Turquoiselle Tanith Lee (the snowy day read aloud txt) 📖

which involved a gravelled hiccupping jolt of a pathway, on to which theMerc did not even attempt to propel itself.

Daywas on its last legs in the sky by the time they got into Tunbridge proper.

Carverparked near the Royal Ash Tree Restaurant, and getting out, found the Merc had bumbledoff again.

Heidled about for an hour or so, traipsing through the Pantiles, and from forceof habit buying a silver-black and onyx necklace for Donna, in a pillaredburrow with bulging windows.

Bythen the dark had opened up and the lighted shops were beginning to close. ‘Therewas no more sign of the Merc, or the woolly-jumpered driver.

Carvercaught the train. With a suitable change, it would drop him close to the Tenterdenpickup point, where the other car, the ‘cab’, would be waiting. His own car hewould collect from Lynchoak tomorrow for the drive into London.

Thetrain was full, buzzy with mobiles, laptops and miniaturised fried music, ifnot conversation. When Carver glanced around, he felt a jab of almost inertshock. The man from the Merc was already installed, only a few feet away amongthe seatless and standing commuters. He balanced there, clamped by otherbodies, yet swaying and sore-thumbian, woolly grey. He did not look at Carver.

Carverreviewed the best moves to get shot of him before picking up his transport. Ifevasion was out of the question, Carver thought he would have to wait beforeheading for the pickup. To let the ‘cabby’ give a vehicle the slip was onething, but a direct foot-follower might pose a more immediate threat. Carverhad not been advised either of this possibility, or of how best to tackle it.

Hemade a decision. He would get out at the next halt, secure a real cab, anddrive in that over to Tenterden.

Thetrain was approaching another station. As Carver rose, the coatless jumper manturned and looked straight at him. The flat stodgy face broke in a wide andfamiliarly friendly grin. Carver ignored it. He eased his way towards thefurther set of doors. The train had slowed and now stopped. Along with a clumpof uninvolved others he stepped off on to the platform.

Carverpaused a moment then, watching as the train absorbed its new dose ofpassenging customers. The man was just visible, no longer smiling, only blank,and as the train resealed itself he and it glided away, a collective piece of characterisedscenery removed from the stage.

The ‘cab’dropped him without argument just at the edge of the village, by the church. Heand the driver had exchanged the normal bare minimum of words. A few of them centringon the driver’s discontent. His engine had started acting up. Carver did not mentioneither the Mercedes or the man’s arrival on the train; he could save theseevents for Latham tomorrow. Nothing had followed them now.

Walkingup through the village, there were anyway still plenty of people about, lightson everywhere, (even the church had been lit for some service, or organpractice), and The Bell was blazing. Carver could see Ted through the window,dancing what seemed to be a gig. What had that other business been, that takeof Johnston’s on Ted’s seeing ‘fairies’. Johnston had surely misunderstood,though he had been correct about the figure in the wood, the man with the blackblob for a head.

Inthe lane the streetlamp nearest the village was on, but farther up darkness,technically unimpeded, reassembled. The boughs were bare enough even so at lastthat they left wide holes through to the sky, clear and starry, and with a newmoon already high.

Carverwaited briefly near the house, looking over at it, noting too the way the woodswere, and the tree-fringed fields behind him.

Howcold everything appeared, colder than any actual coldness of atmosphere, anight-scene painted with ink-stained ice and shut behind a frozen pane ofglass.

Carverthought after all he would send a short memo to Latham via the phone in the ‘playroom’.He should maybe mention the man in the woods too. Whoever had put the actionon, there had been a lot of it.

Whatwould happen next, tonight?

Carverknew he must sleep tonight. It wasan early start tomorrow. The train to Lynchoak and then the drive up to London.Perhaps therefore eat, then take a break of five hours, that would be enough.Then woods-watch sentry duty again. He unlocked the house doors, aware all thewhile of the night pressing through its ice-glass at his back. He glanced outfrom the inner doorway, as usual. The sheer silence had a kind of sound. Sara,his mother, had been sometimes hysterically afraid of the dark.

Downstairsthe phone, the landline, had again begun to ring. This had happened seven timesnow since eight o’clock. Each time too the mechanical voice offered to receivea message, and each time no message was given.(But the phone did play up. Allthe phones did.)

Reluctantlyhe had gone to see who, or what, made the calls. There was no number. A glitchthen. Or cold calling, maybe. They, human or robot, could be persistent. Hethought he would unplug the phone when he went up to sleep, and when keepingwatch.

Hehad eaten steak, burnt as he preferred it, and tomatoes bought from the farm shop.He made more coffee. From time to time he switched channels on the TV above thekitchen breakfast bar, (reception was poor), but there was no report thatseemed to have anything to do with Dusa, or her death. Perhaps by now he shouldreckon there would not be.

Thephone rang again as he closed the dishwasher door.

Hewent out, and noted a number which, on this occasion, revealed itself. It wasMaggie’s landline.

Witha sort of inevitable extra unwillingness, Carver put the phone to his ear.

Hedid not need to speak. The female voice was already screaming.

“Car– I have to come home! I have to! Oh God, Car – please – are you there? Is it you?”

“Yes,Donna, of course it is.”

“Car– please help me, Car – please – I have to get home–”

“Tryto keep calm. What is the matter? I thought you wanted to stay on?”

“She’skeeping me here–” shrilled Donna. She seemed frightened, nearly demented. Whenher voice dropped, as next it did, it was breathless and shaky. “I’ve only gota moment – she went out – to get some wine, she said –