Caught in the Light (15 page)

I couldn't focus my thoughts on anything that night except the second tape. Daphne had refused to give me even a hint of what it contained, except that Quisden-Neve figured somewhere. I had half a mind to confront him at Bibliomaufry next morning and demand an explanation, but I kept telling myself it would be better to know what I'd be demanding an explanation of, and that meant returning to London to take delivery of the tape. Daphne had said she'd drop it round to my flat after leaving her practice. My offer to collect it had been declined. That gave my suspicious mind still more to work on. Was she afraid I might try to force the third tape out of her as well? If so, her fear was well founded. That was exactly what I felt like doing. But she was my only real ally. I couldn't afford to alienate her. On the other hand, she couldn't afford to have me running round endangering her professional reputation. We both had plenty to lose and lots of reasons for trusting each other, even against our better judgement.

I slept poorly, racked by dreams of Eris-as-Marian, warm and close and insatiable, my eager demon lover running on before me.

It wasn't the first time I'd had such dreams, and I knew it wouldn't be the last until I found her.

As early in the morning as I dared, I drove out to Bradford-on-Avon and called at Saffron House. Milo Esguard was well remembered, by residents as well as by staff, but the name Eris Moberly didn't mean anything to anyone. Nor did my description of her. Milo received more visitors than most, apparently, despite his grouchy nature, but the only one to stick in their minds was a flamboyantly dressed bookseller from Bath. I gave up and headed back to London.

There was nothing to do at the flat but wait for Daphne to arrive and wonder what she'd meant about Quisden-Neve. He hadn't seemed to me to have the makings of a good liar. But perhaps that just made him a better liar than most. Perhaps flint-eyed Niall was on the level, whereas the silver-tongued Quisden-Neve wasn't. Either way, I was going to find out soon enough.

The doorbell rang just after five o'clock, and I pressed the entry button without checking it was Daphne. There wasn't anyone else it was likely to be, after all. Yet when I opened the door of the flat and looked out it wasn't Daphne I saw climbing the stairs towards me.

"Amy! What.. . ? What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

"Of course, but..." She gave me a kiss, then walked past me into what I knew would look to her like a hovel. "Why aren't you at school?"

"The Easter holidays began yesterday, Dad. Did you forget?"

"I must have done. I... When is Easter?"

"Next weekend. You really didn't know?"

"I've had a lot on my mind. Look, do you want some coffee?"

"Shall I make it?"

"All right. The kitchen's so small you shouldn't have any trouble finding your way round."

In fashionably frayed jeans and a droopy black sweater Amy looked older than fourteen and older even than when I'd visited her at school two months before. Maybe I was responsible for that. Watching her put the kettle on and hunt down the coffee, the dried milk and the only two mugs there were, I had the chilling sensation that I was watching a girl I knew only slightly, the daughter of a friend perhaps, or a friend of my daughter, not the Amy I'd seen come into this world and grow and laugh and cry through all the years since.

"It's nice to see you," I said, smiling stiffly at her. "You should have phoned and warned me. I'd have .. . got some biscuits in."

"What's going on, Dad?" she asked, flicking her hair out of her eyes as she spooned out the coffee. "I mean, why are you on your own?"

"It's complicated."

"Has she ditched you?"

"No."

"Then why isn't she with you?"

"Like I said. It's complicated."

"Mum thinks you made her up, this .. . Marian. Did you?"

"No. Of course not."

"That's what I said." The kettle boiled and she broke off to fill the mugs and hand me one. "Mum told me you're seeing a shrink, though. Is that true?"

"In a sense."

"Either you are or you aren't."

"Then I am."

"You're not making sense."

"Just as well I'm seeing a psychotherapist, then."

"I feel really shut out by this. You know?"

"I'm sorry, Amy. I wish I could explain."

"You could try."

"I can't. Not at the moment. There's too much happening."

"Too much happening? What do you mean, Dad? Nothing's happening. Not to you, anyway. You're just .. . vegetating ... in this dump .. . while Mum ..."

"What about her?"

"She's seeing another man. I'm supposed to be meeting him on Saturday. She's really coy about it, you know? Like she's in love. Won't tell me anything about him. Not even his name. It's supposed to be some big secret."

"Why are you telling me, then?"

"You know why."

"Because you're hoping it's not too late for us to get back together."

"Well? It isn't, is it?"

"I'm afraid it is." The doorbell rang and I looked round, aware how eager I was going to sound to get off the hook. "That's somebody I have to see."

"Who?"

"Believe it or not, the psychotherapist your mother told you about."

"So it is true."

"Like I said. In a sense." I walked across to the door release and pressed it. "Listen, Amy, things are ... difficult for me at the moment. But we could ... go out one day .. . while you're home."

"Which day?"

"Any one."

"But which one?"

"I'm not sure. I'll have to ..."

"Phone me?" she asked, anger and hurt tautening her expression.

"Yes. I'll phone you."

"No you won't."

"Of course I will."

She walked across to join me by the front door and stared into my eyes, defying me to avoid her gaze. "What's happening to you, Dad?"

"Nothing you need worry about."

"What shall I tell Mum?"

"Nothing."

There was a knock at the door. I reached for the handle, but Amy got there first and held on without turning it.

"You can still count on me when it matters, Amy."

"It matters now."

"I'll phone. In a few days. Honest."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Don't say that."

"I just have."

There was another knock at the door. Amy's face crumpled into angry confusion. Then she seemed to reach a decision, with all her mother's brisk expediency. "Bye, Dad," she said in a rush, kissing me lightly on the cheek and opening the door.

"Hello," said Daphne, catching sight of her.

But Amy didn't reply. She brushed straight past her and raced off down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I watched her go in silence. And Daphne watched me. Then she stepped inside and I closed the door behind her.

"Your daughter?"

"You're not a psychotherapist for nothing, are you?"

"I won't be one much longer if I go on like this."

"I take it that means you brought the tape."

"Yes. But we have to talk about this, Ian. Everything's getting very .. . confused."

"You don't need to tell me that."

"But I do. Quisden-Neve is quite a spanner in the works. Without him, I could continue to regard Eris's fugues as text-book delusive experiences. Now it's not so simple."

"It never was simple as far as I'm concerned. You have to face it, Daphne. Marian's letter makes a difference."

"It's not just the letter. In fact, it's not the letter at all. Eris could have tracked that down herself. It could even have been the starting point for her fantasy."

"Quisden-Neve seemed certain nobody had seen it before him."

"Perhaps he was mistaken."

"He's too experienced a researcher for that."

"Then he must be lying."

"Why should he be?"

"Why indeed?" Daphne moved unsteadily to the armchair and sat down, heavily clunking a set of keys onto the table in front of her. She looked much less self-controlled than the previous times we'd met. She looked, in fact, like a very worried woman. "Have you got anything to drink by any chance?"

"Coffee?"

"I meant something stronger."

"I'm afraid not. I just sleep here. Some nights I don't even do that. Stocking up a drinks cabinet doesn't seem to have crept to the top of my agenda yet. What about the coffee? My daughter made a cup and never touched it."

"Forget it." She raised a hand as if to ward something off, then let it slowly fall into her lap. "Listen to me, Ian. Listen carefully. If these people Niall Esguard, Montagu Quisden-Neve turn out to be lying, now, to you, after the event so to speak, then it has to be because they have something to hide. And that means there has to be more to this than a dissociative disorder."

"I've been trying to tell you that all along."

"But it doesn't make sense." Shocked by how loudly she'd spoken, she fell abruptly silent. We looked at each other. Then she opened her handbag, lifted out a tape and laid it on the table.

"Is that it?"

"Yes." She fumbled in her bag, produced one of her slim cigars and lit it, the flame trembling along with her fingers. Then she sat back and crossed her legs. "That's it."

"When was it recorded?"

"Last October. She delivered it to me at a session on ..." Daphne leaned forward to read the label on the tape. "The fourth of November."

"But you started seeing her back in .. ."

"June. That's right. Things began well and got better and better. I thought I had the case cracked."

"What went wrong?"

"She went away on holiday with her husband in September. A month in Hawaii. It sounded like just what she needed to consolidate the progress she'd made over the summer. I was on holiday myself when she came back in mid-October. The fourth of November was our first session for seven weeks. I'd given her the tape to record any particular concerns that came into her mind during the lay-off. I never expected anything serious to crop up. I thought we were on top of it. I thought we had everything ironed out. Instead, there'd been a sudden regression. Worse than a regression, in fact. She'd jumped to another level of dissociation altogether. My first thought was that the holiday had brought her difficulties with her husband to the surface, and that she'd retreated into the Marian fantasy to avoid confronting them."

"What difficulties, exactly?"

"You're missing the point. That was my theory then. That was my best guess. But it won't do now. It simply won't stand up."

"Why not?"

"Because of Quisden-Neve." She rose, strode to the window and yanked it up. The woodwork squealed. Cool air and traffic noise gusted in. "I don't know what to think now. I honestly don't. What if ... ?" She shook her head in dismay. "What if it's all true?"

"True? In what sense?"

"Listen to the tape, Ian." She turned and looked at me. "Then bring it back to me. My practice, nine o'clock tomorrow, without fail. Can I have your word on that?"

"All right. You've got it."

"Don't act on what you hear until we've discussed it. Promise?"

"I promise."

"It's vital you do nothing .. . impetuous."

"I won't."

"But can I believe you? That's the question. There's something we can't get round, isn't there?"

"What's that?"

"Your love for her." She stepped towards me and stared into my eyes. "It worries me. It really does."

"I'm doing this because I love her."

"I know." She nodded. "That's what worries me."

When Daphne left, I stood by the window and waited until I'd seen her walk away along the street. Then I sat down in the armchair, slid the tape into the machine and pressed the play button, as relieved to be alone at last as I was eager to hear Eris's voice once more. I wanted to be close to her, to see her and to touch her. But for the moment all I could do was listen. And for the moment that was good enough.

CHAPTER SIX

I'm sorry, Daphne. I hoped it wouldn't happen again, and I know you did, too. I suppose we persuaded each other we had this thing beaten. Well, we didn't. It was just biding its time, gathering its strength maybe for when it lunged at me out of the dark. I'm talking as if it's some kind of ravening beast, aren't I, something outside myself? And that's what it feels like: something I'm just .. . incidental to. I know you said it all came from inside me, and I've tried to believe that, but it doesn't do any good. It didn't stop it coming back and it won't make it go away.

"Tell it calmly and sequentially," I can hear you say. "Chronological order sorts the real from the imaginary." Well, I'll try. But don't rely on chronology too much, Daphne. I'm not sure I know what it means any more. Anyway, here goes.

Hawaii was great. It was so remote, so completely different from my normal life. Getting away from it all never sounded so appealing and never proved so wonderful. Out there, in the middle of the Pacific, I could be absolutely confident Marian wasn't going to catch up with me. Didn't I say something like that in that postcard of the Kilauea Crater I sent you? It was out of this world. Out of her world.

I didn't want to come back. I actually tried to talk Conrad into extending the trip. But he was already getting twitchy about being away from work so long, and he thought I'd flipped when I suggested staying on without him. There are some things he won't tolerate. We came back together, on schedule. And the very next morning it started to go wrong.

I got up late, a good few hours after Conrad had gone to work. I suppose the jet lag must have hit me. Anyway, I forced myself to go out and do some shopping. We were low on lots of things. When I got back there was a man waiting for me at the entrance to the apartment block. He was a paunchy, red-faced chap with a shock of grey hair, wearing a tweed suit, a bright yellow bow tie and a purple shirt. He looked like a cross between a country solicitor and a superannuated playboy.

"Mrs. Moberly?" he said, stepping into my path and grinning. "My name's Montagu Quisden-Neve. My card." He handed me his card as he spoke. It described him as an antiquarian bookseller, with an address in Bath. "We don't know each other, Mrs. Moberly, but we do have a mutual acquaintance. Niall Esguard. Also his late uncle, Milo Esguard. Do you think I might come up to your flat and outline a small business proposition I'd like you to consider?"