The Time Rip (2 page)

The sun sank lower in the sky and she lazily began to question the wisdom of what she was doing. Looking back across the field, she felt almost drunk with fatigue. She thought fleetingly of missing person reports on the news, and knew her actions were stupid. She should have looked for a service station instead of wandering alone through the deserted countryside.

The detached feeling persisted though and she shrugged. The people at the house were in all probability perfectly agreeable, and she would no doubt feel much more the thing for a glass of water.

On the other side of the field she came to a low fence. Two wire cables strung loosely between rusted poles separated the meadow from short rough grass.

Freya put up a hand to shade her eyes, and turned to scan the field she had traversed. Evidence of her path lay in a gentle curve cut into the meadow, and the only sign of the distant motorway was an occasional car roof flashing past. Sweat stung her eyes as she turned back, her movement causing her cardigan to drop unnoticed from her waist to the ground.

Having not paid attention to where she was going, she realised she had somehow ended up behind the house rather than in front of it as she had intended.

A shoulder of trees stood between her and the building; an inviting swatch of dappled shade that had crept away from the bulk of woodland.

Feeling a little strange, Freya gave a slight shake of her head, lifted her skirts and stepped over the rusted boundary fence.

The baked grass beneath her feet had given up its colour, and the landscape radiated heat. She slipped into the corner of woodland, feeling grateful for the shade.

The wood was ancient, containing massive gnarled trees; their huge roots breaking the ground. Their arms sweeping across the space, creating a canopy overhead that let sunlight through in random areas.

The atmosphere seemed to grow heavy, pressing down on her, making it hard to breathe, and the sun sank lower, gilding everything with purple shadowed radiance.

Feeling a little dizzy, she stopped under the dappled shade of a large tree, and a barely perceptible breeze skimmed away from her in all directions. It rippled over the field, sweeping through the straw and clover coloured grasses.

The breeze brought a silence with it that hushed the bees and quenched the distant traffic noise. Her vision blurred and she swayed slightly into cooler air. Suddenly feeling as though she were falling, she stumbled forwards blinking rapidly to bring back her focus.

Freya walked on towards the house, blowing irritably at a strand of hair stuck to her face. She was uncomfortably hot. The humidity had increased without warning, as though she had walked through a door into a greenhouse.

Coming out from the shade of the woods, the sun struck hot on her head. Surely it had been lower in the sky before she entered the tree line? She frowned and went resolutely on, covering half the remaining ground.

The distance to the house seemed suddenly immense and her steps faltered. A wave of light-headedness made her giddy enough to stop. She felt abruptly sick, burning hot and then suddenly chilled.

Shocked to realize faintness was creeping over her, she stood still, willing it to pass, determined not to give in to it, but a buzzing had already started in her head and the tension began to ease out of her limbs.

Coming around the side of the house from the garden, Jeremy Sanders saw the girl at the edge of his boundary. She was swaying slightly, one hand outstretched as if she were blind and feeling her way. He realised the inevitable a fraction too late. Although he ran to catch her, she fell heavily to the ground.

He knelt on the grass next to her. Where had she come from? There was nothing but fields and woods for miles around here. The nearest town was Newbury, a good four miles south. He frowned and scanned the empty fields then shook her shoulder, “Miss? Wake up!”

Nothing. Heat radiated from her, despite the pallor of her complexion, and the sun beat down on them. He presumed she would come round quickly as soon as she was off her feet, but she showed no sign of regaining consciousness. Debating his options briefly, he picked her up and took her back to the house.

The lounge was east facing and the coolest room at this time of day. He placed the girl on the couch and went to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen.

The girl was still out cold, but her colour was better. He placed the glass carefully on the floor and, looking up, was satisfied to see her stir.

Freya opened her eyes slowly, wondering what she was doing on an uncomfortable sofa in a cool dim room. Memory returned abruptly. She turned her head and studied the concerned looking young man who was with her. Good looking with dark hair and eyes. Much too good looking, which made her current position all the worse. Still, there was nothing to be done about it.

“Thanks for um— catching me and stuff.”

“Don’t thank me. I couldn’t reach you in time. I’ve never seen anyone go out so fast. How are you feeling now?”

“I’m fine,” she said, quickly, and then grimaced. “Except for my pride, which may never recover.” She gave a half smile and then winced, “Did you carry me?”

“Well, not very gracefully, it has to be said; I hoisted you up and managed to get you in here. I’m not sure my pride will recover either, for missing the catch of the century.”

He winced on the words and some of her humiliation left her. She gave him a smile, trying to get past the rest. “Well, I guess we’ll have to sack you from the team then.” Freya sat up on the words and looked about. “Hi. I’m Freya.”

“Jeremy Sanders.” He passed her the water and returned her smile. “Drink that slowly.” He watched her down the water in two gulps, shook his head slightly and held out a hand for the glass. “Would you like some more?”

“Please. Think I didn’t get enough today.”

He left the room and she stood up carefully; fought back her giddiness. She was a bit wobbly, but determinedly followed him through to an old-fashioned kitchen.

The room was hot, despite the open window, and roughly made. It had whitewashed walls, a stone floor and a huge wooden table that took up most of the space. A ceramic sink under the window and a few base level cupboards made it look like something out of another century. The rustic look
was
currently fashionable, although the thought crossed her mind that he might have taken it a bit far, especially with that coal burner in the corner.

It was also really, very warm. Freya smiled a bit shakily as Jeremy turned with the glass. His eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed her; then he pulled out a chair and set the glass on the table.

“Have a seat Freya.” His tone was mild, but some implacable quality in it made her anxious to do as he asked. She wondered about it even as she decided he was probably right. Sitting down, she sipped at her water and tried to pull herself together a bit.

Jeremy stood, hands on the kitchen top either side of him, leaning back slightly. “May I ask where you were headed? I would be pleased to convey you. I am afraid I do not yet have a telephone installed so you will be unable to call someone. It will be dark soon and we are isolated here. I do not like to think of you walking alone at this hour.”

His polite words and gentle tone put her at ease, and as she had already put him to some trouble, she was anxious to be friendly in return.

“Thanks, that’s really nice of you, but I’m just across the way a bit; I came through the field. For this, in fact,” she indicated the glass. “I was driving back to Reading, but got so tired I thought I’d better stop for a break. You’d think a flower seller would be the last person on earth to run out of water, but it’s just been one of those days I’m afraid.”

She worried that she was rambling in her attempt to be friendly. He was far too good looking, the classic embodiment of tall, dark and handsome, but there was something more there in spite of his gentle tone and calm manner. It had her shifting in her seat against an elusive feeling of danger she could not quite put her finger on. It didn’t make sense and she tried to shake it off.

Jeremy smiled slightly, dark eyes enquiring and head to one side, “You are a flower seller?”

“Yeah, Freya’s Flowers. It’s just me. Buying, sales and marketing, transport… the lot. I used to have an accountant for the figures, tax laws drive me loopy, but lately I just struggle through it.”

“And what constitutes a bad day for a flower seller? Pushy clients, unavailable suppliers? Or just a blisteringly hot day with not enough water.”

“All of that.” She sent him a warm smile, surprised at his insight into her world. “But today was exceptionally bad because I’ve had Martin on the phone six dozen times as well,”

“Six dozen times!” he said, lifting dark eyebrows at her words, “Whatever did he want? Roses, carnations— an opportunity to make a nuisance of himself?”

“You’re closer than you know, but to be honest I don’t know exactly what he wants because I haven’t answered any of his calls today. I think he wants to be friends,” she paused, “or possibly more, which is unfortunate because he creeps me out.”

“Ah. Not a customer.”

“Nope. The son of a very good client of mine, and that means his dismissal is gonna call for tact and diplomacy—which I’m gifted with, of course.” She gave him a quick grin and then glanced down, tapping her fingers lightly on the edge of her glass and trying to steady her nerves.

“Of course. Ignoring telephone calls takes the utmost in diplomacy.” Jeremy spoke seriously, but she caught the edge of his smile.

“Well, what would you do in my shoes? Imagine some stalker chick is after you, but she’s the boss’s daughter and you want that promotion. How would you play it?”

He laughed gently and a shiver went down her spine. “Stalker chick. What a frightening image that presents. Hmm… I am not sure I should answer that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to be a bad influence on you.”

“A bad influence! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind. I’m sure with all your tact and diplomacy you will have no problems sending him on his way.”

Freya smiled and placed her empty glass on the table. An earlier reference caught at her memory and she looked around the bare kitchen again. “You said you haven’t got a telephone yet. Have you recently moved in?”

“Yes. I have been here a little over a month now and things are slowly improving. I am hoping to keep some livestock and perhaps have a small vegetable patch around the side, although I currently know nothing of such matters. It would be good to be more self-sufficient as we are about four miles from the nearest village here. Furthermore, I am told that the last time the river flooded it took out the road.”

“Huh. You definitely don’t want to be reliant on getting into town. Next big storm and you’d end up having mouldy bread for tea, and getting drunk on last Christmas’ Vodka from Aunty Joan.”

“Quite. Romantically lit with tallow dips and feasting on leftovers from the Christmas hamper of dandelion preserve with pheasant and nettle pate.”

“And a dented tin of anchovies.” Freya snickered and they eyed each other for a moment before she broke the contact to glance down at the table.

Dusk had made the room dim. The whitewashed walls glowed faintly orange, the shadows deep blue; rough edges smoothed out.

Despite the friendly banter, Freya was aware of night falling and of being alone with a virtual stranger. She glanced up, met his eyes for a moment and caught the slight smile lifting his mouth.

The last golden rays found their way into the kitchen to touch Jeremy’s face, catching on the planes and highlighting his extraordinary beauty. His face might almost be feminine but for some acuity of expression. A sharpness or perhaps inflexibility that had Freya catching her breath on an unexpected thrill of fear.

“I’d better get going.” She looked back at her glass, feeling suddenly awkward. “Thanks for the water and sorry if I was a bit of nuisance.” She stood abruptly, uncertain what to do next, the sound of her chair scraping on tiles seeming overloud in the silent room.