Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [91]
She reached the traffic lights on the junction of Castle Hill and Magdalene Street and she hurried back towards the bridge. This time it was a welcome sight. She had a plan, and she didn’t care what any late-night bystanders thought of her.
On her right was a row of matching shops, painted a sombre battleship grey, with the window and door frames picked out in black.
On her left, the soot-covered wall of Benson Hall rose high and dark. It was sooted and glassless, with bricked panels in stone window frames. In daylight it simply appeared old and genteel, and never seemed the slightest bit threatening.
So Victoria continued down the dark conduit that whisked her towards the centre.
The lights were mostly out on Magdalene Bridge, but two lofty streetlamps still operated, diffusing light across its span. Shops and restaurants left small courtesy lights glowing, but nothing more. The last diners and drinkers had long since dispersed and the only sounds were the rippling of the Cam as it slithered beneath her, and her heels clacking on the pavement.
She didn’t realize that she had stopped shivering; her next small victory was in sight and all her thoughts were by now on the hotel, not on the chilly night air licking at her bare ankles, or her fingers stiffening with cold.
And, worst of all, she hadn’t felt the goosebumps climbing her scalp, trying to tell her she was being watched. Ahead the road narrowed and a shadow moved. But Victoria didn’t notice.
THIRTY-FOUR
The Round Church stood at the top of Trinity Street, like a sentry marking the next precinct of the city. As she hurried towards it, a nervous little butterfly darted around in her stomach. For the first time she noticed how the gateposts were topped with stone figures of eagles with books under their feet. She glanced up at them, and they glared back down, looking ready to fly off and scatter loose pages into the streets of Cambridge.
The walk seemed further through these empty streets than it did during the average hectic lunch hour. She wished again that she’d stopped that cab, but she wouldn’t find one now in this deserted pedestrian quarter. She followed the parameter of grounds of St John’s round to the right, before turning into Trinity Street.
Somewhere close by, running footsteps suddenly echoed.
Victoria hurried on, skipping into a trot every few paces, past the lower levels of St John’s College Chapel. The way in front of her darkened and she struggled to remind herself of the same street in daytime. The ornate railings were just as pretty. The blackened stone-work was just as old. She drifted towards the kerbside, narrowly side-stepping a low bollard. What a stupid decision to paint them black.
Another entrance to St John’s College came and went, and for a fleeting moment she considered finding the porter’s lodge and demanding assistance. But she didn’t need the night to continue any longer and, in just another five minutes, she’d reach the safety of the hotel.
Ahead of her, her route became darker still. As she passed a little park, for a few yards the only illumination came from the moon and the eerie glow it cast on the white blossom of the chestnut trees. Their branches waved at her from over the railings.
She passed Trinity College next, and forced herself not to look up at its medieval elevations, remembering all the gargoyles and grotesque stonework. Instead, she fixed her sights further ahead at where all the shops commenced, and began to feel relief that she was soon getting back into safer territory.
The street now made a slow curve to the right. A cashpoint machine flashed, winking at the pink-and-blue display in Jaeger’s window opposite. Even in the dark, the shops here were designed to appeal. But the diversion they offered her was to be short-lived.
She slowed again when she saw a figure ahead: a shadow slipping out of a doorway. Seeing one person was worse than seeing none. But she kept walking, because she had no choice. There was nowhere else to run.
She