The Inspector Lynley Mysteries
Call Me Daddy
Author: Xeen
Note: I'm only borrowing the characters for a little ride… and I keep in mind what Nat Parker (jokingly) said: "I would have ended the series with Lynley and Havers holding hands and walking off into the sunset."
This takes place some time after the TV series ends.
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PART 6
Every morning, Jory Penhaligon was up à 3:30. As a matter of fact, since the Dairy Collect had been implemented in Cornwall, he needed to collect the tanks only every other day, but what was the point of staying in bed when you can't sleep?
Visiting dairy farms had been his all life. It was painful to think it will come to an end in the near future. Prospects of retirement did not appeal to Jory.
On the contrary, his wife, Morveren, was already planning a magnificent time for the both of them, a female mixture of buying new drapes and going abroad to see Cousin Jack.
Whatever.
He was up, alone in the quiet cosy kitchen after a cold shower, having his 'night meal", as Morveren would put it, of sausage, tomato, poached eggs, hash brown and beans, toast and a full teapot of his favourite strong stewed black tea.
In fact, it was his second helping.
He left the house just in time to see the lights switched on in their neighbours' kitchen. It was 4:30 sharp.
He started the lorry up the hill and smiled. At the wee hours, he was the king of the world.
--
Havers blinked. She was facing the sun and she could not make head or tail from what she was seeing. She tried to reach out to the fleeing shadow before her with no success. She rubbed her eyes.
And woke up.
A huge beetle was heading her way in full swing. She sprang to her feet and took a circular look around.
It was not dawn yet and the moon was playing with the branches of the highest trees. She had obviously been sleeping on a bed of fresh fallen leaves.
She was wearing a torn brown raincoat which was missing a sleeve and smelled of smoke and perspiration. Her sneakers were black from dried mud.
She brushed her clothes in a useless attempt to get rid of dirt and twigs and searched her pockets. They were empty. No money, no ID. The skin of her hands was scratched, bloody and dirty, her nails broken as if she had tried to climb a mountain with her bare hands. And she was famished.
She realized that the morning air was turning chilly. If she did not move out of there fast, she will be soon going to freeze.
She started to walk towards what seemed the end of the woods or at least a clearing. In the distance, she spotted the distinctive sound of a train. For the time being, she wanted to see more of the sky, to find out where she was and to calm her growling stomach. She wiped her nose and eyes with the cleanest part of her sweater, buttoned up what was left of her raincoat, tucked her hair behind her ears, shoved her hands inside her pockets and began to hike to the nearest road.
It took her a long time to get to it. At least, it was somewhere, even if she had no idea where exactly. All she could see was a solitary road, going straight from one point of the horizon to her left to another point of the horizon to her right. Without any sign or indication whatsoever of the direction it headed to or for that matter came from; she stopped in her tracks.
Her left ankle had been slightly sprained and it was going to be a very painful walk, even on the road. She weighed her options: to the left, more woods; to the right, the open moors and meadows; nothing that would give away the smallest hint of which way to go.
She leant against the nearest tree, crossing her arms on her chest to protect herself from the icy wind which had replaced the previous cool breeze and pondered her chances of going back to civilisation with the least efforts possible.
She was feeling so exhausted she could have slept standing. Her back was aching like hell; she bent over to the ground and put her hands on her knees to rest for a while. Yes, it was better.
She sighed, straightened herself and decided against staying put. Too bad for her ankle, it will have to do.
--
Penhaligon checked his watch. He was right on time for the last pick up. He took his listing on the passenger seat, a wad of coloured and very thin paper sheets, retrieved his pen from behind his ear, licked the pen and steadied the wheel with his left elbow and right knee. He looked briefly ahead and slowed down. He scrawled a few letters on top, adding another of his scribbles to the last column. Throwing the bundle back onto the seat, he changed gear to gain some speed and looked ahead.
Only to see a gesticulating and shouting Havers who was trying to catch his attention, fifty feet ahead in the middle of the road.
His heart jumped in his chest and his changed gear again, pushing hard on the break while gently pulling on his parking break. For a moment he thought he had run her over but then he saw her in his mirror, jogging calmly towards him.
"Hello," she said.
Still shaken, he did not know what to do or say. What was she doing on this road at dawn and what did she want from him?
"Hello," he replied cautiously.
"I'm lost," she said plainly.
"I can see that," he growled. "Do you need a lift to town?"
She chuckled. Despite the dirt, the tramp clothes and the dark circles under her large green eyes, she was quite good looking.
"Where are we? Are we near a…" she seemed to hesitate.
"Village. That's the word you're looking for," he smiled "and probably a good bath and some fresh clothes as well."
He could not quite recognise her accent but she was a long way from home. She smiled sheepishly and nodded.
"That would be very kind of you if you…"
"Of course you may tag along!" he said without giving his ulterior concern another thought. "Hop in. There're some sandwiches left in the glove compartment but I'm afraid I'm out of hot tea."
"Thank you."
"If you want to know, the nearest place is Carharrack, I think."
"Carharrack… It sounds Cornish, doesn't it?"
"Yes M'am. That would be a good thing since we are right in the middle of Cornwall. I'm Jory Penhaligon, by the way."
He waited for her to reciprocate some personal details, to no use.
"My wife will take good care of you, not to worry."
She quickly glanced sideward and realised that the man probably thought she was a total headcase. To her utter dismay, she had to admit that last night and even the day before were a complete blur.
"Thank you Jory. I'm…" she stumbled on the idea of a name but it was gone already. "I don't seem to remember my…" she said softly. "… Helen?"
"Helen? Helen, is that right," he said. "Helen?..."
She felt a tantalizing urge to disclose a name but it seemed too far out of reach.
"I am Helen…" she closed her eyes, breathed deeply and, "… Lynley. My name is Helen Lynley," she said with a large smile.
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Please, tell me what you think!
