Moon Song (14 page)

Isoldé was speechless.

‘Listen!’ she said. Then her paw-hand reached up and touched Isoldé’s right ear and suddenly the woman could hear a song-thread in the sound of the waterfall, an almost-tune. Isoldé tried really hard to concentrate and remember it and found she was watching the waterfall. It was as if she could see the actual drops of water. They looked like a bead-curtain. Isoldé pulled out her notebook and tried to draw it.

The hare-girl patted her hand chuckling and leapt up to run away up the path towards the sea, turning back into a hare as she ran to go rolling over the grass and bounding over the rocks out of sight.

Isoldé sat staring for a moment then shoved the book back in her pocket and headed for home.

‘You know,’ Mark said over his shoulder as he prepared the
coffee, ‘I really like making love when I wake up in the morning …’ He turned, bringing the coffee pot to the table and pouring for her.

‘So do I,’ she replied.

‘Odd how we’re not getting to do it,’ he said, ‘seeing as how we both like it …?’

Isoldé sipped at the coffee, then made a face at him. ‘I can’t help it,’ she growled. ‘It’s them! Otherworld, Gideon, whoever, and this morning it was the hare-girl. They keep calling to me as soon as I wake up,’ she paused, ‘well before actually, in a dream. And I have to go. Do you understand at all?’ She put her hand over Mark’s, willing him to smile.

His fingers gripped hers. ‘Yes,’ he grinned lopsidedly, ‘unfortunately …or perhaps fortunately …I do. They do call. Up to now, for me, it’s always been about music.’

‘This was about music …’ Isoldé fumbled in her pocket and brought out the notebook. ‘The hare-girl spoke to me, told me she wanted her song. Then she touched my ear and I could hear it in the sound of the waterfall. And I could see, really see, each actual drop of water in the fall so I drew them.’ She pushed the pad over to him, open at her scribble-drawing of the fall.

He stared at the lines; they did seem to imitate the pattern of a waterfall. Then an idea struck him, he turned the page on its side.

‘Yes!’ Isoldé cried, ‘you’ve got it!’

They could both see rough scratches in the paper, five lines, with the marks of the water-beads Isoldé had drawn on them.

‘It’s a musical stave!’ he was grinning incredulously at her.

‘It is so,’ she agreed. ‘It was the hare-girl. She traced her claws across the paper and showed me. I was writing music without even knowing it. She giggled at me then. It was like we were sisters, or best friends, I felt so close to her. Then she ran off. I watched and, as she ran, she turned back into a hare again, leaping and dancing up the cliff. I sat on for a while, watching the
water patterns then I came home …to breakfast?’ she ended with a hopeful query, the early work had left her hungry.

‘Boiled eggs.’ Mark got up and began to do them while Isoldé made toast.

Later Mark sat at the piano and slowly began to play the simple tune. It worked. It was a beginning.

‘But I can’t write it,’ he told Isoldé.

‘Neither can I,’ she replied. ‘It must be him. Only Tristan can write it. I think this is just encouragement.’ She paused, looking at him, brow slightly furrowed and eyes worried. ‘I have to live here, with you …’

‘I know.’ He was smiling. ‘I want you too, so much.’

Darshan waited for Isoldé to return. He knew she would, this time, but for how much longer? He was surprised to find himself wishing for her return quite so fervently. He had deliberately stayed late in the shop, stocktaking and accounts he told the staff. Hilary had eyed him as she left, a sly smile creeping over her face. It seemed they knew better than he about how it was for him with Isoldé.

So far, she’d told him practically nothing about her visits, just a short ‘Great weekend!’ and the subject would be dropped, she would ask him about work, about setting up a new project, new CD, whatever, but nothing about herself or her time in Cornwall. This time, Darshan wanted to learn more. She was different, ever since Mark had done the Imbolc concert.

She arrived late, after nine, looking flushed and tired, yet exultant. He saw her through the plate glass of the window. She waved. He got up from the desk and went over to let her in before she got her key out. Her face showed surprise, and then delight.

He could scent the sex on her. She was like a vixen. It was strange, when they’d been together in London she had never been like this. Passionate, yes, and full of generous love, but not wild as she appeared now. Perhaps the ancient Cornish earth was getting to her. It seemed Mark had touched off a spark he had never managed to light, had not even realised was there, he thought sourly.

‘Hi …I didn’t think you’d still be here.’ She smiled up at him with the innocence of an animal.

‘But I am,’ he said, the irritation dying in spite of himself. ‘Catching up with the stocktaking. I’m stiff and hungry.’ He stretched, grinning down at her. ‘How about you, after your drive?’

‘I am so,’ the Irish was back in her voice, she stretched like a cat.

‘Shall I get a take-away?’

‘Hey …that would be good. I can’t face cooking and I don’t want to go out.’

‘What d’you want? Indian or Thai?’

‘You choose, it’s your treat.’

‘Thai then.’ Darshan grabbed a coat and headed out.

Isoldé watched him for a moment then went up the stairs to her flat. It had always amused her that, despite his Hindu background, he loved Thai food. He had introduced her to it when they were first together and there were only a few Thai restaurants in London. She turned from the window back to the kitchen, found some candles, put mats on the low table in front of the sofa, got cutlery and set plates to warm in the oven. Going back to the window, she watched him return. She was still there, looking out across the square, when he came in.

‘Like the old days …’ a half-smile slid across his face.

He took the bag into the kitchen. She came to help him serve up the meal.

Later, finished, satisfied and with Muddy Waters on the hi-fi, he got onto the subject that burned his heart. ‘So …you’re with Mark?’

He was watching her. He’d never looked at her quite like that. She looked back at him, wary, cautious, hopeful, eyes halfhidden. ‘I am so,’ she said softly. ‘I think I’m going to be with him for a very long time.’

Darshan stared at her, startled, nonplussed. He found his voice. ‘After just a couple of weekends? A month?’

She turned to him, the warmth in her eyes was huge but it wasn’t for him. ‘Uh-huh …’ She nodded. ‘I think I knew when I first saw him, when we first shook hands. Something happened. Electric.’

She was sitting curled up at the other end of the long sofa. It
might have been miles away, he thought, rather than just a couple of feet. She looked complete, whole. Darshan looked at her, looked away, feeling as if he’d been hit in the stomach with a cricket bat. He’d known her for years, they’d been an item for several of them until it had faded and she’d moved out, moved on. They had enjoyed each other, remained friends. Memories poured over him, through him.

He got up and went over to the window, looked down into the Close. The cathedral clock began to toll midnight. He hadn’t realised it was so late. He stood, staring out, seeing nothing, as she had been earlier when he came in.

He could feel her watching him. She hadn’t thought about it like this, he realised. Neither had he. He was acting as though they were still in a relationship, as though she was leaving him. And they weren’t, although he was sure she would be leaving to go live with Mark, he didn’t think she’d want to continue at the bookshop once she was with him. It was years since they’d made love and never since she’d come down to Exeter. Part of him wanted to go to her, touch her, he could feel the chemistry. If he did, they would be in bed and, he realised, she would enjoy it as much as he would, but it would wreck their friendship. The temptation was nearly overwhelming.

What was going on? He had never felt her so electrified this way, not even when they were together. He could sense she was holding herself still, like an animal in hiding, trying to pull in her feelings as close as possible so he wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t see she was actually hot for him. He knew she was trying desperately to turn herself off and, after a few moments, he could sense she had succeeded, she was breathing normally again. She sat quiet, unmoving, waiting for him, detached at last.

He couldn’t bear that. He felt a chill wash down his spine, but he pulled himself together and turned back to look at her at last. He perched on the window seat to keep a distance between them. ‘OK,’ he said softly, keeping the feelings out of his voice. ‘I’m glad
for you. I really am. But you’ve got to tell me about it, all of it.’

Isoldé curled back into the sofa, making herself small, her arms around her legs and her chin on her knees, not looking at him. Got to? What was this? He wasn’t her parent.

‘I don’t know myself, yet,’ she temporised. ‘I know I love him. It’s deep, deep inside, I can’t explain …’ she paused. ‘I have to go …you know that, don’t you?’

Darshan nodded.

‘Do you understand …?’ she stopped again.

Darshan was silent. This was it. This was the end. He knew for certain there would never now be a future for himself and Isoldé. He felt as though the world had stopped. This quickly? How had he not seen it?

He went over to her, sat beside her, put one hand firmly over her wrist so she would look at him. She turned, not pulling away. They were silent for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. ‘It’s real, this time, isn’t it?’ Darshan said. ‘Not like us. You know it in your bones.’

Isoldé looked away then turned back. ‘Yes, I love Mark.’

She gently took his hand off her wrist and got up, went to the window, stood looking out, seeing the trees of Nectan’s wood not the jumble of Exeter roofs. ‘I have to leave you,’ she said. ‘I have to go live with him.’

‘I know …I’m sorry. You’re good. And fun. I’ve enjoyed our brief partnership.’

‘So’ve I.’ Isoldé turned back to him. ‘Darshan, I’m sorry …’ She meant it for everything she could see in his face, not just the splitting of the book-shop partnership, she hadn’t realised how much he felt for her.

Somehow, Darshan twisted his face into a smile. ‘Things happen. Life happens. I saw it when I first saw you and King together. You can’t stop things like that. Go! Be happy. Paul will carry on for me. He has his own plans and they fit fine with me. You go do what makes your heart sing.’

Isoldé gasped softly, he’d said her mother’s words. She wanted that, oh so much.

Isoldé flew down the stairs, arriving at the shop door just as Mark opened it. She was in his arms, kissing him, despite the fairly full shop. A ripple of applause came from customers and staff.

‘You’re here!’ She peered over his shoulder at the big transit van drawn up outside. A traffic warden was bearing down on it, she dived out the door. ‘It’s me!’ she called out. ‘I’m moving. We won’t be long, is that OK? There’s some big stuff to come down.’

The warden looked at Isoldé. ‘OK …I’ll be back in half an hour, how’s that?’

Mark came out beside Isoldé. ‘I think we can manage that,’ he said.

‘It’ll be a good half hour,’ the warden said kindly, turning round and taking herself off towards the High Street.

‘I’ve got the boys organised and everything’s packed.’ Isoldé headed for the stairs again.

Jamie, Paul and Darshan were already heading down them armed with boxes. Mark flung the van doors open and began stacking. Isoldé came down with smaller stuff to pack in corners. It was all done within the time. To Isoldé it felt like a whirlwind of which she was part. In twenty minutes she was standing in the empty living room remembering seeing the flat for the first time.

‘Don’t worry about the birds, Zoldé, I’ve got a student who wants the flat and she’ll be feeding them.’ He stopped. They turned to face each other, both finding it hard to say anything. Darshan reached for her, she went into his arms, hugged him. He hugged her back.

‘It’s been good,’ she said. ‘I hope it was for you too.’

‘I’ll miss you …’ Darshan replied, ‘and not just as a business partner.’

They stood looking into each other’s eyes, so much unsaid. Isoldé could sense the cords that had brought them together
wrenching free now, now that Darshan had given up all hopes of her at last. She squeezed his arms, then reached up to kiss him. Letting go, she hurried down the stairs, not saying another word.

Mark met her at the bottom.

‘Let’s go,’ she said, slightly snuffly.

Mark gave her a quick squeeze and went to start the transit van. Jamie and Paul hugged her. She climbed into her own car and started up to follow Mark out of the Close. Glancing up, she saw Darshan leaning on the open window-ledge, he waved and there was a wistful smile on his face. She turned the car out into the Fore Street.

Mark led the way. Rather than go down the motorway they’d decided to take the scenic route, stop for a pub lunch and get home to Caergollo in the late afternoon. Isoldé followed Mark through Exeter and out onto Cowick Street and so under the A30, her usual route, and onto a B-road that led up onto the moor.

The road was quite good but winding and steep as it rose onto the moor; the transit van touched both hedges at times. She enjoyed the countryside and the little villages. A couple of miles out of Moretonhampstead Isoldé got her first real view of Dartmoor as they climbed a hill and the land opened up all around them. The wide skies gave her a whole new feel for the country; it was wild but differently wild to the Cornish Bodmin moor she was more used to. Mark slowed right down so she could look and after another mile he pulled in to a solitary pub, Isoldé pulled in beside him.

‘You’ll like this.’

A long bar opened in front of her, a couple sat at a table off to the left and a bright fire crackled in the stone hearth to the right, with a trestle table and bench right by the fire. Isoldé headed straight for it then stopped, turned and followed Mark over to the bar.

‘Aha!’ Mark’s eye had spotted a favourite brew of his. ‘Can you
do a pint of Jail Ale,’ he pointed at the pump, ‘or shall we just stick to halves and some coffee?’