The Shadowy Horses

"What have you done to Adrian?" she asked me, curious. "He's dead to the world in there. Didn't so much as bat an eyelash when the phone rang; I had to get up and answer it myself."

I moved to make room for her on the wall, between myself and Brian. "We were up rather late last night," I explained, through a yawn. "Talking to your grandfather."

"Ah." Swinging her legs, she met my eyes candidly. “Did you tell him, then? About our ghost?''

"Sort of. He's awfully pleased about it, really."

"Yes, I expect he would be." Fabia's satisfied eyes swept away from me and out across the wide green field that stretched beyond the garden wall to meet the rolling horizon. Returning her attention to the rest of us, she looked Brian up and down, assessingly. "You seem to have recovered from your hit-and-run."

"Oh, aye." His golden earring caught the sunlight as he tossed his head back, grinning. "It'd take more than an old man in a sports car to finish me off."

Wally puffed a smoke ring skywards and observed, in a dry voice, that it might depend entirely on which old man was doing the driving.

"Ha ha," said Brian. "Anyhow, my darling, I promise I'll not sue your grandad for damages, if you'll just do me one small favor."

Fabia leaned forward expectantly. "Name it."

"Let me use the Range Rover."

"Sure. When do you need it?"

"Well, as soon as it comes back ..."

"It's back," Fabia interjected. Then, as we all turned to look toward the empty stretch of gravel where the vehicle should have been, she shook her head and set us straight. "No, not here, but Davy's finished with it. That was him ringing a moment ago, to say that his mum was all right and he's back at the Ship Hotel, and did I need the Range Rover before this evening? I told him no," she confessed, to Brian, "because I didn't know you needed it. But we could walk in now and get it, if you like."

"Walk, hell," was Brian's reply. "We'll take my car. There's two of us, two vehicles. We can each of us drive one back." He chucked his spent cigarette into the tangle of weeds at his feet, and stood up away from the wall. "Anyone else want to help unload boxes?"

I stood too, and stretched, brushing the dust from my jeans with an idle hand. “No, thanks. But I think I could do with a bit of a walk."

Wally angled his head to look up at me, and I caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in his crinkled gray eyes. He doused it soberly, and nodded. “Away ye go, then, lass. I'm fine the now."

The three of us left the garden together, which presented Kip with something of a dilemma. As much as the collie loved following me about, he wasn't too keen on Brian, and even my mention of the word "walk" failed to ease the dog's misgivings. As I went through the gate Kip stepped forward, hesitated, then turned again and, settling with a thump at Wally's feet, began to gnaw at his stick with a disgruntled fervour.

I rather missed him, on my walk.

Because I didn't want Wally, with his knowing eyes, to think that I was going where he thought I was going, I purposely struck out in the opposite direction, following the road down through the small ravine where the narrow river sang in the green coolness and the trees stretched out protective arms above the primroses and wilting daffodils; then on a half-mile or so beside low walls and thorn hedge and the lush, verdant, nondescript growth of the verge. But having got safely out of sight of Rosehill, my purpose reasserted itself and I turned back, abandoning the road in favor of a narrow footpath that ran along the riverbank.

It was lovely and quiet, here. Above the calming sound of the water, gurgling over the stones in its shallower places, the only noises I could hear were a whisper of wind high above in the trees and the chirping calls of small sparrows and chaffinches. The thick, sweet smell of wild garlic swirled around me, and I brushed against a hawthorn bush that scattered small white petals at my feet.

The footpath itself proved a bit of a challenge. Every now and then it snaked off in several directions, here climbing the steep wall of the ravine, there hugging the murmuring water, in other spots losing itself completely in a clump of gorse and greenery. A railway bridge had spanned the stream at one time, and the soaring brick supports still bore mute testimony to the fact, lending a rather eerie and deserted quality to that stretch of the river, but I was much too busy scrambling over fallen trees and trying not to slip on the wet red clay of the path to take much notice.

In time, the footpath led me upwards, past an old and creaking wooden mill that shivered with ivy, and I found myself back on the road again. And the road, after ten minutes' effortless walk, led me straight to the center of Eye-mouth.

I didn't see the Range Rover in the car park of the Ship Hotel—Fabia and Brian must already have been and gone. But I did find David, sitting in the public bar.

He looked rougher than his usual self, his eyes red-rimmed and dull above the day's dark growth of beard. Seeing him like that, I felt a pang of sharp emotion that I put down to concern.

"You ought to be in bed," I told him, hoisting myself onto a neighboring stool.

It took him a long moment to register my presence, but eventually he turned and slanted me an unreadable look, and meeting his eyes I was forced to admit that concern wasn't all I was feeling.

After what seemed an age, he looked away and shrugged. "Can't sleep."