The Silent Forest Page 15

  ‘Don’t tell me you think James Boreman lifted it?’

  ‘Call it intuition.’

  ‘Why should you believe that? Houses are getting broken into all the time. No one’s safe after blackout these days.’

  ‘This is different.’

  ‘You say this because?’

  Jo reached for a fresh slice of brown bread. She preferred white, but who was she to grumble when there was no choice on shop shelves? At least brown bread had not yet been rationed.

  ‘Most of the putty and broken glass were outside, not inside, the scullery. That suggests someone broke the window to cover their tracks after they let themselves in with a key.’

  ‘Boreman’s sister, Tia?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Relax. It’s most likely a coincidence.’

  Jo tried to eat normally but choked at the attempt.

  ‘Except it happened right after my visit to the Victoria House pub in Barton Street. It can’t be coincidental that Kevin Devaney overheard me asking questions about Noah. He came after me in the blacked out street where he pretended to admire my Brough motorcycle combination, until Bella growled at him from the sidecar. Later, when I tracked him down to that factory in Lydney, he pretended not to know me, but I saw him put in an urgent call to somebody the second I left the building. That somebody is keen to know what we’re up to?’

  John wrinkled his lips in disgust.

  ‘Naturally James Boreman won’t want anyone to delve too deeply into his business affairs if it does turn out that he’s a serious racketeer. The thing is, how far will he go to keep people quiet?’

  ‘Or how far did Sarah go to threaten him? Whatever it was went very wrong.’

  ‘….’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It means Bruno might not be so crazy, after all.’

  ‘Can’t say. But things just got a lot more complicated.’

  She was thinking about the last time that she had met Freya. Something about the troubled woman’s words suddenly rang horribly true. So she had really been warning her in no uncertain terms not to cross her husband James? It seemed almost inconceivable. Most of all, why did someone like that marry such a man in the first place?

  On that unhappy note, she was glad that she had accidentally-on-purpose misplaced Sam’s ABC of trains. That book was her one chance to meet Freya again before things became any weirder?

  TWENTY-THREE

  ‘For Pete’s sake,’ said James, flexing his 18 carat gold Rolex watch round his wrist in a hurry. ‘Where’s that all new jewellery I bought you?’

  Freya teetered on her shiny black Louis heels. This again. Why didn’t he tell her that ten minutes ago? They were about to open the front door of Beech Tree Grange to the first of their guests for the evening.

  ‘I’m sorry, I thought this dress looked so much better without it.’

  ‘Do you really think I’m going to fall for that?’

  ‘Gold is lovely but not quite my style, don’t you think?’

  ‘Have you done it to show me up?’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘You look like a widow.’

  In not wearing her brash new necklace, earrings or bracelets, she did indeed feel half naked, thought Freya. If only she’d had the courage to abandon all her rouge as well, to reveal what lay beneath… the rawness. The plain anger. But she wouldn’t do that. It would only make things worse. She had no way to account for the terrible error she had just made – it was a feeling of unsayable risk. It was like peering over the edge of a very high cliff.

  She’d felt the same when she’d met Jo Wheeler high up in Gloucester Cathedral.

  A similar vertigo.

  ‘What would you have me do, James?’

  ‘Sort yourself out. Now. There’s a dear, while I make everyone welcome.’ James quickly refolded the blue and white polka-dotted handkerchief in the breast pocket of his jacket. Nor was he entirely happy with his gold bar tie clip that held the four-in-hand to his shirt front – he really should have worn his plain blue cummerbund instead of the red. That’s what came of trying to look like an American. ‘And Freya, darling?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t be long.’

  But all this agitation about her appearance only exacerbated her more general worry about their house-warming tonight. Would there be enough to eat? Would there be sufficient wine and champagne, given the chronic shortage of alcohol available at off-licences nowadays? Drink might not have been rationed, as such, but it was so expensive due to the shortage of sugar that she wondered how they managed to afford it at all. Whisky was up 4s 6d per bottle to 22s 6d. Even beer was now a shilling a pint. She had to put her faith in James’s dubious black market contacts of which she so disapproved.

  She took a short cut through the kitchen and stopped to inspect the newly cooked venison. The whole idea of feeding their guests with fallow deer poached from the Forest absolutely horrified her. Her mother had taught her next-to-nothing about cooking, being too jealous and suspicious to impart the knowledge. As a result, she had no idea how to cope with a whole deer or even which parts of it to roast on or off the bone. Fortunately, James had hired a chef for the evening.

  Still she could not help fretting. Did not any sort of game tend to taste too dry? Her instincts were to marinate the meat with wine to tenderise it in case the new oven’s temperatures proved erratic, but the moustachioed chef favoured larding it with bacon instead.

  ‘Be careful,’ said Tia, appearing at her elbow. ‘You might actually eat something.’

  Freya stiffened.

  ‘Maybe later.’

  ‘Oh go on, nobody will know. Or is that black eye still bothering you?’

  ‘Why should you care?’

  Tia blinked lashings of dark mascara. Rolled her sly pupils.

  ‘Maybe I want to help.’

  ‘Then don’t tell me what to do.’

  ‘You scared of my big brother, or what?’

  ‘James wants to make a good impression tonight. These people mean a lot to him. I don’t want to let him down.’

  ‘Just as I thought.’

  ‘I don’t like to see him unhappy.’

  ‘Me, I couldn’t give a damn.’

  ‘Nevertheless I feel responsible.’

  ‘But Freya, you didn’t hire the caterers. It’s not your worry. Whatever we eat tonight has to be better than Victory Sponge or ‘All Clear’ Sandwiches. I’m sick of all this rationing, aren’t you? We’re being told to make Christmas Cake without eggs now.’

  Freya took a deep breath. There had been a brief time in her childhood when she had liked to cook, when her grandmother had let her stir soft white breadcrumbs into treacle dumplings. But the first time she’d ever tried to make one for James she had burnt it badly round the edges. At first he had given no answer, or none that mattered. Instead, she’d encountered a silent disapproval that bordered on contempt. She would never forget it: he despised her inability to be perfect. Since then their maid Betty, dressed in her striped white organdie apron, Peter Pan collar and French mob cap trimmed with fancy hemstitching had done it all – just the way he liked it.

  Her hand hovered over the fruit mousse and apple pandowdy. To discover later on in the evening that the spiced apple was too sour would be devastating and dangerous. For her. Still her fingertips trembled, quivered, vacillated. She thought to sample a fruit turnover, at least. To persevere was utterly impracticable because she’d throw up for sure, she was so tense. Recklessly, she plumped for a honey biscuit and nibbled its edge like a mouse.

  She liked what she tasted. It was a good sign, even if that single, little bite felt like a violent and lawless act, staking the success of the entire evening on such a small sample.

  *

  Freya rejoined the celebrations suitably adorned with gold chains round her throat. She tilted her head at various guests and was far too effusive. Her sole objective at t
his minute was to cross the room in the spotlight of everyone’s curious attention; she had to do it without tripping or falling. How to smile? She’d give it her best shot.

  That’s not to say she didn’t feel her flesh creep in her black lace cocktail dress which James insisted she wear for the occasion; she was afraid that her peach pink slip might show under its knee-length hem. As for her hair, she had not known whether to put it up or let it down.

  She could feel herself going all sticky beneath the copious amounts of verbena eau de toilette that James preferred her to wear day and night. He wasn’t happy unless she reeked of its crisp lemon fragrance with mere hints of orange, rose and geranium. How was it that he didn’t seem to like the smell of her any other way, so much so that she’d begun to doubt her own taste for anything different?

  But it would keep trying to resurface – this other scent.

  This sweat.

  Dab, spray and wipe as she might, she could not entirely eradicate the warm, heady aroma that came with bare flesh which was her natural self.

  ‘This way,’ hissed James and caught her hard by one elbow. Together, they swept from person to person as her skirt clung like glue to her hips. Black lace on her bodice and sleeves, overlaid by woven bands of dense crepe in a lattice pattern, threatened to constrict her lungs.

  Men and women she hardly knew said things to her, but they made no sense. What hostess went deaf at her own party?

  ‘Well?’ asked James, smoothing his freshly oiled hair. ‘Is this going to be a great evening, or what?’

  ‘I had no idea so many people owed you favours.’

  At least everyone was here, thought Freya. James’s sister and shady business associates all helped themselves to champagne. Over there stood public figures from local government and their wives. Their dazzling wives.

  Her new home was the stage for a gaudy beauty queen pageant. And that beauty was supposed to be her. Tonight she was on display.

  She was to be paraded.

  Inspected.

  Approved.

  Most of all, she was there to legitimise everything James said and did. Meanwhile, his latest sporting trophy stared down at her from high on the wall – a recently mounted stag’s head caught the gleam from chandeliers and showed off its magnificent antlers. A cold, dead gaze formed on its glassy eyes. It honoured the fifty-year-old man who’d shot it with a curious smile, even if it was forever condemned to observe such alien surroundings. Tonight they would eat its loin and haunches.

  Guests gathered by the log fire where James held court magnanimously as he passed round his cigarette case to the chosen few. Suddenly Freya’s thumping heart drummed harder. The knot in her chest tightened. Lights dazzled. A waitress offered her a tray of canapés but she declined.

  She couldn’t do this any more.

  Rather, she sought refuge under the stars on the terrace where cold winter air struck her face cruelly. Behind her, the noise of two hundred people became an excessively loud, incoherent roar. The fizzy champagne wasn’t helping – it threatened to give her hiccups. She gazed back at the dark Forest that rose up to meet her while she walked alone under the moon.

  Light from the house, so blindingly bright for the party, faded out half way across the turf of the newly laid lawn. A dark edge of oaks and beeches formed a ring round the clearing beyond which she had not yet strayed, not even with Ruby. She blinked hard. Surely something pale stood clothed in the silence of the sombre shadows? Her heart missed a beat as she strained to see further until she felt sure that some sort of wild animal was investigating her and the party; it was holding its snout high and smelling the rank smell of them all.

  Such behaviour suggested an intelligent interest and not a chance encounter. The sheer persistence of the creature unnerved her. Those cunning red orbs conveyed some sort of menace; under their steadfast gaze she physically wilted as her courage deserted her. Her astonishment was such that she hesitated to move, should she invite the eyes to come any nearer.

  Suddenly there arose the sound of voices – someone was standing at the foot of the steps to the terrace just below her. Their conversation drifted up to her in the smoke from their cigarettes.

  ‘What the hell, Tia?’

  Freya recognised James’s ugly drawl.

  ‘Relax, brother, I’ve got everything under control.’

  ‘I never asked for this.’

  ‘Me, neither.’

  ‘If anyone finds out we’re finished.’

  ‘God, is that all you can think about now?’

  ‘I blame you, Tia.’

  ‘How is it my fault when Devaney’s in charge of the factory floor? Who am I to say who comes and goes? I only do the accounts, remember.’

  ‘Someone should keep a closer eye on things. No one like that should have been allowed through the door…’

  ‘Be fair. We couldn’t have predicted she would be so brazen.’

  ‘She caught us all off guard, all right. Walked straight past everyone…’

  ‘Is that what happened?’

  ‘I’m not prepared to discuss it.’

  ‘I don’t even know how it could have happened.’

  ‘As I’ve just told you, I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, all right?’

  ‘Damn you.’

  ‘Oh please. Don’t give me a hard time.’

  ‘So what’s it to be?’

  ‘Not the river this time.’

  ‘Not the river?’

  ‘I’m serious, James. Rivers always give up their secrets.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I’m thinking mineshaft. The Forest is full of old coal workings. No one will ever find anything down there.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean we won’t get seen.’

  ‘I didn’t say it would be easy.’

  There followed a silence before James spoke again.

  ‘You got somewhere specific in mind?’

  ‘Yeah. Remember Dene Abbey? You recall how grandma Agatha used to keep a blunderbuss over the fireplace in case anyone tried to rob her? We all went for picnics together in the Forest during the summer holidays. We spent hours looking for slow-worms near Upper Soudley and found several old mine entrances covered with corrugated metal sheets. No coal had come out of them for years. Never will.’

  ‘That was years ago. Any entrance will have been totally lost by now.’

  ‘I think we’d know one if we saw it.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take extra precautions. Have you?’

  ‘Yes, I have as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Is that a promise?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘What are we talking about here?’

  ‘Sulphuric acid. That stuff’s lethal. You wouldn’t recognise your own mother…’

  ‘I don’t know what to say any more.’

  ‘You could say thank you.’

  ‘What would I do without you, Tia?’

  ‘Don’t worry, nobody will raise an eyebrow. People are coming and going all the time with this war on. Everyone will assume she has joined the Women’s Land Army, or something. They’ll say good riddance. No one will look for that silly bitch ever again.’

  ‘When shall we do it?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Accidents will happen, I suppose.’

  ‘Talk later.’

  Freya did not move. But James and Tia did – they finished their cigarettes and went back to the party. Her pulse raced. Her eyes ached to see into the Forest. She hugged herself and felt very alone. Still the beast regarded Beech Tree Grange for some malevolent purpose of its own, while its back emitted a faint phosphorescence.

  Her innermost feelings of pain and abandonment rose to her throat until she found herself shedding tears. Not what she expected. But even while she attempted to deny the shape among the trees it began to grow dimmer and paler – it lost colour and disappeared gradually. Soon
it had diminished to a speck in the darkness as it went back to another world. It drew all the trees together like a black cloak behind it.

  ‘You hiding, or what?’ said James, taking her by surprise. He must have seen her when he mounted the steps from the terrace. ‘How long have you been out here, Freya?’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t understand.’

  ‘You know exactly what I mean.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘You’re neglecting your guests.’

  ‘Really, I only wanted some fresh air…’

  ‘But it’s freezing. You’ll catch cold.’

  In her mind she could still see the beast. Eyes burned like fire and some of their boldness rubbed off on her.

  ‘I thought I saw something. A white boar.’

  ‘Where?’ said James sceptically.

  ‘At the edge of the Forest.’

  ‘Is it there now?’

  ‘No.’

  He scanned the line of dark trees very briefly.

  ‘A white boar would be really something. Imagine that on my wall. Unfortunately, no such thing exists in this country any more, not in the true sense of the word, as you well know. But it is the pannage season, after all. Farmers are turning pigs loose in the woods to forage for food – you must have seen a really big, male porker.’

  Freya hugged herself so tightly she could scarcely breathe for a moment. Unbidden words rolled round her tongue. Rebellious words. Dangerous words. Imaginative words. Either she was meant to speak for the beast she had just seen, or it meant to speak for her.

  Again, not what she expected.

  ‘You’ve built our dream house at the heart of the Forest and you bribed all sorts of people to get round planning controls to do it. Most of all you chopped down trees hundreds of years old and now you want to excavate a swimming pool in the grounds. Is that really such a good idea, James?’

  ‘Bullshit. I chose this place the same way I chose you. Because I can.’

  She braved the smug look in his eye and refused to accompany him back indoors. Again he was trying to shame her into obedience by making her out to be a disloyal wife. But it didn’t work. She’d already faced up to that particular humiliation once this evening.