Kingdom of Shadows (97 page)

She was cold, deathly cold, shaking. All around her there was silence.

Struggling to fight off the fog of fear and sleep and cold she flung out her arms again.

‘It’s no use. They are still there. You can’t get out.’ The cool voice cut through the fog. ‘And they’ll stay there until you sign.’

Crouching, Paul reached into the cage and picked up the paper between the tips of his two centre fingers, dangling it in front of her.

The dream closed over her again – Isobel’s dream. The mist from the river, the rusty bars, the rain drifting in from the Northumberland hills. Desolate with disappointment she began to cry.

‘Sign the paper then I’ll let you out. Sign!’ It danced in front of her eyes. She did not know what it said or where it came from; she did not recognise the man who held it. His face was shadowy, blurred in the twilight of the mist, unreal. It was not Robert.

Shakily she took the paper and then the pen which he pressed into her hand.

‘Sign.’

Her fingers were so cold that she could barely hold it. ‘Where? What do I sign?’

‘There.’ He was stabbing at the paper through the bars. ‘There. There.’

Her hands were shaking so much she could not hold the paper as, trembling, she scrawled her name. Almost before she had finished he had snatched it from her and slipped it into his pocket. He was smiling with relief. At last the transaction was legal. They could not catch him out now. Duncairn was his to sell to whom he pleased! He was beyond thinking about witnesses. They could be added later.

He rose to his full height and searched for the key in his pocket, then he stooped again, this time to undo the lock. ‘Now, you are free. You see it was easy all the time.’ He swung open the door. ‘You’ve nothing to be afraid of now, as long as you keep quiet about all this.’ He hesitated, then he smiled again. Who would believe her? Who would believe anything she said at all? ‘Come on. I’m getting cold.’ He was impatient now, eager to get away.

She did not move. They had tried to trick her like this once before: opened the door and beckoned, only to push her back and slam it in her face, their mouths contorted with cruel laughter. She shook her wings; she moved back into the shadows and she closed her eyes. The cage was home. In there she would be safe.

Paul frowned. ‘Clare!’ He stared at her, a sudden feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach. ‘Clare! Come on. You’re free.’ He turned away from the cage leaving the door hanging open, but she didn’t move. He stopped and glanced back. ‘Clare, come on. You can’t stay out here. It’s freezing.’ Her face was a complete blank. Suddenly frightened he turned back and, ducking under the low door, he went into the cage beside her. Putting his hands under her arms he dragged her out of the cage and picked her up. Her face was white, her body limp. Not once as he carried her towards the house did her eyelids move.

He carried her upstairs and took her into her bedroom, laying her on the bed before standing looking down at her. She was still breathing. He fumbled for her pulse, holding her cold wrist for a moment, not attempting to count. It was there, weak but regular. ‘Clare. It is your own fault. You made me do it.’ He spoke out loud, wheedling. ‘If you’d done what any wife would have done and helped me none of this would have happened –’

He dragged the cover from under her body and pulled it over her. ‘You’ll be glad to be rid of the place in the end. You know you will. It was going to drain every penny we had. It wasn’t realistic to keep it, Clare …’ She did not respond. ‘Clare? Clare, are you all right?’ Fear gripped him. Clare really was possessed. He stepped away from the bed and hurried towards the door. Closing it behind him he turned the key, then he ran downstairs to the telephone. Suddenly he was in a blind panic. Geoffrey had to come now.

32

Henry was shocked at Emma’s appearance. She was pale and exhausted, and her eyes were red-rimmed.

‘You know what’s happened between Peter and me, I suppose?’ She smiled at him apologetically over the cups of coffee.

Henry nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Emma.’ He looked away, unsure what else he could say.

‘It’s for the best.’ She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself.

‘And it will give you both time to think,’ he said guardedly.

She nodded. ‘I’m going up to Duncairn on Tuesday, to spend Christmas with Clare.’ She glanced up at him and saw the colour rise in his cheeks.

‘How is she?’ He was trying to sound casual.

‘She seemed well. Happy!’ Emma shrugged. ‘Until I spoiled it for her by talking about myself … I’m taking Rex Cummin with me.’

‘The man Sigma dropped?’ For a moment Henry couldn’t hide his astonishment. ‘Is it … I mean, are you …?’

‘No.’ She smiled. ‘We’re not. Not yet. But it’ll give us a chance to get to know each other better, and besides, he was so depressed about losing Duncairn to Sigma I thought it might cheer him up just to spend a bit of time there before they complete the sale.’

‘What on earth made Clare change her mind and sell to them?’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t think, unless it was guilt. She probably thinks it is because she didn’t help Paul that he got found out, I suppose.’

‘How is he taking it all?’ Henry had pushed away his cup almost untouched. ‘You know the board have asked for his resignation?’

She nodded. ‘Serves him right if you ask me.’

‘What is he going to do?’

‘You mean when they let him out?’ Emma was totally unsympathetic. ‘I don’t know and I don’t care as long as he leaves poor Clare alone. She’s happy without him. She’s found this super man in Scotland. Her brother told me –’ She broke off as she saw Henry’s face. ‘Oh, Henry, I’m so sorry –’

‘It’s OK.’ Henry shook his head. ‘It’s OK! I know I never stood a chance. Just so long as she’s happy, that’s all that matters …’

Neil was walking down the Mound towards Princes Street, his shoulders hunched against the snow. Twice he had reported the line to Duncairn out of order; twice the exchange had told him that the engineers would go out looking for the fault as soon as there was a let-up in the weather. He crossed the road and cut behind the National Gallery, feeling the sting of the snowflakes hot against his eyes. Two more days to meet with anti-oil lobby people, then he would pack it in for the holiday. Usually he hated Christmas. For him the season was a lonely one without a family to go to. At Hogmanay there were always friends, and that was the one time each year he would drink himself into oblivion, but Christmas was empty. He had no religious belief to console him, no mother or father to eat and drink with, no one. But this year there would be Clare.

He stood at the lights in Princes Street waiting to cross the road. She deserved a really nice present – something special – but what? He had puzzled over the choice for hours, then at last, the night before, he had thought of it. A silver bangle. He grimaced. It would cost, of course, but it was something he wanted very badly to give her. He headed across Princes Street at last and on up Hanover Street in the direction of Hamilton and Inches.

He was halfway up the street when Kathleen spotted him as she came out of a shop. She hesitated, then she threaded her way between the cars and ran after him. ‘Neil? I thought it was you! How are you?’ Two days before she had moved out at last back into her own flat. She smiled at him, her red hair flecked with snow crystals beneath her green silk scarf. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news. I’m so sorry, Neil, but you must have known she would go back to him.’

He stared at her blankly. ‘What are you talking about, Kath?’ He was impatient to move on.

‘Why, Clare, of course.’ Her eyes were wide, carefully sympathetic.

‘What about Clare?’ They both moved back, away from the pavement’s edge as a delivery van swept past throwing a fan of black slush across the paving stones.

Kathleen looked at him incredulously, her triumph hidden. ‘You mean you don’t know?’

‘Know what?’ His voice was edged with irritation.

She frowned. ‘Well, if she hasn’t said anything, perhaps I shouldn’t –’

‘Said what, Kath?’ He was suddenly white with anger. She sensed she had gone too far and shook her head quickly. ‘It doesn’t matter –’

‘It obviously does.’ Neil stepped towards her. ‘What mischief are you plotting now, Kath? It won’t work, you know.’

‘Paul Royland went up to Duncairn yesterday –’ Suddenly she was blurting it out. ‘Apparently she’s gone back with him. Back to London. I’m sorry, Neil.’

Neil stared at her. ‘How do you know this?’ He was startled by the shaft of fear and anger which shot through him.

‘I rang Jack Grant last night. I’ve lost some of my music, and I thought perhaps I had left it up there.’ Kathleen looked down, unable to meet his eye. ‘He told me. Apparently she decided to go back with him because of the court case and everything. Jack said she had been going to speak to you – I suppose she didn’t have time …’

‘I don’t believe you.’ His face was ashen.

‘It’s true, Neil.’ She looked him in the eye again and was appalled by the pain she saw there. Suddenly she was less certain.

She had rung Duncairn, it was true. Both times the line was engaged, then the third time the line was dead. She breathed a silent prayer that by the time it had been repaired Paul would have got there and taken Clare away.

‘You’re lying, Kath!’ Neil clenched his fists.

‘I’m not lying.’ She held his gaze steadily.

Believe it. Believe it and it will be true.

‘Clare is beyond your reach, Neil. She never was yours. I did tell you. She was just amusing herself with you, Neil. She’s out of your class. Out of our class. The moment Paul beckoned she ran back to him. She belongs to him. She belongs with him, Neil. Even in trouble he has money, influence, friends. He’ll come out of this smelling of bloody roses – his sort always do! Don’t betray yourself, Neil. Don’t run after her!’

He had been standing completely still in the middle of the pavement, facing her, his face and hair wet with melted snow. Now, at last he began to walk on slowly. For a moment Kathleen stared at him, then she began quickly to walk after him.

‘Neil –’

‘Goodbye, Kath.’

‘Neil, if I come over to the offices tomorrow, maybe we could have a coffee together?’ She was almost running now to keep up with him. When they reached the corner of George Street he stopped. ‘Maybe I could lend a hand with something at Earthwatch over Christmas,’ she called. ‘When the show is over? I’m alone over Christmas, Neil. Please don’t leave me alone –’ She despised herself for begging: a woman like her should be able to snap her fingers and summon a man, but she could not help herself.

‘Maybe, Kath.’ He sounded very weary. ‘I just don’t know.’

When he crossed the road she didn’t follow him. She stood and watched him, feeling the wind whipping her coat open, shivering as the snow slid down her neck. She saw him walk slowly down the street and stop outside the jewellers for a long time, staring down at something in the window display, then at last he walked on without going in.

Biting her lip Kath turned away, her hand in her pocket clenched around the keys to his flat. He hadn’t asked for them again.

Clare was lying in bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, when Paul returned to her bedroom. He had a cup of tea in his hand.

‘Clare?’ He felt light with relief at seeing her awake. He put the cup down on the table beside the bed. ‘Clare, Geoff is coming to look after you, darling.’

She made no response.

‘It’ll be all right, Clare. They won’t hurt the castle, you know. Once they’ve got the well drilled and the pipes laid and everything you’ll hardly be able to see anything at all –’

Her face was completely blank. Impassive. The fear had gone, and the cold pallor of sweat.

‘I’m sure we can arrange for you to have visitation rights or something –’ He laughed nervously. ‘We’ll go back and visit it, darling, I promise, once all this stupid litigation is over. Nothing awful is going to happen to me, you know. I’ll probably get a fine, that’s all. And the case isn’t spectacular. I doubt if the press will show any interest. They’re getting bored with the City now. I don’t suppose anyone will hear about it. And the child need never know.’ He paused and looked at Clare’s stomach, hidden beneath the smeared raincoat. One of her shoes had fallen to the floor. He frowned. Approaching her he stood looking down at her. Now that he had had his way he wanted everything to be the same as it used to be, before Clare and he had quarrelled. They could be a perfect family now, with a baby of their own. A strange cold fear crept back into his stomach as he looked down at her still face. ‘Clare, can you hear me?’ He reached out tentatively. The buckle of her belt lay on the counterpane below the knot which tied the coat around her. She did not move when he pulled at it. With cold, awkward hands he undid it, and began to ease off the coat. She lay, completely unresponsive, moving puppet-like as he pulled it from her arms, rolling to one side as he eased it from beneath her, then falling back on to the bed again. He bundled up the Burberry and pushed it into the back of the cupboard, then he removed her other shoe and pulled the counterpane over her again, tucking it in.

‘Clare, you ought to drink something hot, darling.’

She ignored him.

‘Please. You musn’t get chilled. Have your tea. It will make you feel better.’ There was a wheedling note in his voice now. ‘I don’t want us to quarrel, Clare. If you’d behaved as a wife should, if you’d been loyal to me, none of this would have happened.’ He adjusted the counterpane again. ‘But I’ve forgiven you all that. In spite of what has happened, darling, I have forgiven you. It will be all right. Geoffrey will be here soon, and he will help you.’

He shivered suddenly. The room was icy cold. He glanced round, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stirring. The house was very silent.

‘I’ll go and make us some supper, shall I? And see that the heating is on. It is very cold outside.’ He backed away from the bed. ‘You’ll be all right, Clare?’ He was begging her now.