CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE #5
It was double, made of ancient, heavy timber, and entirely filled the end wall.
It reached up in an arch with a blunt point.
The edges were beveled and reinforced with many iron studs.
Four great hinges held the door in place.
The wood was dark and worn and looked centuries old.
It would not have been out of place in a cathedral or a castle.
Aside from its striking size and strength, the most notable thing about this unexpected find was the decoration, for every inch of it was covered with intricate carvings.
They were deep and bold, some worn as if from hands pushing against them over time, others faded as if from sunlight, even though they were protected from it here.
Tudor stepped forwards and began to take in the depictions in front of him.
He saw a range of mountains, broad and treeless, shaped around a deep valley.
He could make out small buildings: a village here, farmhouses there, smaller dwellings dotted about.
A twisting river ran along the valley floor.
There were carvings showing sheep being herded, cattle in a meadow, harvest being gathered.
The door was a wealth of story and detail.
The more Tudor studied it, the more he felt strange memories come to mind.
False memories, he knew, for they showed places he had never been to and faces he had never seen.
‘Isn’t it cool?’ Emily said, genuine awe in her voice. ‘I mean, it’s completely out of place here, but somehow it looks as if it belongs. Does that make sense?’
He nodded, too unsettled to find words to tell her what he was thinking at that moment. His mind was a jumble of snatches of thought and memories and questions. None of it made sense.
Emily lifted her hand as if to place it against the door.
‘Don’t touch it!’ he snapped, making her snatch her hand back again.
‘It’s OK, Dad. It’s just a door. A super impressive one, I grant you. But… just a door… right?’ For all the confidence in her words she did not move to touch it again but stood, hand raised, waiting for him to agree with her.
He took a breath and found his voice.
‘Yeah, it’s just a door. Thing is, before Charlie was allowed to set foot in this building, I did a full security check. The whole place, from the gym to the roof. That was less than a month ago.’
‘And?’
‘And this door wasn’t here when I looked.’
‘So, they had it installed since.’
‘In the last four weeks? Including two weeks when the place has been taped down as a crime scene?’
‘Well, when you came up here, what was the penthouse flat like? I mean, were they renovating that too? Is there a collector living there, or something?’
He had no answer for this. He searched his memory for what he had seen behind that door, but nothing came. Slowly, reluctantly, adding to his own confusion, he was forced to admit the truth.
‘I didn’t go in.’
‘What?’
‘I came up here. I saw the door, a normal door, I remember that. But… I didn’t go in.’
‘Dad, you said you checked the building…’
‘I know, I know… I just, I remember feeling…’ he pushed his hand through his hair, looking at her as calmly as he could but at a loss as to how to make her understand. ‘I just knew that whatever was in there, it was nothing to worry about. It was OK.’
Emily stared at him her mouth open. She might have said something then, called him crazy, made a deal out of the fact that he hadn’t done his job properly.
And he knew he wouldn’t have been able to defend or explain his action.
There was no time for her to form a response, however, as at that moment, the great iron handle began to turn.
Tudor instinctively grabbed hold of the now shivering Emily and pulled her behind him.
The door latch could be heard springing free and the door swung slowly open.
Taran got up, giving a couple of deep barks of excitement, as a woman stepped forwards.
She dropped a hand onto the hound’s head and patted it fondly.
She was tall, with dark hair and bright eyes.
She looked to be in her late twenties, no more.
She was dressed in unremarkable, everyday clothes, a simple linen skirt teamed with a soft, loose jumper with a scooped neck.
The colours she wore were muted earth shades, and she had a simple silver chain around her neck.
The most striking thing about her was her smile.
When she saw her visitors her face was transformed by a smile of such warmth, such joy, that Tudor felt himself bathed in its glow. Beside him, Emily stopped shivering.
When the woman spoke her voice was rich and soothing and had a light, Celtic lilt to it.
‘Tudor. I knew you would find your way to me,’ she said, the sound of his name on her lips making his blood race.
She looked at Emily then, and offered the girl her hand.
Emily took it, and the woman clasped her with great tenderness.
‘And Emily. You are very welcome, my dear,’ she said, ‘You both are.’ Taran pushed past her and disappeared into the apartment.
The woman gestured through the door. ‘Won’t you come in? ’ she asked.
Emily started forward but Tudor checked her with a hand on her shoulder.
‘Wait,’ he said, and then, ‘Who are you?’
The woman paused for a moment before replying and in her eyes there was a faraway look, as if she were briefly lost in a distant memory. She collected herself, stepped aside to allow them to walk through the door if they wanted to, and said simply, ‘My name is Rhiannon.’