Kingdom of Shadows (32 page)

‘You said before that you thought I might be creating thought forms,’ Clare said wearily.

‘I still prefer to believe that.’ He was watching her face, noting the pale, drawn expression, the dark rings beneath her eyes. He could see the strain.

‘But aren’t they things that no one else can ever see?’ Her voice was shaking.

Zak frowned, uneasily. ‘I’m not saying it’s not possible for other people to see them – or at least to think they see them,’ he said cautiously. ‘People can and do create tangible thought forms by the sheer power of their imagination. But I have always believed that when people claim that they have seen independent entities, the forms they have seen actually come as a result of telepathy rather than some true physical manifestation –’ he hesitated. ‘But I have read about it happening. I have read about people creating creatures of such power that they can exist on their own.’

‘And would those creatures be able to return on their own without invitation?’ Clare asked softly. She sat down abruptly on a plaited rush chair, placed to look out of the window.

‘Without invitation?’ Zak echoed. He ran his tongue across dry lips. ‘God, I wish I hadn’t gotten you into this. Why didn’t you stop when I told you before?’

‘Because I couldn’t stop, Zak. I didn’t want to then, and now …’ Her voice trailed away to a whisper. ‘Yesterday, Zak, it happened to me without my summoning them and it is the second time it has happened. I was reading the papers. I didn’t want it to happen. I tried to fight it. I tried to push it away. But I could see the figures in the room around me – shadows – talking, moving, all round me, only I couldn’t hear them or see them properly. Then they grew stronger. I couldn’t stop it happening, Zak. It was as if I had to watch. I was being forced to see what happened. I couldn’t fight it.’ A tear ran down her cheek and she rubbed it away angrily. ‘I don’t know what to do.’ She rose and stood by the window with her back to him, groping desperately for a tissue in the pocket of her skirt. ‘My brother-in-law, who is a rector in the Church of England, thinks they’re spirits. He thinks I’ve raised the spirits of the dead.’ She did not turn, but he could hear the fear in her voice.

Zak swallowed nervously. He was out of his depth. ‘Yes,’ he said at last, ‘that is possible.’ He ran his fingers through his hair.

‘I feel tied to Isobel. She’s part of me; an ancestress of mine; I’m intrigued, fascinated by her.’ Clare put her hands on the glass of the window, staring abstractedly out at two people, drifting by in a punt. They were muffled to the eyebrows against the cold wind. ‘She’s haunting me, Zak.’

Zak was watching her closely as she stared out of the window at the water. The rushing clouds and bright windswept morning left it glittering dazzlingly in the sudden autumn sun. He could see the reflections playing on her face.

He sighed. How could an intelligent, vivacious, and, looking at her objectively, a very attractive woman have allowed herself to get into such a state? He shivered. He did not want to believe in the thought forms. He did not want to believe in the spirits. He did not want to believe that he had set her on this path. He pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging his shoulders uneasily as he watched her.

She turned suddenly. ‘I had that dream again last night. The bars; the terrible feeling of being trapped; the awful despair. It threw me. I had to talk to someone. Oh God, Zak, I can’t stand much more of this. It’s getting so that I’m afraid to go to sleep. I am afraid to be alone. I’m afraid of my own shadow! What am I going to do?’

‘What does your husband think about all this, Clare?’ he asked quietly.

‘He thinks I’m going mad,’ she whispered. ‘He doesn’t understand. He won’t even try. I’m not sure he even loves me any more.’

‘Ah.’ He paused for a moment, then tentatively he looked up. ‘Have you ever thought of leaving him?’ He was clutching suddenly at the obvious; the Freudian explanation for her dreams.

She frowned. Had she ever thought of it? Not in so many words perhaps, but in the last day or two, hadn’t that been the way her mind was working; hadn’t that been exactly what she was planning yesterday morning, in bed, when Isobel had driven all other thoughts out of her head?

‘If you’re feeling trapped, Clare, and your life is unhappy and lonely,’ he went on, ‘surely the thing to do is to change it. Radically.’

‘I don’t know that I do want to leave him. Perhaps I still love him –’

‘Do you? Are you sure?’ He was studying her closely.

Clare frowned. She looked away from him abruptly.

‘If you loved him, Clare, you would go to him, trust him, let him help you,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘You’re not certain, are you? Are you sure he isn’t just a habit? Someone you’ve got used to having around. It is awfully hard to kick a habit, Clare. It takes a lot of courage, but once you have, the feeling of freedom can give you the biggest high you’ve ever had.’

‘Paul isn’t a habit. He isn’t a drug, Zak. He’s my husband!’

‘It doesn’t sound like it to me. Of course I’m not much of an expert on husbands.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘But he sounds to me like something or someone you’ve grown dependent on.’ He stood up abruptly and caught her hands. ‘Clare, you need to rethink your whole life. All your problems. The dreams, the meditations, the visions, the emptiness, they are all part of some dead-end alley you have wandered up; part of the dream of marriage and babies and husbands which you’ve been living in too long. I know I sound cruel. But you must see it. Those dreams tell it all. You are trapped. You want to break free. You have to break free.’

‘But …’ She stopped. When he put it baldly, like that, she was afraid. It was too abrupt, too great a break. Perhaps she still loved him, but couldn’t live with him? She shook her head. ‘I do still love Paul,’ she repeated stubbornly.

‘Do you? Do you really?’ Zak looked at her searchingly. Abruptly he released her hands. ‘OK. You love him. Then stay with him. Go to London. Go to Zurich or wherever it is he is. Stick with him. Follow him. Don’t be alone. But don’t bury your personality in his. Be yourself. Be strong.’

‘And that will stop the dreams? Stop the visions?’ She looked at him doubtfully.

‘It will if you really want to stop them.’ He wished he felt more certain that what he was saying was true. ‘You have to find the strength to fight them, Clare. No more meditation. That path is not for you. You have to find the answers through activity, not passivity. Through action. You must close the door on the past and bolt it. Look to the future. You must build your own life. I can tell you things you can do to protect yourself, teach you banishing prayers and tell you where to buy protective oils to anoint yourself, show you how to make a magic circle to keep you safe from Isobel, whatever or whoever she is, but before everything else, you must get rid of that castle. If someone wants to buy it, sell. Then create something real with the money.’

‘Sell?’ she echoed.

‘You have to. If you cling to that, you cling to the past, and to the dreams, don’t you see?’

‘So I should let Sigma have it?’ She was almost talking to herself. She turned away from him, back to the river. ‘No, Zak. I can’t do that. Never. The past is part of me.’

He scowled. God in heaven, couldn’t she see the danger? Wasn’t that why she had come to him? He slammed his fist down on the desk. ‘You have to fight it, Clare, don’t you see that? Unless you fight it, it will take you over. You have to sell that damn castle.’

But she was still shaking her head. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘I won’t do that.’

The meeting with John Carstairs of Carstairs Boothroyd had lasted under one hour soon after Paul returned from Zurich. The young man was so excited that he was barely able to sit still in Paul’s office. Paul, behind his desk, watched him speculatively. At the far side of the room Henry was impassive. The takeover, if it happened, would make Carstairs’s fortune and he had asked BCWP to advise his company.

Paul shifted sideways behind his desk. ‘We’ll schedule a meeting with the full board,’ he said at last. ‘But I don’t see any problems.’ And Henry had nodded in agreement.

In the quiet office of the old Cameron Beattie building that afternoon Paul glanced at his watch and frowned. It was just after three. Slowly he reached for his direct line phone and began to dial.

Stephen Caroway, at Magnet Charles Plimsoll, was an old friend. He asked no questions as he wrote down the order for Carstairs Boothroyd shares which Paul gave him and automatically noted the time. ‘You want these New Time, for payment at the end of the next account, old boy, and to be sold as and when, right?’

‘They’ll triple before settlement date.’ Paul’s mouth had gone dry.

Caroway smiled. ‘I don’t doubt it. The profit to the usual account?’

‘If you please. And lunch on me, next week, OK?’

‘Screw lunch! I’ll take a case of Bollinger when the time comes.’ Caroway hung up. He looked down at the note. When he phoned the order through he had added £10,000 to it for himself.

In his office Paul had put down the phone and wiped his hands on his handkerchief. Then he walked over to the cabinet and reached for the bottle of Scotch. It was Thursday 23 October. If the gamble came off, he stood to make a fortune.

Rex was poring over the papers, his eyes racing down the lines of print.

‘Shit!’ He stood up abruptly. Then he pressed the intercom switch on his desk. ‘Is Doug there yet, Leonie?’

‘He’s just come in, Rex.’ His secretary’s voice sounded a little breathless.

‘Then send him in.’ Doug was no doubt touching her up in the outer office whilst he should be working. Rex waited an impatient ten seconds until the door swung open. ‘Well?’

Doug, a tall, fair Texan in his late forties, grinned. ‘You win some, you lose some. This one, I think, you win. I had a word in the right ear at the Department, Rex. There aren’t any other applications in that sector as yet. Could be you’ll be unopposed. Unless they say no in Houston.’

Rex slammed his fist on the table. ‘You leave Houston to me. We’re going to walk into this well, Doug, and it’s a good one. I can feel it, in my bones. Royland is going to sell.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘And I’m going to shift the European headquarters up there.’

Doug gaped at him. ‘To Duncairn? What in God’s name for?’

‘Prestige, Doug. That’s what for. The hotel can come down. We’ll build an admin block there. Air strip – everything. And rebuild the castle. Sigma is going places, Doug!’

‘Do they know all about this in Houston?’ Doug stood, hands in pockets, staring at the other man.

‘Some.’ Rex was guarded. ‘As much as they need to know.’ He smiled. ‘It’s the right place, Doug. It has all the ingredients. A rich oil strike on company-owned land with space to develop, space for a rail head, new roads, collecting tanks, plant, a refinery, everything!’

‘You haven’t begun test drilling, yet. We haven’t even got the XL –’

‘We’ll get it. No problem. I’ve had a word with the man at the D.o.E. too. There is no opposition to the idea in principle and if there are no other applications we’ll walk it at the next round. Then all we have to do is convince the local planners.’

‘And we’ll own the land by then.’

Rex nodded. ‘I’ve got Mitchison working on the contracts already. I’ve told him we’re running to a deadline. Royland has until next Wednesday, and he’s running scared. He’ll sell.’

‘Or what?’ Doug stretched out in a leather easy chair. He was watching Rex with amusement. He had never seen his usually phlegmatic boss so animated.

‘Or he’ll wish he had agreed before Wednesday.’ Rex gave an easy smile. ‘I didn’t like Royland. Too smooth. Too conceited. Too anxious. I like his sister,’ he paused thoughtfully. ‘I even like the sound of his wife. Now she’s a real fighter.’ He stood, his head slightly to one side. ‘I’d sure like to meet her one day – show her what I intend to do with that ruin.’

‘I reckon you’re keener on owning that castle than actually striking oil, my friend,’ Doug said, amused.

Rex threw back his head and laughed. ‘Just as long as you don’t say that to the boys in Houston. I get the feeling sometimes that they think I’m getting senile. I don’t want them to know too much about this deal till we’ve signed all the contracts.’

Doug’s face remained impassive. ‘No reason why they should find out.’ He hauled himself to his feet. ‘How much are you paying for the land?’

Rex looked down at the desk. ‘The final figure isn’t agreed yet. Royland is going to take less than I offered. He’s afraid I’m going to back out.’ He smiled again. ‘He thinks he can push me up, but he’s wrong. I know one or two things about Mr Paul Royland and he is going to pay me to keep quiet about them!’

Paul arrived back at Bucksters on Friday night. Clare was in the drawing room, sitting on the rug in front of the fire, listening to some music. Casta lay beside her, deeply asleep. The dog looked up and wagged her tail. She did not run to greet him.

For a moment Paul stood looking down at them, his face expressionless. The market had dropped fifty points at close of dealing. It would go up, of course, and the Carstairs Boothroyd shares would soar next week, but still, the knowledge that he was £10,000 down so soon had made him very twitchy. He smiled at his wife. ‘How are you, darling?’

Clare jumped to her feet. ‘Oh Paul, I have missed you.’ She put her arms around his neck and almost shyly she kissed him on the cheek. Talking to Zak about leaving Paul, facing the real possibility, she had backed away from the thought. ‘I’m glad you’re home.’

He gave a tight half smile. ‘I’ve brought you a present from Switzerland.’ He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an envelope. ‘A peace offering. I’ve been less than understanding lately, Clare. I’m sorry.’ He handed it to her awkwardly.

Clare stared up at him, weak with relief. She had been dreading the possibility that the Paul who returned would be the new, hard, frightening man whom she had come to dread. But it was the old generous Paul.

He was standing watching her, waiting for her to open the package. Slowly she pulled the flap up and extricated a fold of tissue. Inside it was a wafer-thin gold watch.