Freya's Quest (15 page)

She became the most animated I’d ever seen her and jabbed her pencil so strongly onto the pad that it ripped a hole through the page.
No laugh. Trying to warn you
.

I drew out a long breath, but let her continue.

Always same pattern. Starts well. Warm & loving. Then hurts you. Never faithful. Loses interest quickly. Look how Emily treated!

‘No, I didn’t like that. But she provoked him. Gave as good as she got.’

Maybe, but don’t you see? His actions drove her to it. No one stays immune to his emotional cruelty for long
.

‘So you keep saying.’

She didn’t look very amused by my facetiousness.

I looked into her face searchingly. ‘If it’s so bad, why d’you take it?’

She hesitated, giving me a stern glare.
Me his wife
.

I sank back on my elbows. ‘Christ, I had no idea! I’m sorry….What must you think of me? I’ve been here in your house, shagging your husband, and neither of you bothered to tell me!’

She waved her arms around, in an effort to calm me, before returning to her notepad.
Me used to him. Many women. Many years
.

I was too ashamed to speak. Suddenly, Dylan and Veronica’s guffawing over my initial perception of Yasuko made sense; it’d been their very private joke. And Veronica’s comment about Dylan not being free.

Don’t worry. Forgive. You can have him. Me divorcing. Emily leaving give me courage to go
.

She climbed awkwardly to her feet, her kimono clinging to the skin of her haunches.
Me show
. She held out her hand to pull me to my feet as well.

She guided me by the hand and led me over to the inner gatehouse. We climbed the spiral staircase and entered her private quarters, located over the archway. There was enough space for a small bedroom, lounge and kitchenette.

She made me a mug of tea and sat down next to me on the bed.

‘How did you and Dylan meet?’

He travelling in Far East, on passage to Australia. Young writers’ book tour. Picked me up in bar. Married me next day
.

‘What? You couldn’t have loved each other.’

No. Struck deal. Me wanted wealth & citizenship. Me wanted for housework & sex
.

‘Why would he agree to such an arrangement? Surely not out of pity for your plight? And I don’t understand why he needed you for sex, when he was already womanizing back in Britain.’

Many ask. He never tell. Can get rough stuff with me. No one else like Yasuko
.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t follow.’

She rose to her feet and pulled up a long shackle attached to the corner post of the bed. She dropped it on the floor again and walked over to a cabinet on the wall. She opened its twin doors to reveal a varied collection of whips and canes.

I stared at her in utter disbelief. ‘He chains you to the bed and beats you for kicks?!’

She nodded and didn’t look the least perturbed.

‘How can you let him do that to you? Surely not for love?’

Again she nodded.

‘Why let him hurt you?’

All I deserve
.

I could not speak.

Me enjoy, too. Me grateful
.

‘But why prostitute yourself out to him?’

Me dumb. Worthless. No job could get. Me prostitute before. Better with one alone than many. He look after me
.

‘I see,’ I blurted out, but really I could not comprehend it all.

She turned around, so that her back faced me, and started to raise the long hem of her kimono.

I gripped her hand to stop her. ‘No. You don’t have to show me. You can leave some things to the imagination!’

She let her garment fall again. She looked disappointed, as if I’d ruined her chance to shock me.

The awkwardness of her walk at times, her odd noises from the open gatehouse window, and her coy behaviour at the poolside, now made sense as well. How could I have missed what had been so obvious? She was having some of her intended effect. My perception of Dylan had changed further, as Yasuko’s revelations now could be paired with Emily’s earlier warnings of his darker side.

She sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her hands, as if she wasn’t used to so much writing at once.
He in frenzy last night. Emily upset him bad. Me enjoy beating. Me leave tomorrow. Me have savings & he give payment till divorce settled. Can start new life. Always was plan. Didn’t think long as 8 years would take
.

I was becoming overwhelmed with dread. ‘Will he want to beat me in due course?’

Yasuko shook her head violently.
Don’t worry. Won’t beat you
. She paused.
Unless want him to
.

‘No, I certainly do not!’ This conviction was expressed with such force that her face actually broke into some kind of a smile for the first time since I’d know her.

He treat lovers different, depends on individual desires. That’s his secret. But he dangerous. He suck in, then spit out. Like serpent. Leave now
.

I tried to quell the chill that shuddered through my body.

‘Thanks for the warning, but I’m going to stay. At least for a while longer. With you going as well as Emily, he’ll need me all the more now.’

Yasuko sighed disconsolately. She’d tried her best to warn me. Her revelations had certainly disturbed me and made me waver. I wanted to find out more. For my sake as well as John’s. But I was worried about whether I could protect myself.

She kissed me lightly on the cheek and guided me to the door. She checked the stairs, as if making sure he wasn’t lurking there, before she handed me the last thing she ever wrote to me:
Be careful Freya. Just be careful
.

I returned to my study of Dylan’s literature, which continued far into the night. I missed his warmth and couldn’t sleep, so simply decided to read on until I’d finished the second of his novels,
The Music Man
. I put it down on the bedside table and glanced at the clock: it was four in the morning.

I climbed out of bed and went over to the window. I parted the curtains and noticed Yasuko’s quarters were still lit. Dylan was probably there, exacting his last retribution from his departing wife.

The next day, Dylan was nowhere to be seen as I joined Yasuko in the forecourt. She had loaded all her belongings into a waiting taxi. She kissed her goodbyes, her movements a sure sign she was in a lot of pain. For once, she was dressed in jeans and a baggy jumper, which augured well; she was finally wearing what she wanted to wear, rather than what Dylan had dictated all these years. I sensed in this small way, she was making that first tentative step to finding herself.

She could hardly sit down on the seat. I could only wonder at what kind of welts Dylan had inflicted upon her. I closed the rear door for her. She blew me a kiss from the open window. Then she was off down the driveway. I ran to the archway of the gatehouse and watched her progress until she was out of sight.

Part of me was trying to convince the other half that I should have left the Lodge with her.

Once back inside the Lodge, I hunted for Dylan. As I couldn’t find him, I assumed he was still in the tower. I decided to make a surreptitious call to John. I risked discovery, but my mind was frazzled from Yasuko’s revelations.

He picked up straight away. ‘’Bout time. How’s it going?’

‘Don’t you dare say “how’s it going” to me!’

‘Eh?’

‘Well, where do you want me to start? Dylan’s nearly killed me in a crash. I find out he’s been shagging both his sisters-in-law, one from under-age. And now I discover he’s got a Japanese wife who’s been his domestic and sex slave for years! What the hell have you got me in to?’

‘Calm down. Calm down.’

‘No, John. I want out!’

‘Listen. Be reasonable. You’re close, now. You’re close….Hang in there a little longer. Do some research on these old ruins and the medallion. And look into Seraphina more. I think she holds the key….’

The receiver clicked and he was gone before I could answer. As I walked away, I could understand his reasoning as I’d left my latest discoveries on his answering machine whilst at the hospital. But I felt sure I hadn’t mentioned his late wife’s name.

THE LODGE HAD taken on a lugubrious atmosphere, which matched my overriding depression, not helped by the pelting thunderstorm outside. To lose Emily, who was becoming a good friend, and Yasuko, who’d been part of the fabric of this place since my arrival, within the space of two days, had taken away my vibrancy.

I struggled to imagine what this turn of events was doing to Dylan, who’d had them both as an integral part of his life for so long. He wasn’t allowing me to understand, as he continued to distance himself by staying up in the tower.

Janis had departed, albeit only temporarily, to prepare her staff for the arrival of a fresh set of clients in a couple of days’ time.

So I found myself alone. Strangely displaced. For the first time since I’d met Dylan, I was left to reflect on my own problems, the ones I’d always tried to run away from. I mulled around the house, restless, my anxiety building. I prepared some lunch, but Dylan never came downstairs to collect it, nor to spend any time with me.

The only sanctuary I could find was in the library. Reclining in a comfy leather chair, I could return to the fictional world Dylan had created through his literature. I was on a third novel now,
Beyond the Raging Sea
. I was still struggling to analyse how much of his own experience and emotion might be locked in these pages to the extent it was beginning to ruin my enjoyment of the unravelling story.

I gave up, placing the book on the coffee table. I began to pace around the room, viewing the line of bookcases. I found a large section on psychology, bringing out modern volumes as well as older texts from the likes of Freud, Bleuler and Havelock Ellis. I spent the next few hours browsing through these, searching for some way of defining Dylan’s personality. In the end, I was left even more confused than before. However, such a collection did suggest that perhaps Dylan had been doing his own self-analysis.

I rubbed my tiring eyes, leaving the books scattered over the rug, and went to the kitchen for some refreshment. Yet I was soon lured back, mug of tea in hand, for further exploration.

I had always treasured books, and from an early age had mastered the art of escaping from the misery of my own family through the printed page. I felt like a little girl again, as I rooted through this vast collection.

In time, I came across a number of architectural works. I was surprised to discover the ruins of Grimshaw Lodge displayed in the third volume I flicked through, a large tome on the Victorian country house. The cleverly shot photographs, framed by encroaching vegetation, showed the roofless, windowless Gothic ghost. These were juxtaposed with a reprint of a canvas painted when the Lodge had been originally built, and an 1870 photograph of the building in its heyday, as a way of illustrating the author’s polemic about its wilful neglect. The work had been published in 1975, and the author ranted on about how the property only had a few more years left before it would be lost. Dylan had succeeded in resurrecting an edifice in its final death throes, then.

Despite the excesses of the author, it still made interesting reading. The Lodge had been designed by Anthony Salvin, as Dylan had told me. He was best known for Harlaxton Manor in Lincolnshire, Peckforton Castle in Cheshire and additions to Alnwick Castle in Northumbria, much vaster projects than Grimshaw Lodge. However, it had still taken seven years to complete, bankrupting Sir Percival Grimshaw in the process; so he had never been able to take pleasure in occupying it for long, before having to sell it.

I was about to flip over the page to discover more, when Janis poked her head around the door.

‘Hi yea! I’m back.’

I mumbled a response, but remained fixed on my task. Janis took the hint and left. Shortly, I heard her ringing the old servant’s bell in the corridor.

‘Where’s Yasuko?’

I was in the middle of reading about Baron von Eschenbach’s purchase of the Lodge and his bizarre addition in the grounds. I slammed the book shut and rested it on my knees, frustrated.

‘She’s left.’

‘Left?’

‘Yes, left!’

‘When will she be back?’

‘She’s not coming back,’ I said, raising my voice and opening the book again. ‘If you want something to eat or drink, you’re going to have to make it yourself.’

‘Where’s Dylan?’ she said, returning to the doorway of the library.

‘Up in the tower.’

‘Best not disturb him, then.’

‘No, he was very angry again last night. And this morning after you left.’

‘Mm.’ I didn’t have to look at her to detect her concern.

I refound my page and continued with the description of the strange black church that left even this erudite author lost for an explanation.

Janis remained standing in the doorway for a long time. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her regarding the array of psychology books on the floor, before she retreated. Soon I heard her putting on the kettle in the kitchen.