Three Mile Drove, Chapter Five

THREE MILE DROVE
CHAPTER FIVE

Darren guided his vehicle warily back along the narrow drove, paying particular attention to the area from which he thought the missile was thrown. Of course, he couldn't see a thing out there, everything was in total darkness. Total darkness that was, apart from a faint light that flickered somewhere off to his right. His curiosity aroused, he slowed the Jeep to a crawl. The glimmer was coming from an upstairs window of a house some distance back from the road, though the light was so faint and wavering that it had to be candlelight. Jesus, he thought, did everyone in the outback do without electricity. The concept was as unreal to him as the landscape.
He soon found out that that wasn't the case, as approaching the top of the drove he saw to his right, the bright lights of a double fronted bungalow. Both sets were on, he could see the chandeliers gleaming, and the laced curtains were tied back. He'd not seen the place when he was driving in, but that was presumably because he was too intent on reaching his destination. Positioned where it was however, it did provide the barren area with at least an element of respectability.
By contrast to what he'd just experienced, the home lights of the village looked cosy and welcoming as he drove into it. Darren considered that the most knowledgeable source of information at this hour was likely to be provided by the landlord of the pub in the village centre, providing that was, because of his appearance he didn't think he as a newly arrived vagrant who couldn't afford the price of a pint, let alone a night's accommodation.
As he turned towards the car park Darren thought about the attractive dark haired woman he'd met briefly a couple of hours earlier. He wondered whether she might be in the pub now. If so, he wouldn't want her to see him in such a dishevelled state, but the simple fact that he should be thinking in such a way brought a flush of colour to his cheeks. Why should it matter to him in any case? He'd always regarded himself as the rough and ready kind, so just why was he thinking in such a manner?
He searched for a logical reason and thought he'd come up with one. He was tired he decided. This was a strange environment to say the least, and all he was experiencing was the need of a friendly face to make him feel less alienated.
Fine, but he couldn't convince himself of that.
There were one or two cars in the car park as he pulled in, though no trace of the white Vauxhall Astra he'd seen her heading for earlier.
He walked through the main entrance and swung right, opening the door to the bar he'd been into earlier. She wasn't inside, neither were the four farm-hands who'd regarded him so suspiciously earlier. Now the clientele appeared to consist of mainly elderly people, the eyes of most of whom became fixed on him as he limped in.
'What can I get you?' the barman, a large, stout, balding man wearing an old brown sweater, interrupted his conversation with two old men sitting on stools, and eyed him warily.
Darren noticed how the general hum of conversation had dropped away as though an invisible "quiet please board had been placed in the bar. He felt his blood rising, what was it with these people that a solitary stranger could cause so much curiosity, and it seemed resentment? Alright, he might look scruffy, but no more so than the four yokels he'd met earlier. Were these people relics from a bygone age or was he the one who'd suddenly been plunged back in time?
'I'll have a pint of bitter,' Darren muttered, forgetting for a moment why he'd come, then almost as an afterthought, 'I'm looking for accommodation for the night, do you know of anywhere?'
The barman tilted the glass and levered the pump. He sighed as if he'd been asked the million quid question, 'You can try the Fox and Hounds at the crossroads, it's the only place you'll find around these parts. That'll be one pound eighty please.' He placed Darren's beer on the counter, examined the change and placed it in the till before resuming his interrupted conversation.
Darren lifted his glass and carried it to a seat by a table opposite the door, where he returned the stares of anyone still regarding him as a curio. He felt like an exhibit in a museum, and his indignation at that was matched only by his indignation at the vandalism directed against his vehicle, and the apparent neglected state of his inherited property.
Well he couldn't say that he hadn't been warned. The pompous solicitor Henley had warned him of such, even if the man's manner had been arrogant. Now he'd just settle for a while with his drink, try to calm his jaded nerves and return any gormless, open mouthed stares that might be directed his way, then head for the inn at the cross-roads where he'd be able to get some much needed sleep. Or so he hoped.
The main door of the pub opened, allowing a cold blast of air to funnel into the bar, though it wasn't the sudden draught, which bothered Darren as much as the cause of it, as two smartly dressed people entered. One, very tall and slim, who Darren adjudged to be in his thirties and the other, preceding him, was the attractive woman he'd briefly spoken to earlier. So his optimism had borne fruit, but it was fruit of a sour taste, because she'd brought her boyfriend with her.
Well that was no surprise really, it would be difficult to imagine her as unattached at any rate; she seemed classy, vibrant and good-looking. When all said and done, she'd hardly be interested in a run down ex-rock musician.
He saw her glance over straight away, making eye contact. She was wearing a long skirted white suit, which contrasted, gorgeously with her rich, shoulder length dark hair. Her partner was dressed in a smart, dark suit with pinstripes that made Darren think he might be a solicitor. Judging by their elegant attire it was evident they weren't planning on spending the evening in a plain, basic pub bar. He noticed too, that the conversation hadn't fallen off in the same manner as when he'd walked in, and for a moment that puzzled him because if anybody seemed out of their environment it was them. He soon noted however, from the easy way in which they chatted to the barman and those around the bar, that unlike him they weren't strangers amongst the clientele.
Darren lifted his head in surprise as he saw the woman collecting her glass, leaving her partner chatting at the counter and making her way towards him.
'I take it you found what you were looking for?' she said with a bright smile as she reached his table, then he saw her pause in astonishment, running her eyes over him, 'What on earth's happened to you? You've got bits of wet weed ground all over your hair, have you been bathing in a swamp or something?' She gave him a frown, although he felt she'd tried hard to disguise it.
Darren looked at her and sighed, unable to conceal his exasperation. He took a big gulp from his glass and began an account of what had happened. She pulled up a chair and listened intently. It was probably his tired, overactive imagination, but when he'd finished and returned his gaze to her he thought that the radiant complexion he'd noticed when he'd first come in had been replaced by a much more pale one. It was almost as if she was personally troubled. But why should she be? After all she didn't even know him.
'What an awful experience,' she said, sipping some kind of clear spirit, 'a nice introduction to life on the fens I must say.' She took another sip and considered, 'Not a true reflection though, I assure you.' She arched her dark brows as Darren bit on his lip, he didn't want to offend this fine looking, personable woman, but just at this moment it presented a pretty passable reflection to him.
'I could have told you that you'd find no heating or water, or anything for that matter at Bridge End Farm,' she added in the face of his silence. She dropped her glance for a few seconds, 'But I never thought of it. If I had of done it would have saved you the trouble of going down there so late in the day, and it would have saved you from getting stoned and nearly drowned as well.'
Her eyes seemed to show guilt, guilt that he thought wasn't justified. He strove to dismiss it and leaning forward he said, 'Why should you have thought to tell me, we only came into contact with each other for a few seconds when all said and done.'
Contact. The word made them both smile as they recalled the collision earlier. He swallowed more of the contents of his glass and looked up to find the woman's tall, slim partner standing over them.
'Are you going to introduce me to your friend?' the man asked, his voice amiable enough, but his expression as his gaze travelled over Darren seemed to indicate suspicion and disapproval.
Claire turned away from the man, looked at Darren and laughed to reveal fine white teeth. 'I don't even know your name, by the way, my name's Claire Summerby.'
'And I'm Darren Goldwater.'
'I think you might be interested in this Tim,' she said, swivelling around, her own smile fading as her broad face became more serious. She quickly looked back at Darren and extended her arm, 'Darren this is Tim McPherson; he's a police sergeant. Tell him what you've just told me.'
Darren tiredly repeated his story to McPherson, who as he spoke, sat down and pulled a packet of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He stretched it towards Darren who selected one willingly. When he'd finished speaking McPherson blew smoke abstractedly through the air, before returning his blue-eyed gaze firmly to Darren.
'You're sure it was Three Mile Drove where this took place?' he asked in a low tone, 'There's no chance of you being mistaken, after all you are a newcomer, unfamiliar with these parts I should think?'
"Does everyone in this damned village, in this whole damned area know I'm a newcomer? Darren's thoughts were internal but he almost voiced them outright as he barely managed to keep his irritation beneath the surface.

'Yes, it was Three Mile Drove,' he said swallowing heavily, 'it was the last turn I made. A couple of hundred yards down it, that rock hit the Jeep so hard it felt like a grenade had exploded.'
McPherson turned to Claire, whose eyes were lowered as if mesmerised by the light reflecting on the table, 'Now who the hell would have the motivation to do that,' he muttered. 'It might be the sorry trend for brainless twits to do something like that on a bridge over a dual carriageway, but on an isolated road where you'd be lucky to see one vehicle per hour? It doesn't make sense. Just what the hell is going on in that godforsaken pain of a place?'
McPherson slammed his cigarette heavily into a circular tin foil ashtray, extinguishing it in a cloud of smoke, 'Listen Darren, I want you to meet me at the top of the drove, at ten tomorrow morning. I know it might be difficult but I want you to try to pinpoint the exact position where this happened. I've my own enquiries centering on this drove at the moment, as it happens, which is why I had to be sure that you were right about the location.'
'No problem,' Darren said, switching his attention to the woman with the devastating smile, though now he saw that her expression had turned more serious. 'Don't think I'm prying,' she said, 'but I was wondering how you came to inherit Old Bridge Farm.'
Why should you want to know that? Darren thought of asking her, though he stopped himself, it seemed a nosy sort of question she'd asked, but he liked what he saw in this woman. He placed his glass on the table, 'Sam Regan was my uncle,' he said, 'though I only met him once, I think, and even that memory is sketchy.'

'I see. Lucky you.' She smiled but it wasn't the flashing wide mouthed grin that had so impressed him earlier. This one seemed forced somehow, though he couldn't explain why. And what did she mean by "lucky you? There seemed a faint air of resentment in the voice, which went with the smile. Was she referring to Sam Regan or the property when she'd spoke the words? Had she known Regan? Probably she had, he thought, after all it was a small community. All the same he sensed that something was disturbing her, though of course it could just be a consequence of his over-active imagination.
He stood up and drained his glass, 'I'd better be off, I need some kip.' He glanced from one to the other, 'Have a good night the pair of you.'
As Darren limped his way out of the bar, McPherson turned to Claire and smiled, 'I reckon he thinks we're an item.' He ran his finger across the gold stud in the lobe of his ear, 'I also think he likes you.'
If he'd been looking for a response from Claire he was disappointed. She sat coolly sipping her drink.
'Where are you off to tonight, in any case¦' he prodded her, 'all dressed up?'
'I've been invited to talk at the Women's Institute, in the village hall across the way,' she said in a voice lacking enthusiasm. 'A day in the life of a community nurse, would you believe. It's my day off as well, but there you go.' She stretched and McPherson had difficulty keeping his eyes from wandering downwards. 'But then in a small community like this we have to contribute don't we, and we have to be seen to contribute, unlike you, who can simply vanish from this village like the invisible man back to Ely.' She looked at him, suddenly narrowing her eyes so that faint creases showed around their edges, spoiling an otherwise perfect skin, 'In any case, I might ask the same question about you?'
He grimaced and touched the gold stud on his lobe again ' the force had prohibited him from wearing his prized earring while working, 'I'm still on duty Claire, I did as you suggested and went to see the parson about Three Mile Drove.'
'Was David any help to you?' she asked casually.
McPherson noticed that Claire was rapping her fingers quickly on the table as if in response to some imaginary pop song that might be taking place within her head, though he doubted as much, because of late she'd been strangely subdued. He'd not marked her down as a fidget, and certainly not the nervous kind either, so he found her manner surprising.
As if she'd sensed what McPherson was thinking she immediately stopped the drumming, lifting her fingers from the table and folding her arms across her chest, then leaning them on the table.
'Well come on then, did he help or not?'
'He was about as much help as a broken key in a lock, he actually had the gall to suggest I'd imagined what I saw. Me, would you believe, with all my experience.' McPherson gave a short laugh though there was no mirth in it, 'In a roundabout way he thought I might be suffering from stress,' he gave her an awkward glance, 'that's not what you think, is it?'
Claire raised her eyebrows, 'No of course not, why should you think that?'
'I just wondered,' McPherson lit a cigarette and inhaled, 'I just can't believe he could be as dismissive as that. He mentioned something about inbreeding¦'
'Inbreeding?'
'Yeah, inbreeding, having it off with your own family¦'
'I know what it is Tim,' Claire glared at him, 'do you have to be so coarse.'
'Sorry,' McPherson took a long gulp from his glass, 'anyway, it was his explanation for the weird kids I saw, he says there might have been some kind of slight deformity, that I exaggerated. But I know what I saw¦'
'You all right?' McPherson stopped, he'd seen a shadow cross Claire's face. He'd seen that kind of look on people before, normally when they'd had a nasty shock.
'Yes of course, I'm feeling a bit jaded that's all,' she gave a brief smile, 'I think I might be going down with a bug, from a patient I expect,' she waved away smoke from his cigarette, he got the message and lowered it. 'So inbreeding eh? It's been rife around here for generations, didn't you know?'
'I can't say I did, but even so, what I witnessed was downright horrific; the whole scene was revolting. What if the missing kid has ended up in all this?'
'Now that really could be your imagination Tim,' she lowered her eyes, reaching for her glass.
McPherson reddened, 'Not you as well.'
'In that respect, yes.'
He shrugged and glanced at his watch, 'If I wasn't suspicious I wouldn't be a copper I suppose, is that the time? "The Bill starts at nine tonight,' he gulped down the rest of his drink, 'it's the second of a two-parter, I don't want to miss it.'
'Then learn to set the video dear,' Claire murmured as she watched him stride out of the lounge. She downed the last of her drink, her hand tightening around the stem of the glass.