There wasn’t was there?
After he had gone she cleaned the kitchen counters and tidied the breakfast things away. Another cup of coffee was just a way to pass the time and in the end half of it was poured down the drain.
For a while she sat and looked through the magazines she found on the coffee table in the living room. They didn’t reveal anything about him. They were out of date news magazines and one or two that looked as though they might have been picked up in airports. There was nothing in them to hold her interest.
The book cases were well stocked and she pulled down a novel. She curled up on the sofa and tried to lose herself in the story but even that couldn’t hold her attention. She was on edge and fidgety.
The sun teased her through the narrow window, birds called and white puffs floated across the clean blue sky. It was too nice a day to be inside.
She walked back into the kitchen and stood at the open door. There was no-one around. Cows in a distant field lowed now and again. The lazy smoke from a fire somewhere to the north smudged the horizon. She stepped into the patch of back garden. Sparrows and dunnocks hopped around the base of a hawthorn hedge. Tufty grass covered most of the space with just one small apple tree in the corner. A couple of pots held geraniums. Marie from the farm had obviously kept an eye on the bright little plants which flanked a wooden bench. It tempted her, the old wood worn to comfort.
Two steps from the house, that wasn’t out was it, surely? She crossed the narrow flagstones and lowered herself to the seat. The sun warmed her face and painted bright colours on the back of her closed lids as she gave herself to the peace. There was time enough for worry and maybe even regret later. At this moment she would just be…
Her shoulders slumped as drowsiness fell like a silk curtain and her mind began to drift. She should pull back, get up and move around, but the harmony had her, the air and the music of the earth was carrying her away and it was just too hard to come back. Maybe just another few minutes and then she would force herself awake.
She didn’t hear the car, or the footsteps in the meadow. She didn’t feel the shadow cool her skin and when the terror hit her it came from out of a place of gentle peace and was all the more brutal for that.
Chapter 48
The bliss of sun and birdsong was, in an instant, a nightmare. There was pain in her cheeks and the world spun and tipped as the bench tumbled backwards. She was restricted, held, choking. Her head shook desperately from side to side.
She had to get it off. Whatever had her, she had to shake it loose.
In seconds the true horror hit her. She was gripped from behind. A hand across her face, over her mouth, squeezing the flesh and skin of her cheeks tightly, sparking water to her eyes. She flailed with her arms, kicked out with her legs but he pulled her sideways and backwards, away from the upended seat. She kicked over a pot of geraniums. Still he had her. She writhed and bucked and tried to scream. But he had her and was dragging her back into the house.
“Don’t go out,” Pete had said. He was going to be so angry. She was crying, snot running from her nose.
“Shit. That’s gross.” She was thrown to the floor. Her chin hit the hard flagstones and stars whirled in a world of grey and when her vision cleared she saw blood, spattered across the grey paving. She turned her head but he was sitting on her now. The weight of him would surely break her spine. She was trapped and terrified. The scream that issued from her throat came from a distance, unreal.
Her was hair dragged upwards and then a hand swiped across her mouth. Panic took her to yet another level of desperation. She couldn’t breathe now; he had taped her lips. He leaned down close to her ear. As he did the weight of him eased a little but still she couldn’t draw breath into her lungs.
“Quiet now. Breathe through your nose. Breathe through your nose. Slowly.” It was almost gentle, a whisper in her ear. She could feel the disturbance of air on her neck. “That’s better. Slowly, in through your nose. You’ll be okay if you do that. Worst thing you can do is panic. You panic and you’ll likely choke.”
She dragged tiny breaths in through her nostrils, little snorts.
He dragged her hands backwards and she felt the tape wrapped around her wrists. She squealed anew, consumed by anger, frustration and fear.
“Quiet. Lie still. He rolled away and there was a grunt as he pushed to his feet beside her.
Grabbing her legs he taped her ankles and then pulled her upright. A chair scraped across the floor and with a painful grip on her shoulders he pushed her onto the seat.
“Right. We are going to wait here. We are going to be quiet. We are not going to have any trouble. Do you understand me?” Again the searing pain as her head was pulled backwards. “I said do you understand me?” She tried to nod but he still held her hair.
“You are going to sit still in that chair. I am going to be right here and we are just going to wait.” She tried now to turn her head and the blow from his fist brought back the swirl of dizziness. “Don’t. Don’t even think about it.”
Long moments of silence followed and, though it was still uncomfortable, she gained control of her breathing. It was like the cave all over again. He was dead though, the man in the cave. Pete had told her he was gone, tossed in the sea. So, she had escaped that horror to find herself yet again tied and gagged and beaten. It was all too much.
She had taken all she could. She wanted to just drift away. She was finished. It seemed that there was to be no way out of this drama and it was all too hard. The sobbing made breathing impossible again. Tears tickled her cheeks and as phlegm gathered in her throat she felt the panic returning. Like a dog she shook her head and was rewarded with another drag on her hair.
“Quiet! For God’s sake, bitch, be quiet! You’re not doing yourself any favours here and you causing us trouble is just going to make things worse. Now keep still.” He moved behind and his feet slapped on the kitchen flags. Another chair dragged to where she was, just behind her and facing the door.
She remembered a poem, something from long ago. Something about a highwayman and a woman watching and waiting with no way of warning her lover but to die.
Pete had surely been her lover but for him she couldn’t even find a way to die.
Chapter 49
She heard a car. The low rumble grew and was joined by the spit of gravel under tyres. Next there was the whisper of grass as Pete drove to the hiding place among shrubs at the rear of the house.
The thug sitting behind her tensed and chair legs scraped across the floor. Pauline’s heart pounded, the pulse in her ears was near to pain. She shook her head back and forth and stamped her bound feet up and down. Anything that she could think of to make a row, to warn him. She was rewarded for the effort by a hard blow against the side of her head that sent her senses reeling again. The iron taste of warm blood and the liquid gathering in her throat told of more damage to the delicate lining of her mouth. Still she rocked back and forth, the wooden chair rattling in the quiet.
Would he hear? If he did would he understand and even then what could he do? He mustn’t come through the door. Now at last she had a glimpse of her attacker. The dark figure stepped forward. He was dressed in black with a hooded top. The fabric was pulled forward and down so that there was no way to see his face from where she was. Dark leather gloves covered his hands. As he moved forward he kicked out at her. “Quiet, bitch!” It was an aside, almost nonchalant. His voice was lowered now to a hiss.