Kingdom of Shadows (80 page)

Zak walked slowly up the Grassmarket, staring around him. He had never been to Edinburgh before and the sheer rugged beauty of the place had taken his breath away. So few cities lived up to their postcard images, but this one did. The presence of that great brooding castle on its rock, hanging over the city; the sense of history echoing from every wall of every street. He glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand. Earthwatch. It sounded good.

He found the office in the end, right beneath the soaring walls of the castle. It was closed. He tried the door twice, then with a shrug he walked away. He’d have to find himself somewhere to stay, then try again in the morning.

He began to climb the steps up Castle Wynd towards the esplanade. The place was getting under his skin. Edinburgh. Scotland. Suddenly he was beginning to understand Clare better. The echoes were everywhere; for a sensitive person they would be overwhelming. And he had unlocked that sensitivity for her. Before he had come along she had had her dreams and her nightmares, and her phobias, but now, now the thin skin that separated past from present had somehow been breached and she was standing right in the way of the flood of memories which was pouring through the hole. That was why he had to come. Not because he could help her, but because he felt somehow to blame.

He had read about these things so often, talked about them with his friends back home in California, endlessly, in the blaze of the sun and the certainty of daylight, but here, in the mysterious twilight of a Scottish winter evening with the shadows of the past around him … He shivered.

Even in Cambridge it was different. There one talked. One talked forever until one squared the circle to one’s satisfaction, and then one talked again. But that was all theory, and his theories were clear. He had feelings; he had guides; he knew what should be. But this was more than that combination of theory, received lore, instinct and wishful thinking which formed the basis of his creed. This was reality. And he wasn’t sure how to cope with it.

He reached the top at last, his heart pounding after the steepness of the long double flight of steps, and turned to look back towards the south. He caught his breath. The smoky rooftops of Edinburgh were a deep pearl in the evening light. Beyond them in the distance rose a range of hills, soft and folded: secret, sinister, the slanting orange evening light from the cloud-covered westering sun throwing black shafts of shadow up the hidden glens. He stared for a long time, then he turned and walked across the esplanade to look north across the main body of the city. It was spangled with lights now, but there was still enough luminosity in the sky to see the great black slate sweep of the Forth, with beyond it more hills. In the far distance he could see what he took to be real mountains. They, in the last of the evening light, already carried streaks of snow. He sighed. Was Clare still there, somewhere lost in the deep heart of Scotland, or was she already here in Edinburgh, frightened and alone with her visions?

Neil had changed the sheets on the bed whilst Clare was brushing her teeth.

‘There you are. Pristine and unsullied.’ He had turned down one corner neatly.

Clare had put on the nightdress she had thrown into her bag with a few cosmetics and a change of underwear. She had combed out her hair and brushed her teeth. ‘Where are you going to sleep?’

‘That depends.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘I suspect it’s going to be next door.’

Her cheeks coloured slightly. ‘I’m very tired.’

‘Fair enough. Perhaps we’ve had enough lessons for one day anyway.’ He smiled at her. ‘See you in the morning.’

She waited for the door to close behind him, then she went over to the window, and drew back the curtains, standing staring out into the night. Silently she pulled up the bottom half of the window and leaned on the sill with her elbows, feeling the icy wind touch her hot skin. She could smell the bitter salt of the Forth and beyond it, carried on the wind, the chill of ice from the distant hills. Shuddering she closed the window and crawled into the bed. She was very very tired and she forgot to be afraid.

This time the nightmare was slightly different. There was a rime of frost on the bars, and the faces behind the eyes were muffled against the cold. She could feel the ache of it through her bones, dulling the terror, cocooning the despair as she huddled back into the shadows, seeing the snowflakes drift towards her through the bars.

Neil heard her sobbing as he sat writing late at the kitchen table. For a while he sat there frowning, then at last he stood up and cautiously opened the bedroom door. He turned on a lamp and stood looking down at her. She was asleep, the tears running down her face and into the pillow as she turned restlessly from side to side, her face contorted with fear. He sat down on the edge of the bed and was reaching out to take her hand when she began to scream.

27

‘But he has managed to pay every penny of the debt!’ Henry leant forward in his chair in his anxiety. It was settlement day: 21 November.

Behind the huge partners’ desk Sir Duncan Beattie shook his head sadly. ‘I know, old chap, I know, but it’s out of my hands. I did what I could, but Paul has been a fool.’ He tightened his lips. ‘He should have known better. He dealt on insider information and everyone in the City seems to know about it, and now the DTI inspectors have asked for my cooperation over an enquiry.’ He stood up and paced up and down the floor a couple of times. ‘We have to think of BCWP. If we try to protect him, we implicate ourselves. Caroway at MCP is already involved.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I’m not allowing Paul to come back, Henry. I’m going to ask for his resignation.’

‘No!’ Henry was white. ‘You can’t do that. It will crucify him!’

‘I can and I will.’ Sir Duncan sat down again slowly. He felt suddenly very old. Paul’s father and he had known each other for over thirty years and he had always been very fond of the three Royland boys. They had done so well for themselves, David and Geoffrey – Geoffrey a slow starter, but now firmly in line for preferment according to a friend of his at the club who was a colleague of Geoffrey’s bishop. And now this! He sighed. ‘I know you’re fond of Clare and Paul, Henry, and I know this is going to be hard for you, but I want you to avoid them for a bit. The less contact there is between members of the board and Paul as long as the investigation is going on the better.’

‘Have the police been called in?’ Henry could barely put the question into words.

Sir Duncan nodded. ‘I gather a preliminary report has been sent to the fraud squad.’

‘Hell!’ Henry banged the palms of his hands together in anguish. ‘Is there nothing we can do?’

‘Nothing,’ Sir Duncan said firmly. ‘I do not want BCWP involved. The firm’s entire reputation is at stake, and I am not going to take the chance. Not for one man.’

‘What about plea bargaining? It’s been done before.’

Sir Duncan smiled wearily. ‘You have to have something to bargain with, Henry. You find something, and I’ll see the information gets to the right quarter, but I can’t think of anything Paul has done which would be usable, can you?’

Henry thought too. If Paul had ever given large sums to charity he had certainly never broadcast the fact, and being Paul he would have seen to it that everyone would have known if he had done anything like that. No, privately he thought it unlikely that Paul had done anything that would tell in his favour. Clare did a lot for charity, but enough to help Paul now? You needed to have given millions for it to carry any weight.

He was still thoughtful when he walked back down to his office. He could ring Clare and ask her, of course. It would be a legitimate reason for contacting her behind Paul’s back and making sure she was all right. And he did have the Airdlie number. Perhaps he could even go up there and see her …

‘I don’t know where she is. I’m sorry.’ Antonia’s voice was firm. ‘She’s not staying here any more.’

‘Not staying there?’ Henry frowned. ‘But I have to find her. If you could tell me where –’

‘I’m sorry.’ Antonia put the phone down and looked at Sarah. ‘That was one of Paul’s colleagues. Paul doesn’t believe me that she’s gone! He has asked someone else to ring and check!’

Sarah raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps he thought we were so cowed by his threats we would find her and drag her back!’ she said tartly. Now that she had found an ally in Clare’s mother she felt far braver about Paul. She had confided in Antonia in the end about her role in Clare’s escape, and both women had been vastly relieved to find they had someone they could talk to; someone who understood about their doubts. They had spent a long time huddled together trying to decide what to tell Archie when he finally came home.

In spite of all their mutual confidences, however, there was one thing Antonia had not told Sarah, even now. She had said nothing to anyone about the crucifix she had found wrapped in one of Archie’s silk scarves, pushed to the back of the sideboard in the dining room.

When Archie and James reappeared that evening James had cheered at the news that Clare had gone. ‘Good old sis! I thought she was being a bit feeble, just sitting here.’

‘You realise she has probably gone straight to this man de Sallis! How did she escape?’ Archie looked from one woman to the other furiously. ‘How?’

Antonia shrugged. Her migraine was miraculously better and she felt more alert than she had for years. ‘It was one of those things, dear. This isn’t a prison. We couldn’t have kept her here for ever,’ she said firmly.

‘Especially as there is sod all wrong with her,’ James put in,
sotto voce
.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Archie turned on his stepson, his face puce.

‘There is nothing wrong with her,’ James repeated stubbornly. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘Except that now she has shown herself to be a common thief as well as everything else,’ Archie said acidly. ‘It seems to have slipped your attention that we are all trapped here without a car now.’ He was so angry that he began to splutter.

James glanced at his mother. He had been the angriest when he discovered that Paul had taken the keys of the green Jaguar back to London with him, but now the situation struck him as rather humorous. Antonia was staring down at the carpet, and for a second James thought he detected a quiver at the corner of her mouth. She looked up and caught his eye. ‘I told you it was a pity you didn’t bring your Porsche, James,’ she said slowly and to his amazement she winked.

He cornered her on her own in the kitchen later. ‘Why do you put up with him, mother?’

‘He’s my husband, James.’

James looked heavenward. ‘More fool you. He doesn’t really believe all this about Clare?’

‘A lot of it is true, dear.’ She sat down and put her elbows on the kitchen table. ‘The nightmares, the day dreams – she’s always had them. Margaret warned me so often that this might happen one day. She fought it herself, right up to the end, you know –’ Her voice trailed away.

James stared at her. ‘She saw Isobel as well?’

‘Oh yes. I’m sure she did.’

‘Then it’s not just Clare! Have you told Clare this?’

‘Clare must know, darling. She and Margaret used to talk on their own for hours – I always wondered if your father ever saw her too, or whether it’s just the women in the family …’

She had never talked to Archie about it. Archie hated anything to do with the Gordons. He would never understand, never want to understand, so she had never confided her worries to him. Now all this had happened she didn’t know what to do for the best. She smiled at James anxiously. ‘She’s never appeared to you, dear, has she?’

James paled slightly. ‘Never!’ He shuddered.

‘No.’ His mother shook her head. ‘I didn’t think she had. I think it’s the women she talks to … pleads with …’ She shook her head again. ‘Poor Clare. I want to help her, but I don’t know how!’

When Clare awoke next morning Neil had gone. He had lain beside her, comforting her, holding her close, soothing away the dream until they had both fallen asleep and for the first time in a long time she had slept well, secure in the knowledge that he would be there when she awoke. But he wasn’t. She found a note on the kitchen table. ‘Wander down to the office when you feel like it and we’ll have lunch. By the time you get here the die will be cast and I will have contacted the papers. N.’

She smiled. Her die had been cast long since, had he but known it.

She made herself some coffee, then, after a moment’s hesitation she picked up the phone. Silently she crossed her fingers. If her father or Paul answered she would hang up. Her luck was in. James picked up the receiver in the kitchen, a piece of toast in his hand.

‘James? Listen, can you talk?’

‘If you mean am I alone, yes. Our aged, neurotic parents aren’t up yet, and Mrs C is also still abed. Your great escape has exhausted them all.’ He chuckled. ‘Great going, sis. Where are you?’

‘Is Paul there yet?’

‘No. I gather he decided not to come until you had been rounded up. He’s furious with Archie and has told him to find you or else.’

Clare smiled grimly. ‘James, will you do something for me?’

‘Anything within reason. You know me. Moderation in all things.’

‘I want my car and I want Casta.’

‘I see. Nothing much. Grand larceny and kidnapping.’

In spite of herself she laughed. ‘Please, James. If you can’t find the key there is a spare in the pocket of my blue suitcase, unless Paul found it. I’ll meet you –’ she hesitated, not wanting suddenly to tell him where she was.

‘In Edinburgh,’ James put in quickly. ‘I don’t want to know where you are, in case Paul uses thumbscrews on me, but I’m booked on a flight back to Heathrow tomorrow teatime, so if you can find your way to Turnhouse, I’ll bring your mislaid possessions with me, and then leave the country before Archie realises what I’ve done.’ He laughed. ‘What the hell have you done with the parents’ car? They’re going spare about it. They think you’ve given it to your guru to join his fleet of Rollers!’