open the door as quietly as she could. The house was in darkness and after kicking off her shoes she stood in the kitchen for several seconds listening intently. Nothing.

Still without turning on the lights she tiptoed across the great room in her socks and made for the stairs. She didn’t turn on the lights until she had drawn the curtains of the bedroom tightly across the windows. Only then did she feel she could breathe again. Glancing at the bedside clock she saw it was just after three in the morning. Pulling off her muddy clothes at last she went and stood under the shower for several minutes and then it was all she could do to reach the bed before she collapsed into a deep exhausted sleep.

She was woken just after five by a frantic knocking on the door. Her heart in her mouth, she dragged on her dressing gown and ran downstairs, her brain befuddled with lack of sleep, expecting to see a policeman standing on the step, but it was Steve.

‘Thank God you are here. Please, Zoë. My car won’t start. The battery is dead. The hospital rang. She’s waking up.’

With one glance at his shaking hands and his agitated face she knew she had to offer to drive him, tired as she was. Sitting him down in the kitchen with a cup of coffee she ran upstairs to dress. It took only minutes to find some fresh clothes and grab her car keys and ring Leo’s mobile. It was switched off. She left a message then she ran back down the stairs and ushered Steve out into the cold of the early morning. She was, she realised, running on pure adrenaline.

She accompanied Steve up to the ward and stood behind him as he looked down at Rosemary, lying unmoving on the hospital bed. She was still hooked up to the monitors. A nurse appeared. ‘Mr Formby? Did they ring you? Rosemary showed some signs of waking up a couple of hours or so ago. She opened her eyes and moved a little.’

‘Is that good?’ Steve had stepped forward to take his wife’s hand.

‘It’s hopeful.’ The woman smiled. ‘It happened at just after two a.m.’

It was just after two a.m. that Zoë had laid the sword back in the ground.

‘I missed it.’ Steve sounded completely defeated. ‘I came as soon as you phoned.’

‘She’ll do it again.’ The nurse moved a chair forward for him. ‘I’ll bring you both some tea.’

‘Both?’ Steve looked confused. He had forgotten Zoë was there.

‘Is this another of your daughters?’ The nurse looked at Zoë and smiled.

Steve looked even more puzzled for a moment, then he shook his head. ‘We only have the one,’ he said sadly. Sarah hadn’t come back.

As the nurse disappeared he gave Zoë a wan smile. ‘You are lucky you don’t have children,’ he said slowly. ‘They can cause so much heartbreak.’

Zoë leaned across and gave his arm a little squeeze. ‘I am so sorry.’ She glanced helplessly round the ward and shook her head. ‘I’ll leave you to it, Steve,’ she said. ‘I have to go back, I’m sorry.’ She bent over and touched Rosemary gently on the arm, then she kissed him lightly on the cheek and tiptoed towards the door. She didn’t think Steve had even noticed that she was leaving.