The Wife Before Me(71)
She waits, her arms folded, as Elena turns towards the gates, then slams the front door closed.
The journey down the headland is more difficult than the ascent. She had hope then, a sliver, admittedly, but it had kept her going. Halfway down and flagging, she sits on the crumbling brick wall of a derelict cottage to catch her breath. Why has Leanne Rossiter chosen to rear her child is such an isolated setting? Elena longs to go back and shake her by her shoulders, shake and shake her until she forces the truth from her lying lips.
The sun disappears behind a grey bank of cloud. The air is misty and damp. The sheep on the gradients bleat mournfully and fluttering tufts of wool, caught on barbed wire, warn Elena that she has stepped too close to the edge of the road. In this bleak terrain, there are no smooth pavements to mark her passage, no trees with leafy crowns to guide her to safety. All the grows here are straggly, windswept bushes that rear from the deepening mist like hunched famine victims. Her feet sink in swampy grass and she slips, her ankle twisting under her.
She is limping now, unable to put weight on her injured foot. Is she still on the main road or has she branched off onto a side trail that could lead her over the edge? Confused, she stops and tries to get her bearings. A stretch of barbed wire is her only protection against the ocean crashing below her.
She sees a shape in the mist. Chilled fingers brush against her cheek. There is someone beside her, a willowy sylph in palest gossamer. Amelia… She understands, logically, that the mist is shifting. A will ’o the wisp is playing mind games with her but the feeling that Amelia’s ethereal presence is nearby causes her to cry out.
‘Amelia, help me to find my way. Don’t let him destroy me as he destroyed you.’
Thirty-Nine
Yellow fog lights penetrate the mist. Elena makes out the shape of the Land Rover.
‘Get in.’ Annie Ross brakes beside her and leans across to open the passenger door.
In the back, round-eyed, the child watches as Elena clambers into the warm interior.
‘Thank you.’ Her ankle throbs and swells in her tight mountain boot. ‘The mist fell so suddenly. I’d no idea where I was.’
‘It comes down fast here,’ Annie says as she turns the car smoothly on the narrow pass. She is obviously used to this terrain, but the back wheels are so close to the edge of the cliff that Elena grits her teeth.
‘I figured you’d find it difficult to make your way back down.’ Annie has changed into sandals, jeans and a blue jumper with a crew neck. Her hair, still tangled, shields her face as she drives upwards towards her cottage.
‘You can shelter here until the mist lifts,’ she says curtly when she brakes in the driveway. ‘I wouldn’t like to have it on my conscience if something happened to you on the headland.’
A picture window in the kitchen looks out over the Atlantic. The view, obscured by the mist, must be stunning when the sun is shining.
‘Sit down.’ Annie gestures towards a chair. ‘I’ll make some tea. Or would you prefer coffee?’
‘Tea is perfect. I’m sorry about earlier. I thought… Never mind.’ Elena sits down and unties her lace. Her ankle is ballooning and she is unable to pull off her boot.
The child hovers by the chair, inquisitive yet too shy to speak. She has also changed, from jodhpurs into a pair of leggings and a Charlie and Lola T-shirt.
‘That’s nasty.’ Annie kneels and gently eases the boot from Elena’s foot. ‘You need ice to take down that swelling. Lots of ice.’
She wraps a tea towel round Elena’s ankle, adds two ice packs from the freezer and secures them with a scarf.
‘I’m sorry if I was rude earlier.’ She hands Elena a mug of tea. ‘We’re not used to visitors and I’m very protective of Kayla.’
Elena’s hand is shaking. The hot liquid slops over her fingers and onto her jeans.
‘Missy messy moo.’ Kayla covers her mouth and giggles.
‘Come on, Kayla, let’s see if Charlie and Lola are on the telly.’ Annie lifts the child and carries her into the room next door.
A television is turned on and the sound of animated voices comes faintly through the wall.
‘I shouldn’t have intruded,’ Elena says when Annie returns to the kitchen. ‘But I was anxious to find someone who knew Amelia Madison.’
‘As I already told you, I don’t know anyone by that name.’
‘She’s dead.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ The comment is meaningless and Elena doesn’t bother acknowledging it.
‘You look like her friend. At least, that’s what I thought when I came here.’ Up close, Elena can no longer see the compelling resemblance to the woman in the photograph; and even her memory of that is suspect.
‘What led you here?’ Annie asks.
‘The Rannavale postmark on that envelope I showed you.’
The evening is darkening and the mist is still dense. There is someone outside. A face at the window, staring through. White-blonde hair, green eyes glowing. They remind Elena of a cat’s eyes caught in light. The figure lifts her hand as if to wave goodbye. Elena is about to cry out when she realises it’s Annie, tossing an unruly hank of hair from her forehead and reflecting back at Elena in the glass. This is crazy. Hallucinating and chasing illusions. She drags her gaze away from the window.