It wasn’t the ideal situation for a breakdown.
The sky was a deep purplish grey. Mountains of dark cloud menaced the horizon, sending great forks of lightning spearing to the ground. A wild wind with a heart of ice tore jagged rows through the fields of ripening wheat which grew on either side of the road. The tempest was about to be unleashed.
James studied the engine, wriggled a few wires, and checked the spark plugs, though in truth he had no idea what he was looking for. He’d always paid someone else to fix that sort of thing. Frustrated, he slammed the ball of his fist down and spun around to face the endless stretch of country road. He sighed, exasperated, then reached into his jacket and removed his mobile phone. A lot of good that was going do, but it wouldn’t hurt to try once more. He dialled his secretary’s number and was rewarded with a whole lot of nothing.
“Shit!”
He kicked the bitumen and ran the fingers of one hand through his hair.
A sudden blast of icy air slapping him across the face reminded him time was running out. There were decisions to be made. Stay with the car and hope for another motorist to pass by? Or go in search of a working phone? The choice was obvious. This backwater road was hardly the M1. He hadn’t seen a single vehicle in the whole time he’d been stranded there.
He shut the bonnet, set the alarm and reluctantly headed into the approaching tumult. The Versace suit he wore offered scant protection against a force that cared nothing for labels. Even the collar pulled up around his neck did little to keep the frozen claws of the wind from his flesh. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers and glanced over his shoulder. It wasn’t too late to return to his car. But no. He’d just have to brave the elements if he was ever going to get back to civilisation before nightfall.
The first splash of rain against his face sent waves of panic pulsing through his body.
“Shit!” he snapped. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
He turned in readiness to sprint back to the shelter of his car and in doing so spied a small grove of trees a few metres inside the boundary fence surrounding the field. He manoeuvred himself over the wire and ran through the wheat, the whiskery tips whipping his freezing hands, stinging them until they became numb. A bolt of lightning hit the ground just metres away, scorching a circle into the crop and sending a plume of bluish smoke into the air. It left in its wake an aroma of ozone which filled his nostrils and tickled a sneeze from him.
The atmosphere bristled with energy. It seemed to spark and buzz. A crash of thunder made him gasp. Suddenly he was six years old, running from monsters that remained invisible, lurking just out of sight until they got close enough to pounce.
He made it to the grove by the slimmest of margins before hell vomited. As thunder boomed and lightning flashed like the very gods themselves were preparing to descend, the clouds erupted and the wind bit. He dropped heavily to the leaf strewn ground within the protected womb of bark and wood, fighting to catch his breath, though his throat was bone dry and the effort made him cough until he almost choked. Desperate for relief, he scrambled back to the edge of the grove and leaned out into the rain. By cupping his hands together he was able to catch just enough water to sip, which went some way to soothing the raw tickle at the back of his throat.
Back in the centre of the grove, where the trees grew closer together to provide a more complete protection from the driving wind and rain, James settled against one of the larger trunks. The roar and fury of the storm seemed a little further away now. He let his head fall back against the trunk and, closing his eyes, he wondered how long such a storm might last. He didn’t relish the thought of spending the night out in the countryside. Yet it was one cracker of a storm; not the kind that blew over in a hurry.
His thoughts turned to Allan. Ruggedly handsome Allan. They’d recently separated after three glorious years together. Well, two and half if he was completely honest. The last six months had been a lot of things, but glorious wasn’t amongst them. Allan had moved to Plymouth, about as far from London as a person could get and still be in England. So, as James had been travelling to Dartmouth on business anyway, he thought he’d take the opportunity to drive down and pay Allan an impromptu visit; to see whether time apart had changed anything. The flames of their passion may have died, but there were still embers. Glowing embers. At least as far as James was concerned.
