The Greenstone Grail (15 page)

She hesitated, then took the plunge. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m going to prove the original sale was illegal.’

‘How will you do that?’

‘There’s an injunction still in existence dating back to the fifteenth century, specifically forbidding any sale or other disposal of the cup.’ She didn’t mention that she had yet to lay her hands on it.

Epstein’s frown-lines tightened. ‘It’ll never stand up in court.’

‘Sorry, Julian,’ she said, ‘but it will. Don’t want to spoil your fun, but there it is. The Grimthorn Grail’s mine – mine and my family’s – and I’m taking it back.’

The session ended on an unsatisfactory note. Leaving Epstein, presumably to summon lawyers of his own, they went to lunch. But Annie could barely eat, and sat only half listening as Rowena discussed the cup with unconcealed excitement. ‘It’s the genuine article,’ she said. ‘No question. I knew it the moment I touched it. Fascinating that business about dates. If it is the
actual
Grail – the real McCoy, Arthur and all – it might have the power to resist scientific analysis. I know: a month ago I’d have said this was baloney, but you heard Julian. No accurate date; they don’t even know what it’s made of. That’s a twenty-four-carat mystery, and in this day and age such mysteries are rare.’

‘It’s certainly interesting,’ Bartlemy conceded. ‘There is, as they say, a case to answer.’

Rowena turned to Annie. ‘It was the cup that affected you,
wasn’t it?’ she insisted. ‘You held it, and you fainted. It was the cup.’

‘Perhaps,’ Bartlemy said. ‘But why? Why Annie?’

‘Part of the mystery,’ Mrs Thorn declared with evident relish.

Annie, taking no part in the conversation, excused herself and went to the Ladies. In the mirror, she thought she looked very pale, almost ghostly. As if she had been ill. Maybe that’s it, she concluded. Maybe I’m ill. Some sort of summer ’flu, or migraine, or a brain tumour … She panicked at the idea, resolving to rush to her GP for a check-up; but in her heart she didn’t really believe it. Rowena was right: it was something to do with the cup …

Still staring in the mirror, she saw the door opening behind her. A woman glanced in – for an instant their eyes met – and then hastily withdrew. Annie spun round, tugged at the door, peered out; but the woman had gone. Nonetheless, Annie knew she couldn’t be mistaken. It was Rianna Sardou.

In the attic space above the Bagots’ house, Effie Carlow had cleared a table for her own use. She was heating something in a blackened saucepan on a small camping gas – a thick dark liquid that bubbled sluggishly. Every so often she would add a few drops from one of a collection of bottles, muttering under her breath as she did so. A pungent smell wafted through the room, overpowering in that confined space. Finding nowhere to waft to, it hung around, stinging Effie’s sinuses and making her eyes water. But she seemed indifferent to discomfort. The bracelet lay on the table beside her: a cheap ornament such as teenagers wear, with ragged strands of beads sprouting from an elasticated wristband. Caught among the beads there were still a couple of short curling hairs, light brown in colour. Carefully she detached one of
them and let it fall into the saucepan. The liquid bubbled on regardless and the smell worsened.

After a few minutes she removed the saucepan from the heat and poured the liquid into a basin to cool. Burnt residue adhering to the inside of the pan indicated that during a previous attempt she must have allowed the contents to boil dry. This time, she was more diligent, never leaving her experiment for a moment, waiting by the basin, fidgeting in her chair or blowing gently on the dark surface. As the liquid cooled, its consistency changed. It no longer looked thick, becoming instead smooth and shining like black glass. When she thought it was ready she mumbled something – a charm perhaps – bending over the bowl, gazing fixedly into the shallowness of its depths. Her skills were limited, she knew that, but this was the best mirror-magic she had achieved: her former efforts had been cloudy, showing images that were few and blurred. She had done better now; she was confident of that. And using the hair would ensure that the spell focused on Annie – Annie whom Hazel had found crying for no cause, who was hiding the truth about Nathan, whatever that truth might be. Hazel had not wanted to confide in her great-grandmother or give her the bracelet, but Effie had learned long ago how to assert control over an unformed mind. Besides, she had told her: ‘You are a Carlow, not a Bagot. The power is in your blood. One day, I will teach you how to use it.’

And now … now she stared into the basin and saw shapes developing, not clear and bright as in Bartlemy’s spellfire but through a glass darkly, through the looking-glass into someone else’s life. Annie … Annie walking down a lane between dim hedgerows, on the way to Riverside House …

It was the day after her trip to London, and she had resolved to ask some of the awkward questions, even if she couldn’t
get any answers. Michael was in. He greeted her with the twist of his smile and offered coffee. ‘I’d make it lunch,’ he said, ‘but for two things. Firstly, I have to get to town for a three o’clock meeting with my agent, and secondly, there’s nothing in the fridge. That’s the problem with living alone a lot: it’s easy not to bother with proper meals. I live off snacks. If I buy real food it never gets cooked; it just sits around growing green fur. Very unhealthy.’

‘For you, or the food?’ Annie quipped. She found herself wishing she didn’t like Michael quite so much. It made things harder.

‘How was your day in the big city?’ he inquired. ‘I should take you up with me some time, shouldn’t I? Or wouldn’t you come?’

Annie ignored that. ‘Actually, I wasn’t awfully well,’ she said, and went on to describe the incident at Sotheby’s, while Michael filled a cafetière and interpolated questions.

‘You should go to your doctor,’ he concluded, looking concerned.

‘There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m sure of it. I think Rowena was right: it was something to do with the cup. They can’t date it; they don’t even know what it’s made of. Maybe there was some kind of emanation from it –’

‘A magical aura?’ Michael’s tone was sardonic.

‘Maybe,’ Annie said, undeterred. ‘There are so many strange things in the world – and beyond it. As I’ve grown older, I’ve learned … you need a very broad mind to take it all in. Magic is the word we use for things we don’t understand. Radiation was a magical aura until someone figured it out.’

‘Fair enough. Are you suggesting the cup of the Grimthorns exudes a new form of radiation? And if so, why didn’t it affect anybody else?’

‘If I knew,’ Annie said, ‘I wouldn’t need to speculate. But that wasn’t why I wanted to talk to you.’

‘I hoped you came for the pleasure of my company,’ Michael said, passing her a cup of coffee.

There was a teasing note in his voice; if she had been a little younger she would have blushed. She was glad to find herself too old for that weakness. ‘Not entirely,’ she said, maintaining her poise. ‘I wanted to ask you … I saw Rianna in London.’

‘That’s impossible,’ Michael responded promptly. ‘She’s on tour in Georgia – Georgia in Russia, not the US state. Forging cultural bonds across the globe: Rianna’s into all that. As the play’s in English I’m not sure who’s going to understand it, but never mind. I thought I told you.’

‘You did,’ Annie said. ‘That’s why I was so surprised.’

He was looking perplexed. ‘Where did you –’

‘We were at lunch at Le Caprice. I went to the loo, and while I was looking in the mirror I saw her come in behind me. When she saw me she backed off. I tried to follow her but by the time I opened the door again she’d gone. She wasn’t in the restaurant, either.’

‘You only saw her reflection for a second or two,’ Michael said. ‘You could have been mistaken.’

‘No,’ Annie said. ‘She doesn’t look like her screen image, but she’s distinctive. I saw her; she saw me. That’s why she went.’

‘There’s no reason for her to run away from you,’ Michael pointed out.

‘There is if she’s supposed to be in Georgia,’ Annie retorted. ‘Besides, she’s been – odd – with me before. I didn’t tell you, but she came into the shop once, and asked me a lot of strange questions.’

Michael’s face tensed very slightly. ‘About me?’

‘No. About Nathan.’

‘
Nat
?’ Michael looked honestly bewildered. ‘Why should Rianna be interested in him?’

‘That was one of the things I came to ask you.’

Michael had begun to pace about the kitchen; Annie thought she detected something else behind his confusion. ‘You must have got it wrong,’ he insisted. ‘Rianna’s in Georgia proving her credentials as a citizen of the world. I’ve had three phone calls from her. She’s been complaining about the director – she always does – saying one of her fellow actors is grossly underrated, better than Branagh – she always does – asking me to keep her posted on the mess in the Middle East since she can’t get enough news out there …’

‘Have you – have you been able to phone her?’ Annie asked tentatively.

‘Of course not. She’s moving around too much. She –’ He stopped.

‘I’m sorry,’ Annie whispered. ‘I know it doesn’t make sense. But it was her I saw. And that time in the shop, she appeared – oh, intrigued by Nathan. She wanted to know about his father.’

‘His
father
? God, I keep echoing you like a bloody parrot. I don’t get any of this. Rianna and I …’ He paused, took a deep breath, started again. ‘I daresay you’ve guessed. We have a fairly –
disconnected
marriage. We go our separate ways most of the time. When we’re together, we get along. Good friends, or so I thought. It was passionate once, but not – not for a while now. Not for a long while. She never wanted a divorce – I give her someone to come home to – and I … well, I suppose I just let things chug along. Laziness, you’ll tell me. Just like a man.’ Annie smiled. ‘I never had a reason to make a change.’

‘I understand.’

‘Sorry to bore you with all this. It seemed to be …
necessary. The thing is, Rianna’s got no reason to lie to me about where she is or what she’s doing. It’s not as if I’m one of those paranoid husbands always checking up on their wives; I never do. If she was in London, she’d tell me. As for Nathan – I mentioned him to her, of course I did. Come to think of it, she
did
seem rather curious about him, I remarked on it at the time, but I didn’t think anything of it. Why should IP’

‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ Annie said.

Michael was silent for a minute, his gaze focused on nothing very much. ‘She rang me the night before last,’ he resumed eventually. ‘She wanted the local gossip. She never used to be interested in that kind of stuff – just the big issues – but since we came here … I told her about the Grimthorn Grail. I even told her you were going up to town.’

‘She could have followed us,’ Annie said, ‘from Sotheby’s. And then she came into the loo at the restaurant, not realizing I was in there, and rushed off when I recognized her.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Michael said, giving himself a mental shake. ‘If Rianna had some sinister connection with you in the past, you’d know about it. Unless … supposing she knew your husband, before you met him? That might explain her interest in Nat’s parentage.’

‘Just for the record,’ Annie said, ‘the man in my life wasn’t my husband, and he wasn’t Nathan’s father, though Nathan doesn’t know that. I can’t think of any way Daniel could have met someone like Rianna. As for Nathan’s real father –’ it was her turn to pause and take a breath ‘– you will just have to take my word for it that it’s out of the question that Rianna could ever have known him.’ And she repeated, not meeting his eyes: Out of the question.’

There was a further silence. Annie wanted to speak, she wanted to look at him, but somehow she couldn’t. ‘I don’t
want to force your confidence,’ he said at last, ‘but I wish you would trust me. It seems to me you’re carrying a very heavy burden – alone.’

At that, she looked up. ‘I have Barty.’

There was a crease between his brows. ‘Is he related to you? I’ve always assumed –’

‘No. Just a friend.’

‘I’m sure he’s very kind, but a man who’s lived all his life in the village, who’s never been anywhere, or done anything …’

‘He’s been somewhere,’ Annie said with inexplicable conviction. Despite what she knew of his history, she felt suddenly that he must have travelled widely, once upon a time, to know so much, to be who he was.

Michael looked both unconvinced and undecided, but a glance at the clock threw him off his stride. ‘Damn,’ he said with restraint. ‘I must go now. Damn and blast and bugger. We’ll talk tomorrow – or the weekend. Don’t worry. Whatever there is to sort out, we’ll sort it. It’s my business now. If Rianna’s mixed up in something, I need to know what it is. I must run – I’m going to miss my train.’ He deposited his mug in the sink, snatched up his jacket and case, and hurried out with Annie in his wake. ‘I could drop you off on my way to Crowford …’

‘No need. It’s a lovely day. I’d rather walk.’

‘Till tomorrow then …’

He went in such a rush she realized he had left the kitchen door on the latch. Annie knew she should go back to the shop – she had closed up for a couple of hours – but she lingered, conscious of temptation. If Rianna Sardou was spying on her, she reasoned, then she had a right to spy on Rianna – hadn’t she? Anyway, it couldn’t hurt just to have a look round. She didn’t really expect to see anything she hadn’t
seen before – unless Rianna’s tower was unlocked. With a quick glance round, she went back into the house.