Mr. Flood's Last Resort(87)

“Are you going to get in, Maud?”

I could. Or I could run back up the drive to Holly Lodge, a long lonely drive.

Would he mow me down? My running could spark off predatory urges. I remember that the worst thing to do when faced with a creature possibly intent on harming you is to show fear.

St. Dymphna glides to my side with her crown sparking and her robes deepening to a richer green.

“You are more than a match,” she whispers, “for this sneaky lying bastard.”

I take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

The name hardly rings true; I glance at St. Dymphna.

She nods. “Go on.”

I go on. “I got talking to this group of ladies on a coach trip. When I came out I thought you were gone. I couldn’t see your car; I looked everywhere.”

“Nice,” says St. Dymphna.

“You were pissed at me,” I add. “You said it was a waste of time us coming here. I thought you’d just driven off.”

Gabriel frowns at me. I can’t tell if he’s buying it.

“I pulled the place apart looking for you,” he says.

“I’m so sorry, Sam.” I look him dead in the eye and he seems to soften.

I hear St. Dymphna breathe out. “He believes you.” She sounds relieved.

Gabriel gestures towards the entrance of the home. “You’ve been in there? You’ve spoken to them?”

“There was no one available. So I sat in the grounds until they moved me on. They said for me to come back after the weekend, when the manager is around.”

He switches off the ignition and runs his hands over his face. “So what do you want to do now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe check into the B and B?” I walk round to the passenger seat and get in. “You’ll stay?” I smile at him.

“Of course.” He smiles back stiffly.

I pull my seat belt on, amazed at my performance. He starts up the car.

“Nice grounds up there, lovely fountain, like the one at Bridlemere.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice is low, uninterested.

I glance at him. He looks straight ahead, jaw tensed, as if battling some inner demon. I should imagine he has a few of them.

“Get him to pull over,” says St. Dymphna from the back seat. “Somewhere busy. Then make a run for it, Maud. His intentions are not good.”

My heart turns inside me.

*

AS WE drive into the village I see a newsagent; there are parked cars, people all around.

St. Dymphna whispers in my ear, “Here, Maud.”

“I’d die for a cold drink. Can we stop?”

He frowns and pulls over. I have my seat belt off but he’s already out of the car.

“I’ll go,” he says. “What do you want?”

“Just anything, thanks.”

I watch him until he’s inside the shop.

“He’s left the keys in the ignition,” St. Dymphna observes.

*

FOR A few minutes I just keep driving forwards, using any road, through town, out of town, just to get some distance. Then I start to calm down a bit and my heart stops jumping out of my chest and the blood stops rushing in my ears.

“Will he call the police?” I ask St. Dymphna.

“Will he ever,” she mutters. She’s in the passenger seat with her lamp in her hands, squinting furiously into the flame.

“What is it?”

“He’s calling his greasy sidekick.” St. Dymphna looks up to the heavens and winces. “I didn’t tell you that, if anyone asks.”

I check the mirror for signs of a black BMW.

“Should I be scared of him?” I glance at St. Dymphna.

She avoids my eyes. “Yes and no.”

“Tell me.”

“I can’t; I’d be struck off.”

“I’m sure you’ve done worse.”

St. Dymphna looks at me and bites her lip. “Stop the car, Maud; check the trunk.”

When I open the trunk my knees almost give way.

Inside there are folded sheets of plastic, rolls of paper towels, refuse sacks, electrical tape, cable ties, and a box of disposable gloves.

I get back into the car with my hands shaking. I can hardly start the ignition.

St. Dymphna’s face is grim. “Lock the doors, Maud.”

At the next roundabout I turn the car in the direction of Dorchester.

*

FRANK GAUNT opens the door to a peal of barking. He is a small bearded man flanked by slim hounds. The dogs come forwards to nuzzle my hand, tails wagging.

I smile down at them and then I smile at Frank.

Frank pulls the larger of them back by the collar. “You’re here about the puppies?”

“I’m early. Should I come back?”

“Not at all, now is fine.”

I follow Frank through the hallway and out into the kitchen.

Everything feels a little surreal. Like I’ve slipped out of real life into a different dimension and now I’m just visiting normality.

I look around me; the kitchen is neat and well proportioned. The dogs that greeted me ramble over to their beds in the corner of the room where there is a pen full of squirming, writhing, wriggling puppies, chewing one another’s ears, licking one another’s eyeballs, falling into their water bowl, standing on their back legs looking out.