Portent, A Ravensborough Novella (The Ravensborough Saga) (7 page)

I had known that Rupert had a fairly good job, but I still wasn’t prepared for the size of his house. It was huge. Our house back home could have fitted into this house several times over. And up until now Rupert had lived here by himself!

My room was in the eaves, a large room with a dark wooden floor and a wrought iron bed placed under the window. Rupert had made a real effort to make it nice for me but, with no kids of his own, he had little idea of what I’d like. A patchwork quilt in a colour scheme so bright it made my eyes hurt was stretched over the bed. The wall beside the door was taken up with a desk and bookcase in dark mahogany, and a framed picture of the Starling-Bird Bridge was hanging above the desk, despite the fact that I could see it easily from my bedroom window. A wardrobe large enough to be the gateway between this land and Narnia took up most of another wall. A Nordic-style rug lay in front of a huge old cast iron fire-place. The wind blew down the chimney, which made the room a little draughty if atmospheric. Rupert promised that he would block it up for me.

I sat down on one of the bed and looked around. It was hard to believe that a few months ago Mum and I had never even heard of Rupert. He worked in one of Avalonia’s biggest investment banks and, as my Mum had been a legal advisor for a bank in Ireland, they had a lot in common. They had met at a networking dinner back home where Rupert was giving the keynote speech. They had instantly hit it off and, while I found it strange at first, I had gotten used to the fact that Mum had a boyfriend. But then, it was almost ten years since Dad had passed away. That was a long time for her to be on her own.

My room was full of packing crates that had been shipped over before I arrived. I reluctantly shifted to my knees and opened the first box. I hadn’t wanted to move here. It had taken a lot of persuasion to get me to agree to come with Mum, and now that we’d arrived here I couldn’t say that I was happy to be here. But I had agreed to come, so I couldn’t show my feelings to Mum. This was an exciting time for her, and I didn’t want to ruin it. Once I’d made up my mind, that was it: no going back. I hung my clothes up in the ancient wardrobe. There were way too many items of heavy thermal clothing in there, still with their tags attached. The thought of wearing them made me shudder.

I put most of my books in the battered bookcase. There wasn’t enough room for them all, so I stacked what wouldn’t fit on the ground beside it. Mum had wanted to be economic with the amount of books that I’d brought with me. Because of their weight, the price of shipping them over was pretty expensive. But I had a bargaining chip: I was moving countries so she could live with her fiancé. So I’d gotten my way in the end, and my entire collection had come with me.

I put some photos up on the dressing table. There were pictures of my friends and I at parties, a photo of myself and my boyfriend Sam taken last Christmas, and a picture of my dad and I on a beach twelve years ago.

I felt too tired to fully unpack just then. The last items I took out were my sketchbooks and charcoal, and I lay on my bed, letting my hand wander over the page absentmindedly. I sometimes sketched to relax, and I hardly noticed exactly what I was drawing. When I looked at it afterwards I noticed that I’d drawn a picture of a storm. Storms meant disturbance. I hoped it wasn’t prophetic