Freya's Quest (14 page)

‘Yes.’ Veronica looked troubled, but said no more.

I was becoming concerned about the conspiracy of silence between Veronica and Dylan. The goat-head emblem and the symbols on the medallion so closely matched those in the old chapel, and as Sir Frederick and Serapahina were buried there, they must have made the connexion quickly.

We spent the next hour gathering up all the objects that hadn’t been damaged and re-shelving the books.

‘I’m so sorry he’s destroyed so much,’ I said.

‘Don’t apologize for him. Anyway, most of the stuff here is his.’

‘Oh, I didn’t realize.’

‘I lost everything in a house fire in the early Seventies. Not long after Frederick died. The house and furniture was one thing, objects, pictures and photographs quite another. They had a sentimental value – irreplaceable.’

‘Is that why you were so keen to know the fate of the painting?’

‘Yes. I have little left of him now to rekindle the memories.’

Her face had contorted with a sadness that showed, more than words could’ve expressed, how much she had loved her husband.

‘Of course, the painting you saw has much more significance for Dylan and me. Seraphina completed about twenty-five canvases in her short lifetime. Seven or eight were sold. Dylan has tried to find them and buy them back without much success. I think he recovered one, or maybe two, from this method. He definitely has her self-portrait; an early, but magnificent work, if I may say so. And a couple of others. He never lets anyone see them. All the rest were lost when my house burnt down.’

‘How did it happen?’

‘No one was really too sure. It was razed to the ground. It used to stand at the base of the hill below the Lodge. The family had it built in the Edwardian era, when the Lodge became too small, primitive and uneconomic to maintain.’

‘I see.’

‘It was a sad night, seeing that lovely mansion go up in flames. And so soon after my husband and Seraphina had died as well. The last straw. I decided to sell off the land, including the ruined Lodge.’

‘Yes. Emily said Dylan bought the Lodge back from the Forestry Commission.’

‘Right. The ruin was too complex to demolish, so they simply planted all round it. Some of the outbuildings were used to store vehicles and equipment. I think they were glad when Dylan offered to buy it back. A small group of architectural historians placed a petition to parliament and it gained a Grade II* listing as a result. In time, they would’ve had to commit capital funds to shore up the ruins.’

‘What about the mansion house?’

‘Oh, that’s entirely under afforestation now. They stripped all the demolition debris away. Even infilled the cellars and blew up the stabling block, the only parts to’ve survived the fire. If you look carefully from the top of the mountain, you can still see the mature deciduous trees from the gardens amidst all the new forest. Otherwise, all is forgotten.’

Seeing my increased interest, she went over to a bureau and brought out an old folder. She untied the strings after she’d sat down beside me. ‘Don’t tell Dylan – nor Janis for that matter – that I have these. They’re all I have now to remind me. All I could rescue before the flames almost claimed me as well.’

She opened the folder and presented a number of black-and-white photographs, most singed from the fire. The first was obviously pre-war. It showed the great facade of the Edwardian house. I couldn’t believe such an imposing building really could have been lost so completely. On the lawn in front stood the unmistakable figure of Sir Frederick, still with a moustache, but much younger looking. Perhaps mid-forties. Another man, much older, with a bald head and a countenance that disturbed me, stood next to him.

‘That’s Sir Frederick, right?’ She nodded. ‘Who’s the other guy?’

‘One of the greatest influences on his life. He was his great spiritual guide. And mountaineering companion.’

‘Oh, so that’s where Janis’s interest stems from.’

She frowned. ‘Sort of, though she’d never admit it. Really she found her own way to the hills. Her father spent more time with Dylan and Seraphina in that department. They were both good climbers.’

‘Is that where Dylan got the inspiration for his first novel?’

‘Yes, I suppose it was. But Janis took things a step further than the others. She did a lot of alpine ascents, then headed for the Himalayas. Her ex-boyfriend’s death slowed that down, thank goodness, or she might not be here today. It became an obsession. A dangerous obsession.’

‘I take it you never liked it.’

‘No.’

‘So you didn’t like your husband doing it, either?’

‘Oh, he’d long-since retired from serious mountaineering when I knew him. He was a lot older than me.’

She pointed to the photograph again. In front of the two men were three little girls, all dark-haired, wearing white summer dresses. ‘This picture was taken around 1936. I must have been about four then.’ She was tapping her finger against the middle of the three children.

‘And the other two?’

‘On the left is Agnes Fortescue. On the right is Anne Jones, Dylan’s mother.’

I gasped. ‘I didn’t realize you two went back so far.’

‘Oh, yes. Lifelong friends.’

She drew the photograph to the back of the bunch and focused my attention on the next one. It showed a group of twelve young women, grouped together. In the background was the mansion again, with several marquees pitched on the lawns and various people milling around.

‘These were all our friends. There’s me, look….and Anne….and Agnes.’ She pointed to each of them in turn.

‘When was this taken?’

‘The thirtieth of April, 1950.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘That’s easy. It was my wedding day. They were all my bridesmaids and attendants.’

‘Oh, I see. So that would’ve made you and Dylan’s mother about….’

‘Eighteen.’ She looked at me quizzically.

‘Rather a large age gap between the two of you, then.’

‘Yes, Frederick was sixty-two….I detect your disapproval.’

‘Well, each to their own. Wouldn’t see me doing it, even for money.’

‘I came from the landed class myself. My family had plenty of money. They cut me off when I married him, of course. No, I did it for love.’

She did not care to explain further, but skipped over the remaining pictures. Two of the others were of interest. One showed the Favershams together in a walled garden. It was interesting to see them as a family group. Seraphina was radiant, looking about twelve, her long, dark hair falling over her shoulders and an arm around her father’s waist.

It was difficult to distinguish between the two sisters, so similar was their appearance, except for the greater height Janis’s two extra years gave her. The elder had a brooding expression, her eyes cast off into the distance as if not wanting her picture taken.

Another child stood on the other side next to a slimmer, but still plain-looking Veronica. It had to be Eric. Only the clothing made me surmise it was a boy, since his head had been burnt out of the picture. The strangest thing was how the hole had burnt in precisely this spot, when the rest of the picture, except for one edge, remained unscathed. It was as if it had been deliberately excised with a match-flame at a later date than the fire damage, but I couldn’t be sure. The thought made me shiver.

I think Veronica detected my unease as she flicked the picture away, so I could view the second one of interest. It showed the two sisters again, about three and five, playing in the water at the seaside. A little boy of about two was playing with them.

‘Eric?’

‘No, Eric had blonde hair. That’s Dylan.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought they hadn’t met until he was ten.’

‘No, this was shortly before he and his mother left to go to Wales. My kids never saw them again, till they returned about eight years later.’

I scratched at my brow, trying to gather my thoughts.

‘Be careful, you’ll pull out your stitches.’

I jumped. It was Dylan’s voice. I looked up to find him standing in the doorway.

Veronica quickly slammed the folder shut.

‘I hope Ronni hasn’t been filling you with too many of her stories.’

Veronica rose, head bowed, and retreated through the other door.

Dylan produced another bouquet of flowers from behind his back.

It put a smile back on my face immediately, before I had a chance to stop myself.

‘I’m so sorry, Freya. Are you OK? What must you think of me?’

‘I’m not sure I can answer that at the moment.’

‘Fair enough.’ He didn’t care to explain his actions. ‘What do you want to do now?’

‘Just take me back to the Lodge, please.’

He smiled, reassured that I still wanted to be with him, despite his recent behaviour.

What he couldn’t know was that if it wasn’t for my covert mission, I’d have been long gone.

He took me back in a Singer Gazelle, as his workmen busied themselves repairing the damage to the Land Rover.

JANIS, E-J AND I were crouched down on the lawn the next day, lazing in the afternoon sun. Dylan was up in the tower, not wanting to be disturbed. He said he wanted to work on his next novel, but I thought he was after some quiet space to reflect after the dramatic departure of Emily. And he’d also had a huge argument with Yasuko.

Janis noticed I was reading
The Music Man
. ‘Oh, that’s my favourite one of Dylan’s books. You enjoying it?’

‘Yes. Although I liked the first one I read more.’

‘Um….It seems so strange, now, looking back. None of us took Dylan’s scribblings very serious when we were growing up. I remember reading his first attempt at a novel. He’d worked on it shortly after Sera’s death. It showed promise, but he had a popular-fiction style back then. Nothing like the highly embellished literary works he was later to publish and make his name with. Don’t tell Dylan, but I preferred his old style.
The Music Man
is a more commercial book; a halfway house between the two styles. That’s probably why it’s my favourite.’

Noise from across the lawns broke our conversation, as E-J bantered with Yasuko, who was coming towards us with Quasi. Before Janis could do anything about it, the dog had run over to us and now he jumped upon her crouched form.

E-J laughed.

I was about to join in, but I checked myself when I glimpsed complete terror in Janis’s eyes.

She’d been so absorbed in our conversation that she hadn’t even noticed the dog approaching. Now its paws were on her back and she looked petrified.

I leaned over and pulled the dog away by his collar.

Janis stood up, shuddering, a damp urine stain appearing in the crotch of her white slacks. Recovering some composure, she kicked out at the dog and walked off towards the veranda.

‘Don’t hurt him, Mummy, he’s only playing!’ E-J cried, as the dog yelped. She put her arms around his neck and comforted him.

‘That dog should’ve been on a leash!….Did you untie him?’

‘No, Mummy,’ E-J whimpered.

‘Come with me, before I smack you!’ Janis shrieked from the French windows. E-J, confused, obeyed, and ran off to join her mother inside.

What was all that about
? Yasuko wrote, after she’d approached.

‘I’m not sure. The dog must’ve scared her.’

Yasuko sat down beside me as Quasi romped off towards a family of rabbits, who darted for the safety of the nearest bushes as the dog came near. I watched him disappear into the undergrowth, save for his wagging tail, as he sniffed out his quarry. He barked, then was lost from sight completely.

I was about to go after him, when Yasuko stopped me.

I waited for her to write:
He all right. Can’t go far
.

I sat down again next to Yasuko, who was shifting uncomfortably on the grass.

‘He’s a lovely dog, isn’t he?’

Yes. But Janis hating the dogs. Maybe in mood with Dylan too
.

‘Or p’haps she’s feeling the loss of Emily just as much as he is. Maybe more.’

Yasuko shrugged her shoulders, then leant back to soak up the rays of the sun. She scratched her forehead with her pencil, and scribbled:
Me worried for you
.

‘For me? Not Dylan?’

She shook her head.

You play with fire
.

I didn’t understand and my expression must have conveyed this.

Known him long time. Many like you come. Most leave damaged
.

I coughed and shuffled uneasily.

How involved are you emotionally?

‘I’m really falling for him.’ I hoped I sounded convincing. It would have been the truth a few days ago, but now I was no longer sure.

It looked as though I’d given her the answer she’d expected.

Too bad
.

‘Why d’you say that?’

Bitter experience. Of others & me
.

‘Dylan’s told me the two of you have slept together.’

Of course. He virtuoso sexual gymnast. And very well endowed! All learn from him
.

I laughed. ‘Sounds a bit hypocritical, then.’