The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure (33 page)

She was never sure in her memory afterwards just how Henry had managed to extricate them from the activities planned by Charlie for the afternoon. She became suddenly aware of the familiar sensation of being in the saddle again, Henry's broad back in front of her, hearing the clop of Lao Zhao's mule behind, and a delicious sense of freedom and anticipation tingling her spine.

‘Mind the weather now,' she heard the doctor's voice call after them. ‘Don't go too far.'

Then the horses were plunging down a narrow bridlepath and they were enveloped in the gloom of the forest. She thought she saw a squirrel disappear into the branches of a tree, but there was no other sign of bird or animal life. It was a wet, silent world; even the sound of their horses' hoofs was muffled in the soggy leaves on the forest floor. Occasionally a branch of a fir tree would brush her face, sending icy droplets down the back of her neck, and she would shiver involuntarily. Henry rode silently ahead. He seemed tense and preoccupied, but turned with a warm smile when she asked nervously where they were going.

‘There should be a ridge ahead where we break out of these trees and get a view,' he said. ‘Then we follow an old overgrown rock scree, which winds up the side of the cliff. There's more forest at the top, and apparently there's a Taoist temple in there somewhere.'

‘I don't want to go to another temple. I just want to be with you,' she said.

‘And I with you,' he murmured.

‘You ignored me all morning. Reading that book,' she said.

‘I was looking for something, a passage I learned once at school.
Et vera incessu patuit dea
. “And in her walk it showed, in truth she was a goddess.” Thought it described Dido, but in fact it was Venus. Anyway, when I saw you in the rain last night I remembered you by the river, and that line popped into my head. It's what you looked like.'

‘Oh, Henry, what are we to do? How did we get into this?'

He looked upwards at the canopy of trees, the tops of which were beginning to rustle and shake in a growing wind.

‘I think for a start we'd better find some shelter,' he said. ‘You notice how dark it's becoming. Like night in here. I think we're in for a storm. Better get out of the trees. Before the lightning … That temple must be somewhere. Come on.'

He thrust his horse forward. They made a faster pace, but sometimes it was difficult to identify which narrow path, or furrow through the foliage, was the right one, and Henry and Lao Zhao would occasionally stop to discuss which fork to take. For a little time they had been hearing thunder in the distance, then there was a pattering sound and large but separated drops of rain began to fall with a rustle through the trees.

‘It's on us, I'm afraid,' said Henry. ‘Look, it's got to be in that direction. Keep heading upwards and we should break the treeline soon. Follow me, fast as you can.'

They cantered breakneck for about a hundred yards, rain slashing out of the darkness, stinging her cheeks, she concentrating on keeping the rump of Henry's horse in view as he twisted skilfully through the tall tree-trunks—but there was no indication of the trees thinning out, and after a while Henry had to slow his pace to a walk as the gaps between the firs narrowed. The rain was now drumming and crashing all around them, making visibility difficult enough even if they did not have to contend with the darkness. Helen Frances began to feel the weight of water on her tweed riding cape and knew that soon even that thick cloth would not be able to keep out the wet. The thunder was rumbling closer, increasing the oppression and claustrophobia.

Henry was shouting something through the noise. ‘We're lost,' she made out. ‘Only hope … keep going upwards … Too far to return.'

She turned, confirming that Lao Zhao was still behind her. She could barely make out his features in the darkness, but she sensed him smiling at her, encouraging her.

At that moment the forest flared with white light and in the pitch blackness that immediately followed thunder cracked above their heads. Helen Frances's horse whinnied and bucked. Another flash and she saw Henry gesticulating and pointing ahead; his face was a grimace as he yelled ineffectively against the cannonades of thunder. She kicked her frightened animal onwards and in a moment they had broken out of the forest apparently into a black nothingness. A howling wind slammed her and her mount. She felt her reins being grasped by a strong hand, and Henry's voice was shouting in her ear: ‘Keep to the middle, the middle. Make for the cliff ahead. Careful. There are precipices both sides.'

The world exploded into whiteness and for a timeless moment Helen Frances felt as if she were flying. Stretched below her were the white tops of trees, mountain ranges in the far distance beyond a plain illuminated in ghostly grey. Above her, towering battlements and siege engines of tumultuous cloud warred in the heavens, hurling at each other jagged projectiles of lightning, which cracked the sky where they stabbed. Then she realised they were poised precariously on a narrow saddle of turf that linked two hills. A few paces to left or right, and she and her horse would hurtle down a bottomless gorge. Before the lightning died and she was enveloped again in the unnatural night of the storm she saw the cliff-face on the other side of the saddle to which Henry referred. She willed her horse on, inching through the wind and darkness, terrified of the void on either side, her face and body soaked and her eyes blinded by the blanketing rain. Her numbed mind clung to the image of the cliff-face she had seen in the lightning flash as a place of refuge in this elemental violence. They only needed the protection of a cleft in the rocks, she told herself, a small cleft where they could huddle, and pretend that this nightmare would go away. Thunder pealed around her, shaking her, the noise exploding inside her head. She lost control of her frightened animal, which veered suddenly to the right, towards the precipice. With a despairing cry she threw herself to the side …

… Into the strong arms of Henry who caught her and supported her to the ground. ‘You're over the saddle. Don't worry,' he yelled in her ear. ‘You're safe. And there's a cave. Come on. Lao Zhao will bring the horses.'

A deep cleft in the rock face opened into a cavern. Within the cave Helen Frances once more sensed empty space around her. Henry left her shivering in the blackness while he and Lao Zhao busied themselves with securing the horses and exploring their new shelter. She could hear them moving in the dark. She felt cold, and tired, her teeth were chattering, her wet clothes were freezing on her body—but she did not care: the thunder was muffled now and there was no rain. That was enough. She did not care if she died here, if this cold rock hall were to become her tomb, as long as there was no more rain and lightning.

‘Helen Frances, are you all right?' she heard Henry call, his voice echoing from further inside the chamber. She could not place the direction he was calling from.

She made an effort. ‘I'm having a wonderful time,' she managed, her own voice echoing more faintly. ‘You certainly know how to look after a girl.'

His laugh smacked from rock to rock like the sound of a racquet ball in a court. ‘That's the spirit,' he called. ‘Listen, it's not all bad news. Seems others have used this cave before us. There's a pile of wood here, Lao Zhao's getting a fire going now—and, yes, I can feel … there's a flue in the rock and a slight draught. It's a chimney of some kind so we shouldn't get smoked out.'

‘How convenient,' she called. Her feet and hands were already numb, she was shaking in spasms and her teeth were chattering. She pressed the back of her wrist against her mouth to try to stop the shivering. Her face, where she touched it, was cold and smooth as marble.

‘What was that? I can't really hear you,' he called. ‘Never mind. Look, it's not so bad. There's even a covering of pine needles on the floor. It's dry. Probably somebody's bedding. Keep those spirits up, girl, we're going to be all right.'

She forced herself to call again, through clenched teeth: ‘Sounds luxurious. Pine-needle sheets. Is there a four-poster bed as well?'

‘What was that? Did you say four-poster bed?' Again the ricocheting laugh. ‘That's right. The Savoy has nothing on this. It's a royal suite at the very least. You're going to be very comfortable.'

Helen Frances closed her eyes, then her shoulders began to shake; she could not tell whether it was humour or hysteria, or just the sheer pain of being cold. In the darkness the cold was like a succubus, caressing her, hugging her, breathing down her throat in cold gusts that stabbed her lungs. She was very tired. She wanted to lie down. The easiest thing would be to give in to the embrace, escaping into the make-believe warmth of unconsciousness. ‘He's done it,' she heard Henry shout, from a long distance off. ‘There's a flame.'

Then red shadows were flickering on the cave walls and she heard the crackle of burning wood. A part of her comprehended that the cave was in fact a narrow, curving tunnel. Henry and Lao Zhao had lit a fire some way inside and out of her view. She took a faltering step in the direction of the glow, then Henry was with her and lifting her into his arms, carrying her to the back of the cave.

‘Welcome to the Savoy of the Black Hills,' she heard him saying, ‘and here is our very own fire. Lao Zhao will light his own nearer the cave mouth.'

‘Can't he share ours?' she said stupidly. It was an effort to talk and control her shivering at the same time.

‘Better that he doesn't,' said Henry. ‘For a start you've got to take all your wet clothes off or you'll die of pneumonia. Here, stand by the fire while I help you.'

She noticed Lao Zhao smiling as he edged past her, holding a burning brand in his hand. Then she was aware of nothing but the heat from the crackling fire, a funnel of red flame hissing up through a high pile of logs, and warmth, painful, sensual warmth, tanning her cheeks, creeping back into her dead limbs, bringing agonising feeling back to her useless fingers and toes.

Gently, he lifted off her sodden travelling cape and unbuttoned her equally wet jacket and blouse. He loosened her skirt, which slipped to the floor. She stood, half smiling, unresisting, passively allowing him to lift her arms above her head to ease up the dripping chemise, raising each leg to allow him to pull off her wet stockings. Soon she was naked.

Henry paused, a bundle of her wet clothes in his arms, and admired her. Shadows from the fire flickered over her narrow white body. Her wet tousled hair had fallen in waves over her shoulders, brilliant red in the firelight, enveloping one breast. The round swell of the other peeped out invitingly like a pear hidden in a basket of maple leaves. A slight trembling of her stomach rippled the honey sheen of her skin and the soft down on her belly and thighs, the tones shifting imperceptibly like candlelight on a satin dress. Some goose bumps mingled with her freckles, but her breathing was controlled now and the shivering had almost stopped. She stood artlessly—coltlike, virginal—resting her weight on one leg, one hand hanging loosely in front of her pubis; her eyes contemplating him calmly.

‘How exquisite you are,' he murmured. ‘Quite the Venus. Botticelli's, I think. You need a shell and some tritons behind you. “And in her walk it showed, in truth she was a goddess.” You're lovely,' he told her.

‘Are you going to seduce me now?' she asked him, in a sleepy voice. ‘As you did Lady Caroline.'

‘I didn't seduce Caroline. She seduced me,' he said.

‘Whatever,' she said.

‘No, I'm going to get you warm,' he said. ‘Wrap yourself in this blanket—it's lucky I had a spare one with my oilskins, it's damp but it's not soaking—and move as close to the fire as you can. Sit down. The pine needles are quite soft. Here, let me put on another log. In a bit, you and the blanket will be dry again. It's important to get you warm and dry.'

‘But you will seduce me later?' she asked.

‘We'll see how it goes,' he said.

‘Will you take off all your clothes?' she asked.

‘I'll have to if I'm to get warm and dry too,' he said.

‘I'll enjoy that,' she said. ‘You're beautiful too.'

She must have nodded momentarily to sleep, because she felt a prickle of a pine needle on her cheek, and a second's disorientation. Henry was standing where he had been a moment ago, hanging her wet clothes on a line he had rigged up by the fire, his crinkled blue eyes smiling down at her. Nothing had changed—except that she was no longer in any doubt. She knew what she wanted. Henry was a rogue, and deep down she knew she could never trust him, but he was so, so beautiful. And all she had to do was to reach out and touch him.

‘If you are going to seduce me now's a good time for it.' She yawned. ‘A good place too. After all,' she said, ‘with all those quotations from Virgil, you must have had something like this in mind. Aeneas seduced Dido in a cave after a storm, didn't he? Is that what gave you the idea? It's very romantic of you. Wonderful theatre.' She rested her head on one elbow; the blanket fell away revealing one pink nipple. ‘I bet that's what you were planning this morning when you were reading your book. I'm very impressed and flattered.'

Henry had been taking off his own wet clothes as she was talking. Smiling, he knelt down beside her. Cupping her breast, he softly kissed her lips, then moving his mouth down the line of her neck, kneaded her nipple with his tongue; his hand dropped below the blanket, fingers rounding her thigh.

‘Of course,' he said, ‘I conjured up the storm, just for you … But since we do have to share the one blanket … and while we are waiting for the clothes to dry…'

‘You're like Aeneas, aren't you? A wanderer, an exile.' She spoke dreamily. ‘The only pity is that his Dido came to such a tragic end.'

‘Hush now,' he whispered. ‘There's no need to be nervous.'