Ash (21 page)

‘Uh, yeah,’ he said when she was almost within reach. ‘I was just wondering if I was smart enough for the dining room.’ He waved a hand at her apparel.

She gave a short laugh, and her eyes, almost black in the dimness of the corridor, half-mockingly looked him up and down.

‘I think you’ll pass muster, as my father used to say.’ Her full red lips continued to smile.

‘I could eat a horse,’ he said, grinning foolishly.

‘I’m famished too,’ she replied. ‘I think it’s the aftermath of the adrenaline rush we had earlier.’

Yes
, he thought to himself,
and I seem to get a different kind of adrenaline rush each time I see you
. He couldn’t help but wonder if she sensed his feelings, if she was somehow aware of the mixed emotions he tried to conceal. After Grace, he had vowed never to risk such intense passion ever again. Now he felt that once-firm wall of resolve gradually breaking down, brick by brick.

He found himself saying mundanely, ‘Shall we take the lift?’

‘I’d rather take the stairs; I don’t trust that antiquated piece of machinery.’

She began leading the way along the dim corridor, with its patchy carpeting and picture-lined walls.

‘Why don’t they do something about it, then? The lift, I mean,’ he asked as they walked side by side.

‘Oh, there is another one – another two, in fact,’ she replied as they came to the oval colonnaded staircase. ‘One of them is rather grand and used exclusively by Lord Shawcroft-Draker and certain VIPs who visit Comraich from time to time.’

They began to descend the wide red-carpeted stairway, with Delphine allowing her hand to slide down the broad variegated marble balustrade and with Ash on the narrower section of the rounded staircase. Elegant hanging lights brightened the way. The carpet was plush and springy under Ash’s boots.

‘I take it,’ he said to Delphine as they made their way to the first floor, ‘that Lord Shawcroft-Draker is the tall thin man I saw when I arrived, who disappeared before Sir Victor could introduce us. The man with the rather obvious pot-belly.’

‘That sounds like him,’ the psychologist replied. ‘He keeps very much to himself, so we rarely see him, let alone speak to him. He was –
is
– the actual owner of the castle. I suppose you would describe him as Comraich’s patron, the Big Chief. Lord Edgar is what we usually call him.’

Ash digested the information, then said, ‘You said there were two more lifts. What’s the third one for? A service lift?’

‘You could say that,’ Delphine replied. ‘But it’s regularly scrubbed clean and takes patients down to the operating theatre. There are two general surgeons, and specialist surgeons are brought in as required. Our personal senior doctor oversees everything medical.’

‘Presumably these specialists are sworn to secrecy, and paid a hefty fee for their silence.’ He glanced at her and, in some way, was pleased to see her anxious expression; maybe she was uneasy about some of the ‘rules’ of this place too.

‘It’s for their own good, David,’ she said after a beat or two. ‘Some of the guests would be unacceptable beyond the boundaries of Comraich.’

‘You do realize that sounds sinister, Delphine.’

She managed – but only just – to smile back at him. ‘What
is
sinister, David, is the strange things that have been going on here lately.’

They passed a niche in the wall containing the bronze bust of some nobleman or other, who obviously had relevance to the castle’s history. Ash had no interest in it whatsoever; his concern was for the beautiful woman at his side. The sense that she, herself, had misgivings about Comraich grew stronger.

They had reached the first-floor landing and she stopped to face him squarely. But once again her eyes failed to meet his.

‘David,’ she said almost passionately, ‘if you knew the fine medical work carried out here, you wouldn’t be so suspicious. Nor so critical.’

Was she trying to convince herself? he wondered. The way her eyes avoided his suggested it might be so.

‘Maybe you can show me where you work later,’ he said.

‘I’d need to get permission first, but I’m happy to do just that.’ Her gaze had returned to him.

As one, they continued to the next flight of stairs, a silence hanging between them.

Ash was even more impressed with the castle when he and Delphine entered the imposing circular dining room, which was busy with people. There was a hush when heads turned in their direction as Ash and his companion stood in the wide double-doored entrance. Either they seldom had new arrivals at Comraich, Ash reflected, or they already knew a ghost hunter had come into their midst. He felt uneasy. He casually looked around and could almost
smell
the affluence in the room.

The guests were seated at round tables, the tablecloths immaculately white, fresh flowers in the centre of each, bright, crystal-like chandeliers high above their heads. Even the gleaming cutlery appeared to be silver. Ash was hungry: he hadn’t had time for breakfast and had been offered only tea, coffee or alcohol since. Alcohol, on the plane, at that time of the morning? On an empty stomach? Once more, suspicion vexed him. Had they
wanted
him to arrive at Comraich half-cut?

Next to him, Delphine was scanning the dining room as if looking for something. She said a quiet ‘ah’ of satisfaction and pointed.

‘Over there,’ she said her voice all but a whisper. ‘There’s someone I’d like you to meet.’

She led the way through the diners, heading towards one of the smaller tables in a comparatively empty part of the dining room. A man sat there alone, reading a magazine propped up against the flower vase while he ate.

Eyes followed Ash’s progress through the room until the chatter of voices resumed, the guests’ curiosity evidently waning. He caught sight of Haelstrom at a centre table, the ever-anxious Derriman sitting next to him, two other people that Ash hadn’t yet met filling the other two seats. The big man noticed the parapsychologist and gave a brief wave of his hand, which Ash acknowledged with a casual nod of his head.

He took in the two unrecognized diners at Haelstrom’s table. The one closest to Comraich’s CEO was a female in hospital whites: a spotless tunic, which was in contrast to her drawn back lustrous auburn-red hair. As she stared his way, he noticed a particular glint in her hazel eyes and wondered why she appeared so interested in him, for she made no attempt to look away. Although not pretty, her face had attained that rare handsomeness of features that few women in early middle age managed to achieve. Her attractiveness was spoilt only by the hostility in those eyes.

The fourth member at the table had his back to Ash and he peered round to see what had captured his fellow diners’ attention.

Ash glimpsed only a hard face with buzz-cut hair and broad shoulders. It was difficult to judge when the man was sitting, but the psychic investigator guessed he was short but stocky; he certainly had the features of a bruiser. It was no more than a glance, but the man’s small, calculating eyes seemed to assess Ash in an instant.

‘David . . .’

The investigator immediately turned back to Delphine.

‘David,’ she repeated, smiling at the man, who had looked up from his copy of the
Lancet
, and who now turned his attention from her to Ash, his eyebrows raised but with a clear smile showing in his neatly trimmed goatee. ‘This is our senior surgeon, Dr Vernon Pritchard, who is in charge of the medical unit.’

Pritchard didn’t rise but extended a hand across the able. Ash shook it and noted its natural firmness.

The senior doctor was a smallish man, no more than five foot nine, Ash guessed, and stylishly dressed: fawn herringbone jacket, dark brown waistcoat, light blue shirt and natty blue-spotted bow tie. Ash put him in his early fifties, and although there was a casual air about him, his brown eyes were searching, almost questioning. One eyebrow was raised above his tortoiseshell bifocals, as if appraising the newcomer, and grey hair at his temples helped bestow upon him the necessary gravitas for someone of his status. That and the neat goatee he wore, which, suspiciously, hadn’t a single grey hair in it.

Before Delphine could introduce Ash, Pritchard said with a note of satisfaction, ‘Ah, you’re our parapsychologist, I take it.’ His grin was wolfish.

‘Ash,’ the investigator acknowledged.

‘Yes, David Ash. Correct?’

Ash nodded and returned the smile.

Delphine broke in. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you Dr Pritchard, but I felt David should know a little about our work here at Comraich.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you could have done just as well yourself.’ There was no criticism in the senior doctor’s remark. ‘But please, take a seat, won’t you both? My lunch is over and I was just about to order an Armagnac and a coffee to complete it. Have you eaten yet?’

‘No,’ replied Delphine. ‘I’m sure David is ravenous by now.’

‘Yes, I heard you had a rather harrowing ordeal on the plane. Strange how such an adrenaline rush can often leave you a bit peckish afterwards. And your body becomes unconsciously delighted to be alive, or so I’m told. Survival instinct kicks in, furtherance of the race and all that. As a psychologist, I’m sure Dr Wyatt can tell you more about that than I.’ He cast a mischievous grin at Delphine, whose cheeks reddened slightly.

Ash covered her embarrassment. ‘All I wanted afterwards was a stiff drink and a cigarette. Fact is, I had neither.’

‘Commendable,’ said Dr Pritchard as he leaned back in his seat. Although the doctor’s smile was relaxed, Ash couldn’t be sure if the older man was teasing. Still, he seemed amiable enough.

Pritchard barely waved a hand and a waitress, dressed in a creamy white blouse and a slim black skirt with dark tights, appeared before them.

‘Chloe, my darling,’ the doctor drawled smoothly, ‘the usual coffee for me with a Bas Armagnac. Domaine Boingnères, of course. And could you bring menus for my two colleagues?’

Ash felt the girl might curtsey, but she only smiled at Dr Pritchard before leaving the table.

‘You’ll find the cuisine here splendid, Mr Ash,’ the senior doctor remarked, indicating a chair opposite him across the spotlessly white tablecloth. He placed his copy of the
Lancet
to one side with a muttered ‘Only bloody magazine I can get here,’ while Delphine took the seat on his right. Ash’s back was to the room, but he was even more aware of the too-soft drone of conversation behind him. Something had been bothering him since he and Delphine had entered the room.

The general hum of voices, apart from when he and the psychologist had made their appearance and conversation had been momentarily suspended, was low, with no peaks of volume, no sudden laughter, and certainly no raised voices. He realized it was this that had caused his disquiet when entering the oval room. All the voices were low as if . . . as if the clients were sedated. He tried to shrug off the idea, yet the thought lingered that they had all been mildly tranquillized. He was trying to decide how he could diplomatically put the idea to Dr Pritchard and Delphine when the senior doctor spoke again.

‘Now, my darling Delphine,’ he said smoothly, ‘what is it I can tell Mr Ash that you feel unable to?’

Delphine smiled but Ash noticed her underlying discomfort. ‘I’m sorry, Vernon, I noticed you had almost finished your lunch and thought you wouldn’t mind my interruption.’

‘And right you are,’ Pritchard said with a small laugh. ‘It’s always interesting to meet someone new in Comraich. Mr Ash, then, what can I do?’ He’d turned his attention to Ash opposite him.

‘Well,’ said the investigator, unfazed by Pritchard’s seniority or grandiloquent manner, ‘I was curious about the medical practices here. I mean are you really geared up for surgery? Do you have a cardiac unit, for example?’ he added, remembering Moira Glennon.

‘Oh, we manage much more than just that, Mr Ash. We also maintain a research department of a very high standard. In fact, we pioneer many treatments.’

He paused as the waitress put a balloon glass of amber liquid before him and a small cafetière to one side. Chloe produced two menus from under her elbow.

‘Might I suggest,’ interposed the senior doctor, ‘that you order now.’ He lifted his wrist to check his watch. ‘Yes, Chloe will bring it in ten minutes’ time. By then I shall have finished my discourse on Comraich Castle’s medical facilities as well as having imbibed my after-lunch Armagnac and coffee.’

He’d noticed Ash’s admiring interest in the ornate timepiece he wore and lifted his wrist again to give the investigator another sight of it. All Ash really knew was that the wristwatch looked old and very expensive. ‘Vintage Rolex, 1936,’ he told Ash proudly. ‘Worth about sixteen K on today’s market. Had it several years, a little guilt-gift to myself.’ He shot his shirt cuff with practised ease, concealing the small treasure again.

While Delphine and Ash turned their attention to their menus, Dr Pritchard withdrew a metal cigar tube from his inside breast pocket, unscrewed its flat end and slid its content into his open palm. Ash reflected wryly that, despite its plethora of rules for outsiders, Comraich was probably the only institution in the country not to have imposed a smoking ban.

‘Hope neither of you minds,’ he said, smiling first at Delphine, then at Ash. Without waiting for a response, he told them, ‘This is a rather fine cigar, which I’m very partial to. Cohiba, from Cuba.’ He struck a match and puffed the cigar into life, drawing in deeply before exhaling a dense stream of smoke across the table towards Ash. With a grin, in a mock theatrical whisper, he confided, ‘As a doctor, I know I’m a bad example to some of our guests, and that’s why I always lunch alone in this deserted corner of the room.’

At first Ash had thought Pritchard had directed the smoke at him purposely as a sign of disguised contempt, or at least disdain for his kind of trespasser, but when he breathed in the rich scent of tobacco, he changed his mind: the other man had wanted him to appreciate the cigar’s quality. The senior doctor was obviously a man who enjoyed the rewards of his elevated profession.

He regarded Ash and his inflection was a little more brisk, although unequivocally genial. ‘Actually, as a psychic researcher, I would’ve thought you were more interested in the dead than how we preserve the living.’