Days Without Number (41 page)

'He travelled to the Holy Land in twelve forty to report that all was ready. He met a delegate from the Byzantine Emperor and informed him of what was intended, presumably to ensure that both branches of Christendom were party to the decision. Shortly afterwards, Ralph Valletort set sail from Acre, bound for Tintagel, carrying the artefact with him.

'Land routes couldn't be risked for fear his precious cargo might fall into the wrong hands. But the sea also has its risks. The ship foundered off the Sallies. The artefact was lost. But Valletort survived. I think the reason the nature and meaning of the artefact is so elusive is that even those who decided its fate did not actually see it. An inner cadre of the Knights Templar guarded its secret. Several such knights doubtless accompanied Valletort on the voyage. Perhaps they confided in him. Perhaps he inspected the artefact for himself. I'm certain he knew - and that he was responsible for incorporating a reference to the secret in the Doom Window at St Neot, his native parish. Or maybe that was down to his son, or his grandson.

The point is that the Doom Window predates and transcends the fifteenth-century glazing scheme. That's why it was removed in sixteen forty-six. The churchwardens knew it had to be preserved at all costs. Hence its concealment at 343

Trennor. And hence, I believe, your grandfather's purchase of Trennor in nineteen twenty-one.'

'Hold on,' Nick interrupted. 'What would my grandfather have known about all this?'

'More than you think. Remember what I said. From generation to generation. When the excavations began at Tintagel in nineteen thirty-three, your grandfather and your father were on the scene. But were they there to help - or to hinder? Fred Davey worked with his father on that dig. And his grandfather had worked on the last lead-mining venture at Tintagel, in the eighteen seventies. There have always been rumours that something came to light back then - an underground chamber of some kind, revealed during tunnelling directly beneath the great hall of Tintagel Castle. Such a chamber could easily be a repository, for an article of great worth. The article had never arrived, of course. It had ended up on the sea bed eighty miles to the west. Even so, the discovery of the chamber would have raised a lot of questions. I suspect the Daveys, father and son, conspired with the Paleologuses, father and son, to ensure it remained undiscovered.

'Later, serving on Cyprus during the War, your father met a long-lost cousin, who knew as much, if not more, about the nature and meaning of the artefact destined for but never delivered to Tintagel in twelve forty-one. They became friends and confidants. Your father also confided in an Army pal, who was left in no doubt that something hugely significant - and therefore hugely lucrative to those who uncovered it - was concealed at Trennor. It's possible they were more than just pals, of course. If so, it would better explain why your father trusted him with such information.'

'You can't prove any of this,' Nick objected.

'Oh, but we can,' said Demetrius. 'That's the beauty of it. Your father would not have let the knowledge perish from his branch of the family. He would have passed it on to the next generation - or the one after that. He would have told one of you.'

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'It must be so,' said Emily. She looked straight at Nick, something like guilt or pity darkening her face for the first time. 'One of you knows.'

'But which one?' Demetrius smirked. 'That's the multimillion-dollar question.'

'It wasn't Andrew,' said Emily. 'He was too keen to sell to the mythical Mr Tantris. Your sisters are ruled out for the same reason. It certainly wasn't Tom. He'd never have gone along with my scheme if it had been. Your niece is too young. Besides, your father was a traditionalist. He believed in patrimony. The secret goes down the male line. Which leaves you and Basil as the only possible candidates. You were both lukewarm at best about the sale.'

'But if it was Basil,' said Demetrius, 'why would he come here in such evident innocence? Why would he take such a risk?'

'He wouldn't,' said Emily.

'Exactly.' Demetrius and Emily were feeding each other their lines now. They were rehearsing for Nick's benefit a debate they had already had several times over. 'Besides, I have held a gun to the man's head with every appearance of being willing to pull the trigger. And he has revealed nothing.'

'You bastard.' Nick stared at Demetrius, willing him to understand what he could not afford to say: that if he could ever contrive a way to strike back at him he would not hesitate.

'It's you, Nick,' Emily said quietly.

'What?'

'You're the one.'

Nick looked straight at her. 'You're wrong.'

'Won't you tell us // segreto favoloso, Nicholas?' Demetrius sarcastically enquired.

'I don't know it.'

'You promised your full cooperation.'

'And I'm telling you the truth.'

'Disclose the secret and Basil goes free.'

'I don't have it to disclose.'

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'You have it.'

'Aren't you listening to me? / don't know.'

'We think you do.'

'For God's sake--'

'You've had your chance.' Demetrius took his mobile out of his pocket.

'StopV Nick was out of his chair, lunging towards Demetrius.

'It's all right.' Emily was suddenly between them, her hands clasping Nick's shoulders, her face close to his. 'It's OK, Nick. He isn't going to make the call.'

Nick looked past her at Demetrius, who fixed him with his gaze and ostentatiously tossed the phone into an empty chair to his right.

'No call,' said Demetrius softly.

'Sit down, Nick.' Emily's eyes pleaded with him to ignore the many reasons why he should not obey her. 'Please.'

He pushed her away and stood where he was for a moment, swaying slightly. His breathing slowed. His muscles slackened. The tension eased by a degree. He sat down.

Emily crossed to the chair where Demetrius had tossed the phone, put it on 'the table next to the briefcase and sat down herself. 'Listen to me very carefully, Nick. We believe you know. But we also believe you may not know you know.'

'What the hell's that supposed to mean?'

'I'm talking about your breakdown and what may have caused it. I think your father told you the secret. You were the prodigy, the budding genius - the obvious choice, really. But it was too much for you, or one of several things that were too much for you. You couldn't cope with the knowledge. You rejected it. You put it out of your mind. But the subconscious doesn't take orders. It's still there, locked away. All you have to do is turn the key.'

A key did turn in his memory at her words. He stared at her as he saw himself in his mind's eye clambering up the riverbank near Grantchester after his leap from the punt. Only he had not leapt. He had merely stepped. Into the water. Out of the world. Away, through the long grey evening, across the 346

damp and dusky fields. 'Keep walking,' he had muttered to himself. 'Keep moving.' Part of him was still the fugitive he had become that day. And the same part of him still did not want to know what he was a fugitive from. Could it be true? Could she be right? Could he have known without knowing, all along?

'I need to hypnotize you, Nick. Don't worry. I know how it's done. With your cooperation, we can unlock the memory you've suppressed for so long. We can learn the truth.'

'They gave me hypnotherapy at the time. Nothing like what you want came out of it.'

They didn't ask the right questions.'

'Maybe not. But they told me a few things. Like probing suppressed memories under hypnosis can be dangerous.'

'I'll be careful.'

'We all have to take the occasional risk,' Demetrius remarked.

Nick kept his eyes trained on Emily. He could not afford to get angry. Not now. Not yet. 'The patient also has to trust the hypnotist. Otherwise it doesn't work.'

'It'll work,' said Emily with quiet insistence. 'You just have to let me take control. This will help.' She released the catches on the briefcase and raised the lid, swivelling the case as she did so to block Nick's view of the contents. From inside she took a slim plastic holder, snapped it open and laid it on the table. Inside was a syringe and a small bottle of fluid. 'It's a simple tranquillizer. It'll take effect more quickly if I administer it intravenously. We need you to be relaxed - open to the experience.'

'Full cooperation was our agreement,' said Demetrius, drawing a glance from Emily that hinted at irritation. 'This is the only way you're going to see your brother again.'

'What guarantee do I have that I'll see him again if I do go through with this?'

'None. But killing Basil - and you, if you want to take your suspicions that far - would draw the police's attention to the name Paleologus. And since I plan to buy Trennor from your 347

family in order to exploit what's hidden there, I'd be foolish to make such a connection for them. So, give me what I want and you and Basil can have a happy reunion back at the Zampogna later today. Then, in due course, you and your sisters can decide how to spend the money I'll pay you for the house. There'll be more than enough for you all, I assure you.'

'What do you say, Nick?' Emily's eyes had not left him.

Nick sighed. 'Get on with it.'

'The patient has given his consent, Emily,' said Demetrius.

'Yes.' Emily took a deep breath. 'All right. Roll up your sleeve.'

As Nick did so, she loaded the syringe, then sat on the table and leaned forward to inject him. He looked away from the needle, his focus blurring slightly, aware of her perfume tingling in his nostrils.

'OK. You can relax now.'

He sat back, feeling certain that relaxation was, in the circumstances,- impossible. 'What if you're wrong? What if I truly don't know?'

T'm not wrong.'

'No-one's infallible.'

'This is the answer. I'm sure of it.'

'Even so . . .'

'Basil will be fine. I promise.'

Nick chuckled, somewhat to his own surprise. It was futile to point out how little Emily's promises were worth. The truth was that he had to hope this one was worth something. Those other players in the game you told me about. There aren't any, are there? You arranged with Demetrius here for your father's body to be removed from the shaft.'

'We can't have the police digging around at Trennor, Nicholas,' said Demetrius. 'There's no telling what they might find.'

'But you sent the video to the police. You put them onto it in the first place.'

'And I telephoned them after the search,' said Emily. 'I had

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to keep Tom on-side. I had to make him believe we were serious.'

'What did you do with the body? How did you dispose of your father, Emily?'

'Cremation,' she murmured. 'It was decently done.'

'That's all right, then.'

'Try to relax. Try not to think.'

'I wish I couldn't.'

T'm going to record what you say under hypnosis, OK? Your words might be slurred, your meaning unclear. We need to be able to go over it later.'

'Be my guest.'

Emily took a pocket recorder out of the case and set it up on the edge of the table closest to Nick. 'How are you feeling now?'

'Great.' Nick had intended to be sarcastic, but actually a strange and disquieting euphoria was beginning to creep over him. The tranquillizer was taking effect more quickly than he had anticipated. 'Where does Farnsworth come into all this, by the way? Is he working for you?'

'Forget Farnsworth.'

'You're getting ahead of yourself, Emily. It's only when the patient's in a trance that you can tell him what to forget and what to remember. It'll be all forgetting in this case, won't it?'

'I think we're ready. Could you close the curtains, Demetrius?'

Demetrius stood up and walked away towards the windows. Nick heard the curtains slide across on their tracks one by one. The light dimmed. Emily took a pen-torch out of the case, laid it on the table and switched it on, with the Jight shining towards her. Then she switched the tape recorder on as well.

'Look at the torch, Nick. And listen to me. The torch and me. Nothing else. Relax as much as you can, physically and mentally. Breathe slowly. Slow everything down. We have all the time in the world. Keep looking at the torch. Keep listening to me. Forget everything else. Let it fall away. Let it go.

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As you do, start counting in your mind, backwards from one hundred.'

Nick started counting. And Emily's voice seemed to keep pace with him, slowing as he slowed, falling almost to a murmur as the numbers wound lethargically down in his head.

'Your arms are beginning to feel heavy. Your legs are beginning to feel heavy. Your eyelids are beginning to feel heavy. Relax. Give way to the drowsiness. Close your eyes. Let yourself drift away. Keep listening to me. I'm with you. Your eyes have closed now, but you're still counting. Slowly. Very slowly. Let yourself go. Let yourself go completely.'

Her voice was all he could hear. He realized, though it felt more as if he was remembering, that her voice was actually one of the things that had most attracted him to her, especially when, as now, she was almost whispering. There was a sibilance to it, a susurration, like a gentle breeze in long grass. It reminded him, though this too he had not consciously thought of before, of another voice from deep in his past. It had belonged to a guide in one of the rooms at Buckland Abbey, Sir Francis Drake's old home near Plymouth. Nick had gone there with his father during one of his summer vacations from Cambridge and been entranced, almost literally, by the woman's particular tone and timbre. He had stood listening to her telling visitors much the same thing about the history of the house several times over. He recalled wishing that he could go on listening to her for ever.

Something else had happened that day. There had been a painting on display - an idealized Victorian depiction of Drake's burial at sea off the Panamanian coast in 1596. Something about the name of the Spanish settlement the ship had been lying off, mentioned on the caption, had struck Nick as eerily reminiscent of a phrase firmly lodged in his mind at the time. Nombre de Dios. That was it. That was the place. And the phrase it echoed? His Spanish had been quite good back then. Nombre de Dios. The Name of God. It resembled the Spanish rendering of another English phrase. He had said it under his breath, his father standing beside him. If he let his 350