Daughters of Fire. Barbara Erskine
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was Viv’s turn to reach for the bottle. Lunging forward out of her chair she grabbed it and slopped a little wine into her glass with a shaking hand, spilling some onto the carpet. ‘Nothing more than guesswork. Forget her. She’s not part of this story.’
‘Are you sure?’ Pat was frowning. ‘Why would I dream about her?’
‘I can’t imagine.’
For a moment the two women looked at each other, then at last Pat shrugged. She changed the subject. ‘How do you want to work with this? Shall we get together each morning? I could come over to your place and we can concentrate on getting it done before you have to go away. I gather you have a publicity tour coming up?’
Viv nodded. ‘A week or so talking about my book.’
‘Right. Well, we’ll try and get as much done as possible before that.’ Pat paused. Then went on, ‘Another idea has just occurred to me. Rather than do all this in a studio, I think it would be really effective to record some if not all of it on location. With sound effects. Like the music. It would be tremendously atmospheric. It works on radio. Something TV has taught us. Any editing we need I’ll do myself initially on my laptop.’
‘That sounds a wonderful idea.’ Viv nodded vehemently, then she glanced round as the door opened and Pete put his head in. ‘Supper’s ready, girls.’
As they stood up and made their way after him towards the kitchen Pablo sat up and stretched, then he jumped down from the chair to follow them. In the doorway he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder into the empty room. For a moment he hesitated, eyes wide, his tail fluffing with fear, then he followed them.
There were five of them around the table this time including Tasha, and tonight’s menu was once-more child friendly. Fishcakes made from a mixture of organic wild salmon and sustainably-sourced white fish, the name of which Cathy could not recall.
‘You can help Viv and me choose a name for ourselves, Tash,’ Pat said with a grin as she sat down. She was becoming quite fond of this precocious mixed-up child. ‘Maddie has suggested we form a production company. And this could be the start of a very exciting new angle to Viv’s career. You realise, Viv,’ she added enthusiastically, ‘if this is the success I think it is going to be, we needn’t stop with Cartimandua. We could go on to make other historical drama documentaries for radio. The success of this will carry us forward and your name will be linked with the product rather than with the period. That would get your professor off your back.’
‘But I’m a Celticist.’
‘You’re a talented woman with several strings to your bow,’ Pat contradicted. She sat back in the chair, her arms outstretched on either side of her plate, eyeing her fishcake. She was dying for a cigarette. Opposite her Pablo the cat was sitting on the draining board watching the proceedings with inscrutable green eyes. ‘So, what are we going to call ourselves?’
Half an hour later they were still arguing. Wearily Cathy stood up and went to rummage in the fridge for another bottle of wine. ‘Do you think you’ll find it easy to agree the script if you find it this difficult to decide on a name?’ She picked up the corkscrew with a rueful smile.
‘Sisters. That’s good. Something sisters. Or sisters of something,’ Pat went on, ignoring her. She too was growing impatient. They were going round in circles.
‘Sounds too much like feminist stuff.’ Pete shook his head. He helped himself to the last of the peas.
‘Daughters, then.’ Cathy topped up their glasses.
‘That’s less aggressive, certainly.’ Pete nodded. He was keeping out of the argument.
‘Daughters of Fire,’ Viv said suddenly. ‘That’s it. Brigantia is a fire goddess, the Brigantes the people of fire and Cartimandua is a fiery woman.’ She was conscious of Pablo watching her, his eyes unblinking.
‘As are we! Perfect!’ Pat punched the air. ‘Yes! Then if we write other things we can specialise in feisty women. Mary, Queen of Scots. Elizabeth. Mary Tudor. Eleanor of Aquitaine –’
‘They needn’t be queens of course,’ Cathy put in. ‘Jane Austen. The Brontë Sisters, George Eliot.’ The excitement was catching. ‘Amelia Earhart, Mata Hari. Florence Nightingale.’ She paused. ‘So, as I said, no need to panic at being typecast as a Celticist who kicked over the traces, Viv!’ She laughed. ‘Right, now, one thing at a time. Don’t forget you need a working title for the play.’
‘The Forgotten Queen,’ Viv put in quietly. ‘That’s what I’ve called it. After all, you’ll find hardly anyone has heard of her.’
‘Perfect.’ Pat nodded. ‘It’s intriguing. Descriptive. Tantalising.’ She didn’t tell them it would probably be changed several times before the editors decided what was right. ‘So, let’s drink a toast. To the Daughters of Fire: Viv, Pat and Cartimandua, the Forgotten Queen.’
Tash was very silent. She had finished her fishcake, pushed aside the impeccably vegetarian peas and rice and the especially bought bottle of tomato sauce which was her exclusive property and which now stood untouched beside her plate. ‘Do you want to drink to us, Tash?’ Viv asked, uncomfortably aware that the child’s eyes had been fixed on her face. There was a glass of orange beside her plate.
Tasha shook her head. ‘She’s there again,’ she said, her small face screwed into a puzzled frown. ‘That woman behind you.’
Viv froze, paralysed with terror. The room had grown very still.
The others fell silent. One by one they turned to look at Viv.
‘Tasha!’ Pete was very stern. ‘We told you before.’
‘It’s true!’ Tasha stood up. ‘It’s true!’ she wailed again. ‘Look!’ She pointed. ‘Can’t you see her? Pablo can. Look at him.’ The cat had risen to his feet, back arched, and was staring towards Viv, his fur on end.
There was a further second of utter silence. At last Cathy spoke. ‘We can’t see anyone, Tash,’ she said gently. ‘Pablo is just stretching.’
‘I’m not making it up!’ Tash screamed.
Pablo let out a screech of terror and jumped off the draining board, fleeing out of the door. Tasha paused for only a second before breaking into floods of tears and running from the kitchen after him.
‘Wow!’ Pat took a deep breath. ‘Does she often do that?’ She glanced at Viv, who had gone white as a sheet. Cartimandua was here in the room with them. She could feel her.
‘She said the same thing last time I was here,’ Viv replied shakily.
‘And as before, we all know it’s rubbish,’ Cathy said firmly. ‘Collect up the plates, Pete, would you? She got a wonderful reaction last time and she thought she’d try it again. Let her be. Ignore it.’
‘I saw something,’ Pete said quietly. He hadn’t moved.
The three women looked at him. Viv blanched. Please, no.
‘A shadow. Just for a second. There, immediately behind Viv.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Cathy began to gather up the plates herself. ‘Come on, Pete. Let’s have a bit of stark reality here, please!’
He shook his head. ‘Of course. It must have been a trick of the light.’ He didn’t sound convinced.
‘Too right!’ Cathy was cross.
Pete shrugged. He was watching Viv’s face. ‘You OK? Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
‘Well, you did!’ Viv stood up. Suddenly she found she couldn’t breathe. ‘I need some fresh air. I’m going home. I’m sorry. I’m all right …’
Ignoring the anxious voices behind her, Viv ran down the elegant curved stone staircase with its wrought-iron balustrade which climbed up through the house towards an oval skylight above her head. As she reached the entrance hall, she glanced over her shoulder with a shiver of terror. The street door was closed. The vestibule