Kingdom of Shadows (86 page)

‘Don’t ever let me see you wear this coat again, Clare. You don’t need the skins of slaughtered animals to make you beautiful.’

Later that day she was sitting on the wall overlooking the sea, watching the gulls sweeping down below her at the foot of the cliffs. Behind her Neil was standing looking up at the crumbling masonry of the castle.

‘You’re going to have to do something about this stonework if you want to preserve the ruins,’ he said.

Clare glanced over her shoulder. The soft pinks and greys of the granite were shaded yellow and gold where the coating of lichens frosted the stone in the slanting afternoon sunlight. The castle was benign, relaxed: a happy place today.

Stretching lazily she rose and went to stand beside him, placing her hands lightly on the stone. It was warm, almost alive beneath her touch. ‘I hate to change anything. I love it as it is.’

Neil smiled tolerantly. ‘Nevertheless, the tower will fall unless the cracks are repointed. A few more winter gales and it will begin to go.’ He put his hand over hers on the stone. ‘Are you enjoying yourself up here?’

The dark rings had gone from beneath her eyes, her face had filled and she was laughing again.

She glanced up at him, thinking of last night and her smile was suddenly shy. ‘You know I am.’

‘Good.’ He looked at her closely, then he took her hand. Moving over to the low pile of stone which had once been the western wall of the chapel he pulled her down to sit beside him. ‘Did I ever tell you that I met your great aunt once? I was camping about half a mile up the coast, birdwatching, and she came to visit me one morning. She was a wonderful old woman. She told me I was trespassing.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘Then she sat down with me in the heather in front of my tent and talked birds, and when she was leaving she told me to go to the hotel and get myself a proper breakfast.’ He smiled again. ‘You’re very like her in some ways.’ He paused. ‘I think we have to talk, Clare, and I think Duncairn is the place to do it.’ He was gentle now, as he saw her face tighten defensively. ‘I want to know the truth about you – the whole story. Not what your husband claims, not what Zak thinks, but what really happens.’

At first she was evasive and resentful, but her body was still a part of his, content, at peace and trusting, and it was hard to lie to him. Besides, suddenly, she wanted him to know everything.

She told it all, the truth, the theories, the dreams, the nightmares and the fears. She told him everything she knew about Isobel, and everything she knew about Duncairn. And when she had finished she was crying.

Neil put his arms around her. She was wearing the Burberry now – the mink pushed into the back of the mahogany wardrobe – and he cradled her head against his chest.

‘Don’t let her come between us, Neil.’ She looked up at him, the tears clinging to her eyelashes. ‘I’m not possessed.’

‘She won’t come between us.’ He tightened his arms. Looking over her head into the depths of the old chapel he frowned. She wouldn’t come between them, but she was there, at Duncairn, the beautiful tragic Countess of Buchan. And she was waiting for something. Even he could sense it.

He frowned again. ‘You have to come to terms with this, Clare. You are not possessed. I don’t believe in possession.’ His arms held her tightly so she could not see his face, and his voice was calm. ‘But I do believe in obsession. It is the most powerful of emotions. You have inherited this obsession from your great aunt on your own admission. You are sensitive.’ He had been about to say ‘a sensitive’ – that’s what Kathleen would have said, or Zak. ‘You are a dreamer. You have been lonely and unhappy. You have a romantic background which many people would give their eye teeth for.’ He smiled wistfully. ‘You have a sense of humour which, on your own admission, has got you into deep trouble with your brother-in-law, and up until now you have been a bored little rich girl.’ His grip tightened as she stirred in protest. ‘Oh yes you have. And now you are completely screwed up!’ He smiled, holding her away from himself suddenly. ‘So, you’re going to set yourself free. You’re on the way, Clare. You’ve ditched Paul which is probably the best thing you’ve ever done in your life. You’ve joined Earthwatch and made a stand for what you believe in, and you have me. All you have to do now, my love, is get shot of the Lady Isobel.’

Clare glanced round her. ‘I don’t know if I can, Neil. She needs me, and sometimes I think that deep down inside I must need her.’

‘Crap!’ He put a hand on each of her shoulders and shook her. ‘When did you last do your crazy meditation? In Edinburgh, when you were on your own, right? The best thing to do is to see you never have time to do it again. You haven’t done it here, have you?’

She pushed him away and stood up. Twice she and Zak had tried to meditate together, in the borrowed flat, and twice it had failed. Isobel had refused to come to her. She had sat and closed her eyes and waited and nothing had happened. Her mind had remained empty. Isobel had no wish to be dismissed. Zak had gone back to Cambridge.

‘You don’t understand!’

‘I do understand, Clare. Very well.’

‘No! She’s still here, Neil. She is here, at Duncairn! And she is inside me –’

‘She is not inside you, Clare!’ Suddenly he was shouting. ‘She is dead. She is at rest!’

‘No.’ Clare stopped struggling and stared up into his face. ‘That is the whole point, Neil. Don’t you see? She is not at rest!’

Julia was staying with Tamsin. Emma stood staring at the carpet; she was wearing her embroidered dress – not too smart, but definitely special. Rex was picking her up at the house and she was wondering whether or not she should ask him in – not now, when he collected her, but later, when they came back from dinner.

He had the taxi stop a few doors up the road so she didn’t hear him before he arrived, just the door knocker, echoing through the silence of the empty house. For a moment she stood still, her heart pounding like a trapped animal, then slowly she walked to the front door and pulled it open.

Rex had a spray of freesias in his hand. He thrust them at her with a boyish grin. ‘Just stick them in a jug for now, honey, then we’ll get on. I’ve a table booked for 8.30.’ He was uncertain; as shy suddenly as she was. ‘The taxi is waiting at the corner.’ He grinned again. ‘I wasn’t sure about the neighbours …’

Emma had pushed the flowers, still in their cellophane, into a vase. She stood it in the sink and ran cold water into it. ‘I don’t give a screw about the neighbours. Don’t be so provincial, Rex! Anyway, we’ve nothing to hide. I told Peter I might have dinner with you while he was away.’ She stooped to sniff the blooms, hiding her face.

He had booked a table at Claridges. ‘I might as well put your mind at rest straight away, Emma. I have told your brother I don’t want the castle. I’ve withdrawn my offer.’ He ordered himself a Scotch and a white wine and soda for her.

Now that he had made the decision and pulled the rug it was as if a load had been lifted from his mind. The dream castle would have drained his personal resources to nothing – left him broke and foolish. He recognised that now. ‘Paul looked pretty mad.’

‘He would.’ Emma grimaced. ‘I’m glad. Clare will be so relieved!’ She smiled at him and reached across the table to touch his hand. ‘Thank you, Rex. I know how much owning Duncairn meant to you.’

‘I reckon Clare is entitled to it.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve been reading up some more of my Scottish history. Robert Bruce took the castle away from the Comyns, you know. One day I’ll trace the connections between my family and the earls of Buchan. I know it’s there, but I can’t prove it. Not yet.’ He gave a sheepish smile. ‘Most of it was wishful thinking, I guess.’ He looked at Emma. ‘There is still oil, there, Emma. Clare will have to accept that one day soon someone is going to take it.’

‘But they won’t take her castle.’

‘The Comyns’ castle,’ he corrected her gently. ‘I guess not. Not unless she changes her mind, and sells to someone else.’

‘She’ll never do that. Will they hide the scars of what they do?’

‘Sure they will. Eventually. No well lasts for ever.’

Emma picked up her glass as soon as it appeared before her. ‘But it won’t be the same, will it? I suppose some of the romance will go. That feeling of timelessness. I felt a complete intruder when I went up there. I didn’t like it much, to be honest. That bleak landscape; those angry cliffs. I can’t think why Clare loves it so passionately.’

‘It’s in her blood.’ Rex frowned. ‘I didn’t know you’d been there, honey.’ For a moment he looked shocked. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

She shrugged. ‘I only went once. Clare took me up there to stay in the holidays when we were children. I never went back.’

He frowned. ‘Perhaps she’ll let me go there for a holiday one day. Consolation prize. What do you think?’

Emma smiled. ‘I’m sure she would. You must meet her.’

‘I’d sure like to. So –’ Rex raised his glass. ‘Where do we go from here, Emma?’

‘We?’ Emma looked down, suddenly embarrassed.

‘You and I. Together or separately?’ He took a gulp of neat whisky, then he added some soda to his glass. ‘I’ve screwed up all round, Emma. My career; my ambitions such as they were; my castle; my marriage –’

There was a pause.

‘I thought you said you and your wife got on well together,’ Emma said cautiously.

‘We do. Don’t misunderstand me. I just don’t think we want the same things. She’s ready to retire, put on her slippers, pick up her knitting, buy that goddam house in Martha’s Vineyard!’

‘And what do you want to do?’

He shrugged. ‘Have a passionate affair with a beautiful English woman perhaps. Forget my failures, and my age.’ He didn’t look at her.

‘You’re not a failure, Rex, and you’re not old.’ Emma was suddenly crisp. ‘And if you want a beautiful English woman I’m sure I can introduce you to one or two.’

‘I see.’ He glanced up, trying to keep the unhappiness from his face. ‘Peter is coming home, is that it?’

‘He was always coming home, Rex.’ She spoke very gently, her decision made.

He sighed. ‘You know, you’ve been very good for me, Mrs Cassidy.’ He spoke her name with humorous irony. ‘I was a selfish, single-minded bastard when I met you. I think you’ve found whatever there is in me that’s still human.’

‘I’m glad.’ Emma suddenly pushed back her chair and stood up.

Somehow she held back her tears until she reached the ladies’ room. Rushing into the cubicle she slammed the lock across and leaning her face against the door she began to sob.

* * *

Neil was asleep, half turned away from her, the moonlight streaming across his face while Clare lay, propped on her elbow, watching him. For the first time they had talked about themselves that night. ‘Are you on the pill, Clare?’ He had sat down beside her on the bed, his face serious. She had shaken her head. ‘I can’t have children, so there’s no need.’ She had said it calmly, without self-pity, but she saw him frown.

‘Nevertheless, these days one ought to take precautions anyway.’ He stood up abruptly. ‘Neither Kath nor I have ever been the promiscuous type – you’re in no danger of catching anything.’ He smiled. ‘But you should have thought of it.’

She blushed. ‘I’m not used to this sort of thing, Neil. There’s only ever been Paul.’

He sat down again and she saw that he believed her. ‘Then I’m honoured.’ Was his voice slightly mocking?

Somehow she managed to smile, to keep it light. ‘Yes, you are.’

‘And are you still just amusing yourself with a bit of the rough?’ He pulled her to him.

‘You know it was never like that.’

‘No?’ For a long minute he held her gaze, then he smiled. ‘No. It wasn’t, was it? I’m glad.’

There had been no violence this time, just tenderness – the antagonism gone, and afterwards he had slept whilst she lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. She was relaxed and happy, listening to the sharp, urgent calls of the night birds in the distance.

When Isobel came, she was completely unprepared.

29

Christian came to stand behind Isobel at the window and looked out across the dark courtyard. The first gales had hit Scotland now and the leaves were being torn from the trees and whipped against the walls of the abbey to lie in soggy heaps against the stone. They were both thinking about Robert, the man each loved, one as a brother, the other as a lover, the man for whom they might both have to die. Isobel closed her eyes and began silently to pray again that he at least was safe.

‘What do you think is going to happen to us when we get to Edward?’ Christian had long since accepted her husband’s death – her anguish and sorrow for Christopher contained now with the other sorrow which had overwhelmed her when her first husband, Gratney, had died. She was a tall, beautiful woman, very like her brother to look at. She had Robert’s eyes, his colouring and above all his bearing.

Isobel shivered and glanced back into the darkness of the room. The Queen and her step-daughter were already asleep, huddled together on the bed. Their imprisonment had brought them all close at last. The Queen had lost her hauteur; her fear and her desperate attempts to hide it had endeared her at last to her two sisters-in-law. Only to Isobel was she still reserved, even though, night after night, they had to share a room and even a bed.

It had been a nightmare journey. Long days in the saddle, surrounded by Lord Ross’s escort of fifty men, followed by nights with the women locked together into a succession of chambers in towers and castles as they rode southwards through Scotland. Now, at Perth, they were incarcerated in the guesthouse of St John’s Abbey while outside the door two English soldiers were playing dice. They could hear the roll of the bone on the flagstone floor and the silence as the men bent to look, then the roar of approval as each successive score came up.

Mary was sitting near them on the edge of the bed. ‘Did you hear that Edward has given orders for them to dismantle the Abbey of Scone – he is so angry that Robert was crowned there, and so determined no other Scots king ever should be that he has ordered that they remove every single stone.’ She was trying to fill the silence, trying to distract them.