Bed of Ice Read online

  ‘She did a good job,’ I say, turning the shoe over and seeing my size stamped on the bottom.

  ‘Put them on then,’ says Patrick.

  ‘Are you signing me up for the army or something?’ I ask, lacing up the boots. ‘I feel like I’m about to do an assault course.’

  ‘I want you to be warm today,’ says Patrick. ‘I know you feel the cold. Here.’

  He reaches into the box and pulls out a black, fleece-lined woolly hat.

  I smile at him. ‘You want me to burgle a house?’

  ‘It’s warm,’ says Patrick. ‘That’s the important thing. One final thing.’ Patrick pulls out a wax jacket with tartan, padded lining. ‘These coats are very good at keeping the cold and wind out.’

  ‘Tartan lining?’ I ask. ‘Are you trying to turn me into a Scottish lass?’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. I’d miss that London accent of yours.’ Patrick puts on a pretend cockney accent. ‘Awright governor?’

  ‘What a wonderful impression,’ I joke. ‘Sounds just like me.’

  We look at each other, smiling.

  ‘Thanks for the clothes,’ I say.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t get them with sequins.’

  ‘Not everything I own has sequins on it.’

  ‘Maybe you should check again …’

  ‘Hey! Leave my clothes alone.’

  ‘Never. I’ll always try and take them off you. Whenever I can.’

  I shake my head. ‘You are impossible.’

  ‘And you’re difficult.’

  ‘Only with you.’

  Patrick frowns. ‘I’m glad to hear it. If I find out you’ve been difficult with any other men, there’ll be trouble.’

  ‘The castle isn’t that cold,’ I insist.

  ‘We’re not having breakfast in the castle. You wanted to find out more about me, didn’t you?’

  ‘Where are you taking me exactly?’

  ‘Into the woods.’

  5

  As we head down to the main foyer, a tall, broad man appears from Patrick’s office.

  He’s shaven headed and dressed in army fatigues. A spider web tattoo creeps around his neck and the words JOCK PRIDE decorate his hairy knuckles.

  ‘Morning Rab.’ Patrick slaps the man’s shoulder.

  ‘Mornin sir,’ says Rab, in a thick Scottish accent.

  I suppose it must be obvious that I’m wondering who Rab is, because Patrick says: ‘Seraphina, this is Rab. An old army buddy. He’s here to manage security.’

  ‘Oh.’ I nod. ‘So you two were in the army together?’

  ‘I had the privilege of serving Lord Mansfield,’ says Rab, pulling his shoulders back. ‘The best and bravest commanding officer I’ve ever met.’

  ‘You never served me Rab Duncroft,’ says Patrick. ‘We fought together. Side by side.’

  ‘That we did sir. That we did,’ says Rab. ‘You were right by my side. When storms took our shelter. When bullets rained down. You were right there with the lads sir.’

  ‘And it was my privilege. And less of the sir, soldier. We’re not on duty anymore.’

  ‘Sorry … Mr Mansfield.’

  ‘Patrick.’

  ‘Patrick.’ Rab’s blue eyes dart around, all shy and uncomfortable.

  I decide I like him a lot. There’s something really gentle and kind about him, even though he looks like a real bruiser.

  ‘Sorry to disturb,’ Rab continues, ‘but there’s something came just now for your young lady.’

  He holds out a postcard with Mickey Mouse on the front.

  I smile and take it. ‘Thanks Rab.’

  ‘Oh, no bother. No bother at all.’

  Turning the card over, I find myself frowning. I’m guessing the card must be from Bertie, but there’s no name. Just two words in shaky, kiddy handwriting:

  ‘GREAT TIME!’

  6

  ‘What is it?’ Patrick asks. ‘You’re frowning again.’

  ‘Am I?’ I stare at the writing. I always thought Bertie couldn’t write. He’s never written before. Unless you count signs in the snow.

  ‘Yes,’ says Patrick. ‘You are. What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s a card from Bertie.’ I shake my head. ‘It’s nothing. Just a feeling, that’s all. I guess I’m being silly. Paranoid, after what happened last week. It would be weird if I wasn’t a little paranoid after everything that’s happened.’

  ‘Do you want to call Bertie again?’

  I shake my head. ‘I just spoke to him. And this postcard was sent days ago. I don’t want Anise to think I’m interfering. Interrupting her time with her son. It’s important they bond.’

  ‘Even so,’ says Patrick. ‘Rab – can you put a call in? Check up on my nephew and sister?’

  ‘Of course sir,’ says Rab, with a little nod of his head.

  ‘Thanks. And Rab?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I told you. No need for the sir. We’re not in the army anymore.’

  ‘Thank fuck for—’ Rab stops himself and throws a burly hand to his mouth. ‘Scuse me young lady. Sorry for the bad language.’

  I smile. ‘I’ve heard worse than that. I have a brother.’

  Rab gives an uncomfortable laugh and glances at Patrick. ‘Apologies.’

  ‘Accepted,’ says Patrick, with a curt nod. ‘Let me know what you find out about the lad. Okay?’

  ‘Will do Patrick.’ Rab scoots back into the office.

  Patrick turns to me. ‘Okay?’ he asks, placing his large hands on my shoulders.

  I smile. ‘Yes. Thank you for doing that. I was … stressing.’

  ‘I know.’ Patrick’s blue-green eyes bore down. ‘And I don’t want you stressed. About anything. Ever. Rab may look like a guard dog, but he’s very good at softly-softly obs.’

  ‘Obs?’

  ‘Observation. He’ll talk to Bertie and Anise. He’ll ask the right questions the right way, but without sounding like he’s asking anything much. And he’ll tell me if he thinks anything is amiss. Okay?’

  I nod firmly. ‘Yes. Okay.’

  7

  ‘So where are we going?’ I ask, as Patrick leads me out the main entrance.

  I’m super warm in my new clothes, the thick woolly socks stuffed into my boots. The wax jacket is so cosy. It makes shuffling noises as I walk.

  Patrick is tall and rangy in tightly-laced combat boots, army trousers and a cotton long-sleeved t-shirt.

  We head across the lawns in the bright sunshine.

  Patrick grips my hand and pulls me along.

  I feel pretty plain in these clothes. Unremarkable. I’m not going to say that to Patrick, though. That’ll just prove I’m a typical, vain woman, worried about my appearance.

  ‘You wanted to find out more about me,’ says Patrick, looking at the trees.

  ‘Yes. And?’

  ‘So we’re going into the woods.’

  ‘I know. You said.’

  ‘Deep into the woods.’

  Oh my god. My legs go all bendy and weak.

  ‘You mean … as far as the Calders took me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Patrick … no. Please. Please, I can’t go near there. I just can’t.’

  ‘You can.’

  I shake my head. ‘No.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No.’ I dig my feet into the lawn and pull back against his hand. ‘I thought I’d freeze to death out there. I thought they’d kill me. There’s no way—’

  ‘But you didn’t freeze. And they didn’t kill you.’ Patrick grips my hand tighter.

  I feel my voice wobbling. ‘I won’t do it Patrick. Why would you even want me to? Do you get a kick out of seeing me scared or something?’

  I know that’s a mean thing to say. But I’m frightened. I don’t think I can handle going deep into the woods.

  Patrick turns to me then, pulling me close to him.

  I feel warmer. Safer. But I still don’t want to go near where the Calders took me.

  ‘Sera
phina,’ Patrick murmurs. ‘The second time I met you, you said something that made me fall in love with you.’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘You said that you would never quit on Bertie. No matter what.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So you’re not a quitter. You face your fears. You don’t run away.’

  ‘That was different.’

  ‘No it wasn’t.’

  ‘Patrick—’

  ‘You’re a girl who gets back up, no matter who beats her down. You get back on the horse.’

  ‘My granddad used to say that to me,’ I say. ‘It was sort of our family motto. How did you know that? Oh wait … you’ve been spying on me for … how long is it now?’

  Patrick gives a little smile and his scar crinkles on his cheek. ‘Not nearly long enough.’ His forehead presses against mine and he puts a hand to my cheek. ‘He sounds like a very wise man, your granddaddy. Did you listen to him?’

  ‘Yes. Most of the time.’

  ‘Amazing.’ Patrick looks up at the sky. ‘You listened to someone then? Once in your life?’

  ‘Whatever gave you the impression that I don’t listen to people?’ I say, managing a smile.

  ‘Oh, just a few observations. And just so you know, I’ll have no problem putting you over my shoulder and carrying you into those woods if needs be. You can’t run from your fears. You can’t let those women beat you.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘Life isn’t fair. If you want me to lift you up and carry you—’

  ‘Don’t you dare—’

  ‘And what exactly could you do about it, Miss Harper?’

  ‘I could run.’

  ‘I’d catch you.’

  ‘Actually I’m not so sure you would. I can run pretty fast.’

  ‘Well I’d hunt you down then.’

  ‘Patrick, you have to drop this alpha male thing at some point. This is the 21st century. Women have the vote and everything. I can’t believe you’re only … wait, how old are you again?’

  ‘Twenty-seven.’

  ‘And yet you’re stuck in the dark ages.’

  ‘Thank god I have you to bring me into the light,’ says Patrick, raising a teasing eyebrow.

  ‘You know, I’m pretty good at taking care of myself.’

  ‘God, I love it when you talk back.’

  ‘Good. Because I always will.’

  I stare at the beautiful, thick green trees.

  Patrick’s right. I can’t let the Calders scare me away from the deep, dark depths of these woods. After all, Patrick says his heart is in the woods. And I happen to like his heart.

  ‘Okay.’ The word sounds a little shaky. But my legs feel firmer as soon as I say it. ‘Let’s go.’

  8

  ‘This way,’ says Patrick, leading me towards a big bunch of thistles and undergrowth.

  ‘Hang on. Aren’t we going into the woods?’ I ask, seeing a wall of brambles.

  ‘You ask too many questions.’

  ‘Good god Patrick, can you stop talking to me like the hired help?’

  Patrick raises his eyebrow teasingly. ‘You are the hired help. As you delight in pointing out whenever I fuck you.’

  ‘Patrick!’ I laugh. ‘And you wonder why I use the “boss” word?’

  ‘I told you not to use that word.’

  ‘I’ll stop using it if you stop acting like a total sexist caveman.’

  Patrick laughs. ‘I just want to look after you. If that’s what you call a caveman …’ He shrugs. ‘Then so be it.’

  I shake my head, laughing. ‘Oh Jesus Christ. There’s just no helping you.’

  As we get closer to the brambles I see a rickety old shed hidden amongst thorns and undergrowth.

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask.

  ‘Base camp.’

  ‘Oh.’ I nod like I understand. But I don’t.

  Patrick raises an eyebrow. ‘You have no idea what that means, do you?’

  I smile sheepishly. ‘Not much. I mean, is it something to do with the army or something?’

  ‘It’s where I stock up on supplies before heading out into the woods.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’ve never brought a woman here before.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Patrick shrugs. ‘I just haven’t.’

  ‘Then why bring me here?’

  ‘Because I want to share everything with you. And besides. You’re not like most women.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means I don’t think you’ll worry about chipping your nail varnish or getting your clothes dirty. You’re a little bit wiser than that. And wilder.’

  ‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe I seem wild to you because I don’t do what you tell me.’ I smile. ‘It drives you mad doesn’t it? That I’m someone you can’t tame.’

  Patrick laughs. ‘Funny. Last time I fucked you, you seemed pretty tame. Don’t stop Patrick. Please don’t stop.’

  ‘Oh … shut up.’ I whack him on the arm.

  Patrick laughs. ‘You’d better watch yourself woman.’

  ‘DON’T calling me “woman”!’

  ‘Okay, okay. What should I call you then? Your ladyship? My dearest, loveliest darling?’

  I laugh. ‘Seraphina is just fine.’

  9

  Patrick reaches for a combination padlock on the shed door.

  He clicks numbers and the lock snaps open.

  ‘One, Two, Zero, Three,’ I read over his shoulder. ‘Very original.’

  ‘It’s Jamie’s birthday,’ says Patrick, without looking up. ‘The second of March.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumble. ‘I didn’t realise …’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Patrick pulls the padlock free. ‘How could you have known?’

  I bite my lip. ‘Me and my big mouth.’

  Patrick turns to me, his eyes all warm and intense. ‘I’m very fond of your big mouth.’ He yanks the door open. ‘Ladies first.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, taking a step forwards.

  I stumble onto a plank floor and cough as dust spins in the sunshine.

  The walls are lined with shelves and hooks. I see climbing ropes, axes and machetes hanging from the walls.

  ‘Why Patrick,’ I smile. ‘What big weapons you have.’

  ‘All the better to kill things with,’ says Patrick, tramping past me to a box in the corner.

  He tears it open and I see food inside. Green apples, bacon, milk, butter, eggs, honey and cocoa.

  ‘Is that breakfast?’ I ask. ‘It looks delicious.’

  ‘It will be.’ Patrick grabs a canvas rucksack from a hook on the door. He fills it with food, a climbing rope, bullets and a hunting knife. Then he pulls the drawstring tight and throws the bag around his shoulders. He takes a rifle and loops it over his arm.

  ‘Are we going to war?’ I ask.

  ‘Always be prepared,’ says Patrick. ‘Especially when there are people you love around.’

  ‘You still love me then?’

  ‘Yes.’ Patrick’s eyes catch mine for a moment and my stomach melts. ‘Here.’ He reaches forwards and pulls my hat down over my ears. ‘It may be spring weather, but it still might turn cold.’

  ‘Very fetching,’ I say, feeling the hat.

  ‘You won’t care what you look like when you’re out there,’ says Patrick, nodding towards the woods. ‘You’ll just be glad to be warm.’

  ‘But don’t you care what I look like?’ I ask, my words timid all of a sudden.

  Patrick laughs. ‘You always look beautiful to me. Especially when you’re warm.’

  ‘But …’ I look down at my plain clothes. ‘I mean, I look so … blah.’

  ‘No you don’t.’ He gives me that cute half smile of his.

  ‘Well. No one could accuse you of looking for a trophy girlfriend.’

  ‘A trophy girlfriend?’r />
  ‘You know, all big hair and too much makeup.’

  ‘I can’t stand it when women do that to themselves,’ says Patrick. ‘Why cover up what nature gave you?’

  ‘What’s wrong with women dressing up?’

  ‘It takes away from their natural beauty. You couldn’t look any more beautiful than you do right now, with your cheeks red and your hair blowing in the wind.’

  ‘Wow. Sometimes you really can be charming. That’s … that’s lovely.’

  ‘Not charming,’ says Patrick. ‘Honest.’ He slides a leather knife sheath onto his belt.

  ‘I bet you were a good boy scout.’ I catch his eye.

  ‘I was. A very, very good boy scout. The best of all of them.’

  10

  Twenty minutes later, we’re trekking far into the woods. Patrick grips my hand.

  We crunch over twigs and leaves.

  ‘Are you still afraid?’ Patrick asks.

  ‘I actually hadn’t thought about being afraid. Not since we left base camp.’

  And it’s true. I haven’t. Walking through these woods with Patrick … I don’t feel they’re the enemy. I feel that with Patrick by my side I’m safe.

  ‘Good.’

  We weave around a few more trees and come out onto a rock ledge.

  ‘Wow,’ I gasp, staring at the clear sky and snowy mountains. ‘This view … it’s amazing.’

  ‘I’m glad you like it.’ Patrick takes off his rucksack and throws it on the ground. ‘This is where we’re having breakfast. The Mansfield café is now open.’

  I smile. ‘Nice place.’ I look around.

  ‘I’m glad you like it.’

  ‘I love it.’

  ‘I’ve been wanting to bring you here ever since I met you,’ says Patrick. ‘But I thought maybe it wouldn’t be right. To bring the nanny out here all alone with the big bad wolf.’

  ‘You don’t scare me, Patrick Mansfield.’

  ‘I would never try to scare you.’

  ‘I know,’ I say.

  Patrick yanks at the rucksack cord. ‘I never want to see you frightened. Ever again. And if anyone tried to—’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘No one can hurt me when I’m with you.’

  ‘You must be hungry.’

  ‘Starving. What’s for breakfast?’

  Patrick builds a fire from wood shavings and dry branches. He surrounds the wood with chalky stones, then sparks it up with some little metal thing on his keychain.