Part 5 (1/2)

”They've been locked years. The place isn't used anymore.”

”At least this lot will rest in peace, then.” He nodded at the acres of headstones lying beneath the trees.

”Maybe not. Lots of people come here after dark to be alone.” She gave that beautiful smile again, her dark eyes catching the glints of light falling through the branches. ”There are always couples sipping wine in the graveyard at midnight, if you know what I mean?” She wrinkled her nose.

He nodded and said that he did while frantically sifting his memory for the meaning of the expression. But the look in her eye was interpretation enough. She meant people made out here. He thought of naked bodies lying entwined on the grave slab of 'Nathaniel Benjamin 1863-1938, Mayor of Dewsbury and husband to Mary. Peace after great suffering.' Dear G.o.d, how could you keep your finger on the b.u.t.ton when you could picture Benjamin's skull leering up at you through six feet of grave soil?

”Come on,” she said. ”I'll show you round.”

Then she did something surprising, yet wonderfully exciting-she took his hand in hers, then they walked hand in hand amongst the headstones-alone but for the bones of eighty thousand dead.

6.

While his teenage son was moving deeper into the graveyard and at the same time beginning to cross that boundary between boyhood and manhood, John Newton sat in an armchair at the Water Mill eating a sandwich. Val, from beneath a smoky fringe of hair, shot him glances with come-to-bed eyes.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth, with her bandaged jaw, lay on her side like a Roman aristocrat, her top half propped up on one elbow as she drank from a carton of juice. She'd chosen to lie on a gla.s.s section of floor that was the window to the millrace. Through it you could see water running beneath the house. It was certainly this square of gla.s.s some four foot by eight that had sold the house to them all those months ago. One look at it, as he and Val walked in for the first time, and WOW! They were well and truly snared.

Both had gazed in wonder. The gla.s.s panels set in the floor were incredibly strong-'you could march elephants across those' the vendor had told them. 'It won't so much as crack.' But still John Newton found it an effort of will to actually stand on the gla.s.s floor and peer down into what amounted to a pit of darkness. It didn't make it any easier when lights beneath the gla.s.s were switched on to reveal torrents of water cascading through the stone tunnel. In years gone by the flow would turn the waterwheel, which drove the millstones that ground wheat into flour.

So, Val and John had toured the house, climbed back into the car, telling the vendor that they'd other properties to see. They'd driven all of thirty yards when Val turned to him and said, ”John, we've got to have it, haven't we?”

John had nodded. The Water Mill was irresistible. They'd gone straight back and made the offer.

Of course, as in the rest of life, nothing ever goes that smoothly. They offered less than the asking price. The vendor haggled. Then they'd sat and drank coffee over the millrace again, gazing in wonder at the hundreds of gallons of water tumbling just feet beneath their feet, then-collapse of stout party-they'd caved in and offered the vendor's asking price. After a protracted song and dance between banks, lawyers, structural engineers, surveyors and for some reason the lady who lived down the street, it was all settled. Five months after clapping eyes on the place the Newton's moved in. For weeks afterwards they'd switch off the TV and gaze down through the gla.s.s floor at those speeding waters. In the light of the spot lamps the torrents never looked the same twice. If it were sunny for more than a day or two the water would take on a hint of green from algae in the water. If it rained heavily, clays in the streambed dramatically stained the water blood red.

The effect was nothing less than magical. It hadn't even been dampened when Paul gleefully told Elizabeth there was a local legend that children had drowned there in the tunnel beneath the house.

Threats of grounding plus removal of the computer from Paul's bedroom encouraged him to retract the story.

Still, Elizabeth would gaze down through the gla.s.s at the waters swirling just four feet below and ask thoughtfully, ”Dad, do you think anyone has ever drowned down there before?”

John always made a point of laughing as if the idea was just plain silly, then he'd distract her by changing the subject.

Elizabeth lay on her favorite spot on the gla.s.s, directly above the rus.h.i.+ng stream. Even though the thick gla.s.s s.h.i.+elded her completely from what must have been a considerable roar, Elizabeth told them she liked to feel the vibration of it tickling her behind as she sat there.

Once after a particularly heavy downfall of rain (and when both Paul and Elizabeth were at school) John made love to Val on the observation window. The vibrating gla.s.s certainly did have a stimulating effect. Even if the image did linger in John's mind of the gla.s.s giving way beneath their combined weight, and plunging them into the torrent below.

”How's the chin, hon?” John asked.

”OK,” Elizabeth replied, more interested now in what was happening to Tom & Jerry on the TV than the state of her chin.

”Does it still hurt?”

”No.”

John smiled and shook his head. The girl was made of iron and steel all right. He only wished she'd develop a greater sense of self-preservation. She sucked on the carton straw; some juice dripped down to stain the dressing bandaged there beneath her chin, so a blotch of raspberry contrasted with the rusty brown of the bloodstain. The dressing was maybe a bit too big for her chin, forming a projecting shelf onto which crumbs from her lunch had dropped. These John had to carefully remove with the pastry brush so they wouldn't become stuck in the drying gunk that was forming a scab.

”How's the book going?” Val asked.

”Not bad,” he said, telling a little white lie. ”I've written the first couple of pages.” The last thing he wanted to admit right now was that he doubted if it would be even half as good as Blast His Eyes; and that already he'd begun to harbor fears that they might end up loosing the Water Mill before they'd even grown used to calling it home.

So, that was where the little white lie came in. It was there to protect Val, not deceive her. He didn't want her worrying needlessly at this stage. h.e.l.l, didn't he go through this crisis of confidence with every book he wrote? That comes with being a writer. Once you become c.o.c.ksure about your talent that's when you fall slap-bang on your face. Like taking an exam, or going for a job interview, a little fear was good for you. It spurred you on to make a greater effort. At least that's what he was telling himself now.

”Johna John?”

He looked up, snapping out of his gloomy trail of thought.

”John.” Val gave him a direct look. ”Seeing as Elizabeth is engrossed in watching television and Paul's out.” She smiled. ”I thought I'd have a shower. Come up and have one after me.” Her voice was silkily casual. ”Finish your coffee first, it will give me a couple of minutes to get ready.”

Elizabeth was completely engrossed in the TV-the wonder that is Cartoon Network would keep her entertained for another hour at least.

Shooting him a provocative glance, Val left the room. Smiling to himself, he cleared away the plates to the kitchen, finished his coffee, returned the salad to the refrigerator, then locking the house doors, he told Elizabeth he was going up to shower.

”Mum, too?” Elizabeth asked in a disinterested kind of way. She'd seen this before.

”Yes, hon. Shout if you need anything.”

His daughter nodded her bandaged head. ”Enjoy yourself,” she added obliquely.

He found himself coloring a little as he climbed the stairs.

Val lay beneath a white sheet. She lay on her back, hands behind her head, gazing up at the ceiling.

”Right on time.” She smiled and pulled back the sheet so he could climb in.

Her body looked taut, almost cat-like, as she lay there naked. As he shed his own clothes, she stretched luxuriously. ”I think we both need this.” Her voice grew husky. ”It will be therapeutic.”

”I need some special therapy, I can tell you.” Smiling he slid in beside her. Once more he marveled at how cool her skin felt against his. Her touch was deliciously gentle. Instantly the heat of sheer desire p.r.i.c.kled through him. Lightly, he kissed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, paying particular attention to her nipples, which he feathered with his tongue. G.o.d, this felt good after all the s.h.i.+t today. The dull wearing ache of that two-hour hospital wait evaporated. He didn't think about the book. Or anything about the world outside.

He was going to escape into pa.s.sion. And pa.s.sion as hot and as sizzling as he could make it.

Already Val breathed deeply into his ear as she squirmed beneath the workings of his tongue. His hands joined in; either firmly ma.s.saging or caressing lightly.

”Oh, John,” she sighed, pulling his head down to her nipple. Gently, he took the bud of hardening skin between his teeth and applied pressure.

”Harder.” She moaned. ”Bite harder.”

The cry that came from her lips was powered by sheer pleasure.

Excited now, feeling a flame crackle through him, he rolled her fully onto her back. Her thighs closed round him, gripping his waist. He looked down at her face, her eyes were closed, her mouth partly open. Now her lips had grown big and red and moist. Her hair was a crazed veil half hiding her face.