by Abigail Armani
She struggled up the hill, head down, shoulders hunched against the biting wind and icy rain that battered her face. Her hands were numb with cold, for no sooner had she put them in her pockets, a vicious wind tugged off her hood for the rain to pummel her head. Defeated, she gave up the battle of trying to hold her hood in place, so now thick strands of sopping wet hair blew wildly, whipping her frozen face as the wind gusted. Her feet were blocks of ice and every bone in her body ached with weariness as she trudged on, water spurting and squelching out of her flimsy court shoes with each laborious step.
Not that she particularly cared. No job. No money. No husband. No future. Nothing really mattered any more. Her spirits matched the grey November afternoon, paltry sunlight already dimming as the fading sun sank between the hills behind the great wood. She passed a cottage or two, shuttered windows hiding the warmth and light within, giving a bleak and unwelcoming external appearance to passers by.
A dog shouldn't be out in this weather. She smiled grimly, and continued battling against the wind, neither knowing where she was bound, nor caring. The wind grew in strength and began howling like a raging beast. Trees by the roadside creaked and bent in a mad dance, branches arching, contorting, snapping, screaming as they were whipped by the wind. Then with a sudden capricious twist, the wind changed direction, blowing her effortlessly up the steep hill. She experienced a n unexpected surge of elation and almost laughed as she became a matchstick kite, fragile and insignificant, tugged and hurled and whirled at the mercy of the elements.
The force of the wind propelled her. Up she stumbled, bumbling along at a staggering pace while all around her the world shrieked as the wind blew and the relentless rain pounded. Up and up she went, gasping, spluttering, blinking through water-logged eyes, water cascading down her cheeks, trickling down her neck, soaking her skin.
And then the cacophony quieted ... hushed ... stopped, leaving her panting, saturated and exhausted. She found herself clinging on to an old stone gatepost at the edge of a field by the road, embracing it as though it were a lover. She appeared to have lost a shoe and her coat was a teeming river, blanketing her in its sodden folds. It felt strangely comforting, inviting her to sleep in its chill grasp. Her eyes closed as she rested her frozen face against the pillar of wet blackened stone.
He saw her through the glare of his headlamps as he rounded the bend in the Landrover; she was a moulded shape in the greyness, her contours melting into the stone, gradually being enveloped by the encroaching darkness. Concerned, he slowed to a halt and observed her through the windscreen as the wiper blades moved rapidly to dispel the torrential rain. A moment later he snapped open his seat belt and approached her, striding across the road and onto the sodden grass beyond. She was aware of his approach but barely had the energy to look at him. No words passed her lips, just a sigh and a look of hopelessness and utter tiredness.
"Are you ok?"
She nodded in response then rested her sodden head against the gatepost, her face deathly pale, her eyelids drooping as exhaustion overcame her.
"It looks like you need help. Come. You can't stay out here, you'll get hypothermia." He held out his hand. She stared at him dully for a moment then reached out. Grasping her frozen hand, he led her towards the Land Rover and sat her in the front passenger seat. She leaned back against the leather headrest and closed her eyes, barely hearing his words. "I live at High Moor. We'll be there in five minutes."
She had a dim recollection of being ushered inside a large house and shown into the kitchen. As she stood dripping on the tiled floor, her rescuer helped her out of her coat and handed her a warm towel that had been draped over the rail of an Aga. She gratefully warmed her chilled hands with it and then hugged it to her face. The man left the room and returned with a thick white bathrobe and another towel.
"Take off your wet things and put them in there," he said, opening the door of a washing machine. "Then put this on." He handed her the robe. "I'll give you some privacy."
She watched as he left the room and closed the door behind him. This was madness. Disrobing in the house of a total stranger. She had a choice. She could leave now and go back out into the cold and damp and wander around for another few hours until it got completely dark, by which time she would probably have frozen to death. Or she could do as he had suggested. After a moment's hesitation she wrapped the warm towel around her head, stripped off her wet clothes, dried herself off as best she could, and then put on the robe. It was large and warm and comforting.
There came a knock on the kitchen door. "Are you decent?"
"Yes." She watched as the door opened and he stepped back into the kitchen.
"Good. Put these on." He handed her a pair of towelling mules. "They're several sizes too big but they'll do for now." He watched as she slipped her cold feet into them, and then stepped back, holding the door open. "Come this way, I have a blazing fire going in the sitting room. You'll soon be warm."
He was right. The room was large, with an enormous fireplace. Huge logs were burning merrily in the grate, sending a myriad of sparks shooting up the chimney. There were two high back Queen Anne styled wing chairs set either side of the fire. He indicated one and bade her sit down, and when she was seated went over to the sideboard on which stood a crystal decanter full of amber liquid. He poured two very generous measures into two glasses and handed her one.
"Here. Armagnac. For medicinal purposes," he said dryly and with a quirk of his eyebrow.
"Thank you." She wasn't a lover of brandy, but it seemed churlish to refuse when he was being so kind, and besides, after just one little sip, she felt a warm glow suffuse her cheeks. After another, the glow permeated her entire body, and before she had emptied the glass, a warm drowsiness enabled her to relax fully. With a grateful sigh she closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the soothing heat from the fire against her lids. It lulled her. She basked in the warmth and quickly drifted into sleep.
James picked up her soaked shoulder bag and took it in the kitchen, placing it near a radiator to dry off. Unfastening the catch he peered inside. The contents included make up, a hairbrush, a pile of receipts and tissues, house keys and a purse. He opened the purse and quickly scanned the contents, homing in on the driving licence. Underneath the photo ID was her name - Mrs Isabella Croft. He memorized the name and returned the license to the bag, determined to find out more about his unexpected guest.
When she woke, it was to find herself still cocooned in the snug robe and settled into the comfortable depths of the leather wing chair in front of a brightly glowing fire. The aroma of wood smoke did not disguise the tantalising cooking smells emanating from the kitchen. She realised she was ravenously hungry. As though on cue, her saviour entered the room carrying a tray. He set it down on a small table which he placed next to her chair. On the tray was a big bowl of vegetable soup, a plate topped with thick slices of crusty bread, and a small glass of wine. She looked up at him, shyly.
"Eat. Then we'll talk." His voice was reassuring, crisp and commanding, yet kindly.
She appraised him surreptitiously as she ate. He was much older than her, perhaps in his late forties. Yet his height and agility accorded him the bearing of a much younger man. His dark hair was flecked with silver at the temples and gave him a distinguished look, softened by vibrant blue eyes that twinkled when he smiled. And those little lines around his eyes just made his face more interesting to look at. Despite his years, he was a handsome man with finely honed features and a perfect jawline. There was something else about him too. Something she could not quite place. But whatever it was, it both lulled and intrigued her. He was non threatening and courteous. She felt safe in his presence.
He in turn appraised her, but overtly. Now that her hair had dried, it was a beautiful glossy chestnut colour, glinting red as the flames of the fire. She was a pretty thing, probably in her early twenties, her green eyes fringed with sweeping dark lashes above sculpted brows of light brown with the merest hint of red. He noticed the dark shadows beneath her eyes. She had good bone structure, an oval-shaped face with high cheek bones and a firm jaw line. Suffused with warmth, her skin had lost its former pallor and a pale pink hue had bloomed on her cheeks.
Comforted by the hot nourishing food and the warmth of the fire, she responded to his questions, slowly, hesitantly at first, then tumbling into an avalanche of outpouring. She told him everything. It was a relief to unburden herself and articulate her sorrow and anger and sense of hopelessness.
"I got married way too early. I was only eighteen. He - Steve - was twenty. I'd planned on going to university to do a degree in English, but he wanted to enrol for a course in business studies. He said we couldn't afford a decent standard of living if both of us were students ... which was perfectly true of course ... so he went to university and I got a job in an office. It didn't pay much, but as we lived in the house he'd been left by his parents, there was no mortgage to pay, and we got by on my salary. Things were a bit tight, but we managed. And I was happy."
"Were you?"
"I ... yes. I suppose so." She frowned, not wanting to admit even to herself that life had been far from perfect.
He didn't press her for more, just nodded and waited patiently for her to speak when she was ready.
"I was happy to begin with. But then Steve started spending more and more time with his university friends. I was never invited. He'd often go out in the evenings on a drinking binge and not return home until midnight. Then he began to spend a lot of time studying in the university library. That's where he met her. Helen." She paused, her eyes filling up with unshed tears. "Last week I lost my job. I wasn't the only one. The company I worked for were in financial difficulties and several of us were made redundant. Then yesterday, Steve left his mobile phone in the kitchen and I picked it up when a text came through. It was from somebody called Helen and it was clear that there was something going on between them. So - I looked at the other stored messages on his phone and they told me all I needed to know. I confronted him about it when he came home and we had a big row about it. He didn't deny anything nor did he apologise. I was stunned - he'd been seeing her for the best part of a year before I found out. A year! A whole bloody year!" She clasped her hands together, then balled her fingers into fists.
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.