The Dream Weavers by Barbara Erskine (books you have to read txt) 📕

concern, of course; she was here and he had to make decisions about her today. And then there was Val. And Felix. And the book. And Bea. He was puffing slightly when he reached the high point of the ridge and stood staring out towards the valleys that still lay in darkness. Behind him the light on the eastern horizon was growing stronger.

Part of him was wondering if he would hear the thunder of hooves, but the hillside was deserted. Only the sound of the birds filled the air. The foundations of his existence had been shaken. From certainty and a quiet smug comfort with his position in an academic world he had taken for granted, he had been tossed into a frantic questioning of the historicity of his view of everything he had written and was going to write.

‘Dad.’ Emma’s voice behind him made him jump out of his skin. She had followed him up the track. She was wearing joggers and her red cagoule, her hair wild on her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a fright. I couldn’t sleep either.’

He put his arm round her. ‘I was trying to decide what to do.’

‘I’m not going back to London.’

He didn’t reply. The birdsong was fading now as the light grew stronger. He glanced at his watch. ‘Shall we go out for breakfast?’

She nodded. ‘I must see Bea.’

‘Later. First you and I need to talk, Em. Very seriously.’

He saw the set of her jaw and felt his heart sink.

By the time they had retraced their steps down the track towards the cottage the woodland chorus had stopped and instead he could hear the echoing cry of a curlew as the sun appeared over the ridge of the distant hills. He knew enough about the legends of the ancient gods to know the sound presaged disaster.

38

‘Her phone is still switched off.’ Simon had tried to call Bea a couple of times.

Emma’s shoulders slumped. ‘I tried as well. I need to see her.’

‘I know, sweetheart, but you can’t expect her to be at your beck and call every day. I’ve left a message. I’m sure she will get back to us as soon as she can.’

‘What about Mum?’

‘I’ve left her a message too.’ He didn’t tell her that he had got through to Val again, endured ten minutes of ear-bashing and eventually hung up. ‘I think we will discuss the situation a little bit more here before we bring Mum into the conversation again.’

He watched as Emma stood up and walked agitatedly back and forth across the room a couple of times, then she sat down in front of him again. ‘You mustn’t laugh.’

‘You know I’m not going to laugh about anything you say.’

‘I’ve got this horrible feeling that there is someone following me.’

‘Not King Ethelbert?’

She let out an uncomfortable snort of laughter. ‘No, not the king. Not Eadburh, nor her prince. Someone, something, nasty. I don’t know what. I’m scared, Dad. Really scared.’

He felt his heart lurch with love for this difficult, pig-headed but oh so vulnerable child of his. Why could she not have left all this alone. ‘All I can do is ring Bea again. Leave her another message. I’ll tell her it’s urgent.’

‘Thanks.’ She gave a shaky smile. ‘Actually, I think I might go upstairs to lie down. I’m feeling a bit sick.’

He followed her up ten minutes later, a cup of tea in his hands. ‘I thought this might make you feel a bit better.’

She was lying on the bed, still fully dressed, the duvet pulled over her. Her face was very pale and she was shivering. ‘Has Bea rung you back yet?’

‘As soon as she does, I’ll tell you. I promise.’

‘Thanks for the tea.’ She attempted a grin. ‘I’ll be OK after I’ve had a sleep.’

He stood for a second or two looking down at her, then he nodded. ‘Good idea. Sleep well, sweetheart.’ He tiptoed out of the room and shut the door quietly behind him.

She lay for a long time, gazing up at the ceiling. All she wanted was to close her eyes and be with Eadburh again, to mount one of the king’s beautiful horses and feel the sleek muscles of the animal between her legs. She would ride up the valley to find Elisedd. He couldn’t have become a monk. It wasn’t possible. And even if he had, she could win him back. He had only gone into the Church because he thought he’d lost her. He had loved her once. He would love her again. As her eyes closed, she slipped her hand inside her shirt and gently began to stroke her breasts as he had done all those years ago. Why would he want to reject her? All she had to do was go to him.

The knock at the door took Bea by surprise. She had awoken late to find a note from Mark saying he had gone to early communion and was then driving over to the hospice to visit his friend who had taken a turn for the worse. The note ended: If you need me, ring and I will come. She had smiled, kissed the note and slipped it into her hip pocket, then she had walked into the kitchen to make coffee. Only ten minutes later she heard the knock. A sudden warning prickle of unease at the back of her neck brought her up short.

At first she didn’t recognise the woman standing outside on the step. She was well dressed, dyed red hair pinned back in a neat chignon. ‘Mrs Dalloway?’ The voice was cold and hard. But familiar.

‘Sandra?’ Bea froze.

‘May I come in?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Bea folded her arms, every layer of protection in place. ‘I didn’t recognise you.’

Sandra smiled. ‘But you saw my little gift? In your fridge?’

‘I saw it.’ Bea was conscious of a grey miasma coiling its way round Sandra’s shoulders. The woman’s aura was alive with contradictory colours. Angry red