It was late afternoon when Jess, lying in her usual position on the front deck, sensed the engine note change. Peter slid the throttles into reverse and slowed Carician to a virtual halt mid-river and parallel to some moorings on the port side. He nudged the controls backwards and forwards until slowly the boat drifted towards the bank.
In the short time she had been afloat, Jess had become adept at handling the ropes and managing the lock gates, especially as they were all electrically operated, so that had not been a major challenge. Consequently, she was ready to leap off the bow and stood for’ard, rope in hand, until the gap had narrowed and Carician’s large white fenders were within touching distance of the Armco barriers.
But she was distracted by something else. Beyond the moorings was a huge field bordered by trees, a large expanse of grass that sloped upwards for almost two hundred yards to a grand country house that stood proudly in the distance at the top of the hill. She had seen many luxurious riverside residences in the last couple of days, but none had come close to this in size and stature, and she wondered why they were stopping here. But as the fenders made contact she returned to the job in hand and jumped ashore, rope at the ready.
Peter manoeuvred the stern and when he was close enough, stepped ashore. He wrapped the stern rope around an iron bollard, before striding towards Jess to do the same.
“There. That’ll do it,” he declared. She looked around again at the imposing house at the top of the hill, still confused.
“Is this where you live?” she asked. He followed her gaze and put his hands on his hips.
“Not quite as grand as it once was and a bit decrepit, just like me really.” He snorted at the joke and climbed back on board.
He set about securing the boat for the night, planning to come back tomorrow morning and prepare her for a lengthier layoff. Jess gathered her belongings and offloaded them onto the concrete standing. Eventually, Peter stepped off carrying a leather holdall and a blue cool box.
“Come on, let’s go see if the place is still in one piece,” he barked, and set off at a pace up the grassy bank towards the house with Jess trotting behind him, trying to keep up.
***
Peter turned the key in the lock and pushed at the large wooden door with his body, with Jess following behind hesitantly. The house had looked big from a distance but it had loomed over them as they had approached, and she felt some trepidation as she stepped over the threshold. The front door was half glazed with stained glass and sported a huge knocker on the front in the shape of a lion’s head. As she closed it behind her, Peter disappeared down the hallway with a cry of “Come on in,” but she stood there for moment, taking in the magnitude of her surroundings.
Her first impression was that her entire house would have fitted into the hallway. The floor was stone and mosaic-tiled, the ceiling at least twenty feet above her head and there was a large spiral staircase at the other end. There were large open doors to her left and right: one led into what she thought looked like an exotic drawing room, the other presumably a formal dining room, given the row of partially visible dining chairs.
The hallway itself boasted three standard lamps and several pieces of antique furniture adorned with a variety of porcelain figurines, vases and a large clock. In the corner by the door stood an ancient grandfather clock with French inscriptions she couldn’t understand, but she could tell it functioned because the pendulum swung as it emitted a languorous tick-tock sound. On the walls hung several oil paintings in gilt frames illustrating ancient scenes, the type you might see in a museum. She had once been taken to Hampton Court as a child, and Peter’s house, although nowhere near as grand and opulent, reminded her of that.
She slowly set off in the direction he had gone, following the sound of his booming voice saying, “Let’s have a brew, shall we?” and found him at the sink in the kitchen, filling the kettle. The kitchen was equally gargantuan by her standards, with a long ten-seater table in the centre, a row of powder blue units down one side, the other taken up by a conventional electric cooker and a huge cast-iron range from which rose a tall chimney. That must be one of those Agas she had read about but had never seen for real.
She stood awkwardly, rucksack still strapped to her back, not knowing what to do, but looking like she was ready to depart. Peter flicked the kettle switch and turned around to face her. He looked earnest and serious about something and he put his hands behind his back as if about to deliver a speech.
“Now, Alice,” he said by way of introduction. “It’s getting late, soon be dark, and you are without a roof over your head. It makes eminent sense for you to stay here tonight, and then tomorrow I can run you into town and you can buy yourself a new tent or get on the bus to wherever.” Jess listened intently as his words flowed, and she mused that only two days ago, she would have been determined to get away as soon as possible.
But try as she might, she had not identified any sinister intent and had always felt comfortable and safe in his company. He came across as a doddery old fool, but she was sure that was just bluster; and although a tiny part of her remained wary, she liked him. She had absolutely no desire to take to the road immediately, with or without a tent. One day at a time. So she simply said, “Okay.”
But for some reason the word did not register and he carried on regardless.
“I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s not as if you have any pressing engagements to attend, so another day won’t make any difference.”
“Okay,” she said again, smiling, rather enjoying his earnest delivery.
“Now I won’t take no for an answer, there could be rain at anytime ...” She saw his brain finally catch up with her response and he beamed in delight. “Excellent! We’ll rustle up a nice dinner and then have an early night.”
“Will it be beans on toast?” she mocked him gently with a smile, and he looked delighted at her little dig. She was getting to know him.
“No, no, no, I have fresh vegetables from the garden and there must be something in the freezer to go with them,” he announced confidently but then looked uncertain. “Mind you, I can’t promise a gourmet supper. Not my strongest point, cheffery.” He looked at her and asked speculatively, “Are you a cook?”
She shrugged. Her mother had taught her to cook from an early age and she was a natural. She had never had much chance to practise in her own house but still knew intuitively what to do in most circumstances.
“I get by,” she said coyly.
“You know, I was hoping you’d say that.” She seized the moment, surprising herself with a new-found confidence that sprang from who knows where.
“Let me cook something for you. It’s the least I can do.”
“Excellent,” gushed Peter, rubbing his hands together like a glutton before an imaginary feast. “Come on, I’ll show you your room,” he said, striding past her and out of the kitchen without waiting for any further comment.
She followed him up the spiral staircase and noticed more oil paintings on the walls, portraits of lords and ladies, ancestors perhaps, all staring at her as if she had no place to be there. She didn’t, she thought. She looked up and could see the stairs spiralling upwards three floors to a bright, domed skylight in the roof; but he turned right on the first landing and marched down the long corridor, arms swinging as if he were on the parade ground. He waited in front of a large white door at the end while she caught him up, and then swung it open for her, standing back to allow her to enter.
The room was huge, at least thirty feet square, and the walls were decorated in pastel shades of pink, topped with a white ceiling at least fifteen feet above her head. Two walls featured giant sash windows with Georgian panes dressed with floral curtains swagged together at each side with a matching pelmet above, and there were two ornate handwoven rugs on top of a pale blue carpet she could feel was lush and deep.
A king-size bed with a velvet padded headboard and quilted cover, flanked by two marble-topped bedside tables with capiz shell-shaded lamps, dominated one wall. Against another, a large mahogany chest of drawers stood below a gilt wall- mounted mirror. Next to a matching wardrobe was a walnut dressing table with stool, the dressing table sporting a jewellery stand and two velvet-covered boxes and backed by a triptych mirror. And, most extraordinary of all, a chaise longue languished in one corner opposite the bed, covered with a hand-knitted blanket and soft cushions.
“En suite over there,” said Peter, following her in and pointing to a white door in the corner. “And you’ll find plenty of clothes in the cupboards and drawers that you are welcome to. You should find something to fit.”
Jess’s alarms bells had started ringing the moment she walked into the room. This was not the spare room she had imagined. Not the basic, utilitarian, hardly ever used, poor man’s room, which to her would have been perfectly adequate, if not luxurious in its own right. This magnificent, opulent, frankly gorgeous boudoir belonged to someone. A girl. And Peter had just confirmed it with the mention of the clothes. She turned to him with a look that fell somewhere between confusion and unease.
“Whose room is this?”
“My daughter Lisa’s,” he said casually and without hesitation. But deliberately or otherwise, he had appeared to miss the point of her question, which in her view needed further explanation.
“Won’t she mind?” asked Jess, getting more disturbed by the second.
“No. She’s away at the moment,” said Peter, skirting the issue. But something in him had changed and she sensed it immediately. The ebullience was gone and his smile seemed laboured, and the fingers of both hands twitched and clenched. Something was wrong and she tried to steady her nerves, pinched by mounting anxiety.
“But what if she comes back and finds me wearing her things?” spluttered Jess, her consternation turning rapidly into a mild panic. Why can’t he see this is a problem?
“No, she won’t,” he said with a reassuring shrug that did little to calm her, and she noticed that although the smile remained, the happiness was gone. “She hasn’t been home for a while.” And before she could complain again, he said, “Please, settle in, make yourself at home. I’ll go and dig up some spuds. I’ll see you downstairs when you’re ready.” With that, he turned for the door.
“But ...” Jess protested, but she was too late. He was gone, the door shutting behind him with a loud click. Her shoulders sagged and she sighed heavily. So, he has a daughter. That much I now know. But she’s not here and not expected here at any time soon or else he would never let someone use her room, never mind wear her clothes. She felt decidedly uncomfortable about the whole arrangement and was beginning to regret not following her original instinct.
Things had been going so well between them and she thought she had gauged his character correctly as a kindly old gentleman, on his own, generous, self-deprecating and amusing but with an authoritarian streak borne out of his time in the army.
But a window had opened into another side of the colonel. He had seemed evasive and a little awkward when talking about his daughter, Lisa, and Jess wondered why that might be, and, more importantly, where she might be. It was a mystery and she would have to get to the bottom of it.
She unhooked her rucksack and laid it on the bed and then, worried that it might dirty the cover, hastily dropped it on the rug which would not so easily show any stains. She kicked off her boots and socks and sank her toes into the deep carpet. It felt good. She strolled over to the en suite and nervously opened the door. A pull cord revealed itself and she tugged on it, bathing the enormous bathroom in a luminescent glow from a dozen LED lights set into the ceiling.
Lisa’s bathroom was even more opulent than her bedroom, featuring a walk-in shower cubicle sparkling with chrome and glass, and a large free-standing white ceramic bath set in the middle of the floor complete with ornate Victorian-style taps. A large vanity unit below a glass shelf and mirror with overhead lights was on one wall, another taken up by a row of white built-in wardrobes.
She wandered around, running her hand over the surfaces, marvelling at how clean and fresh it was. It had clearly not been used for some time and she took some comfort from the fact that this was consistent with what Peter had said. And she was warming to the notion that, at least for a short while, she could enjoy the trappings of luxury Lisa might take for granted.
She opened the built-in wardrobes one by one. Rows and rows of dresses, skirts, blouses and trousers in every conceivable colour hung from rails below shelves which supported dozens of shoeboxes. A hundred or more! She scratched her head and the doubts returned. If Lisa was away and had been away for a while, had she not taken any clothes? There were no obvious gaps and not much room to spare on the rails. It didn’t ring true, but she shook her head and tried to banish the difficult and conflicting thoughts from her mind. She would simply ask Peter and he would explain, and everything would be clear.
She turned her attention to the bath and sat on the edge. On a ledge behind it set into the wall sat bottles of shampoo, conditioner and bubble bath. All the things a young woman needed and more. She couldn’t remember when she had last had a bath. It was all too tempting. She twisted a large chrome knob to drop the plug and turned on the hot tap, pouring bubble bath into the flow of water that foamed up instantly and began to fill the tub with froth.
While the bath filled, she examined her face in the mirror above the vanity unit and noticed that despite the relative comfort and plentiful food she had had in the last two days, she still appeared pale, drawn and featureless. A variety of cosmetics were arranged on the glass shelf and she found more in the drawers. There was enough there to effect some repairs, she thought.
***
Peter sat on the sofa in the drawing room, an open bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and two wine glasses, one half full, arranged before him on a lacquered mosaic table. He had showered and changed quickly and had been waiting patiently for three quarters of an hour for Alice to reappear.
But he didn’t mind the wait and it had given him time to think carefully about how she had reacted to his admission about Lisa. She was clearly more astute than he had realised, and he had simply got carried away with enthusiasm. But it was also clear Alice had been discomfited by his answers, and he cursed himself that he had not anticipated her questions, rash in his assumption that she would be so impressed by her room, there would be no questions asked.
He had never set out to mislead her but he knew he had sounded disingenuous, that this had upset her, and it had upset him in return. He was not prepared to explain everything to Alice just yet. It was far too soon and far too difficult for him. The right time would come for that, and he fervently hoped no lasting damage had been done to their relationship.
But she had been gone a long while and he desperately hoped it was not related to her nervousness about Lisa, or his behaviour. He looked at his watch. Over an hour. How long do young ladies need to have a quick wash and brush up? he thought, and then berated himself for being daft. ’Twas ever thus. Have you forgotten already? But he had to admit he was a little worried and considered whether he dare venture upstairs to enquire. He needn’t have worried.
Footsteps on the stone floor outside in the hallway and then on the oak floorboards of the drawing room caused him to look up in the direction of the open door. She was standing in the doorway, hands clasped behind her back, nervously waiting her turn to be announced at the ball or, at least, invited in. Nervous. Self-conscious in someone else’s clothes, someone else’s shoes and someone else’s make-up.
She wore a simple pale blue cashmere sweater over blue skinny jeans and flat black shoes. Lisa’s. He looked at her for a moment and his mouth dropped open. His heart skipped and a lump formed in his throat, such that he thought he would not be able to speak.
“Gosh,” he said finally, and he could feel his eyes watering. He fought back the instinct and bit the inside of his mouth to distract himself from the thoughts whirling around his head. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he said, his voice beginning to break.
If he had meant to calm her nerves, he would have failed, but at that moment he was capable only of saying what was on his mind. Jess looked away, embarrassed, uncomfortable, and he saw it.
“Please, come in,” he said softly, but then remembered his manners and stood up briskly.
“Please, sit.” He gestured to the sofa opposite and she automatically obeyed, just as she had done that first night on the boat. The moment was over for now and the colonel was back in control. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Yes, thank you.” He poured a glass and handed it to her, topped up his own and sat back down on the sofa opposite.
He sat back, and watching her sip the wine filled him with joy. He had not planned to interrogate her just yet, if ever, but he was on his second glass and he couldn’t resist. Anyway, he just wanted to hear her speak.
“Now, Alice, I don’t know where you came from and I don’t know where you’re going, but I’m very pleased I found you huddled under my canopy the other day.” She smiled a thank you. “You know, I know nothing about you, you’ve been very” – he paused to find the right word – “reserved.”
“I’m sorry,” she jumped in quickly, clearly wrestling with a suitable reply, but he came to her rescue, again.
“No, stop there. I am not being nosey, just concerned. If there’s something on your mind you want to chat about, then feel free to do so in your own time. I can assure you I am a good listener. On the other hand, I have no problem with those who prefer to keep themselves to themselves.” He leant forward conspiratorially. “I’ll have you know, I am a founder member of the M.Y.O.B.S.” He announced gravely. She looked at him, puzzled, before he bellowed, “The Mind Your Own ... Business Society.” She helped him finish the sentence as the penny dropped, and they both enjoyed the joke; but then he became more serious.
“I used to interrogate people, you know, ghastly business.” He made a face expressing his distaste. “But they had things I needed to know. So, I don’t speak lightly. Everyone has a right to a private existence without others poking their noses into their affairs. Anyway, it’s not what people say, it’s what they do that matters,” he declared, taking another swig of his wine.
She nodded in understanding. In fact, he had little interest in her background, deciding that, despite his career in intelligence gathering, the need to know a fundamental part of his professional life, the less he knew about Alice the better. If she was unable or unwilling to open up to him, then so be it.
The one thing they had in common, did they each but know it, was that life had begun again two days ago when they first met. Day one of the rest of their lives. There was no past, no future, just the present; and, like her, he was content to take things one day at a time. She smiled at him, embarrassed at the silence. He rescued her again.
“Now,” he went into command mode, “where’s this dinner I’ve been promised?” She brightened immediately and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.
“Dinner coming up, Colonel, at nineteen thirty hours,” she announced with aplomb.
“Ha! Marvellous!” he hooted with delight at the military reference. “Don’t hesitate to shout if you need some help.” He leant forward conspiratorially. “But I’m best kept out of it if I’m honest.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage,” she said and jumped to her feet.
He watched her go, and as she did, his smile faded and, not for the first time, he was overwhelmed by sadness. He sat back and rubbed his forehead. From time to time she looked like the proverbial rabbit in the headlights and he desperately wanted to comfort her, to hold her and prove to her that she was safe. Whatever her background was, whoever she was, Alice, he was sure, was not her real name. Whenever he used it, there was a fractional delay in her response, a disconnect, a sliver of doubt which revealed an inconsistency she was trying to resolve. He had seen this many times before in his career, the innocent or not so innocent lie; that was the distinction that had to be struck.
But worse, if she was living a lie, then he was too, and the self-loathing he had endured for the last year or so hung like a cloud over his head. He could not, would not let this girl come to any harm, but that relied on her staying within his sphere of influence, and that was the challenge that faced him now. It’s all for her own good. Or is it for mine?
***
Jess scurried around the huge kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers at random until she found the right implements. She had all the ingredients and after a slow start, things began to come together. She had set herself a deadline and was determined not to miss it. What would the colonel think if she did?
She thought back to that moment when she had presented herself in the drawing room, when she had expected to see the garrulous, voluble, energetic Colonel Jeffries she thought she had come to know. Instead, she saw an elderly gentleman named Peter, frail and vulnerable, his piercing blue eyes curiously vacant and lost. She was already uncomfortable wearing Lisa’s things and, seeing his reaction, had thought for a split second it had been a mistake, but he had seemed to recover his composure just as quickly. She had resolved to stay totally sober, but after her arrival at the house and the extraordinary experience upstairs in Lisa’s room and then again in the drawing room, she had decided she needed it. The wine had tasted cool and fruity but then warming and pleasantly relaxing.
She had been thrown off balance by his observation on her reticence and her apology had been genuine, but she had no desire to rake up the past just yet, if ever. And the same could be said about him, she thought. She knew nothing about him either, other than he owned a huge house, a classy motorboat and had a daughter, Lisa, who was away somewhere and not expected to return in the near future. But then that was quite a lot, she had to admit, a lot more than he knew about her. She had stayed quiet, relieved he had not pressed her, at least for the moment. But she had noted that given his statement about personal privacy, he too was likely to be less forthcoming than she wanted.
Her biggest problem was that she could not bring herself to trust anyone, not even Peter, and she could only satisfy herself that Peter was not a danger to her by knowing more about him. But trust had to be earned and that took time, and as she still harboured the belief that her stay there would be short-lived, there might not be enough.
By seven thirty she was ready to serve. She strode out into the hallway and banged the dinner gong, surprising herself with her sudden display of bravado and self-confidence.
Within seconds Peter marched into the kitchen clutching his wine glass and the remains of the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
“By Jove, that smells marvellous!” She put two plates down on the table and he sniffed the one in front of him loudly.
“Chicken casserole, with fresh vegetables from the estate,” she announced. He refilled their glasses and they clinked.
“Bon appetit,” he said.
“Bon appetit,” she said back, and they laughed together.
***
Jess lay in the huge bed, gazing at the full moon as it drifted past the tall window. The bed was supremely comfortable and the goose down pillows, soft and luxurious. She had everything she could possibly need at her fingertips, the polar opposite of her circumstances a mere forty-eight hours ago. And yet she could not accept it nor take it for granted. She felt like a fraud. This was Lisa’s bed, Lisa’s nightdress, Lisa’s bedroom, and she, Jess, an intruder for whom time would inevitably run out.
And then it would all come to an end, everything comes to an end, and who knows where she would be. She was, however increasingly relaxed in Peter’s company and had no immediate desire to rush off into the night. She would not abuse his generosity any longer than necessary, but he seemed to enjoy having her there and, she guessed, would be very upset if she disappeared unexpectedly.
But she was unnerved by Lisa’s absence and if she needed to know anything, it was where Lisa was and when she was likely to return. Until she knew that, she was merely an interloper. She was tired but her mind continued to race, and it was a long time before sleep eventually came.
***
She’s up and it’s early and Mo is just leaving and he’s in a rush, always in a rush, never has time to talk, always working, always on his phone speaking in his strange language, and she’s feeling sick again and she’s been to the doctor and he’s confirmed it. She’s excited and frightened and nauseous at the same time and she wants to share it with him and he puts his phone down and she’s telling him and he ignores her and dials someone else and holds his palm up to her and he jabbers on and on, “Two thousand to win, inshallah,” and she is pacing around and then he finishes his call and he tells her to stop working and they are moving house and getting out of this shithole and make sure it’s a boy and then he calls someone else, “Thirty k a kilo, twelve for a quarter, aap khoye hue hain,” but then she’s in the hospital and Leila is crying and her mum’s there with a purple eye and blood streaming down her face and says, “Your Dad’s poorly, sends his best,” and she look down at her new baby daughter but the cot is empty and she knows and Mo’s nowhere to be seen and she gets the bus home but there’s no one there and she knows and she calls him, “Mo, where are you? Mo, where are you? Mo, please, where are you?” – but she knows.
She sat up, wide awake, and her face was wet. She turned her head to the window and the moon was gone, replaced by an orange glow on the horizon. Jess wiped her eyes and looked east, hoping, no, certain that Leila would be having her lunch by now and that soon she would be resuming her lessons. One day at a time. Sleep comes again, and this time, it’s gentle and kind to her.
***
The silence of the morning woke her. The house was very quiet. But, she thought, that’s understandable because it’s so big and no one lives here.
She looked at the bedside clock and noticed with mild horror it was 9.35. She had never slept in, never in her life, but she realised she had been in bed for almost twelve hours. Maybe her body needed it – but what would he think of her?
She threw back the covers and dived into the shower with every intention of rushing downstairs as quickly as possible to apologise to him for her outrageously rude behaviour. But the water was too warm, the pressure too exhilarating, the shower gel too fragrant and foamy and she didn’t want to get out. He had obviously not tried to wake her, but then he was a gentleman and wouldn’t come into her room unannounced. I hope he hasn’t been waiting for breakfast.
The grandfather clock in the hallway was chiming ten when she descended the spiral staircase, still straining to hear signs of life. She was wearing another of Lisa’s cashmere sweaters because she loved the feel of cashmere on her skin. It was a peach colour this time, paired with black jeans and soft shoes, and she had tied her hair back with clips.
She sauntered into the kitchen but it was deserted. There was a handwritten note on the table: “Gone into town for a few supplies. Back in a couple of hours. Have fun!”
She made herself tea and had a piece of toast and then decided to go for a wander.
She had not had time to appreciate the drawing room the previous night. All four walls were adorned with bright yellow wallpaper featuring exotic birds and plants; three sofas sat in the centre of the room around a lacquered table in front of a large marble fireplace. Mahogany tables stood in each corner, on which sat ornate Chinese lamps, and daylight flooded in from two huge sash windows with internal wooden shutters, just like in her ... in Lisa’s bedroom.
But the place was a mess, she thought, in her professional cleaner’s opinion. Books were strewn everywhere on every horizontal surface, as were old newspapers. The odd dirty mug with dried-up tea and coffee stains lurked on a mantelpiece covered in dust, as were most other surfaces.
The dining room was equally unkempt, the centre taken up by a large mahogany table littered with more books and newspapers, surrounded rather haphazardly by twelve chairs upholstered in dark green velvet. A huge gilt mirror sat above a jet-black fireplace, either side of which were glass-shelved alcoves featuring a range of exquisite porcelain, all of them, she couldn’t help noticing, sitting under a uniform coating of dust and grime.
She ventured outside to the back garden and found his vegetable patch, with runner beans, tomatoes, carrots and onions all growing in raised beds, and a greenhouse containing cucumbers, aubergines and chillies. There were also num