Dangerous Deception (23 page)

Several times over the next hour or so, I swam up briefly to the surface of awareness before drifting away again. During those times, there was a dream-like fluidity about everything around me. As though in another dimension was the smell of petrol and leather and wet clothes, a sensation of moving smoothly and without effort on my part, of voices, sharp with command but quite unintelligble.

Then, eternities later, the motion ceased, cold night wind rushed at me, and I was carried from the warm cocoon of the police car into the familiar hallway of the Carreg Coed hotel. And, in the confusing way of dreams, Matthew was there, his face white with strain, his voice cracking as he cried, “Clare! My God, she's not hurt?”

I obligingly passed out again, and the next thing I remember is being propped up on the sofa in the lounge, wrapped in blankets, while Mrs Davies, wearing an old blue dressing-gown and with her hair in a net, spoon-fed me hot soup. Matthew, who must be real after all, sat next to her, holding my hand.

My instinctive movement brought a twinge from my swollen foot, and I saw it had been expertly bandaged. Its throbbing had underlain all my troubled dreams.

The soup finished amid murmurs of encouragement, Mrs Davies quietly left the room and I felt a flutter of panic; return to full consciousness could no longer be delayed, and I'd been clinging to unreality as an amulet against what I dreaded to hear. For in all the comings and goings, the driftings and dreamings, there had been no sight nor sound of Philip.

It was no use, though; I had to know.

“Philip?” It was the first word I'd spoken, and it came out blurred and indistinct, but Matthew caught it.

“He's all right, Clare. He's giving a statement in another room.”

The tide of relief sapped all my energy and it was minutes before I could speak again. Then, as memory began to return, I said urgently, “And the Dacombes?”

“All right too. They're being kept in hospital overnight because of their concussion, but they should be out in the morning.” He smiled. “There was talk of carting you off with them, but once it was established your ankle was only sprained, Philip talked them into bringing you back here.”

The soup had revived me, and my curiosity returned.

“But what were they
doing
out there?”

He grimaced. “Not much good, as it turned out, though not for want of trying.”

“But—”

“They were the undercover we'd arranged.”

“Police?” I looked at him in bewilderment. “Then they're not—?”

“Yes, it really is their honeymoon, but as this operation was coming to the boil, I gather their Chief asked if they'd mind combining business with pleasure.”

“Good heavens! So how much did they know of what was going on?”

“Philip was keeping them briefed.”

“Philip?”

He bit his lip, obviously having let slip more than he'd intended.

I said quietly, “After all this, don't you think I'm entitled to an explanation?”

“It's a long story, Clare, and I promised Philip—”

“I don't want to see him,” I interrupted.

He was safe, that was all that mattered. I was not strong enough to listen to his carefully composed expressions of regret, to see his eyes slide evasively from mine.

Matthew said gently, “Everything will be explained in the morning. Now, my dear, you're going to bed. Do you realise it's after one o'clock?”

But I'd no intention of being placated. “Please,” I insisted, “whenever and whatever it is, I want you to tell me. Don't make me see Philip.”

Behind me the door rocked open, and the voice I'd thought never to hear again demanded tensely, “Has she come round?”

I stiffened, clinging to Matthew's hand, but he extracted it with a little pat and rose to his feet. As the door closed behind him, Philip came quickly round the corner of my vision. His face was white, still spattered with mud, with a streak of blood down one cheek, and his jaw where Bryn's fist had caught him was bruised and swollen. He sat down and took both my hands tightly in his.

“Clare,” he said. “Thank God you're safe.”

I sat without moving, drained of emotion.

“Darling, I know you're exhausted, but this can't wait – I have to explain why I was so brutal yesterday.”

He paused, and I felt him look at me, but was incapable of meeting his eyes.

“You see, the risks hadn't mattered before, when I'd nothing to lose. Then, unbelievably, just when the danger was greatest, it suddenly seemed I'd everything to live for.

“I don't think you realised how desperate it all was; it was quite on the cards that I wouldn't come out of it. Bryn never completely trusted me, I knew that. If you had to be hurt, it seemed preferable for it to be then, before anything had a chance to develop.”

Again he paused and again I remained silent.

“Also, it was going to be hard enough for you to extricate yourself from Morgan when Carol arrived, without having you as worried for my safety as I was for yours.”

He raised my hands and held them against his cheek. “God, Clare, it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Imagine how I felt; after loving you all these years, just when it seemed you might feel the same, I had to push you away.”

The lump of ice inside me was beginning to dissolve. He turned my hands over and kissed the palms, one after the other.

“I shouldn't be burdening you with all this now, but I had to explain, try to make you understand. Now, I've kept you long enough; Mrs Davies is waiting for you, so let me help you upstairs.”

I had still not said a word, but he didn't seem to expect one. He helped me up, supporting me so that my injured foot was off the floor, and we slowly progressed into the hall. The staircase had never seemed so long, and my legs felt like rubber.

At my door, Philip handed me into Mrs Davies's care and she helped me to undress and slide into bed, where comforting hot-water bottles awaited me.

Then it was dark and my eyes closed of their own volition and I slept as never before.

‘O! wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful!'

Shakespeare:
As You Like It

I WOKE slowly to the sound of the bedroom curtains being swished back and the titillating smell of buttered toast and coffee. The events of the past night rose like bubbles to the level of consciousness, and I thought with relief – at last, it's almost over. Almost: but despite his words last night, there was still a barrier between Philip and me, the reserve which only a frank and full discussion could dispel.

It was Mrs Davies, not Mair, who stood smiling down at me. I blinked up at her.

“What time is it?”

“Almost twelve – you've had a good sleep.”

“Twelve!” I struggled up in the bed, looking at the clock for verification. “The day's half gone!”

She laughed. “You had more than your share of yesterday, and you've been well out of it, I can tell you. We've had quite a time trying to explain things to the guests. The sudden departure of the Zimmermans, following on the disappearance of Mr Rees and Miss Lawrence, to say nothing of Mr Hardy's swollen jaw – it was really too much for them.”

I said with a clutch of apprehension, “What happened to Bryn, do you know?”

“The ringleader? In Swansea jail, with the rest of them.”

“He wasn't hurt, then?”

“Not that I know of.”

I relaxed, glad that the confrontation which could have ended so disastrously had in fact produced no fatalities. Added to which, as I admitted ruefully to myself, unprincipled and ruthless though he was, Bryn undeniably had charm.

Mrs Davies moved to the door. “Mr Bennett would like a word, when you're ready.”

“Of course – please ask him to come in. Perhaps he'd like some coffee.”

“I suggested it, but he said it's almost lunch-time. I'll tell him you're awake.”

There were dark rings under Matthew's eyes, but his mouth had lost the tightly-drawn tension of last night.

“And how are you this morning?” He bent to kiss me. “Or perhaps I should say, this afternoon?”

“I'm fine,” I said.

“And the ankle?”

“I haven't tested it, but it feels a little easier.”

“It's amazing you've escaped with nothing worse, after all you've been through. And, heaven help me, I sent you away for a holiday!”

“Seeing you and Philip together is better than any holiday.” My voice shook. It seemed my control was more precarious than I'd realised. He took my hand.

“There's a lot for you to forgive, Clare; I hope you feel the ends justify it. Still, Philip insists that all the explanations come from him; he's planning to take you out for the day. I did say you should be resting that foot, but Mrs Davies has unearthed an old walking stick, which at least will help keep your weight off it.”

I adroitly changed the subject. “You never explained your miraculous appearance on the scene?”

“It was thanks to your postcard; I nearly had a stroke when it arrived yesterday. Clearly it had been written before Philip showed up, but I knew you must have met during the weekend, just as things were coming to a climax.

“I phoned here immediately, but neither of you could be found and it wasn't the kind of message I could leave with anyone. So I threw a few things into a case and hotfooted it after you.

“I couldn't just suddenly turn up here, though – it might have endangered the whole operation – so I stopped off at the Plas Dinas. I phoned again from there, shortly before six; this time it was the chambermaid who answered. She said you were both out but she'd see you got the message to ring me. Obviously, you didn't. But I wasn't aware of the urgency, or I'd have kept phoning; like Philip, I still thought the action was due to take place tonight.”

“How did you hear of the change of plan?”

“Young Dacombe phoned me at home, and Mrs Withers gave him the Plas Dinas number, which I'd left with her. He rang about nine, explained he was the police watchdog we'd arranged, and admitted he was worried; Philip had disappeared and there was no sign of you, Rees or the Lawrence girl. He'd alerted the local police and was about to set off for the castle.

“I was all for going with him but he wouldn't hear of it. I suppose he was right – I'm a bit long in the tooth for cops and robbers. So I came on here, not knowing what on earth was happening and out of my mind with worry for you both.”

“Well, fortunately we survived.” I wiped the butter off my fingers. “And now I suppose I'd better get up, if Philip's waiting for me.”

“He's been waiting for you a long time, Clare.”

I didn't encounter anyone on my way downstairs, but I could see Philip's car drawn up outside. He was leaning against it, staring up the hillside where I'd climbed with Clive my first morning.

He turned as he heard my halting footsteps, and came to help me. “How are you this morning?”

“Not too bad, considering, thanks to the improvised crutch. I must say that's a magnificent bruise you have there.”

He smiled fleetingly. “Will you come for a drive? We need to talk, don't we?”

I nodded and he took my stick and helped me into the car. It was a day similar to yesterday, a pale blue sky with ragged clouds blowing across the sun. I wished the explanations were behind us and we could be natural with each other.

“The Mortimers and the schoolmarms are to be given a brief resumé after lunch,” he said, breaking the silence. I made an effort to help him out.

“What about the old ladies? Are they still there?”

“Oh yes, they were only on the fringe – I'm sure they never realised what Bryn was up to. He'd used them before, but only to listen and report anything that might prove lucrative. He used to tell them it was to help his business. Euphemistic, or what?”

We came to the corner where the road branched left towards the coast and the castle. Philip took the right-hand turn and we started to climb. Far below us at the foot of the valley, a toy-like train scuttled importantly along the silver track, a curl of smoke blowing over its back like a tiny medieval dragon.

We climbed continuously for several miles, the road twisting and turning past the odd stone cottage and isolated farm. Then there were no more buildings, just the grass and the sky. We might have been on the top of the world. Philip steered the car on to the turf and stopped. The silence was complete.

“Can you manage to walk a little way?” he asked. “We won't go far.”

I nodded. He helped me out and, with him supporting me on one side and the stick on the other, we moved slowly up a small incline away from the road. The view was panoramic: sweep after sweep of fields, the silver skein of streams threading between them, and clusters of houses nestling in the valley. At intervals, clumps of sheep were bunched together like blobs of icing on the grass, and immediately below us a copse waved scarlet and copper banners against the grey rock.

A stone wall ran zigzagging beside us, before giving up farther along in a heap of stones. Everything smelt fresh and newly washed after last night's storm and it was very still. A lark was singing somewhere, and in the distance a dog barked once.

Philip spread his mac on the grass and with his assistance I lowered myself on to it. The wall was at our backs and all Wales spread before us. My mouth was dry. Now, I thought, he can't put it off any longer.

He leant forward, his hands clasped round his knees, not looking at me. “I don't know how much you took in of what I said last night – I know I wasn't very coherent. Did you get the gist of it?”

“I think so.”

“That's the most important part, but I'll go back to the beginning and then perhaps you'll see what I was up against. And it's further back than you might think, because I actually met Bryn a year or two ago, at Plas Dinas.”