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He turned east, following the road inland, the sleet flying sideways out of the dark sky. No one was on the road except him, no horses and carts, or motorcars, and the villages he rode through were deserted, the cottage chimneys smoking as if people were huddled inside sheltering from the icy weather. He paused once to look at a signpost and clean the mud from his goggles. His feet were two blocks of solid ice, his hands and wrists ached and the breath wheezed in his chest.
A
Enormous barges were moored on the canal, laden with the biggest logs Freddie had ever seen. Fascinated, he lost concentration and when he looked back at the lane it had curved sharply to the left. He braked, skidded and revved the bike, just managing to steer it round the corner, and right in front of him two tall racehorses loomed out of the mist.
A
A new bakery had opened in Monterose and gradually A
So the last person she wanted to see was Joan with her nauseating fox fur dangling, her scarlet nails and her intimidating confidence.
‘Yes. What would you like?’ A
‘I don’t want any bread. I came to see the stone angel.’ Joan smiled disarmingly right into A
‘Wait a minute. I’ll close the shop.’ A
‘Oh, my dear! Look at your chrysanthemums.’ Joan stopped by the flowerbed along the su
A
When Joan saw the stone angel she gasped and flung her arms in the air, her painted mouth opened wide showing two yellowy front teeth crossed over each other.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said in a whisper, her eyes turning to look at A
A
‘Ah. He did. And he’s never had no training. ’Tis just a gift.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ Joan sidled round the stone angel, looking at it from all angles. ‘Isn’t she beautiful? Perfect, just perfect. And the patience! Freddie is a remarkable young man. You must be so proud, A
‘Yes, of course. And yes, I am proud of Freddie.’ A
‘But isn’t this exciting?’ Joan placed a manicured hand on the stone angel’s head. ‘And the face! It’s exquisite. Did he have a model for it?’
‘He didn’t say.’ A
Joan pursed her lips and stood gazing raptly at the stone angel as if it was a newborn baby. A
‘Has anyone seen the angel yet?’ Joan asked.
‘No.’
‘Then I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, A
‘Could do.’
‘A
‘And – is Freddie going to do more carvings? He’s got all this stone.’
‘Oh yes. He’s got plenty of ideas.’
‘Then I shall give him a commission.’
A
‘A job. A stone carving job. I want two majestic eagles on our gateposts. My husband would love them. We’ll pay him of course. Is Freddie here?’
‘No. He’s gone off today on his motorbike. I hate the thing.’
Joan hardly seemed to hear her. ‘I’m going to see the vicar right now,’ she said, her eyes gleaming. She slid her hands into a pair of fox fur gloves, and smiled caringly at A
A suffocating silence crept over A
‘I—’ She was going to say ‘can’t’ but the word froze in her throat. A person with Joan’s energy and fire was not going to accept ‘can’t’, that was obvious to A
Joan cocked her head sympathetically as if she sensed a problem. A
‘Perhaps another day,’ she said. ‘But I’ll go anyway. Thank you, A
‘Bye.’
A
‘She knows,’ A
Ian Tillerman looked down from the lofty height of his dappled grey racehorse at the mud-spattered stranger on his motorbike.
‘Turn the engine off, will you please?’ he shouted. ‘Don’t you know horses are frightened of motorbikes?’
Ian Tillerman’s horse didn’t look bothered by the motorbike, but the other horse, a bay, had wheeled around and bolted back down the road, its rider clinging on, its hooves clattering on the stony surface.
Freddie sighed and begrudgingly turned off the engine. Plastered in mud, he sat back astride the bike and tried to bend his frozen fingers. He realised he must have looked a sight in the black balaclava and goggles stuck to his face with mud. He eyed Ian Tillerman through the mud-splashed lenses and waited silently.
‘I gotta go on my way,’ said Freddie.
‘Oh, no you don’t.’ Ian Tillerman got down from his horse and confronted Freddie, his face an ugly brick red. ‘You’ve no business riding that damned motorbike down here. This is a private road. Can’t you read?’ He didn’t wait for Freddie to reply but ranted on, flicking his whip as he talked. ‘That’s a valuable racehorse, can’t you see that? She could break a leg galloping on the road like that. God knows what’s going to happen, and if there’s an accident I shall be suing you – whoever you are.’ He moved closer, his arms looped through the reins of the grey horse who stood watching the bay one still galloping in the distance. He put his red face close to Freddie and sniffed like a dog. ‘I thought so. Alcohol. You’ve been drinking. You’ve no business riding a motorbike in that state. Drunken bloody lout.’
Freddie was reminded of the times Levi had lost his temper. He knew it was no good trying to stop him, the explosion would go on until all the storm had been released. So Freddie hunkered down and let him rant, feeling nothing but contempt.