Shadows at Stonewylde

18



The festivities of Yule were finally over and life at Stonewylde felt a little bleak. Days were short and nights long and it seemed ages until the next festival: Imbolc at the beginning of February. Folk used the dark evenings productively; the flax weaving and dyeing was completed and the bolts of new linen cloth cut and sewn into clothing and bedding. Patchwork quilts were started so no scraps were wasted and the carded wool was knitted into yet more garments. A lot of felt was made too and used to line coats and boots as well as make lovely bags, hats and slippers. The Stonewylders were industrious and took pride in their crafts. Leveret was surprised to find she enjoyed helping Maizie and learning more about how to make functional but beautiful things.

But there was dismay when it was announced that every household must contribute a set number of specific items for Stonewylde.com before the growing season began. Harold had made lists of what was required to keep the warehouses well stocked for the season ahead, and these were posted in the Great Barn and the Galleried Hall. Young people boarding at the Hall spent the long evenings sewing quilts and whittling figurines and candlesticks, whilst those Village women gifted at embroidery decorated the delicate and much sought-after white linen nightdresses. Slippers and hats made from Stonewylde’s thick, high-quality felt were in great demand and every evening Villagers gathered in the Laundry House to make more felt, whilst others worked in the Barn on the finished material, cutting and sewing.

Harold had commissioned a Stonewylde logo which was put on every product – a beautiful curly S that looked like a snake. Harold was really proud of his branding and the Internet mail order company was growing amazingly fast. Selling out of so many products before Yule had whetted the public’s appetite and there were now waiting lists for many of the goods. A feature in a quality Sunday newspaper alluding to a mysterious private estate deep in Dorset that produced hand-made, organic goods for the luxury market had only added to the interest. Harold became increasingly excited at the prospect that Stonewylde.com was about to become something huge and he warned Yul that they must be ready for it.

The high quality leather produced in the tannery was tremendously popular, and Harold urgently requested that more people learn the craft of leather work. Orders for shoes, boots, jackets, belts and bags were pouring in and demand far outstripped supply. Meetings were held with Edward to discuss the economics of raising more cattle for their hides, and of the impact the extra beef would have on the balance of agriculture that had always been so stable in the past. Yul threw himself into the logistics of organising the economy, glad of the extra work to fill his interminable evenings while things were so difficult between him and Sylvie.

They’d reached a careful truce after the events of Samhain and Yule, knowing they couldn’t carry on like this indefinitely but both unable to make it better. Yul deeply regretted the terrible night on Solstice Eve when he’d drunkenly forced himself on Sylvie. He’d apologised at length, his remorse genuine and profound, and they’d skirted around the issue that had led to his need to do it in the first place. Sylvie had toyed with the idea of telling him the truth, but how could she explain that Magus was haunting her? She knew how ridiculous it sounded and, worse, she knew Yul would assume she was slipping back into mental illness. So she offered some vague fabrication about the hormonal implant upsetting her body’s natural balance.

Yul knew this wasn’t the full story and wondered if she’d lost interest in him because there was someone else. It was ages since she’d left Stonewylde so it’d have to be someone living in the community. He went through every male over the age of twenty or so but could think of no one who could’ve captured his wife’s interest, let alone get her into bed. But it still preyed on his mind despite knowing in his heart that it was a ludicrous notion, and made him irritable and depressed.

Yul tried to reconnect with the magic of Stonewylde, the other issue that was making his life miserable. He took Skydancer up to the Stone Circle every morning for the sunrise, and tethered the great grey stallion whilst he sat on the Altar Stone and tried to spiritually realign himself with the energy that used to flood through him. He spoke to the Goddess, pouring out his troubles and worries, raising his arms in supplication as the sun appeared over the horizon. Sometimes he felt the familiar throb of green magic, although never as strongly as before. But often there was barely a flicker and he’d leave the sacred place disconsolate, tired and disillusioned.

Then every day he’d ride hard along the Dragon’s Back, sometimes heading west towards the hills where the sheep grazed in summer, and sometimes to the east towards the great Wildwood. He’d arrive back at the Hall trembling with exertion and bathed in sweat, clattering into the stable yard where Tom or a stable-lad would be waiting. Yul was surprised to see Rufus there one morning, the boy’s bright auburn hair as distinctive as ever. The boy smiled shyly as Yul dismounted and came forward tentatively to stroke Skydancer.

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Yul rather brusquely, loosening the girth. The stallion was dark with sweat for they’d ridden harder than usual that morning and Yul didn’t want the boy to be on the receiving end of the horse’s exhausted bad temper. Rufus’ face fell and he snatched his hand back. Yul tossed the reins to Tom and strode up to the Hall for a much-needed shower. He noticed Rufus there on several occasions after that and wondered idly why the boy had started visiting the stables in the mornings before school. Rufus wasn’t chatty and Yul recalled Sylvie telling him how shy the boy was. He skulked around in the shadows, probably getting in Tom’s way and upsetting the horses, and he always seemed about to say something but never actually did. Yul found his nervousness irritating and found it easiest to ignore the boy.

After breakfast in his office with Harold, which they found was the best time for a daily liaison, Yul would settle down to the day’s work which increasingly took place not out on the estate but in his office, either on the phone or at the computer. He ate lunch in the Dining Hall, trying to mix with the youngsters at school and the other adults living there. He made an effort most afternoons to go down to the Village and call in to the Village School, the Nursery or the Barn. He knew how important it was to keep in touch with the heartbeat of Stonewylde and not become a distant figurehead, however busy the logistics kept him. He spent some time with his daughters later, sitting with them whilst they ate their tea and played until bath time.

He and Sylvie dined together in their apartments once the girls had been put to bed, but then the long evening stretched ahead of them. This was the difficult time for him. In the past, although he was always busy and often had to work in the evenings, he loved to spend the evening with Sylvie, talking, reading, cuddling up on the sofa. He never tired of her company. But now they were awkward together. She was silent for much of the time and he found it difficult to talk to her; he found himself actually making conversation, trying to think of things to speak about, which was an utterly ridiculous situation.

So rather than endure that, Yul would return to his office and work, or increasingly watch the television in there and drink a bottle of mead, which helped him sleep. The sofa bed became his permanent sleeping place. He couldn’t bear the pain and embarrassment of Sylvie’s possible rejection of him so he very rarely risked it. The longer the situation continued, the more difficult he found it to approach her. Unhappiness lodged in his heart like a chip of ice, permeating everything he did and affecting everyone around him. Yul’s darkness of spirit was all-pervading, made worse by the waning of his ability to channel the Earth Magic.

Sylvie kept herself busy and progressively threw herself into the crafts that everyone else around her worked on, and which were becoming so important to Stonewylde’s economy. As she became more adept she would sometimes ask a couple of the girl boarders to babysit so she could join other women working in the cosy sitting rooms downstairs, or even down in the Village. She felt herself gradually become more integrated into the community now she was no longer so totally wrapped up in Yul. She was more receptive to others and found people starting to relax in her company and talk more openly; it was the one positive thing that kept her going during the long dark days and nights.

She found the evenings difficult too and as the hour for bedtime approached she’d become withdrawn, quiet and worried. Although she longed for Yul, ached for the warmth and closeness they’d always shared, another part of her had begun to hope he’d stay downstairs and leave her alone. He drank more now than ever before. Instead of a glass of wine with dinner he now finished off the whole bottle before going down to his office. She knew he drank mead in the evenings while he worked, for she’d smelt it on him and seen empty bottles being taken away. The rare times when he had come to share her bed she heard his speech slur and stumble and noticed his grey eyes lose focus. She knew he was trying to blur his disappointment at her coolness, but she dreaded a repeat of that drunken assault and hated the thought of Yul being anything less than in full control of himself.

Bluebell had been always a poor sleeper and now often woke during the night. In the past Yul had been very firm about her staying in her own bed, but now Sylvie found it easier to let the little girl climb into her large empty bed for the rest of the night. It helped keep her ghosts at bay, too. Magus continued to haunt her subtly, usually at night, and Sylvie wondered every day whether it was real or just a figment of her imagination. She’d catch the faintest whiff of his scent which would send her heart racing in panic, terrified to open her eyes in case his smiling face loomed over her. Several times, in the moment between waking and sleeping, she saw a shadow move in the darkness, and Sylvie was sure she heard the creak of a soft footstep in the next room on more than one occasion. Once she’d caught the glimmer of silver hair in the reflection of her mirror and had spent the rest of the night curled up in a ball under the bedcovers, terrified of what else was in the room with her.

There were many small and seemingly insignificant events that began to accumulate into a terrifying catalogue. Sometimes, despite not touching a drop of it since that awful December thirteen years ago, Sylvie awoke with the sweet taste of mead on her tongue. Often, for no logical reason, she’d feel a draught whispering on her skin or stirring her hair, as if Magus were touching her with gentle fingertips. Each one of her senses picked up on Magus’ presence and, as the incidents increased, her fear fed itself, making her jumpy and tense even during the day. There was nobody she could confide in about this; one of her biggest fears was that everyone would believe she’d relapsed back into psychosis.

The rift between Yul and Sylvie didn’t go unnoticed by Miranda, who grew more and more concerned. Only a few months ago everything had been fine, their passion for each other had been almost embarrassingly evident. Many a time she’d intercepted their smouldering glances during public events, sensing the almost tangible synergy that existed between them. But not now. Their discord was palpable and it affected everyone living in the Hall. They’d previously been a beacon of harmony but now shed misery and tension as a dog sheds itself of water, and it was painful to watch.

Miranda tried to speak to Sylvie and see if she could help but she hit a brick wall. Sylvie merely replied that they were both tired and one bad patch in thirteen years wasn’t so bad. Sylvie was close to her mother in many ways but her relationship with Yul had always been private, and it was her very obsession with him that had prevented the mother-daughter bond from deepening. Miranda wondered about speaking to Yul instead, but he’d wrapped himself in an impenetrable black cloak of unhappiness that brooked no intrusion. She was wary of him in his present state of mind; he was like an unexploded bomb and she didn’t want to be the one to detonate him. So Miranda kept her peace and hoped it’d all blow over in the spring, when everyone livened up and there was plenty of sunshine and laughter at Stonewylde.

In the meantime, Miranda had an idea how to cheer her daughter up. After consultation with Harold – as she had to use the Stonewylde account – she went online and bought a pair of tickets for a ballet being performed in Bournemouth. She also booked a luxurious hotel room for the night, thinking that some special time alone may help bring the couple back together. But when she told Sylvie about the treat she didn’t get the expected reaction.

‘Oh Mum, that’s very sweet of you but I couldn’t possibly go.’

‘Why on earth not?’

The thought of spending a whole night alone with Yul in a strange place filled her with dread. She didn’t know what to say to him anymore and if he made any moves in bed she’d feel embarrassed and awkward. But she couldn’t tell Miranda that.

‘He’s too busy at the moment. He works all hours – you know that.’

‘All the more reason to take a night off and spend some time with you! I realise it’s not the most romantic destination but a night alone together away from Stonewylde and all the pressures here is just what you both need. You can enjoy a lovely meal out, enjoy the ballet, go back to the hotel …’

Sylvie knew it was exactly what she didn’t need. Yul would probably drink himself silly and then turn all maudlin on her or, worse still, become aggressive.

‘I’m sorry, Mum, but I really don’t think so. It was a lovely idea though.’

‘So what should I do with the tickets then?’

They both thought about this.

‘Why don’t you go instead?’ suggested Sylvie. ‘I know – you could take Celandine. You know how she loves to dance and she’d adore the ballet, especially The Nutcracker. Oh yes, do that!’

But Miranda really wanted Sylvie to have a break so they finally agreed that she’d take the little girl herself. Once she’d grown used to the idea Sylvie became very excited at the thought of going to the Outside World. Apart from a brief shopping trip last year with Yul she hadn’t been out for ages. But Yul was very against the whole thing and tried his best to stop her from going.

‘Give me one good reason why not.’

‘I don’t want you to go. I don’t … I don’t like the thought of you away from Stonewylde.’

‘So I’m a prisoner here?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Sylvie. It would just be very strange for you to be away for the night.’

‘What difference would it make? You sleep downstairs every night anyway.’

‘Only because you don’t want me anywhere near you!’

They glared at each other over the dinner table, the food forgotten. Now they’d reached the heart of the matter but both stepped back from the subject, unwilling to face it. Yul reached for the wine bottle and poured himself another glass, watching her face carefully. She took a deep breath.

‘If you could explain to me why I can’t take our daughter away for one night for a very special treat, I’d listen. But there’s no reason other than your selfishness, so I’m sorry but we’re going.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘I think you’ll find, Yul, that you can’t forbid me to go. Who the hell do you think you are?’

‘I’m your husband, a fact you seem to have forgotten in your efforts to cut me out of your life. Anyway, it wouldn’t be fair. What about all the other children at Stonewylde? Don’t you think they deserve a visit to a ballet too?’

‘I’m sure they do and next time I’ll arrange a party booking and take them all. But this time I’m going with Celandine and that’s it.’

Sylvie’s cheeks were flushed and her lips quivered with anger – this was so typical of his high-handedness. He regarded her with equal anger – she was the one being selfish.

‘Children don’t leave Stonewylde until they’re fourteen,’ he said stubbornly.

‘Then this will be the exception – and anyway, maybe they should. You’re always on about how we need to mix more with the Outside World and encourage more interaction. You can’t have it both ways. I shall tell Celandine in the morning and you’ll see how much it’ll mean to her. Think of that, if the idea upsets you so much – think of how she’ll love it.’

‘I don’t want you to go, Sylvie.’

His eyes were flashing dangerously and under normal circumstances she’d have backed down as she always did and let him have his own way. But that, she thought, was the problem – he’d been getting his own way for far too long.

‘I realise that but I’m still going.’

She stood up from the table and started to clear it, stacking the dishes on the trolley to wheel to the dumb waiter. The youngsters downstairs on work detail that night would deal with them. Yul rose too and took his glass and the bottle over to the sofa, where he flung himself down bad-temperedly. He watched her walking back and forth with the trolley and dishes. She was as gorgeous as ever, he thought moodily. Her silver hair swung down her back in a great silky swathe, almost brushing her buttocks. He surveyed those too, noticing how the material of her dress clung to every slim curve. He felt his desire for her growing by the second which only added to his fury. The clearing done, she stood before him watching as he drained his glass.

‘Are you intending to stay up here for a while or will you be disappearing downstairs?’

He shrugged.

‘Why not? Are you trying to banish me from this room as well as the bedroom?’

‘Not at all! I’d love you to stay here for the evening because—’

‘Well in that case I will. It makes a change to be wanted.’

‘—because then I can go downstairs and help with the quilts. We’re padding them tonight.’

He sprung up and took her by the shoulders, his eyes blazing into hers.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ he shouted. ‘Why are you treating me like this?’

‘I’m not! But I want to help the other women and I can’t leave the girls on their own.’

‘For goddess’ sake! You can rig up an intercom, the way I’ve suggested countless times. One of those baby alarm things they use in the Outside World.’

‘No I can’t! This is a huge house – even if I heard them crying it could take me ages to get up here and they’d be frightened in the meantime. You can’t leave young children on their own like that. Have you any idea how often Bluebell wakes up with nightmares? How she cries and needs comforting straight away, not in five minutes’ time when I’ve finally heard her and run half a mile to get here.’

‘You’ve spoilt her,’ he said coldly, dropping his hands and turning away. ‘You shouldn’t let her sleep in your … our bed.’

‘How do you know she does?’ She thought then of the footsteps and shadows in the dark and grabbed his arm. ‘Are you the one who comes into my room at night? Are you the one who sneaks about in the darkness and terrifies me?’

‘What? What are you talking about?’

She let go of him, unsure of herself.

‘Nothing – forget it.’

‘Has someone being coming into our bedroom at night?’

‘No! No, that’s not what I meant.’

He stared at her and she looked away and wouldn’t meet his eye. Maybe he’d been right all along – maybe there was somebody else. The thought, even though he knew it was irrational, stabbed him like a shard of glass.

‘I know Bluebell sleeps with you, Sylvie, because she told me. She said now I’ve gone to live downstairs she looks after you at night when you cry in your sleep.’

*

Several times over the next few days Sylvie almost gave in and cancelled the trip. It was such hard work standing up to Yul. But Celandine would’ve been devastated so Sylvie stuck to her intentions and at last the time came to leave. She and the little girl stood in the stone-flagged entrance hall with their overnight bag waiting for the car to come round. They were being driven to the station where they’d catch the train to Bournemouth. Celandine was almost beside herself with excitement, hopping from foot to foot and pirouetting around on the parquet floor and old Wilton rug until she was dizzy. Sylvie peered out of the window wondering where the car had got to. It was freezing cold outside – a horrible grey January morning – and she didn’t want to miss the train and have to hang about at the station waiting for another one.

She heard the sound of sobbing and then Yul appeared on the staircase carrying a distraught Bluebell in his arms.

‘Oh Yul! I’d told her to wave from the window-seat upstairs with Granny Miranda. This’ll only make it worse for her.’

He glared at her, still furious that she was going.

‘She wanted one more kiss,’ he said coldly. ‘At least she got one earlier. You didn’t even say goodbye to me.’

Sylvie took the distressed child from him and hugged her tightly, regarding Yul evenly over Bluebell’s shoulder.

‘You stormed out of the room, Yul. You weren’t there to say goodbye to.’

They stared at each other as Bluebell’s sobs turned to gulps and then stopped. Sylvie’s gaze roamed over him, as ever struck by his sheer handsomeness; the mop of black curls falling over his angry face, his slanted deep-grey eyes hurt, his mouth hard.

‘Put her down,’ he commanded.

Frowning, she did so and Bluebell ran over to join Celandine by the window.

‘Come here,’ he said, and reluctantly she stepped forward. He reached and enfolded her in his arms, holding her tight and hard.

‘I’m sorry, Sylvie,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I’m really, really sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me – I guess I’m just jealous. I love you! I love you so much it hurts. I’ll miss you terribly and that’s the only reason I can’t bear you going. But I do hope you have a lovely time – I just wish it were me you were going with.’

She felt a lump in her throat at his softly spoken words which she knew came straight from the heart. It took a lot for Yul to climb down like this. She suddenly wished she’d never suggested taking Celandine. Her mother had been right all along – a romantic night away together was just what she and her husband needed.

‘I love you too, Yul. And I’ll miss you.’

He started to kiss her gently on the lips, but with a rush of their old passion it developed into a kiss of major proportions, deep and long. Celandine and Bluebell rolled their eyes at each other – they were used to this. There was a beep outside and reluctantly Sylvie pulled away. Yul’s eyes were blazing with want and need, his cheeks flushed and breathing rough.

‘Just five minutes?’ he pleaded huskily. ‘Please?’

‘We’ll miss the train,’ she smiled, stroking his hot cheek, her voice full of promise. ‘But when I get back tomorrow …’

Sylvie and Celandine sat in their plush seats listening to the orchestra tuning up. The little girl’s eyes were brilliant with joy and exhilaration. She wore her best dress of fine, pale yellow linen, with her namesakes – bright yellow starry flowers – embroidered on the bodice, and the white satin ballet shoes they’d bought that afternoon in the shopping centre. Celandine clutched a programme and was torn between wanting to look at the photos of the dancers and gazing around the theatre in wonder. This was her first time away from Stonewylde in the Outside World and it was almost too much excitement for her to bear. The bell rang and she jumped in her seat like a frog.

‘It’s just to warn the people the ballet’s starting soon,’ explained Sylvie, smiling down at her. ‘They won’t let anyone in once the ballet’s begun in case they disturb everyone and make too much noise finding their seats.’

Celandine nodded.

‘We ought to do that when we have our dramas and dances and the Story Webs,’ she said. ‘People always come in late making too much noise.’

Sylvie laughed and smoothed her daughter’s long silvery curls. This had been such a good idea and despite wishing Yul were here, they were both having a really lovely time. When they’d checked into the grand hotel earlier she’d found a huge bouquet of flowers waiting in their room. It was a really sweet gesture of Yul’s and not one that she’d imagined him making. The little card had read ‘To my beautiful Sylvie – I can’t wait to carry on where we left off. See you soon xxx.’ She wished the four of them had come here together as a family, although Bluebell was probably still too young. Next year, she thought with pleasure.

The final bell rang and the lights started to dim; Celandine squeaked with excitement, fidgeting in her seat. Just then someone started to push down the row. The only empty seat was the one next to Sylvie and she took their coats off it and held them on her lap, waiting for the person to squeeze past her. There were whispered apologies and a ‘ssh’ from behind as he plumped down into the vacant seat. Sylvie glanced at Celandine as the red velvet curtains with their gold tassels glided slowly open, smiling to see her open-mouthed rapture at the scene on the stage. The music exploded into such a great noise that the little girl jolted with fright, never having heard a full orchestra before. She gaped at the brightness of the costumes and the leaping feet of the dancers as they began the colourful opening scene of The Nutcracker.

But Sylvie jerked violently when without warning, pushing under the coats that still lay on her lap, she felt a hand on her knee. She swung around in the darkness and in that heartbeat second realised that Yul must have engineered this and carefully planned such a surprise. She began to smile, amazed at his ingenuity, but when she saw the face next to hers her heart leapt in her chest with horror. She couldn’t see him clearly in the semidarkness but the heavy jaw was the same as was the well-cut blond hair. He smiled at her shock and squeezed her knee.

‘We meet again!’ he whispered.

Sylvie was speechless, her mouth dry. Her heart pounded like a piston and then she realised what he was doing and tried to push his hand away under the coats. He gripped her tightly.

‘Don’t make a silly fuss, Sylvie,’ he whispered.

‘Get your hand off me!’ she spat, and was shushed by several people in front and behind. She glanced desperately at Celandine, who fortunately was totally engrossed in the vivid scene on stage. Sylvie tried again to push him off, wriggling her leg and shoving at his arm.

‘Don’t jig about, Sylvie, or you’ll get me worked up. Just sit still like a good girl and watch the ballet. I’m not doing you any harm and I won’t go any further – unless you want me to, of course.’

She sat in numbed misery throughout the first act. True to his word, Buzz kept his hand on her knee, his fingers like branding irons on the thin nylon of her stockings. Several times Sylvie thought she should just get up and whisk Celandine away, but every time she glanced at her daughter and saw her breathless joy she didn’t have the heart to ruin such a perfect experience. She battled with herself over what to do for the best – cause a huge upset and disturbance or keep quiet until the first interval – and the longer she allowed the situation to continue, the more difficult it became to stop it. She felt Buzz turn to watch her on several occasions but she looked resolutely ahead, her cheeks burning and throat dry, determined to ignore him. She decided they’d leave during the first interval, not wanting to engage in any kind of skirmish with him.

As Tchaikovsky’s wonderful music filled her head, Sylvie remembered her terrible recurring dream where Buzz assaulted her in the hospital bed as she lay strapped down and helpless. She felt ashamed to have dreamt such an awful thing and couldn’t stop thinking about it with the man himself so close to her. She was acutely aware of everything about him – his bulk, for he was a big man, the smell of his expensive aftershave, the brush of the soft material of his suit against her arm. Her flesh crawled at his proximity and the feel of his hand on her leg, lying there so intimately but casually while her daughter sat beside her, innocent and unaware of what was going on.

The curtains swished across the stage and the lights went up.

‘Celandine, we have—’

‘Oh Mummy, it’s the best, best thing I’ve ever seen! I love it so much! Thank you, thank you!’

‘I know, darling, but—’

The hand clenched hard on her knee under the coats and Buzz leant across, forcing her to sit back in her seat.

‘Hello! You must be Celandine. Delighted to meet you!’

‘Hello,’ replied the girl, looking puzzled. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m an old friend of your mother’s. Are you enjoying the ballet?’

‘YES!’ she gasped. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? I want to be a ballet dancer when I’m grown up and dance on my own in the Great Barn and up in the Circle for all the people to watch.’

‘Spoken like a true Stonewylde child,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘I wish my little girl could be the same.’

‘Do you have a little girl too?’

‘Oh yes, she’s a bit younger than you, almost five. Like your sister Bluebell.’

‘You know about her?’

‘I know everything about you all,’ he replied. ‘Every detail. And now, I was wondering if you’d like to go over to that lady there and buy us all a nice ice-cream?’

Sylvie tried to remonstrate but was smoothly over-ridden, and Celandine was despatched down the aisle clutching money.

‘How did you know we’d be here?’ she hissed as soon as the child had left. ‘Why are you doing this? And if you don’t remove your hand now I shall get up and leave! I mean it, Buzz.’

Chuckling, he slid his hand off her leg and kissed his own fingers where they’d touched her.

‘Mmn! You didn’t complain last time, did you Sylvie? Not when I came to visit you in hospital?’

Her mouth dropped open and the warm theatre spun crazily around her. Her vision went black around the edges and there was a fizzing noise in her ears. Buzz gently leaned her forward to bring her head down and she felt the blood rushing back. Sylvie struggled to sit up and remove his hands from her shoulders. She turned to face him, still white with shock.

‘Was that real?’ she whispered in horror. ‘I thought it was a dream.’

‘Oh yes, Sylvie, it was very real. I relive it every single night as I lie in bed with my wife, wishing that it were you and not her beside me. It was real alright – I remember the pattern on your nightdress, the restraints, the apricot-coloured roses by the bedside. I remember every single tiny detail. It was such a very … intimate experience.’

She blushed scarlet and hung her head in misery. She felt horribly sick and couldn’t believe this was really happening. How on earth had he known they’d be here in this theatre and in these very seats? She looked over towards the aisle suddenly remembering her daughter whom she should be looking after, not neglecting because of this unwelcome ghost from the past.

‘Celandine’s fine. Look, she’s coming back now with the icecreams. What a dear little girl she is.’

‘Please, please leave, Buzz. This is meant to be her special treat and you’re ruining it.’

‘Hardly! She’ll only feel it’s ruined if you make a fuss and start complaining – that certainly would spoil it for her. So sit still and be quiet. You know you’re enjoying it really.’

Celandine nipped along the row, so pretty in her lemon coloured dress with her white-blond curls flowing down her back, and handed out the tubs of ice-cream. She gave Buzz the change, looking at it in bemusement.

‘I gave the lady the note for the ice-creams and she said I must take these as well, so here you are. Thank you very much. I’ve never had an ice-cream like this before. Only the frozen juice-lollies we have in the summer when it’s hot. I love these little cups and these tiny spoons tucked into the lids. Can we take the spoons home, Mum? Bluebell would love them. Isn’t this wonderful? Oh!’

She tasted the cherry and vanilla ice-cream and closed her eyes in ecstasy, her excited chatter silenced for a moment.

‘You’re not eating yours, Mum. It’s lovely! Do try some.’

‘I’m not hungry, Celandine. You can have mine if you like. Sit down, now – the second act’s about to start.’

‘Not leaving then?’ asked Buzz, his pale blue eyes gleaming.

‘Of course we’re not leaving!’ retorted Celandine. ‘There are still two more acts, Mum said, and I wouldn’t leave for the world. This is the best thing I’ve ever done in my whole life!’

Buzz’s lips stretched into a broad smile.

‘One of my best things too,’ he said smoothly, his hand sliding across as the lights dimmed.

Sylvie spent the night on the alien hotel bed in sleepless despair. Next to her Celandine slept soundly, exhausted from the multitude of new experiences she’d had that day, and Sylvie tried hard to keep her crying silent and still. Eventually she got up and sat by the window looking out over the city, wishing she’d never come here. Imagine if she’d come with Yul! She shook her head at the thought; the two men would’ve been at each other’s throats within minutes, the thin veneer of civilisation dissolved by their long-standing mutual hatred. The ordeal she’d endured in the theatre, keeping quiet for the sake of her daughter who’d have been devastated to miss the ballet, was horrendous and sickening and she felt ashamed of herself for not putting a stop to it. Why had she let him do that?

But worse still – far worse – was the knowledge that her terrible dream was actually a memory. Buzz really had come into the nursing home and assaulted her whilst she lay drugged up to the eyeballs and strapped to her bed. How had it been allowed to happen? Had he talked his way in or maybe even bribed someone? And tonight – how had he known which seats they’d have? Or that they’d be there at all? And the hotel – how had Buzz known about that? For he’d deftly found them a taxi after the performance and told the driver where to take them.

It suddenly occurred to her – the bouquet must be from him too! She grabbed the card and re-read it in the orange sodium light glaring into the room, shuddering at the true meaning the message carried. And then she started thinking of all the implications of what had happened, both tonight and four years ago in her private hospital room. After all these years Buzz was still bent on revenge for his banishment. And somebody at Stonewylde, somebody who knew her well, had been feeding him with the details to do it. Somebody whose intent was absolutely malicious. The thought made her blood run cold.

On the train home the next day Sylvie sat silently staring out as the heathland of east Dorset turned to the hills of the west, the landscape changing gradually but dramatically. She’d been unable to eat the delicious buffet breakfast that Celandine had devoured so enthusiastically and was now feeling sick and exhausted. Her daughter chattered non-stop, reliving the whole experience – the shops, her new shoes, the hotel and meals, and most of all, the ballet. Sylvie realised she was fighting with a decision and, much as she hated it, would have to ask Celandine to lie. She’d toyed with the idea of telling Yul everything but knew he’d explode with rage and probably do something rash and dangerous.

‘Darling, I know we don’t normally keep secrets from each other in the family but I’m going to ask you to be very grown up and understand something important.’

Celandine fixed her with an intent stare, her eyes as deep grey as her father’s and just as intelligent.

‘It’s about that man in the theatre, isn’t it?’

‘Yes! How did you know?’

‘You didn’t like him even though he was very polite and kind. I didn’t realise at first as I was watching the ballet. But you wouldn’t look at him and you were all stiff and quiet.’

‘That’s right and I didn’t like him being there but I couldn’t make a fuss in front of all those people and spoil the ballet. You see, he used to live at Stonewylde a long time ago, when Father and I were still young like Auntie Leveret is now. He and your father really hated each other and had a terrible fight. Magus, the man in charge at the time, banished him from Stonewylde. And that man has never forgiven your father and still blames him for it. So if Father knew he was there last night he’d be so, so cross I don’t know what he’d do.’

‘We don’t want him any crosser than he already is, do we?’ said Celandine. ‘He’s bad enough now, always grumpy and he doesn’t even sleep in our rooms any more. Does he still love us, Mum?’

‘Oh yes darling. But he’s not very happy at the moment. So please don’t mention anything about that man when we get back. I hate asking you to not tell the truth but I don’t want your father to be angry and upset.’

‘That’s fine, Mum. I understand and I won’t say anything at all about him. What’s his name anyway?’

‘Buzz, short for Buzzard.’

‘I’ve never actually liked buzzards much – they’re predators, you know.’