Kingdom of Shadows (93 page)

Archie had gone out. The house was deserted. Paul threw his coat into the car, then slowly, almost as an afterthought, he walked back inside. He glanced into the drawing room then into the study. The top drawer of Archie’s desk was a couple of inches open. He had been afraid it would be locked. In it he could see a ring of keys, each meticulously labelled. He pulled open the drawer and took them out.

In the gun room there was a long glass-fronted cupboard. In it were Archie’s own guns, James’s, Clare’s father’s and several museum pieces including two muskets from the ’45 which used to hang crossed above a door in the hall until the police had told Archie to lock them up. They were all there, carefully listed and locked in place. Paul stood in front of them for a moment, staring at them, then, hunching his shoulders, he selected a key from the ring in his gloved hand. Unlocking the cupboard door, he pulled it open and ran his hand lightly, almost sensually, in the soft leather, over the regimented barrels. The beautiful Purdeys, the two Remingtons, the air guns which had for a while in his early teens been James’s inseparable companions and which Antonia had disapproved of so strongly. His hand hovered over the rack and closed over the barrel of one of the hunting rifles. He unlocked the bar which held it in place and took it down, weighing it experimentally in his hand, then he turned to the safe where Archie kept the ammunition. He unlocked it, levered the two handles and swung open the heavy door. Taking a handful of 303 cartridges from the box he dropped them into the pocket of his jacket, then he slammed the door and relocked it. He closed the gun cupboard, relocked the room behind him and returned the keys to their drawer in Archie’s desk. Archie would miss the rifle within hours of course, but Paul would explain –

He put it into the back of the Range Rover and threw a rug over it. He wasn’t entirely sure himself, yet, why he had taken it.

Clare picked up the receiver yet again to check whether the phone was working. There was a silence, then a crackle and suddenly the purr of an open line. She dialled the Earthwatch offices but only the answering machine replied. Next she tried Neil’s flat but there was no answer there either. She hadn’t spoken to him for two days.

When the phone rang later that afternoon she grabbed it, certain it would be him, but it was Emma.

‘Clare? Thank God, I had to speak to someone! Can I talk?’ Emma’s voice was blurred and unhappy. ‘It’s over between Peter and me, Clare. Our marriage is finished.’

Clare was stunned. Sitting at the make-shift desk in her office overlooking the castle tower and the sea she felt a million miles from London. With an effort she wrenched her mind away from her own problems.

‘Is it Rex Cummin?’ When Emma had made her tearful confession that her dream American was the man who was trying to buy Duncairn Clare had been angry. Then later James had told her that it was Emma who had persuaded Rex to withdraw his offer and Clare had forgiven her, but it was a long time since they had talked.

‘No. No. It’s not Rex. It’s nothing to do with him, not really.’ Emma sounded very distant. ‘He’s a symptom, not a cause. Oh Clare, what am I going to do? How am I going to tell Julia?’

‘Where is Peter? Has he left you?’ Clare was trying to cope with this new crisis.

‘No … Yes.’ Emma was near tears. ‘It’s all very civilised. We’re not throwing things or anything. We’ve discussed it and we’ve agreed. He’s going back to the Far East next week. When he’s gone I’ll tell Julia.’ There was a pause. ‘I’ll tell her something. She sees so little of him perhaps she’ll hardly notice.’ Her voice was brittle with pain. ‘He’ll be away over Christmas.’

‘Oh, Em.’ Clare was almost crying in sympathy. ‘What will you do? Are you going to David and Gillian as usual?’

‘And end up in a house obsessed with that squawking brat? No thank you.’ There was a shudder in Emma’s voice. ‘It’s not as though you and Paul will be there, either. The whole family is breaking up. I’d rather stay here alone.’

‘You can’t do that. Come here.’ Clare suddenly brightened. ‘Come here, to Duncairn, Emma! You and Julia. It would be lovely. We’ll all have Christmas at the hotel with Jack and the Frasers.’

All. She had not even thought about Christmas and Neil. Firmly she pushed him to the back of her mind.

‘Are you sure?’ Emma’s voice had brightened.

‘Of course I’m sure.’ Clare was suddenly full of energy. ‘It will be lovely to have a child up here! We’ll form a Royland breakaway group.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve got so much to tell you, Em.’

By the time Christmas came she would be sure one way or the other, and if the news was good, perhaps by then Emma would be up to hearing that another squawking brat was on the way.

Singing, Clare ran downstairs to find Jack. He was sitting in the office, his feet on the desk, reading the
Scotsman
. He put it down as Clare came in. ‘My, and aren’t you looking bonnie today! You’re glowing, lass.’

‘Am I?’ Clare blushed. ‘I should be sad. Neil’s not coming up this weekend.’

‘I know. He called me before the phones went off.’ Jack frowned. It hadn’t been Neil who called, it had been Kathleen. ‘So, what can I do for you?’

‘I came to tell you I’ve asked my sister-in-law and her daughter here for Christmas with us. I hope that’s all right?’

Jack grinned. ‘Does that mean a Christmas tree?’

‘Of course! You don’t mean you weren’t going to have one?’ She was appalled.

He laughed. ‘Oh, I have one when I have guests, but I’ve not taken any Christmas bookings this year. With all the uncertainty I was afraid we might be closed by the end of December.’

Clare stared at him, horrified. ‘With all my plans for the future?’

‘Och, this was before your plans, Clare lass. People book up for Christmas months ahead.’

She sobered for a moment, then she smiled. ‘Well, as it happens I’m glad. We’ll have a small family Christmas, just you and me and Em and Julia and the Frasers, and –’ she hesitated. ‘And anyone else who wants to come.’

‘That’s fine by me.’ He stood up slowly and stretched. He could see how much she was in love with Neil and he didn’t want to see her hurt. And he didn’t want her to realise yet, how vain was their attempt to save Duncairn. It was strange, but she still didn’t seem to know that Paul had sold it. He edged the paper out of sight under some magazines. The headline today had been: ‘Government to investigate new onshore oil strikes in eastern Scotland. US oil internationals start buying up Scottish land.’ Duncairn was only the first name on a list of five.

That afternoon Clare took Casta for a long walk along the cliffs. They followed the footpath away from the village, around the cleft in the headland which carried the small tumbling river and back on to the cliffs, following them for several miles until they reached the Bullers of Buchan. The snow had melted everywhere but in some of the north-facing crevices of the rocks, and the ground was wet and cold. She didn’t need to put the dog on the lead now. Casta trotted obediently at heel whenever asked. Neil had been scandalised by the leash which Clare, still used to London traffic, carried everywhere with her, and now she had abandoned it. Calling her to heel now, she began to walk slowly out along the narrow path which skirted the huge cauldron formed by the cliffs.

Far below the sea boiled and foamed against the rocks and she felt the wind tugging and sucking at her legs, trying to knock her off balance and draw her down into the maelstrom. Kittiwakes and gulls wheeled in the cold wind, their cries echoing off the cliffs. It was a place she normally loved, exhilarated by its wild beauty, but today she felt very alone. Her depression had returned. She did not stay long. Turning away from the wind she retraced her steps on to the path. Heavy cloud piled up in the sky beyond the broad fields now. It was going to snow again. Clare shivered, wishing suddenly she hadn’t walked so far. Pulling her coat around her more tightly she set off at a brisk pace, retracing her steps. Already it was growing dark and snowflakes were beginning to drift once more out of the north behind her. Once Casta looked up into her face and whined.

When she got back at last the castle was almost dark as the afternoon closed in. A drift of white was catching at the embrasure of the tower window. Beyond it the sea was quieter now, shushing against the rocks. It was cold. Overhead the clouds were taking on an opalescent sheen as the moon, only three days after the full, rose high above them, backlighting the heavy sky. Once Clare glimpsed it, distant and cold, through a gap in the cloud. It was barely 4.30 in the afternoon.

She looked down at the dog and smiled, glad to be home. ‘Time for tea, Casta,’ she said as she turned with aching legs towards the hotel.

A figure was waiting for her in the shadow of the chapel wall. ‘How are you, my darling? It seems a long time since I’ve seen you.’

Clare gasped. Could she really have forgotten how tall and broad-shouldered Paul was? He was standing leaning against the stones, the rifle tucked under his arm. ‘Paul! What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to see you.’ His voice was curiously flat. ‘How are you? You haven’t told me yet.’ There was a mocking edge to his voice.

‘I’m fine. I’m better than I have ever been.’ Defiantly she stepped off the grass on to the overgrown cobbles near him. Beside her Casta gave a throaty growl. ‘I was sorry to hear about your troubles in the City though.’

‘Were you?’ He shifted his stance slightly, crossing his arms. Beneath his right arm the rifle barrel rose slightly. ‘But not sorry enough to help. This place takes precedence in your affections, I now realise.’

‘You don’t need my help, Paul,’ she answered slowly. ‘You never did.’

‘Just as well, really,’ he said harshly. ‘Your help didn’t amount to much even when you did give it. You’ve always been useless, haven’t you? You’ve heard, I suppose, that Gillian has given my brother another son. You couldn’t even do that, could you?’

Clare took a step nearer to him. ‘Couldn’t I, Paul? Are you sure of that?’ Her tone was suddenly cold. ‘Are you sure you got the results right when Dr Stanford gave them to you? Are you sure the reason you never let me talk to him wasn’t that it was you, not me, who couldn’t have children?’ Suddenly it had all fallen into place. ‘Oh, Paul! That is what happened, isn’t it! You lied to me! You couldn’t bear the truth, so you blamed me. You told the whole world I was barren –’ She was blazingly angry as the full realisation of the truth hit her. ‘You bastard, Paul! You couldn’t even spare me that misery!’

There was a long silence. Casta was growling uncomfortably in her throat, her hackles raised.

Slowly Paul straightened. ‘And what has led to this sudden revelation? Did you go for a second opinion?’ His voice was heavy with sarcasm.

‘I didn’t have to, Paul.’ She spoke quietly suddenly. ‘I’m pregnant.’

He stared at her, shocked. ‘You’re what?’ Her words had come like a blow to his solar plexus.

‘You heard me. I’m pregnant.’

‘By that raffish revolutionary, I suppose. My God, Clare, have you no pride at all? You cheap, lousy little whore! What do you think everyone is going to say –’

‘Everyone is going to say “Oh dear, so it was Paul after all”,’ Clare said softly. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t have told quite so many people about our personal problems.’ She wanted to hurt him suddenly, wanted to give back a little of the terrible pain he had inflicted on her.

Behind them the moon rose higher. It found another gap in the thickening cloud and shone through on to the cold stone, glittering in the snow crystals, turning the sky around it mother of pearl.

Paul’s face was in shadow. ‘Does Forbes know?’ he asked. His voice was hard.

‘Not yet. No one knows.’ As soon as she had said it she could have bitten off her tongue. Hurriedly she rushed on, ‘Except Emma, of course I told her this afternoon on the phone, and Jack.’

‘And Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all –’ He was laughing suddenly. ‘You haven’t told anyone! You’re not even sure yourself, are you? It could be a false alarm, like all those other times. It’s wishful thinking, Clare. You wait and see. Another day or two and all your hopes will be dashed, just like all those other times.’

‘Not this time, Paul.’ Suddenly she was more certain than she had ever been of anything. ‘Before, yes, I used to hope and pray. This time, I know.’

‘And what will Forbes say, do you suppose? I’ll tell you what he’ll say. “Goodbye.”’ He sneered. ‘You don’t really think he loves you, do you? Do you know where he is, this weekend?’

‘Where?’ In spite of herself Clare felt a quick flicker of fear.

‘He’s with a beautiful lady called Kathleen. You know Kathleen, don’t you?’ He smiled maliciously. ‘His girlfriend, his live-in lover, mistress, whatever you care to call her.’

Clare felt suddenly sick. ‘If he is with her, I’m sure he has a good reason.’ She stared at him defiantly. ‘I’m going in, Paul. I’m cold –’

‘You’re coming back to Airdlie with me.’

‘No.’ She shook her head slowly, taking a swift step back. ‘No, Paul. I’m not going anywhere with you. Not ever again.’

‘You are, my darling.’ Paul moved towards her. ‘For once you are going to do exactly as I say.’ He grabbed her wrist.

Clare cried out in pain. ‘Paul, you bastard, let me go!’ She struggled violently, kicking out at him.

Hampered by the gun Paul let her go with a curse as Casta, who had been growling at him viciously, suddenly launched herself at him, teeth bared, in defence of her beloved mistress.

‘Casta!’ Clare screamed. She fell back against the wall, winded, as she saw the dog’s teeth sink into Paul’s sleeve.

Paul did not hesitate. Dragging himself free he raised the rifle.

‘No, Paul, no!
Casta –!
’

Clare threw herself at him as he fired at almost point blank range into the dog’s head. The report was deafening, echoing across the ruins, reverberating from the cliffs as Casta collapsed at Paul’s feet.

There was a moment’s silence as Paul and Clare both stared at the dead dog, then Clare flung herself down, cradling the heavy lifeless head in her arms. There was a neat, scarcely bleeding hole through the skull above the left eye.