Beneath the Snow Read online

  ‘I thought Ralph was going to France on some reunion thing.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’ Julia took a shaky breath. ‘Darling, this is not the time to be stubborn.’

  ‘I’m not being stubborn! I’m just not sure if my going over there will change anything.’

  ‘She’s your sister, Abby. She needs your help.’

  Abby looked around Julia’s cosy room, the antique standard lamps casting a soft glow over the watercolour paintings, the heavy amber-coloured drapes and rows of leather-bound books lining the walls. She thought about the local council who were screaming for the landscaping plans for their riverside park, the Sunshine Community Gardens in their critical stage of development, and her favourite clients, Jon and Ali Price, desperate to get their Italianate garden planted before the summer.

  Then she looked at her mother, the anxiety already etched into lines around her eyes and mouth, and she knew she didn’t have a choice. If she didn’t go, Julia’s health would plummet and she would, inevitably, end up in hospital.

  ‘All right.’ Her voice was quiet. ‘I’ll go.’

  Julia’s eyes filled with tears. She gripped Abby’s hand. ‘Darling, thank you.’

  Abby bit her lip.

  ‘The trooper left me this number.’ Julia passed across a computer printout, where she’d scribbled in one corner. ‘We should let them know you’re coming.’

  Abby took it, reached for the phone, and dialled. The line crackled and hissed for several seconds until it began ringing. A woman picked up on the third ring, barked, ‘Demarco.’

  Abby introduced herself, and immediately the trooper’s tone softened. ‘Ma’am. I spoke with your mother earlier. I’m sorry to have called with such bad news.’ The trooper’s voice was warm and mellow and sounded as though she was speaking around a lump of toffee. ‘Your mother has told you the situation?’

  ‘She says you’re searching for my sister.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Started the second we heard from the ranger. The RCC, the Rescue Coordination Centre, enlisted CAP, the Civil Air Patrol, who’ve provided pilots and aircraft for the search. Plus our helicopter from Fairbanks. We’re searching as best we can, ma’am. Rest assured, we’re searching, but . . .’ She cleared her throat. ‘It’s not looking too good for Lisa. She’s been out there a long while. We’re not sure what state she’s going to be in. Which is why we called you – her next of kin.’

  Abby’s skin contracted. Jesus. The trooper thought Lisa was dead. No wonder Julia wanted her out there.

  ‘Are you sure she’s missing? I mean, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened.’

  ‘I don’t know about that, ma’am. All I can say is that we don’t kick off a full-blown search like this unless we’ve got hard evidence someone’s in trouble. The ranger checked the trail she usually takes. Found she’d used one wilderness lodge, but not the next. He believes she got into trouble somewhere in between. He picked up a harness tangled in some trees.’

  ‘Couldn’t someone else have used the lodge?’

  ‘No, ma’am. We’ve a serious situation here. One of her dogs chewed through its harness to get back home. It’s got frostbite on its ears and around the genital area. That dog had been on the mountain a long time.’

  ‘Maybe the dog was lost?’ She expected the trooper to lose patience with her, but hats off to Demarco, she maintained her poise.

  ‘No, ma’am. That dog knows the mountains inside and out. Been trotting those trails since it was a pup.’ She cleared her throat noisily. ‘You may not appreciate this, Miss McCall, but over here dogs are not just pets. They can be real heroes, and are known for saving the lives of many men over the years. What that dog did was bring a message home that things weren’t right on the mountain. We respect that.’

  There was a long pause while Abby digested this information. Then it was her turn to clear her throat.

  ‘We’ve decided . . .’ She flicked a glance at Julia who gave her an encouraging nod. ‘I’m coming over.’

  ‘There’s no need for that, ma’am.’ Demarco’s voice was firm. ‘We’ll find her soon enough, and let you know.’

  ‘I want to liaise with the rescue services. And yourself. Then I can keep my mother informed on what’s happening.’

  ‘Ma’am, it would be better for all of us if you stayed at home. Coming out here isn’t going to do anyone any good, least of all your sister. We’re professionals. We know what we’re doing.’

  ‘I won’t interfere, I promise.’

  Silence rang, telling Abby the trooper didn’t believe her, but she refused to let it deflect her.

  ‘You can expect me the day after tomorrow,’ Abby said briskly and, before the trooper could protest any further, hung up.

  Three

  Abby shivered and stamped her feet, trying to bring them to life. She had a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach and she swallowed several times in an attempt to prevent it rising. She breathed into her gloves, pulled her turtleneck up to her chin. Now she could see why the guy loading the plane wore a pair of earmuffs; her ears were aching with cold. The wind sliced through her paltry layers of sweater and waterproof jacket, and she wished she was snug inside a fur-lined parka like everyone else.

  It was April, and she’d expected the country to be melting into spring, but a series of late-winter storms had altered the season dramatically. She didn’t think she’d felt such cold before and put it down to having spent all her life in a temperate climate that rarely suffered temperatures below thirty Fahrenheit.

  The queasy feeling intensified as she surveyed the battered, rusting ski plane. She was more worried about the next leg of her journey than the fact that her sister had gone missing up some mountain; the skis were tiny, and looked as though the lumpy runway of frozen lake would rip them apart the second they commenced their take-off. The whole aircraft looked as though a gust of wind would reduce it to scrap metal, and she bet it didn’t have heating. Not like Wright’s Air, with its nice big Camel airplane parked outside their offices, but Wright’s Air weren’t flying to Lake’s Edge until the end of the week.

  ‘Try Mac,’ a girl with black braids had told her cheerfully. ‘He’s flying a friend up near Lake’s Edge later today. He’ll drop you off, I’m sure. Oh . . . and he’s real experienced, Mac. You’ll be in good hands.’

  Abby prayed the girl was right. She hated flying. It didn’t matter if she was in a 747, first class or baggage – as far as she was concerned, human beings weren’t supposed to be in the air. They were meant to have their feet planted firmly on the earth, and should they ever reach heights over 10,000 feet, it was because they’d climbed a mountain. She had wanted to hire a car, but since the road north was shut due to the storm, she was trapped. Bush flying may be a way of life in a state twice the size of Texas with a few thousand miles of highway and just one railroad, but no way was it for her.

  Not like Lisa, who loved not only to fly, but also to glide, parachute and even skydive. The closest Abby got to adventure in the UK was hillwalking in Wales.

  She stamped her feet again, looking at the mountains in the distance, their white fangs gouging the sky. Was Lisa really lost up there somewhere? She wasn’t sure if she was in denial or just finding it difficult to believe, even with her mother’s insistence. After suffering countless emergencies over the years, she’d stepped off the aircraft in Fairbanks automatically looking for an apologetic official of some sort cringing over the absurd mix-up, and when they hadn’t appeared, she had sighed and gone to collect her bag. She didn’t doubt someone would turn up at some point with an explanation for Lisa’s disappearance. She just hoped it would be sooner rather than later, and preferably before she got to Lake’s Edge.

  Pulling up her scarf to cover her nose and mouth, she lugged her single bag to Mac, a broad bear of a man with a haystack of blond hair and a moustache thick and bristly as a scrubbing brush. He took her bag, hefted it briefly as though gauging its weight, then dropped i
t to the ground.

  ‘Just three of us today,’ he said. ‘Glad you travel light. Not like my other passenger.’ He nodded to a pile of gear: shovels, axes, skis, snowshoes, rifles, boxes of ammunition, a tarpaulin, a case of bananas and another of flares, and a variety of unmarked crates that could have contained gelignite or loo paper, for all she knew.

  She was wondering if she was sharing the flight with an Arctic explorer when the passenger turned up, shotgun in hand. He had a fur cap with ear flaps, blue padded trousers tucked into wide-legged rubber boots, and a red padded jacket. His scruffy dusting of grey stubble seemed incongruous against the neatly cropped iron-grey hair and military set of his shoulders.

  ‘What are you staring at?’ His tone was aggressive.

  ‘Nothing. Sorry.’

  A pair of shrewd eyes raked her up and down. ‘Christ,’ he growled, and spat on the ground. ‘I had no idea.’

  Bristling at his belligerence, Abby was working up to bite something back but the man had switched his attention to her bag. He was scowling at it as though it was a sack of snakes.

  He said, ‘Hope we don’t come down out there ’cos you’re going to be a real liability, aren’t you?’

  ‘You’re assuming we’ll get airborne with all your clobber on board,’ she replied, stung. ‘Do you really need three crates of Alaskan Amber?’

  ‘Six,’ he corrected. ‘I’ll squeeze ’em in once Mac’s cleared his reserve fuel out.’

  Abby thought it was his idea of a joke, but to her horror ten minutes later Mac removed his reserve drums and in their places went the beer. Mouth dry, she seriously considered cancelling the flight and waiting until the roads cleared.

  ‘Not scared of flying, are you?’ he asked. He gave a cough but it didn’t hide what she took to be a snigger.

  She stuck her chin in the air. ‘Not at all. I was just concerned what would happen if we’re forced to land off-course, or something, and need to refuel.’

  ‘We’ll have to walk,’ was the laconic response.

  She glanced at the forbidding, snow-laden mountains and couldn’t prevent a shiver. What if the trooper was right? She may not like Lisa much, but she didn’t want her to have perished up there.

  ‘You wouldn’t last three seconds, would you?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted.

  He cocked his head and studied her briefly. ‘Not like your sister, are you?’

  She felt as though he’d punched her in the midriff. ‘My sister?’

  ‘You’re Abigail McCall, right?’

  ‘How on earth—’

  ‘Saw the flight plan. Abigail McCall flying to Lake’s Edge, where Lisa McCall’s gotten herself in trouble.’ He gave a little sneer. ‘Don’t have to be a detective to put two and two together.’

  He was looking at her as though she was something foul he’d just trodden in. Jeez, what had she done to him in a previous life? Her mind gave a little hop. Maybe it wasn’t her, but something Lisa had done in Lake’s Edge?

  ‘Yo, Victor!’ Mac called out, thankfully drawing his attention away. ‘You really need that canoe? We can strap it below, but it’s gonna play hell once we’re up.’

  Canoe jettisoned and everything securely roped down, Mac wedged her firmly behind Victor, who was in the co-pilot’s seat, and passed her a headset before running through a speedy pre-flight check. Palms damp, she looked desperately outside, but there was no official running towards them, no trooper about to offer an apology for wasting her time. She was going to Lake’s Edge and there was nothing she could do about it.

  The next she knew they were skittering down the ice-packed lake with the throttles wide open, and she readied herself for the swoop as they lifted into the air, but the plane remained firmly lake-bound. She was beginning to panic, a scream building in her throat as the end of the lake began to approach with alarming speed, and at the last minute Mac said, ‘She’s a bit heavy, but we should be okay’, and at the same moment the aircraft reluctantly lumbered skywards.

  Abby sat rigid as a board, concentrating on slow, steady breaths. She wondered if she could distract her terror by picking out landmarks she might recognise. Teeth gritted, she braced herself and glanced out of the window. Almost immediately, she got her bearings by identifying the Mitchell Expressway and Airport Way. The traffic was light on both roads and cruising slowly through brown slushy snow.

  ‘Abby?’

  She started as Mac’s voice came through her headset. She twisted the mouthpiece round, closer to her mouth and said, ‘Yes?’ Her voice was hoarse with fear, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Victor tells me you’ve been here before?’

  Suddenly she forgot she was suspended hundreds of feet in the air. How the hell did Victor know that? A jet of panic rocketed through her veins. Would everyone in Lake’s Edge remember her? What had Julia said before she left?

  Darling, you can’t lose your past any more than you can lose your shadow. Isn’t it time you made amends?

  Unless the entire population of Lake’s Edge suffered amnesia, they’d remember her, all right.

  ‘Conservationist or some such?’ Mac prompted.

  ‘I came out to do a feasibility study four years ago.’

  She didn’t like dwelling on her memories of that summer, but sometimes, if she caught the waft of a particularly strong insect repellent, or smelled barbecued steak, she’d be transported back to the Brooks Range and its gaunt mountain peaks glowing in the long rays of summer’s midnight sun.

  For two months, July and August, she had joined a group of scientists and researchers in one of the world’s last great unspoiled wildernesses, which stretched across the entire breadth of Alaska. Their chartered helicopter had flown them from Lake’s Edge right into the heart of the range, where they set up camp. Each morning thereafter, the chopper would fly them to a different area, and they’d spend the day sketching and mapping, packing samples of plants, and taking notes of wildlife. In the evening, the chopper would fly them back to the campsite, where supper would be cooking on the camp barbecue. Despite her loathing of the helicopter, Abby had loved every minute, and when she returned to Lake’s Edge she didn’t think she’d been happier. Not only had she been sun-browned and fit, but she’d been in love.

  Abby flushed as she remembered those two months with Cal. He’d been the group’s professional hunter and wilderness guide, teaching them about the web of life in the Arctic, and making sure they didn’t get too close to any bears. What a cliché, falling for the guide. She still felt so stupid.

  Mac twisted in his seat to look at her briefly. ‘A feeza-what?’

  ‘Background research in the field. Looking at tundra and its context to see if we could duplicate it back in England for the general public to look at.’

  Mac snorted. ‘They want to look at tundra, they may as well come out here.’

  Which was exactly what the Eden Project in Cornwall had decided in the end. Not only was human habitation minimal in the Arctic, they said, but the plants weren’t exactly sexy to the average punter. Abby had talked about the textural qualities of tundra and its tactile beauty, the joy of running your hands over lichens and mosses that were wet, hairy, silky and spongy, but they’d decided to go for the more appealing aspect of cacti and cave dwellings in the desert instead.

  Steeling herself once more, she peered outside to see they were heading north over the Chena river, which resembled a dirty white rope flung between squat buildings. The plane gave a little bump, then resumed its smooth ride. It wasn’t warm in the plane but she was sweating buckets.

  He’s an experienced pilot, she lectured herself. Wright’s Air said so. You’re in good hands.

  ‘Keep a lookout,’ Mac told her as he banked north-west, the city starting to fall behind them. ‘You might get to see a bear or two. It was warm enough last week to get them moving. Hibernation’s over.’

  Abby gazed down but couldn’t see anything, thanks to an opaque grey cloud. They droned on for another t
wo hours. She tried to doze, but each time the plane lurched, she’d bolt upright, clutching her armrest, convinced they were about to crash.

  How she wished she was more like her dauntless sister. Not for the first time, Abby wondered at their differences. Lisa was a physicist and mathematician whose research was as impenetrable to Abby as the theory of relativity. Unlike Lisa, she’d never been dominated by mental goals, nor particularly interested in delving into abstractions or intricate ideologies. Her thinking was solid and practical, her feet planted on terra firma. Which was why she’d always been happy to leave Lisa poring over her calculations while she gathered huge bunches of pussy willow and meadowsweet and got intoxicated by the feeling of soil between her fingers.

  Her eyes snapped open when Mac suddenly put the aircraft into a steep dive.

  ‘Going down now!’ Mac yelled. ‘Victor’s dropping-off point. Destination nowhere!’

  Abby bolted upright.

  They emerged under the cloud and she gave a muffled yelp. Holy cow, they were barely a hundred feet above the gleaming surface of a lake covered in viscous ice. Mac inched down further and kept cruising. Abruptly, he pulled the nose up.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Come on, Mac!’ Victor protested. ‘You’ve landed on worse.’

  ‘Soft ice ain’t safe.’

  ‘It’s frozen solid as my front drive.’

  ‘So what are those cracks at the edges? Native art?’

  ‘For Chrissakes, at least let’s have another look.’

  There was a brief pause as Mac turned his head to look at Victor.

  ‘You that desperate to get away you want the cost of hauling this thing from the bottom of the lake?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  The wing dipped and they were turning, scooping low again, skimming over the ice. She could see the sinister black fissures Mac had mentioned and was waiting for him to abandon all pretence of landing when he throttled back. Abby couldn’t believe it. All her worst nightmares were coming true. They were about to land.