Kingdom of Shadows (85 page)

‘So, you think Isobel is a ghost who haunts Clare? Or her family?’ Neil frowned. Nightmares – he had seen one of those himself – claustrophobia? Poor Clare. She hadn’t even hinted at the horrors that surrounded her.

Slowly Zak nodded. ‘When a person is haunted like this it is called possession,’ he said slowly.

Neil raised an eyebrow. ‘So, perhaps the good Royland rector could help her?’

Zak shook his head. ‘I doubt it. It is Isobel who needs help, not Clare, and I doubt if he is the man to do it.’

‘Do we need a Catholic priest then?’ Neil ignored the waitress who placed two large square rush mats on the table and proceeded to lay their places. She threw a menu down between them and flounced off. Neither man had even glanced at her.

‘Maybe.’ It was Zak’s turn to shrug.

Neil sat back in his chair and studied his face for a moment. ‘May I ask what your own qualifications were to get involved in all this in the first place?’

Zak gave a rueful smile. ‘I’m doing a doctorate in psychology. You could say all this is within the scope of my studies – all forms of extra-sensory perception have been a lifelong interest of mine.’

‘So you are a psychologist?’

Zak nodded.

‘But not a parapsychologist. Aren’t there people here at the university who can help with all this?’

‘Perhaps.’ Zak frowned. He had already thought of that, and rejected the idea. ‘But do you want to run the risk of what might happen if Clare’s story became public property?’

‘No.’ Neil frowned. ‘She couldn’t take any more publicity – not the kind which would follow if this story got out.’

‘So, it comes back to me.’ Zak sighed. ‘And I admit, I’m out of my depth with this. I’m into meditation, spiritual progression; the individual’s pathway forward – all that is part of my sphere, but Isobel …’ He rubbed both hands down his face wearily. ‘Perhaps we should contact the university. I just don’t know. Clare is so vulnerable. I will stay here as long as I can – as long as Clare needs me, but I don’t think I can help her any more.’

The waitress returned. Neil ordered a Scotch and Zak a mineral water. Neil picked up the rush mat in front of him and balanced it carefully on edge. ‘Clare seems a very lonely woman,’ he said cautiously.

Zak nodded. ‘She is. She hates her husband’s world. She belongs here.’ He glanced towards the window. ‘I realise it now I’m here. History is everywhere up here and she is part of it. Maybe that is her karma.’

‘Is this Isobel threatening her in some way? Is Clare in danger?’

Zak stared into his glass of water. ‘I wish to God I knew. I don’t think so. At least, not physically.’ His voice died away.

‘Then how?’ Neil was growing impatient. ‘Damn it, man, you must know something about it! How do you know all this isn’t just her imagination?’

Zak closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I don’t, I suppose. I just feel it. Isobel is an external entity and she has a reason for contacting Clare, I’m sure of it. I don’t know what is going to happen to Clare – but whatever it is it will happen here, in Scotland.’

‘How do you know?’ Neil narrowed his eyes sceptically.

‘I just know.’ Zak raised his hands helplessly. ‘Quit pushing, Neil. If I knew what to do, I’d tell you! We’ve just got to be there when it happens.’

‘What about a doctor, or a psychiatrist?’

‘Her husband had her see a doctor. He was no use. She doesn’t want to see any more, and I don’t blame her.’

‘Is there any way I can help her, if you can’t? Anything I can do?’

Zak shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Get her to talk about it if you can. The more she talks about it the better – it’s all bottled up inside her. If she faces it, fights it, confronts it, that’s good.’

‘Does Clare recognise the danger?’

‘Sure she does. That is why she asked me to come.’ Why she had begged for help he didn’t know how to give.

There was a long silence, then Neil asked suddenly, ‘Are you in love with her?’ He drank down his whisky in one gulp.

Zak smiled humourlessly. ‘Hell, no. I’m gay, man, didn’t you realise? But I like her a lot, and as I said, I’ll stick around just as long as she wants me to.’

For the first time Neil’s face relaxed. ‘Do that,’ he said.

Paul stood staring up at the City skyline, sniffing the heady mixture of traffic The public meeting hfumes and excitement which characterised the ancient narrow streets. Sir Duncan’s message, relayed to the Edinburgh hotel by Penny, his secretary, had been terse, demanding that he come into the office as soon as he returned to London. Paul had caught the next flight down. He had no need to stay in Edinburgh; he had contacted a private enquiry firm up there. They would find Clare for him and then he would return.

He was glad to be back in London. His short exile had been painful. He missed the office, the pressure, the whole world of money which he lived for. He had given up his share in the family business, but his debts were paid and he was ahead. He shrugged heavily. He could recoup some of his losses fairly swiftly if he were careful. He had had a couple of tips which he was prepared to gamble on. As soon as he had spoken to Sir Duncan he would give Stephen Caroway a ring, and by now he should have had a response from Doug Warner at Sigma.

As he swung through the doors in Coleman Street he smiled broadly at Baines and took the stairs two at a time, smelling with pleasure the rich lavender furniture polish and the scent of the roses on the antique rent table on the landing beneath the portraits. The door of his office was ajar.

Penny was standing behind his desk. She glanced up as he swung into the room. ‘Paul! I was just leaving some messages for you.’

Paul threw down the newspaper he had been carrying. ‘Anything important?’

She shrugged. ‘The old man said he wanted to see you as soon as you came in. He seems anxious to speak to you. Are you feeling better?’

‘Much better. Thank you.’ Paul smiled at her.

She looked away. ‘Can I go to lunch, Paul? I’m meeting someone at 12.30 and I’m already late …’ There were rumours in the office already. She didn’t want to be there when he came back from his meeting with Sir Duncan.

‘Of course. Take an extra half hour or so if you like.’ He was feeling generous. As he picked up the sheet of notes from the desk he was already reading the top one. From Dan Mackenzie in Edinburgh. It contained an address and the words: ‘The lady in question has been staying at the above address for several days.’

He smiled and tucked the note into his wallet. It had taken the man less than twelve hours. The next memo detailed the summons from Sir Duncan, and Penny had underlined it three times. The old boy was obviously getting testy. He wondered why the urgency. The last message was from Diane Warboys. He stared at the piece of paper. Penny had, as always, meticulously noted the date and time of the phone call. 27 November. Time: 10.46. Message: ‘Tough shit!’

Paul stared at it.

Behind him Penny closed the door quietly as she left the room. He frowned at the paper, then he screwed it up and threw it into the bin, but his mood was spoiled. As he picked up the phone he felt a slight shiver of apprehension.

Sir Duncan was sitting by the window of his large, elegantly furnished office. His desk was empty of papers, the pens and pencils aligned with military precision on the maroon leather blotter. The empty office chair faced the desk squarely. Sir Duncan was sprawled on a hide sofa. His face was drawn and white.

‘Where have you been, Paul?’ he barked as his secretary showed Paul in. ‘I expected you at ten.’

Paul hesitated. The atmosphere in the office was icy. The woman had discreetly disappeared at once, going so swiftly it was obvious she knew something …

Paul glanced round. His collar felt suddenly tight but he resisted the urge to run his finger around inside it. The room smelled of tobacco.

Angry at his discomfort beneath the stony stare of his senior partner, Paul walked to the chair near him and sat down. ‘I’m sorry but the shuttle was delayed. I only just got back from Scotland. What is the urgency? Do we have a problem?’ He gave a forced smile.

‘
You
have a problem, Paul.’ Sir Duncan stood up slowly. His shoulders were stooped as he walked stiffly to his desk. ‘I’m sorry to have to inform you that I have been officially notified that your activities are to be investigated by the fraud squad. I’m sorry, Paul, the board has no alternative but to ask for your resignation.’

The public meeting had ended at just after ten and Clare, Jack and Neil had toasted its success in the small bar at the Duncairn Hotel. Then, as Jack built up the fire and covered it with turves, Clare made her way up to bed. She bathed and brushed her hair, relaxing in the warm glow of the electric fire. Outside the stars were brilliant, lighting the gardens and trees, picking out the dark silhouette of the castle against the sky.

She heard Neil’s door open and close as he went into his room across the passage. He had made no attempt to touch her, no suggestion that he wanted to make love to her again. They were no more than allies now in the fight to save Duncairn. She had denied her loneliness, fiercely ignoring her longing, concentrating all her energies on the Earth-watch campaign and on meeting again the people of Duncairn, mostly fishing families from the village at the foot of the cliff where the burn flowed out into the sea a couple of miles up the coast from the castle, many of whom had known Margaret Gordon personally, and some of whom she had known herself when she was a child.

She walked to the window and drew back the curtain staring out at the starlight. Behind her Casta whined softly.

‘Do you want to go out?’ Clare glanced down at the dog, half exasperated, half eager to get out into the clear crispness of the night herself. Her head was aching slightly after the heat of the bar and the cigarette smoke and the two neat malt whiskies which had finished the evening. On impulse she pulled open the wardrobe and took out her fur coat, pulling it over her silk nightdress. She pushed her feet into her boots and opened the door to her room. The hotel was in darkness. Fumbling, she found the light switch on the landing and flooded the hall and stairs with light and on tiptoe, she crept downstairs, followed by the delighted dog. Outside it was ice cold; a thick heavy dew soaked the ground. In sheltered corners the grass was crisp and white with ice; the air had a clarity which resonated in the silence. Thrusting her hands deep into the pockets of her coat Clare walked quickly over the grass towards the break in the trees. Beyond it she could hear the sea sighing against the cliff base. The castle was very dark. The high walls cut out the starlight and the blackness within them was total.

She could see Casta zigzagging across the grass, her nose low, her plumed tail wagging excitedly as she tracked a rabbit towards the cliff’s edge. The wind off the sea was cold; she drew back behind the wall of what was once the great hall, and leaned against the stone.

‘Can’t you sleep either?’ Neil’s voice was very soft. Casta lifted her head and near front paw for a moment, pointing on the silvered grass, her paw marks black holes in the dew, then, reassured, she went back on the trail of her rabbit.

Clare hadn’t seen him in the shadow of the wall. Even now, with her eyes straining in the blackness, she could barely make him out.

‘Casta wanted a walk.’ She spoke softly, not wanting to spoil the silent magic of the night. ‘And it’s so beautiful out here. I couldn’t bear to sleep and miss it.’

‘Poor Clare.’ His voice was very quiet, almost lost in the gentle sigh of the sea. ‘You’ve missed so much.’

She had stepped towards him without realising it, drawn by the quiet magnetism of his voice, barely able to see his face in the dark. His hands reached out for her, drawing her closer, and she felt his lips on hers with an explosion of relief. Her arms slid up around his neck as she felt his hands slip under her coat and beneath the thin silk which covered her breasts. Her gasp at the coldness of his touch was smothered by his lips.

Their lovemaking was swift and fierce, there in the sheltered angle between two ancient stone walls, Clare feeling a passion and a primitive lust she had never dreamed of. Neil was far from tender. He took her hungrily, almost angrily, possessing her violently as he thrust her against the stone, and she replied with equal violence, with nails and teeth and an animal scream of fulfilment as her body responded to his.

Beyond them in the long grass Casta ignored them, intent on her own excitements.

For a moment they remained still, their bodies bathed in sweat, then slowly Neil drew away from her. He pulled her coat around her. ‘Inside,’ he said curtly. ‘You’ll catch pneumonia otherwise.’

His hand on her arm, he propelled her back across the grass. She could feel the air frosty on her burning face, the chill of her body beneath the silk. She was exhausted. All she wanted was to crawl away and sleep, but when he opened her door it was to send Casta into the bedroom with a curt command before he pulled her across the passage into his own. The curtains were open and the room was lit by starlight. Without bothering to turn on the light he pulled off her coat and dropped it on the floor. Dragging back the bedclothes he pushed her on to his bed, covering her with sheets and blankets, then he climbed in beside her.

He ignored her feeble protests of exhaustion but this time he was more gentle, more considerate, and this time she knew she had fallen in love with him.

She awoke once, at about four in the morning, to see a brilliant half moon rising above the trees, flooding the bed with silver light, and she lay sleepily still, watching it. She was warm now and she could smell their lovemaking on her skin, but she was too tired and happy to move. Her body was sated and content. With a sleepy smile at the moon she fell asleep again.

She was awoken by the sound of Neil moving around the room. He was already dressed. ‘Come on. Wake up.’ He pulled the covers off her naked body. ‘Breakfast is ready and I can hear that dog of yours crying.’ He picked her coat off the floor and held it out to her as a dressing gown. As she slipped her arms into it he folded his hands across her breasts and pulled her against him, nuzzling her neck, but his voice when he spoke was fierce.