Part 27 (1/2)

”And you say you were cut by the barbed wire? Don't movea there, that should do it.”

”I was in the orchard; there was a loose strand of barbed wire in the hedge.”

”Does it sting?”

”Not much.”

”What were you doing prowling about in the bushes anyway?”

”Sam was in there, going crazy. I thought he'd got hold of a hedgehog or something.”

”So, you wound up the injured hero, hmm?”

”I'll live.”

Smiling, Val shook her head at the dog that sat there, his tail swis.h.i.+ng back and forth across the carpet. He'd got the grinning look on his face. Sam knows the truth, John told himself. He knows I nearly had my head sliced off when the fence post burst out like a torpedo. He knows we had a visit from a stranger, too, with a dark tale to tell. But, thank G.o.d, dogs don't speakie da' English. Val won't be the wiser. He can hide this from her.

But why hide it? Why not tell her everything as she dabs antiseptic cream on my head? Buta But what? She'd worry. Yes. She would. A trouble shared isn't a trouble halved. It's trouble just spread a bit further, troubling people that don't need to be troubled.

He felt a sudden heart-warming burst of love for his wife. She'd certainly gone through a whole potty full of s.h.i.+t when he first tried to cut it as a writer. When ma.n.u.scripts came bouncing back in the mail with rejection slips that were so d.a.m.n depressing he had to reach for the whisky bottle. Times were tough five years ago. They'd had to sell the car to keep the roof over their heads. Even when his first books. .h.i.t the stores they paid so d.a.m.n little. That old saying really was true: Crime doesn't pay.

Or at least it didn't pay him. He'd spend a year writing a crime book only to be paid what amounted to nickels and dimes. Come Christmas he'd wind up working nights in a mail depot to ensure that there'd be turkey on the table and presents in the Santa sacks.

Of course he and Val would argue, then endure the stony silences that followed. This wasn't some poverty paradise where they'd laughingly boil up a supper of potatoes and cabbage. But Val stuck with him. She'd weathered the rough times. Now life was good. Blast His Eyes sold like hot cakes. He didn't want to go upsetting things now. No, he'd see this plague of mystery letters through to the end himself.

Then as Dianne Kelly said: that would be an end to it for a while. A long while. So he shouldn't try to get all logical and reason it out. He'd go with the flow. He'd meet the demands of the letters. Then he'd forget them.

Outside, clouds had drawn a dark sheet over the face of the earth. Raindrops fell on the roof. A branch, or perhaps maybe a piece of timber pa.s.sed through the millrace. The sound of huge talons sc.r.a.ped furiously at the stone beneath their feet.

3.

”And this was the Necropolis station?”

”Cool, isn't it?”

Paul stood beside Miranda in the abandoned ticket office. With the windows boarded it was a velvety dark until she lit a candle. ”It's something of an after school clubhouse,” she told him. ”There's candles all over the building. You might even find a few cus.h.i.+ons, too.”

”I thought it would have been wrecked.” He looked round. There was no graffiti, with the exception of a few names scribbled in pencil on the wall. He noticed a timetable on the wall printed in heavy gothic type.

”See that one?” Miranda pointed at the timetable. ”19:00. The Last Train.” She smiled. ”For lots of people who came here it really was the last train.”

Paul looked round. Light fittings an inch thick with dust hung from the ceiling. The remains of heavy velvet drapes in still rich, dark funereal purple covered the windows. On an upholstered bench against the wall someone had spread a modern checked blanket.

”Are you sure we're alone?” he asked.

”Are you sure you've got the goodies?”

He looked down at her. In the candlelight she was breathtaking. Her eyes sparkled, her hair luxurious, while the curve of her slender waist was something else. Once more he found his eyes drawn to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s molding a white T-s.h.i.+rt.

He thought about them. The freckles. The dark nipples.

G.o.d, this was a long time coming.

She kissed him on the mouth. ”Paul, I asked if you've brought them with you?”

Them. The delicious way she charged the word with emphasis was enough for his blood to run hot.

He slipped his hand into his back pocket, found the packet, then drew it out.

”Oh, h.e.l.l no,” he breathed.

”What's wrong?”

”I've picked up Elizabeth's gum by mistake. That means she must have-”

”Paul! I don't believe it.”

He showed her the packet. ”I got you that time.”

”You did, Paul.” She smiled then kissed him again, her lips soft, open, wonderfully warm and as wonderfully moist. ”Hook, line and stinking sinker.”

When he kissed her now he felt as if he was on a huge slide. A dizzying ride that caught hold and took him whether he wanted to ride it or not. His head swam, his heart beat faster, his breathing came in gasps and-great G.o.d in heaven-he'd never been this hot before. He thought he could explode with such force it would tear the roof off the place.

Another force took him over now. His hands moved over her body as hers moved over his. Their kiss seamless, powerful, pa.s.sionate.

Ninety-five percent of his being strained to merge with her so completely they fused into a single ent.i.ty.

Yet, that five percent of him hung back, thinking with a quiet surprise, Yes, Paul. It's really happening. This is going to be the first time. If only the others could see you now. With one of the most beautiful girls in the school-Miranda Bloom with the long suntanned legs, Spanish eyes, las.h.i.+ngs of hair that swathed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s when she walked, hips swaying.

Rain fell on the roof with the sound of dry lungs beginning to breathe after a century's pause. It rose and fell with a sizzling hiss. Shadows inflated from dwarf silhouettes to those of giants in the candlelight.

Miranda slid out of her clothes. Then, gripping his shoulders, she straightened her arms, pus.h.i.+ng him back. She looked up at him, inviting him to gaze on her naked body.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. ”What you see is what you get.”

Gooseflesh rose her b.r.e.a.s.t.s into points, the tips darkening. Her perfume rose into his nose, engulfing his head. His body crackled with an excitement that was nothing less than electric.

Like dance steps he'd learnt long ago, then forgotten, it came to him. He knew what to do. It was straightforward now. There was nothing complicated about the process at all.