The Warrior’s Princess. Barbara Erskine

That wasn’t part of the dream about the child. That was her flat, her bed. The doctor had said her memory might start to return; she had said there might be flashbacks, nightmares, as the longterm effects of whatever drug he had used on her began to wear off.

      Unsteadily Jess made her way down to the kitchen. On automatic pilot now, she plugged in the kettle and assembled mug and coffee pot. Her hand was shaking as she measured the coffee into the pot. Outside the window the yard was already bathed in sunshine. The geraniums in the tub next to the studio door were almost luminous as the light caught their petals. The rough stones of the wall threw a pattern of irregular shadows where the original byre met the more modern infill. She frowned. She could recognise the shape of the older stones. Sunlight. Torchlight. The kind of torch that trailed flames and tarry smoke. This was the scene of her dream. Slamming down the mug, she opened the door and walked out into the yard. The air was soft and fragrant, mountain air with the scents of grass and wild thyme and gorse and sheep. Walking across the still-damp flags to the wall in her bare feet she ran her hand over the sun-warmed stones. With the sun at this angle it was easy to see where the new wall had taken over the old, transforming the ruined byre into a modern studio workshop. Unlocking the door she walked in and stared round. The huge room was very silent.

      ‘Hello?’ Jess approached the work table. There was no one there, of course. A bumble bee flew in through the open door, did a couple of quick circuits and flew out again. ‘Hello? Are you here?’ She wasn’t sure who she was expecting to answer. The little girl of her dream, perhaps, because this building had been at some time in the past the scene of the rape she had witnessed in her sleep. Of that she was certain.

      The phone rang as she walked back in through the front door.

      ‘Jess, you OK?’ It was Steph. ‘I got no answer from your flat so I guessed you were already at Ty Bran. Oh, Jess! I can’t tell you how wonderful it is here! I am having such a fantastic time!’

      Jess turned to look out of the window at the sun-drenched yard. ‘Me too.’ She gave a wry grimace. ‘So, do I gather you’ve got some gorgeous man out there you haven’t mentioned?’

      There was a snort from the other end of the line. ‘I’ve told you before, Jess, I’ve given up on men. I love them at arm’s length, but that’s all from now on. They make for far too many complications if you let them get too close.’ There was a slight pause. ‘Are you sure you’re OK? You’re not lonely? If you need anything, don’t forget you can go and ask Megan Price. She would love to see you and she’ll look after you.’

      ‘Steph –’

      Jess always found it hard to get a word in edgeways with her sister. It was probably trying for so many years that had made her such a good teacher. Quiet persistence was the name of the game. ‘Steph, listen, I want to ask you something. Is this place haunted?’

      There was a moment’s silence the other end of the line. At last she had Steph’s attention. ‘Why?’ Steph’s cautious response in Rome was almost drowned by a volley of hooting in the street outside the apartment window behind her. Jess heard it and smiled wistfully. ‘I just wondered.’

      ‘I –’ Steph hesitated. ‘To be honest I have suspected there might be something odd there once or twice. Just noises. The feeling sometimes that I was being watched. I haven’t seen anything.’ There was a pause. ‘You’re not scared up there on your own are you?’ She sounded worried.

      Jess grimaced. ‘No, of course not. As you say, noises. It’s probably because I’m not used to rural silence after London, that’s all.’

      There was a chuckle the other end of the phone. ‘My dear, if you think London is noisy, try Rome! Listen.’

      Jess guessed the telephone was being held out of the open window the other end. A muffled unspecified roar punctuated by the staccato wail of a car alarm confirmed her guess.

      ‘Listen, Jess. Kim’s come back with our panini and the giornali. I’ve got to go.’ Steph was on the end of the line again. ‘I’ll call you again in a few days, OK?’

      ‘Wait, Steph!’

      But it was too late. Steph had hung up. ‘Let me have your number, in case I need to get in touch …’ Jess finished the sentence softly to herself as she put down the phone. All her life Steph had been doing this to her. Talking so hard and so fast Jess had either forgotten what she was going to say or she had given up trying. She gave a wry grin. Well, at least they communicated which was more than many sisters did. And there was always Steph’s mobile.

       4

      The Prices were her sister’s nearest neighbours. She remembered their warmth and friendliness from her previous visits and even the thought of going to see them cheered her up enormously. She glanced round the kitchen. The house felt welcoming and warm. There was no trace of anything spooky here now.

      The spookiness, she reasoned to herself firmly, was tied up with the dream and the dream was tied up to what had happened to her. Rape was not something she was going to shrug off and forget just like that. The experience had wounded her in a way she would probably never completely recover from. But she was here in the peace and quiet of this beautiful countryside to do just that, she was a strong woman. She would get over it. Dan’s words. Get over it.

      The walk down the lane and up across the fields to Cwm-nant, the Prices’ farm in the next valley, was a long one but she enjoyed it. She had done it several times before with Steph. Meg and Ken Price ran a sheep farm but had still found time to help Steph when she had first moved in, to welcome her whenever she looked in and to treat her as family. Jess was pretty sure of a pot of tea and some gossip in the farmhouse kitchen. Unused to country walking, she was exhausted by the time she climbed over the last fence and dropped down into their lane, noting the fields were empty. The sheep must be up on the hills for the summer. She walked into the yard and greeted the two collies who ran up to her.

      The back door of the farmhouse was opened by a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard and light blue eyes. He must have been in his early forties. Dressed in jeans and an open-necked shirt he filled the doorway with his bulk as he clicked his fingers at the dogs milling round her heels. They slunk away across the yard towards the kennel.

      Jess’s heart sank at the sight of the stranger. ‘Are Meg and Ken in?’ It hadn’t occurred to her to ring first. Steph never did.

      He shook his head. ‘They’re on holiday.’ His voice was deep and mellow but not particularly friendly. Her disappointment must however have been obvious for he raised an eyebrow. ‘As I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’m their son, Rhodri. Can I help?’

      She shook her head. ‘Not really. I just thought I’d call in to say hello.’ She gave him a tentative smile.

      He glanced over her shoulder towards the gate. ‘Just passing, were you?’

      The lack of a car and the fact that the lane dead-ended at the farm made that unlikely. She stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Jess Kendal.’ He ignored the hand and she dropped it, suddenly embarrassed. She hadn’t even realised the Prices had a son. She didn’t think Meg or Steph had ever mentioned him. ‘My sister is a neighbour,’ she ploughed on. ‘Across the fields. Ty Bran?’ She waited for a sign of recognition as she waved an arm vaguely in the direction of the ridge above the field beyond the lane. It looked deceptively close in the warm sunshine. ‘I’m staying there for a bit while Steph is away. I just thought I would come over to say hello to Meg, that’s all. I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

      ‘You haven’t. Not so far.’ He frowned.

      She smiled uncomfortably. This was not the man in whom to confide her fear of ghosts or her fear of anything for that matter. Nor, clearly, was he going to offer her the hoped for cup of tea. Or even a civil smile. ‘I’ll be on my