Kingdom of Shadows (50 page)

‘Locking up?’ Geoffrey looked up, shocked.

Paul nodded slowly. ‘Some kind of private nursing home, perhaps. Somewhere where they will take care of her.’

‘Have you spoken to your own doctor about this, Paul?’ Geoffrey was frowning.

Paul nodded. ‘He said she needs to get away; to have a complete break, but she won’t go. Not voluntarily. She is too obsessed with this Isobel. Geoffrey –’ He stood up suddenly. ‘This is just between us, isn’t it? This story must not get out. Imagine the field day the press would have if they got hold of it. This has to be kept quiet. You must see that. The Royland name – David’s career. Mine – yours! Can you imagine the headlines? “Sister-in-law of MP and South London Rector in Black Magic Scandal!”’ He shuddered.

‘No. You’re right. I do see that.’ Geoffrey agreed cautiously.

‘People are beginning to talk, Geoff.’ Paul leaned across the desk towards his brother. ‘She’s got to be put away somewhere where she can be no danger to herself or to anyone else.’

‘Paul.’ Geoffrey stood up slowly. He put his hand heavily on Paul’s shoulder. ‘This doesn’t have anything at all to do with your desire to control Clare’s affairs, does it? I’m not suggesting you’re making any of this up. I have seen and spoken to her myself so I do know her state of mind, but this desire to get her out of the way –’

‘– is for her own safety.’ Paul walked away from him and stood with his back to the empty grate. Geoffrey was not reacting in quite the way he had intended. He controlled his anger with an effort. ‘She has got a knife. A jewelled dagger. God knows where she got it from. I took it away from her, but she went berserk. She was insanely angry, so I gave it back to her. Now she has it hidden. She could hurt herself, even kill herself, Geoff.’ He wasn’t sure where the idea for the dagger had come from. It seemed inspired. And it worked. Geoffrey was blatantly appalled.

‘Dear God! Where is she now?’ He glanced away from his brother at a movement beyond the net curtains and frowned. The roof of Chloe’s car had appeared behind the hedge as she parked outside the house. Moments later she was by the gate. She stood for a moment talking to someone he couldn’t see in the street, then with a smile and a wave she let herself into the garden.

‘Clare is at home in Campden Hill. At least she was when I left her,’ Paul was saying. He was plainly agitated.

‘And what frame of mind was she in when you left her?’

‘Bloody.’

They both heard the bang of the heavy front door as Chloe came in. Paul scowled. ‘This must not get out, Geoff. Too many people know already. Please don’t tell Chloe, or Emma. The fewer people upset by all this the better. I think it is something you and I should deal with alone.’

‘I agree.’ Geoffrey took up a stance with his back to the window, his hands clasped behind him. ‘Leave it with me, Paul. I will go over to see her now, this evening. I take it you haven’t left her alone? Mrs Collins is with her?’

Paul shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Geoff, she may say stupid things. She’s got it into her head that I’m trying to hurt her –’

Geoffrey nodded. ‘So you said. Don’t worry, I understand. Paranoia is a very common accompaniment of possession, or so I believe.’ He frowned. ‘I’ll just talk to her again and try to gain her confidence, then I’ll have a better idea of what to do. I do think I should speak to your doctor, though –’

‘No!’ Paul said violently. ‘Not our doctor. He has seen Clare. All he does is prescribe tranquillisers.’ That was months ago, but it was as good as the truth. ‘He can’t help her. She needs spiritual help, Geoff, not more drugs!’ He had to keep people away from Clare. There must be no medical or psychiatric interference; they might find out the truth about what he had done. Geoffrey was all he needed. Dear, gullible Geoffrey …

Behind them the door opened and Chloe put her head into the room. ‘Paul! I thought I recognised the Range Rover. How are you? Is Clare here?’ She looked from one man to the other with sudden curiosity. ‘You both look very solemn.’

‘Family business, my dear.’ Geoffrey went over to her and kissed her on the cheek. ‘And over now. Will you stop for a drink with us, Paul, before you go?’

Paul shook his head. ‘I’ve got to go back to the City. I’ve still got a lot of work to do this evening. I’ve wasted most of today just walking around trying to think things out.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll leave it with you, then, Geoff.’ He gave his sister-in-law a perfunctory kiss and walked past her out to the car.

Chloe stared after him. ‘I bet I can guess why he was here. Money or Clare. Which?’

‘None of your business, my dear.’ Geoffrey gave her arm a playful pinch.

‘Which means it was Clare. You wouldn’t be coy if he’d come about the money. So what has the poor girl done now? Told him to get lost, I hope. Your brother is the most devious man I’ve ever met.’

Geoffrey looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You get on reasonably well with Clare, don’t you?’

Chloe laughed. ‘I think so. She thinks I’m a stuffy old bore, but I do like her. She’s refreshing. Different.’ She laughed. ‘She’s got Paul fooled.’

‘In what way?’ Geoffrey walked slowly back to his desk and picked his pipe up out of the ashtray.

‘The same way she fooled you.’ Chloe looked at him affectionately. ‘Into thinking she’s a witch or whatever. She’s having you both on, you know.’

‘You think so?’

‘I know it.’ Chloe looked suddenly solemn. ‘Is that what he was here about?’

‘Among other things.’

‘Geoffrey, my poor silly darling. Clare is an intelligent, gifted, sensitive woman. She is also rich and bored out of her mind and married to a man whose only obsession is money. Can you blame her for thinking up the odd way to put the cat amongst the pigeons and make life more exciting?’

‘No.’ Geoffrey reached for his tobacco pouch. He frowned. ‘But the question is, how far has she gone in her quest for excitement?’

Clare had lain still without moving for a long time after she woke that morning. She could feel Paul stirring at her side. Desperately she closed her eyes, trying to keep her breathing even so he wouldn’t guess she was awake. She could sense that he was lying staring up at the dark ceiling, just as she had been doing for the last hour since she had come suddenly and completely out of her dream. One moment she had been there, with Robert and Isobel, as the dawn light filtered into the shadowy room at Kildrummy and the next she was lying wide awake in London on a sheet damp with perspiration, her heart pounding, her stomach churning. As the shock of the awakening subsided she had found that her body was still aroused; alive, tingling with anticipation. Unconsciously her hands had strayed to her own breasts as she lay there, staring up into the darkness.

Beside her Paul had sat up at last. For a moment he didn’t move and she tensed, pressing her face into the pillow, holding her breath. She felt his weight shift, then he climbed out of the bed. A moment later the bathroom light went on. She hunched over, her back to the door, clutching her pillow miserably as the past receded completely and the memory of all that had happened the night before came flooding back and with it the realisation that her marriage was over. After what Paul had done to her last night she never wanted to see or speak to him again.

She tensed as he came back into the bedroom, clenching her eyelids tighter, but he did not approach the bed. She could hear the faint sounds as he pulled on his clothes, then the noise of the bedroom door opening and closing and then silence.

She did not move for a long time. Only when she heard the front door bang downstairs did she at last climb slowly out of bed. Going to the window she lifted the corner of the curtain and peered out into the darkness of the early morning. She could see Paul walking slowly down the hill beneath the street lights, his broad shoulders hunched against the rain. He was carrying his briefcase.

It took her five minutes to shower and dress. Throwing her case on the bed she glanced round the room. Her party clothes, her silk dresses, she would not need. All she wanted were sweaters and trousers, a skirt, her boots. The rest of her clothes were at Bucksters – she would collect them some other time. She threw in her make-up and a couple of fine wool dresses and that was all. Her sapphires and the slim gold watch she left where she had dropped them the night before, on the shelf above the towel rail in the bathroom.

Leaving the case in the hall she ran down to the kitchen. Casta was lying under the kitchen table, nose on paws. She got up and stretched, her tail wagging as Clare appeared.

Clare knelt down and hugged her. ‘Breakfast, darling, then we’re going to Scotland.’ The dog licked her face.

Clare was shaking from lack of sleep. She heated the coffee and cut herself a piece of bread, glancing at the kitchen clock. She had told Sarah not to come back until the evening, but one could never tell with the woman. If she had what she called ‘words’ with her sister, then she might arrive back any second.

She spread honey on the bread with trembling hands and forced herself to sit down on the bar stool to eat it. She had a seven-hour drive ahead of her and she had to gather every bit of strength before she set out.

She had nearly finished her breakfast when Casta sat up and pricked her ears. Clare froze, her bread halfway to her mouth. There was a noise upstairs in the hall. As the dog flung herself barking towards the door Clare stood up and tiptoed towards it, holding her breath. Was it Sarah or had Paul come back? She opened the door and saw the golden body of the dog streak up the steep staircase ahead of her.

Cautiously she peered into the hall. There on the pale oatmeal carpet next to her suitcase lay Paul’s copy of the
Financial Times
. The paper boy had been.

Almost weeping with relief Clare sat down on the top step, her head in her hands. Seconds later Casta, tail wagging, dumped the newspaper unceremoniously into her lap.

They left ten minutes later. Clare loaded her case into the boot of the XJS before opening the door so that Casta could jump into the back of the car and lie down obediently on her rug on the narrow back seat. Folding her mink coat on to the passenger seat beside her Clare stared down at it. It was another of Paul’s presents. Wouldn’t it be better to leave that behind as well? But Paul had bought her everything she owned: her clothes, her jewellery, even the suitcase in which she had packed her clothes. The matched set of Gucci luggage had been a present two Christmases before. She shrugged. She was loath to part with the coat; she adored its soft silkiness, so it would be stupid to throw it back at Paul as part of a principle. No, she would keep it. That and the car. She threw in her handbag after it, the handbag he had brought her back from Florence, then she glanced back up at the house. The front-door keys were still in her hand. Walking back up the short front path in the rain she stood for a moment staring at the front door, the collar of her Burberry pulled up around her ears. They had bought the house the year they were married. It had been her dream home, the little London house with its patio garden and its cream-painted woodwork and soft honey-coloured brick. She shivered. Thrusting the keys through the letterbox she turned away and, latching the little front gate behind her, she climbed into the car and resolutely turned on the engine. She had left no note. Paul would soon guess where she had gone. She could only pray that he wouldn’t bother to come after her.

It was late when Sarah slipped her key into the front door and opened it. The house was silent. She switched on the light and stared down at the doormat in surprise. A set of keys lay there. Picking them up she put them on the hall table. ‘Mrs Royland?’ she called. There was no answer. The house was empty.

She took off her coat and hung it up before going down to the kitchen. An empty coffee cup and a plate stood in the sink, otherwise the kitchen was immaculate. Slowly she climbed the stairs again, tapping on every door before she put her head around it – bedroom, dressing room, bathroom – all empty.

She went on up to her own room with its small dormer window and, closing the curtain, she turned on the light. A series of explosions echoed outside the window and she shivered. She didn’t like fireworks night; never had. Somewhere up the road they were having a party. She could hear the shrieks of the children and the sudden whine of rockets. The spicy smell of bonfires and dead leaves reached her even in her attic bedroom.

Taking off her dress she put it meticulously on a hanger. She showered and cleaned her teeth and put on her Marks and Spencer nightdress, her woollen dressing gown and her slippers, then she set out to go back down the three flights of stairs to the kitchen to make herself a hot drink.

Outside the master bedroom she paused. Where was she? She hadn’t said she would be going out this evening and she had left no note. Wherever she had gone she had taken the dog. Switching on the light Sarah walked into the room and drew the curtains with a sharp rattle. The bed was unmade. Clare’s dressing table was bare, her make-up and brushes had gone. In the bathroom there was no sign of her toothbrush. Sarah stared at the shelf where the sapphire necklace and earrings lay in a sparkling heap. Beside them lay the gold watch. She frowned. Going back into the bedroom she opened the doors of the fitted cupboard. Most of the dresses were still there, but the skirts and trousers, and the mink and the Burberry, were gone.

Sarah sat down on the bed, drawing her legs up under her dressing gown and reached for the phone. The night line went straight through to Paul’s office.

‘I’m so glad you’re still there, Mr Royland. I thought I’d better speak to you. I was slightly worried. I thought I had better check with you where she was.’

‘I don’t know where she is, Sarah.’ Paul sounded irritated. ‘Perhaps she’s with a friend, or with my sister. I shouldn’t worry. Go to bed. She’ll turn up in the morning.’

‘I don’t think so, Mr Royland.’ Sarah glanced round the room. Outside she could hear the whine of another rocket. It exploded with a bang and a shower of coloured stars fell over Campden Hill Square. ‘I think she’s gone for good.’