'You were supposed to be helping me,' he said.
She appeared flustered and moved away, her face lowered so that he could no longer look into her eyes. 'Sorry,' he thought he heard her say over the noise.
They went on, awkwardly, now both clinging to each other for support, the rain lashing their bowed bodies, increasing in intensity rather than diminishing. The drops were like thousands of tiny water bombs flailing their heads and shoulders, exploding as they struck, weighing them down with their force. The water was cooler, but only slightly so, and vapour rose from the ooze beneath their feet as well as from the foliage on either side of the track. Again the thought of a tropical downpour crossed Rivers' mind.
The pain in his leg increased as they continued their awkward journey. Then he fell, going to his knees, dragging the woman down with him. He slipped again as he tried to rise, once more pulling her down. She rolled on to her side, the cowl falling back from her face, her dark shoulder-length hair immediately bedraggled. To his surprise, she was laughing.
'I haven't…' she panted. '… I haven't had so much fun… so much fun in a long time.'
He wiped the dampness from his own face, which provoked more laughter from her. Rivers looked at his hand and realised he had just smeared mud over himself.
'It's okay,' she said, struggling to get up. 'Your mud-pack's already being washed away.' She gave a whoop when she slipped again.
The climatologist stooped and picked up the cane that was sinking into the mire. He dug the end deep into the soil and levered himself upright, grateful that the earth beneath the soaked top layer was still firm. He reached for the woman. Take it nice and steady. Dig one foot in and put all your weight on it.'
She did as instructed and joined him, apparently still happy. Her hair was flat around her face and her eyes sparkled with inner humour. He could not help but smile back. 'Shall we try again?' she suggested.
'How much further?'
'A ways yet. Think you can make it?'
'I don't intend to stay here.'
'Let's lean.' This time she put her arm around his waist and tucked her shoulder into his. His own free hand went round to her other shoulder.
As they trudged onwards, embankments rose up on either side of the track, while trees formed a rough canopy over their heads. Even so, the rain tore through the branches, its impact lessened only slightly. Tiny rivers were running down the steep slopes, taking clods of sodden earth with them in miniature landslides and leaves, twigs, even small branches were dropping from the flimsy covering overhead.
'What is this?' she shouted over the downpour. 'I know the weather's become freaky, but rain like this? It's impossible.'
'Keep telling yourself that-maybe we'll get to your home quicker.'
She tugged the hood to one side so she could look at him. 'Do I get the feeling you're not enjoying this as much as I am?'
He skidded, but kept his feet this time. 'I'm smiling, aren't I?'
'As a matter of fact, you're not. It's more like a grimace. Is your leg hurting bad?'
'Yeah, it's hurting bad. But I'll manage.'
He swore under his breath as another slip kindled fresh fire in his knee joint.
Rain lashed them with renewed strength as they emerged from the trees' cover, forcing them to bend against it, each step seeming to take a greater effort.
This ground was rock solid only a little while ago,' she shouted close to his ear.
'The rain's getting into the cracks and undermining the topsoil. It'll sink a lot deeper if this goes on much longer.' Suddenly there was pain so intense that it brought him to a jerky halt. He gasped, his head raised to the skies, his teeth clenched.
'Let's find some shelter and rest,' she said hurriedly, her eyes filled with concern.
'Shelter?' He looked around.
'The trees are thicker away from the track. They'll give us enough cover, I'm sure.'
Rivers knew he would never reach the house in this condition; even when his injury wasn't screeching pain, it was throbbing it. The car was a long way behind them now, perhaps even as far as the house was ahead. At least if they found some shelter he'd be able to swallow a couple of painkillers. 'Just show me where,' he said breathlessly.
'We have to get up there.' She pointed towards the embankment. 'Can you climb?'
Shit, he thought. 'I'll give it a try,' he said.
They lurched over to the rise on their right side, making for a dip, a gulley where rainwater washed down.
'You first,' she called. 'I'll support you from behind, then you can pull me up.'
Rivers wasn't keen on the idea of this attractive Samaritan pushing his butt, but agreed it made sense. He reached for the top of the embankment, while thrusting his cane into the soft earth of the gulley. The ascent wasn't easy, but with a lot of effort and a lot of pushing, he made it to the top. Once there, he knelt on his good leg and extended the cane down towards his helper.
She grasped the end and her eyes searched for something else to grip with her other hand. It gave him another brief chance to study her upturned face, to take in the paleness of her skin, the cleanly defined lines of her lips, and again, the softness of those eyes. Rivers wondered at himself.
He pulled hard as she began to climb, drawing her steadily towards him as she dug deep into the flowing mud with toecaps and her other hand. She had almost reached the top, Rivers using his free hand beneath her shoulder, when the loosened earth he was perched on crumbled away, throwing him forward so that he cannoned into her, sending them both slithering down the short slope into the quagmire below.
The woman gave a little scream as they tumbled, not one of fear but of surprise, and when they landed, Rivers half over her lap with his face in the mud and she herself sprawled flat, she uttered a curse that was directed at the heavens rather than their own ineptitude.
Rivers lifted himself from the mire and when she saw his face, her anxiety turned into a grin.
He, on the other hand, failed to see the humour in the situation at all, and was about to remark on that very fact when lights approached through the thick blanket of rain.
The vehicle moved smoothly and at a steady speed along the track's slithery surface, tyres occasionally sinking where they travelled through flooded ruts and dips, the engine quiet under the sound of the rainfall. Its bonnet joined the windscreen almost seamlessly, forming an aerodynamic wedge from bumper to roof, and with the all-around windows and dark green bodywork glistening sleekly in the wet, its bullet shape and furiously glaring headlights, it gave the appearance of an advancing beast rather than an automobile.
It stopped beside the sprawled couple and the driver's window lowered slowly.
The friendly, wrinkled face that looked down at them instantly dispelled any sinister illusions Rivers might have had. The voice was familiar when the man spoke.
'Can I offer you a lift, Mr. Rivers, or are you having too much fun down there with my daughter?'
'Welcome to Hazelrod.'
Hugo Poggs glanced over his shoulder at Rivers, who was beside his yellow-caped 'rescuer' in the eight-seater Toyota Previa. The woman next to Poggs turned in her seat to look directly at Rivers. Her face was round, plump rather than fat, and her greying hair was pulled back into a girlish braided ponytail. Her pale blue eyes regarded him with some amusement. 'I had no idea climatologists brought their own weather with them.'
This aroused a low, throaty chuckle from Poggs as he guided the vehicle from the rutted track into a broad, cobblestoned courtyard where wood and brick outbuildings and an old stable block were overlooked by a large and much deteriorated Georgian house. A short, burly man in a green oilskin coat and Australian ranger's hat waved at them as he dashed across the yard towards one of the sheds carrying a metal bucket.
'Feeding time,' Poggs remarked as he drew the Toyota to a halt as close to the three front steps of the house as possible. He switched off the engine and leaned a stout arm over the back of the seat to appraise Rivers.
His cheeks were ruddied by tiny veins and his chin sunk almost completely into the flesh beneath it. He was a heavy man and when he spoke he had a habit-or perhaps it was a necessity-of taking a short breath first. 'I suggest we get you cleaned up and into some dry things before we make the introductions.'
The pain in Rivers' leg had subsided a little, but he relished the idea of painkillers and a quick, hot shower. He regretted having left the pulser back at home, but then he hadn't thought it necessary for the journey; besides, plugging in was a practice he was trying to ease out of. He climbed out into the rain.
The downpour had weakened, but it still bounced off the cobblestones and the roof of the Previa with considerable force. Poggs' daughter scrambled out to join him, and he briefly wondered if he had mistaken her accent over the noise of the storm, for Poggs himself appeared to be the quintessential English gentleman, down to his tweed trousers, check Viyella shirt and woollen tie (no doubt the matching tweed jacket with leather elbow patches had been discarded in consideration of the heatwave) and the deep rich tones of his breathless voice. He wanted to thank her for her help, but she turned away as a child of about eight leapt out from the backseat and buried herself under her cape. He hadn't had time to notice the little girl before, and now he saw there was another child, this one a boy in T-shirt and shorts, clambering out the other side to be gathered up by the ponytailed woman and hurried around to the steps of the house. They disappeared through large porch doors with whoops of feigned panic.
'Let's you and I follow at a more dignified pace,' suggested Poggs as he eased his portly figure from the vehicle.
'I think I left my dignity back there in the mud,' Rivers replied.
Together they headed up the steps, Rivers limping badly, Poggs seemingly impervious to the rain. Passing through the windowed porch where a rusting doll's pram and two child's bicycles competed with Wellington boots and a stack of dried-out fire logs for space, the climatologist found himself inside a spacious high-ceilinged hallway where a broad staircase led up to a first-floor balcony. There were open doorways on both sides of the hallway and through the nearest he glimpsed a large room, whose every inch seemed crammed with furniture and ornaments. Between sofas and armchairs lay scattered floor cushions, and in one comer he could see a tall fig plant. He looked around the hall for Poggs' daughter, but there was no sign of her. The two children, both around the same age and strikingly similar, were astride an old, paint-chipped rocking horse just by the inside front door. They had the blackest hair he had ever seen, almost gypsy-like with its twisted curls and depth; yet their skin was fair and their eyes a startling shade of blue. They rocked to and fro in perfect unison and with a quiet intensity, taking no notice whatsoever of the stranger in their midst.
'Let's have you out of those wet things, Mr. Rivers.' The plump woman with the braided hair had appeared from a doorway on his left and was advancing on him carrying a large white towel. To his relief she dropped it over the heads of the two children and began to rub vigorously, ignoring their squealed protests.
'I think it would be wise,' Poggs agreed. He pointed a pudgy finger upwards. 'Bathroom's third door along the landing. Shower's not the fiercest in the world, but it'll get rid of the muck. Leave your clothes outside the door and we'll supply you with some fresh ones.'
'No, look, I'll be okay…'
'Nonsense,' interjected the woman in a tone that brooked no dissension. 'Up you go and we'll see you in a little while. Plenty of time to talk later.' She continued to towel the squirming children.
'My car…'
'No one will run off with it,' assured Poggs. 'If you let me have the keys I'll have it brought up here. We'll soon get it out of the ditch once the rain stops.'
There was no point in arguing, not that Rivers felt inclined to: he felt dirty and uncomfortable, and he had to do something about the pain. 'It's kind of you,' he said.
Poggs shook his head and unexpectedly his demeanour seemed weary. 'It's entirely selfishness on our part.' He held up a hand to stay the question Rivers was about to ask. 'When you're in better shape, Mr. Rivers. If you don't mind my saying so, you look like something the cat dragged in and was in two minds whether to chuck out again.' He chortled at his own remark, while the woman gave him a scolding glare.
Rivers climbed the stairs and on the turn he looked down to find the family watching him. Even the two children, whose eyes were so vividly blue they seemed blurred from that distance, were gazing up at him from the rocking horse. The adults quickly looked away and became active, the woman lifting the boy and girl in turn from the horse, Poggs wandering off into one of the side rooms. Puzzled, not just by their attention, but as to why he had been invited here in the first place, the climatologist made his way to the landing, then counted the doors until he reached the bathroom. Even more puzzling was why he had accepted the invitation.
Rain squalls beat against the bathroom's tiny window as he closed the door behind him. There was no key in the lock and no catch, but Rivers was too tired and uncomfortable to care. He took out a small container of dihydrocodeine from his damp jacket pocket and went to the sink. He swallowed three with water from the tap, hoping the house had an effective purifier in its tank, then shed his clothes and ran the shower until it was lukewarm. He stepped in and closed his eyes, his face held up towards the jets.
As he soaped his body, the flowing warmth, together with the tablets, began to ease the pain, and it was with some reluctance that minutes later he turned off the shower and grabbed a towel from a rail by the bath.
Perhaps it was because of the rain drumming on the window that he didn't hear her knock; he was only aware of her presence when she spoke.
'You didn't leave your clothes outside.'
He had been drying his face, the long towel covering most of his body, and he froze in surprise. She was leaning round the partially opened door, a bundle of fresh clothes held on one arm.
These should fit you,' she said with a pleasant, unembarrassed smile.
Her gaze shifted to his scarred leg and he saw her flinch before quickly looking away. He moved the towel so that the injury was out of sight. 'Can I take them?' she asked.
'Take them?'
'Your wet clothes.'
'Oh.' He nodded towards the bathroom stool where they were draped.
She offered the clothes she was holding, then realized his awkwardness. There was amusement once more in those soft brown eyes. 'Sorry. You get used to immodesty around here, especially with the summer heat. Let me swap these for those.' She picked up the sodden clothes and left the dry ones on the stool. 'My name's Diane, by the way. I'm glad I saw the storm coming and decided to stroll down the track to look for you. It's so easy to pass by. If I'd known you were going to dump your car I'd have brought along another raincoat.'
'So it wasn't by chance.'
'We've been waiting for you all morning, Mr. Rivers. Poggsy took the tribe off to church and left me to keep an eye out for you.'
'Poggsy?'
'Hugo, my father-in-law.' She wondered why he made a small sound of understanding, but went on. 'Poggs is such a silly name, we decided to make it sillier. He pretends not to, but I think he enjoys it.' She stopped halfway out the door. 'Come down when you're ready. You look as if a stiff drink will do you the world of good, and knowing Poggsy, he'll be only too ready to join you.'
He stopped her as she was about to go. 'Do you know why I'm here?'
Her soft brown eyes fixed on his. 'I do. And I just hope you can help.'
'Help? I don't understand.'
'That's the problem. None of us understands. But you might be the link that enables us to.'
As she closed the door a sudden fiercer gust of wind and rain shook the window behind him.
4
The rain had ceased by the time he left the bathroom and the hall below was filled with sunlight, the glow from the polished wood floor almost dazzling. Rivers narrowed his eyes against it as he descended.
H
e felt a lot better, his body freshened, the pain in his leg under control. The loose corduroy trousers and twill shirt he wore were comfortable, the shoes only one size too large; he wondered who they belonged to. Halfway down he noticed one of the children was astride the rocking horse again and watching his descent.
It was the girl, the top of her dark hair blazed red by the sun through the porch windows, and even though her small face was in shadow, the extraordinary blueness of her eyes was still evident. 'Hello,' he called softly, smiling to show he was friendly enough.
Without a word the girl slid from the horse and skipped into the room Rivers had caught a glimpse of earlier. There were voices coming from there, so he made towards it.
Hugo Poggs was in one of the bulky but comfortable-looking armchairs, while the woman with the braided plait, whom by now Rivers assumed to be Poggs' wife, occupied a comer of the sofa with the little girl's brother snuggled up close to her. Diane sat in a stiff-backed chair with the black-haired girl settled at her feet. He guessed the burly man eyeing him suspiciously from a window seat behind the others was the one in the oilskin who had dashed across the yard when they had driven in. He was a thick-set, strong-looking individual, with a girth that threatened his shirt buttons. Rivers nodded at them all from the doorway.
'Ah, feeling better?' Poggs enquired cheerfully.
'A lot better. You've been very kind.'
'Nonsense. It's you who have been kind, making this long journey to see us on the strength of a phone call. Please come in and join us-we've saved a comfortable chair for you.' He indicated an empty armchair facing his own. As Rivers stepped over cushions to reach it, Poggs took out a pipe and tapped the contents of its bowl into an ashtray.
The boy lifted his head from the ample bosom it rested against. 'Grandad…'
Poggs scowled without rancour. 'Forgot,' he mumbled, slipping the pipe back into his breast pocket. He brightened. 'Sun's well over the yard-arm, Mr. Rivers, so how about a little something to fire your inners, torment your liver? Or as an alternative, you might try some of Mack's home brew. I can't be responsible for what that might do to your liver though. Send it into catatonic shock, I shouldn't wonder.'