Black Valley (16 page)

‘Really?’ Jess added a dollop of cream and a teaspoon of strawberry jam to the scone. She took a bite. It was meltingly smooth in her mouth. ‘Well, maybe I don’t need to
worry, then.’

‘I wouldn’t,
cariad
.’ Mari took another bite of cake. ‘Not if I were you.’

Jacob Dresler called on the Sunday evening. Jess told him about the place Mari had mentioned, the T
ŵ
r Tal. He was intrigued, and suggested they
go there the following weekend. He needed to come down to a meeting at the museum, which he could easily set up for Friday afternoon. Then they could head off to the countryside together. So that
was settled, all with a blessed lack of fuss or game-playing on either side. Jess said she’d book the hotel, and pick him up outside the museum early Friday evening.

When he rang off, she went online and found the hotel’s website. It seemed a simple place, rather basic even, but the scenery in the area was breathtaking. There were beautiful walks, cosy
pubs and restaurants nearby, and if the weather was bad, they could simply ‘cwtch’ – snuggle up – by the fireside in the hotel, and watch the rain beat against the
windows.

Over the next few days, she and the girls settled the weekend’s arrangements. Rose wanted to stay with Bob and Tegan, and they had agreed to have her; Nella would be staying home, with
Gareth in attendance. Mari would be close by in case anything went wrong, and Jess herself could get back easily enough, should the need arise. Only Mari knew where Jess was going, and who with
– at this stage, Jess thought it best to keep Dresler out of the picture as far as Bob and the girls were concerned. At some point, if all continued to go well, she’d introduce him to
the family; but for now, she preferred to keep their affair a secret. It was a sensible decision, she felt – and it also added a certain frisson of excitement to the proceedings.

After work, as promised, Jess picked Dresler up outside the museum. When she saw him standing outside on the steps, waiting for her, she felt a moment’s panic, realizing that she hardly
knew this man. She’d spent the night with him, of course, but since then they’d only been in touch by phone. Now they had two whole days – and nights – to spend together.
What if, after that first night’s passion, they found they weren’t so keen, after all? What if the weekend dragged, and she had to make up an excuse to get away? What if he did
off-putting things in front of her, like flossing his teeth? What if . . .

She needn’t have worried. When he got into the car, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, immediately establishing a companionable intimacy between them, as if they were old friends.
He brought with him a scent of cold air, and rain, and an enthusiasm for adventure that was infectious.

Jess moved the car out into the traffic, heading through the city towards the motorway.

‘I’m so looking forward to this,’ he said.

She looked sideways at him, and couldn’t help but smile. He really was attractive: a man in his late forties, his hair greying slightly at the temples, his chin dark with stubble, lines
etched around his eyes. Yet there was an expression on his face that reminded her of a ten-year-old boy.

‘I hope you’ll like it.’

‘Of course I will.’ He leaned over and kissed her cheek again. This time she felt passion stir in her, remembering their night together, but she continued to look straight ahead.

‘Don’t. I’ll have an accident.’

He laughed, and moved away. ‘I must say, Dr Mayhew, you’re looking particularly gorgeous today.’

‘Thank you.’

Jessica had dressed with care. It had been a difficult task, trying to combine practicality with glamour, but she felt she’d pulled it off. She was wearing a shortish black sweater dress,
thick tights and ankle boots. The button pendant hung round her neck, just to give the whole outfit a bit of a lift.

‘You don’t look too bad yourself,’ she added, as they hit the motorway. It was beginning to get dark, and the rush-hour traffic, which Jess had hoped to avoid, slowed them
down, but once they got past Newport and the various junctions, the road cleared. Jess put her foot down and they cruised at speed along the valley roads, leaving the cars behind. When the
mountains came into view, silhouetted against the darkening sky, they fell silent, awed by their brooding majesty.

As she drove along, they began to settle into conversation, catching up on what had been happening since they last met. Dresler told her about his son, Seth, who’d been arguing with his
mother, Kitty, about smoking weed, as he called it. Jess described Nella’s lackadaisical attitude towards her studies, and touched on the fact that Rose was missing her sister, now that Nella
was so involved with Gareth. She didn’t add that Rose was also missing Bob, or that she’d been singing his new girlfriend’s praises ever since she’d met her. She felt
instinctively that, at this stage of the game, Dresler wouldn’t want to know too much about her emotional dealings with her ex; neither did she enquire too closely about his own. Later, that
might change; but for now, here they were, bowling along a deserted road in Black Valley, as the first stars of the evening came out, and wondering, like two young lovers, what lay before them that
night. Their respective families were growing ever more distant as the miles passed; for now, it was best to keep them that way – out of sight and out of mind.

Eventually, the conversation turned to work. As usual, Jess could only talk in the most general of terms about her patients. She couldn’t mention what was uppermost in her mind: that
Elinor had left therapy, and hadn’t yet returned; that she was probably camping somewhere near the tower; and that Isobel had come looking for her, possibly at the behest of Blake. She
didn’t mention the notes missing from her consulting room, or Elinor’s fears that Blake might be behind the theft of the painting. It was frustrating for her to keep silent on these
matters, since Dresler knew the family, and could perhaps have shed some light on them. So instead, she listened carefully to what Dresler had to say about his world, fascinated by the internecine
conflicts he described regarding the Morris paintings, but also hoping to glean some information.

‘The museum is very happy with the Morris purchase. The reviews have been excellent, and it’s already drawn in a fair amount of people. But they want Morris to do publicity. Give
interviews, and so on. And, of course, he won’t.’

‘Can’t you persuade him?’

‘I’m not sure I want to try. You see, I admire his stance. He’s explained it in his correspondence with me.’ A tone of pride crept into Dresler’s voice as he spoke.
Hearing it, Jess realized that he was somewhat protective of his special relationship with the reclusive Morris. ‘It’s a political gesture on his part, you see.’

‘How come?’

‘Well, his work is about the rape and pillage of an entire community. The mining community in the South Wales valleys, to be precise.’ Dresler sounded as if he was quoting from one
of Morris’s letters. ‘Until that community is properly compensated for the loss of their jobs and homes, he says, he doesn’t want anything to do with the museum, the Welsh
Assembly, the British government, the media, or anyone at all from the art world.’

Jess thought for a moment. ‘But he himself is being paid quite a lot for these paintings, isn’t he? How does he square that with his conscience?’

Dresler shrugged. ‘Well, he’s got to live on something. He needs the money so that he can continue painting. He feels that’s an acceptable compromise, and I must say, I agree
with him.’

‘I see your point.’ Jess paused. She could sense this was a touchy subject. ‘But Blake Thomas is busy championing Morris’s work, isn’t he? From what you told me,
he’s trying to sell the paintings to investment bankers and hedge fund managers, as well as public bodies like museums.’ Jess chose her words with care. ‘That seems a bit of a
paradox, doesn’t it?’

‘Of course. And Morris is very unhappy about it. He regards the bankers as the dregs of society. Wrecking the economy to fill their own pockets. Buying up contemporary art that they
don’t like or understand, just to prove they’ve still got souls.’ His voice rose slightly. ‘The rich are behaving almost as they did in medieval times, when they bought
indulgences to cancel out their sins. Only now the indulgences take the form of art. And the worst thing is, the few serious artists that continue to do proper work either get ignored or lumped in
with the charlatans. And no one dares utter a peep.’ He paused. ‘Morris is thinking of staging a protest about the situation.’

‘Really? What sort of protest?’

‘He won’t say.’ Jess glanced over at Dresler. He looked as if he was about to continue, then checked himself. ‘But he’s definitely got something up his sleeve.
We’ll find out soon enough what it is.’

By now they had turned off the main road, and were winding their way towards Tyrog Tal, along an unlit lane. The wind had got up, and it had started to rain. As they crawled along, looking for a
signpost, Jess began to feel apprehensive. Staying at a secluded hotel among ancient ruins in a remote valley had seemed an exciting proposition by day; now, as night fell, she became aware of just
how isolated it was.

They fell silent again as they peered out into the darkness. Dense trees obscured the sides of the road, clustering around them so that it was difficult to tell what lay ahead. Eventually, they
saw the signpost and turned into a smaller unmade road, bumping along it until, finally, they reached a clearing. In front of them was a rickety building with a faint light over the door. To the
side of that was a high medieval tower made of rough grey stone. Beside it a colonnade of high arches reared up, sections of it gouged out as if a malevolent giant had taken an axe to it that very
day.

‘My God. Look at that.’ Dresler was impressed.

‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ Jess parked the car to one side of the drive. There didn’t seem to be a car park. In fact, there was only one other car to be seen anywhere near the
hotel, a battered four-wheel drive that probably belonged to the owners.

They got out of the car, took out their bags, and ran towards the hotel, shielding themselves as best they could from the wind and rain. The door to the rickety porch was open. They went in,
walked down a few steep steps into the main building, and found themselves in a large, vaulted room with flagstones on the floor, a small bar in one corner, and several oak barrels against the
wall. There was no one to be seen.

Jess put her bag down on the floor and looked at her watch. It was only seven thirty. It wasn’t as if they were arriving late. Where was everyone? This wasn’t the welcome she’d
envisaged.

Dresler didn’t seem put out. Instead, he was wandering round the room, inspecting the ceiling and the flagstones on the floor.

Eventually, an elderly man appeared, checked their booking, gave them a key to their room, and pointed out the way to it, up a spiral staircase. There were eight bedrooms in the tower, he told
them; theirs was at the very top.

They walked up the awkward, narrow staircase, past several heavy wooden doors until they came to the last one. When Jess put the key in the lock, it stuck, and both of them had
to fiddle with it until it opened. The door led into a dark, low-ceilinged room with a window that looked out over the monastery. The curtains weren’t drawn, and the looming shapes of the
ruined arches around the tower were grey against the black of the night sky. There was a four-poster bed with what looked like a rather lumpy mattress on it, and a thick velvet counterpane laid
over it, rather worn in places. On a chest of drawers in one corner stood a china jug and washbowl, and Jess noticed that under the bed there was an old-fashioned chamber pot. A necessity, since
the bathroom was four floors down.

Despite the romantic setting, she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Obviously, in a medieval tower like this, it would have been difficult to add an en suite to every bedroom,
but she had at least expected a washbasin and running water in the room. She walked over to the bed and inspected it, prodding the mattress and shaking the curtains, which were covered in dust. As
she did, a dead spider fell out on the floor.

She sat down on the bed, suddenly exhausted. She was annoyed with herself for not thinking the weekend through properly. It would have been nice to go somewhere more luxurious, somewhere they
could lie in the bath and chat, or pad about in dressing gowns, or call for room service so they could eat their breakfast in bed. This was all a bit too spartan for her liking. And let alone being
modernized, the place didn’t appear to have been properly cleaned since the twelfth century.

Dresler, however, seemed to have no such qualms. He walked straight over to the window, peering out at the grounds of the priory, fascinated by the place. Then he walked over to the bed, sat
down beside her, and enveloped her in a hug.

‘This is perfect, Jess. Absolutely wonderful. Well done.’

‘I’m glad you like it. I was hoping for a few more mod cons.’

‘Nonsense. We’ll manage fine.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘It’ll be nice and cosy.’

Jess thought of saying that weeing into a chamber pot in the middle of the night was a bit too cosy for her liking, but she didn’t.

They started to kiss, sitting there on the bed side by side, and before long they were lying flat out on it, their bodies pressed together, their hands inside each other’s clothing.

‘This is going to be great,’ Dresler murmured. ‘Making love in a tower. In a four-poster bed.’

‘With a lumpy mattress,’ Jess murmured back.

‘And the ghosts of the monks wandering about outside. We’ll leave the curtains open, so they can look in on us.’

‘You pervert.’

He laughed and they rolled over, still kissing. She put her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, feeling the warmth of his skin against them. Her skirt rode up over her thighs, and his hands
followed it.

‘I’ve ordered dinner,’ she said, pulling away. ‘We’d better go down and eat.’