The Macbeth Prophecy (15 page)

“And you never remembered that blank half-hour or whatever?”

Ted stared down at his cucumber soup. “Not until now.”

They waited expectantly.

“It suddenly came back, just a minute ago. I was thinking of the report in the paper, and the stones, and – it was there, every missing detail. I almost wish it wasn't.” He smiled faintly. “Sorry, Tania. I'd better stop or I'll spoil your appetite.”

“Oh, you'll have to go on now. I shan't eat another mouthful till I know what you saw.”

“OK, if you can take it. I hope I can! I remember going round behind one of the stones and seeing a couple of boys a few yards away. Only small, six or seven, I'd say, and gypsies from the look of them. They were bending over something on the ground, but I couldn't see what it was. Then someone called from a distance away and they started to run off without seeing me. I was curious enough to go over and look at what they'd left lying there. It was a dead sheep.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “That's the punch-line? I should think sheep-stealing's fairly common among gypsies.”

“No doubt. But you don't usually find the abandoned carcass with its throat slit and all the blood drained out of it.”

Tania's hand went to her mouth and a sudden breeze bent the candle flame.

“Go on,” Jason said quietly.

“I stood staring down at it, feeling decidedly queasy,

I admit, but still perfectly clear-headed. Then I heard a faint sound. I remember wondering if the boys had come back, and if so what I could say to them. They were there all right, as alike as two peas – twins, I suppose – but I didn't get the chance to say a thing. They stood gazing at me, and so help me I felt a kind of paralysis creeping over my brain. Can you imagine that? I could actually
feel
myself forgetting – the stones, then the dead animal, and finally the kids themselves. And I remember turning like a robot and trotting meekly back to the village, for all the world as though that was what I'd been ‘programmed' to do. What's more, I doubt if I'd ever have remembered what happened, if it hadn't been triggered off by that report in the paper.”

Jason was looking at him with narrowed eyes. “You're suggesting the episode was deliberately blotted out of your memory?”

“I'm damn sure it was. I tell you I could feel it happening.”

Tania said on a high note, “Are you going to finish your soup?”

“Sorry. Yes, of course.” He picked up his spoon and sipped the last of the pale green liquid. Somehow it didn't taste quite as good as before.

No-one spoke while Tania removed the plates and put the salad on the table.

“Do you think the two things are connected?” Ted asked then. “The throat seems to have been attacked in both cases.”

Jason pushed the salad bowl towards him. “You never struck me as a likely case for brainwashing, Ted.”

“All right, we all know your views on such things. I was inclined to agree with you, till this. And brainwashing is a fact of life. Look at all those prisoners of war –

“By specialists, under rigorous conditions, yes. But by a couple of small children on a Cumbrian hillside?”

“Perhaps,” Tania said shakily, “you're lucky they stopped at brainwashing.”

“Oh, come now, darling! You surely don't imagine those little boys had anything to do with the girl's death?”

“As Ted said, there are similarities: location, method of killing. The sheep, that is, not Ted!”

“Thank God!” muttered Ted under his breath.

“It could be,” Tania continued, “that your unknown correspondent had a point, and there
is
something strange going on.”

“You're sure you do remember all that, Ted? Could your memory perhaps have been ‘assisted' by what you read in the paper?”

“Not in the way you imply. I swear, Jason, I remember it all perfectly clearly now. And as I said, I rather wish I didn't.”

“I wonder what the Macbeth prophecy was,” Jason mused. “The one which is supposedly fulfilling itself. If, of course, it hasn't already done so by now. You know, this village of yours is beginning to interest me.” He glanced at his wife. “How do you fancy a holiday, my love, when the play comes off? A touch of clear Cumbrian air would revive you wondrously.”

“If you're planning to cut my throat,” she answered tightly, “you don't have to take me all that way to do it.”

Ted shifted uncomfortably. “I'm sorry. I seem to have put a blight on the dinner party.”

“Scarcely a dinner party, just a little light refreshment.”

“On the little light refreshment, then,” he repeated woodenly. “About holidays, though, have you made any plans? You could both do with a break.” He thought privately that Jason was looking strained. The grooves from nose to mouth were etched more deeply and the usually piercing eyes looked tired. Tania's last comment had lifted for a second the curtain they meticulously kept over their private life. He'd suspected for some time that things were not going smoothly and had heard her name linked more than once with the leading man in her current play. He hoped the rumours had not reached Jason.

“Tania's anxious to go somewhere bright and noisy,” Jason said now, and the tiredness was in his voice as well. “The south of France or the Canaries. For myself, I just want peace and quiet; the chance to relax.”

“The trouble with you, my sweet, is that you're such a stick-in-the-mud.” Regardless of the food on her plate, Tania flicked open her cigarette case. “Without me to take you in hand, you'd be old before your time.”

“Possibly. More wine, Ted?”

The evening moved to an end and it was with relief that Ted took his leave of them.

“What a bore that man is!” Tania exclaimed as the door closed behind him. “A bore and a boor! Fancy bringing up that disgusting story when we were eating.”

“You did tell him to go ahead,” Jason reminded her mildly.

“Well, naturally. By that time he'd aroused my interest. And it was so uncharacteristic of him, that flight of fancy. Usually he's so abysmally solid and unimaginative.”

“Which, to my way of thinking, adds weight to his story.”

“Well, you brood over it if you want to. I'm going to bed.”

But when he joined her a few minutes later, it seemed she'd also been “brooding”. “You weren't serious about going to that god-forsaken place?”

He looked across at her. The light behind her made her hair a fluffy gold halo and the wispy lace nightdress did little to conceal her lovely body. He wondered dispassionately why she so seldom roused him now; she was as beautiful as ever. Perhaps he'd just outgrown her.

“Well?” She turned challengingly to face him, her arms behind her head as she struggled to unfasten the clasp of the chain she was wearing. He went to help her.

“I don't know,” he said, replying to her question. “It could be interesting.”

“Not to me.” She paused. “If you won't go to the south of France, should you mind if I did?”

He slid his hand round in front of her to catch the chain and she caught it and held it against her breast. He said evenly, “Alone?”

“Do you really want me to answer that? Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. Wasn't that the arrangement?”

“Your arrangement, yes.”

She turned to face him, her arms going round his neck. “Have I ever denied you anything?”

“Only your undivided attention.”

“Which you've never shown any sign of wanting.” She surveyed him critically. “Damn it, Jason, you're a very attractive man. You could easily have kept me in line if you'd only taken the trouble.” Her fingers moved up into his thick hair and he allowed her to pull his head down to hers, but his mind was elsewhere.

“I'll make a bargain with you,” he said minutes later. “You can go abroad if you must, but first we'll spend a week or two in the Lake District.”

“Oh no!” She moved angrily away. “You can't expect me to bury myself up there?”

“It's not much to ask, surely?”

“Just because that bloody man spins us a yarn –”

“That's not the only reason. Admittedly I'd forgotten about Crowthorpe, but it interested me from the start. That's why I kept the letter; I thought it might be worth going to have a look at the place. It's a beautiful part of the country and I
am
tired, Tania. I need a rest, and I might even feel tempted to do a little writing up there.”

“That'll be riveting for me.”

“Two weeks at the most, I promise.”

“But we don't know anything about the place, except that there's some ancient monument. Big deal!”

“There's also a Lakeside Hotel. That'll do for a start.”

“Come to the Lakeside and spot the next murder victim!”

“That's not in the best of taste.”

“Nor is this morbid interest in the scene of the crime.”

“That's enough, now,” he said quietly. “I'm going, and you're coming with me. As part of the arrangement.”

Jason's decision was unchanged in the morning. Pulling the phone towards him, he dialled directory enquiries and minutes later a pleasant voice said in his ear, “Lakeside Hotel, Crowthorpe. Can I help you?”

“Please. I'd like to reserve a suite for the first two weeks in June.”

“I'm sorry, sir, we haven't any suites. I can offer you a double bedroom with bath, but I must ask you to confirm the reservation in writing. We're getting very booked up for June.”

“I suppose that will have to do. Is it a good room?”

“Very nice, yes sir. A lovely view across the lake.”

“All right, I'll take it. The name's Jason Quinn.”

There was a startled pause. “
The
Jason Quinn?” the voice enquired incredulously.

A brief smile touched his mouth. “I doubt if there are two of us.”

“Thank you very much, sir. If you'll confirm the reservation I'll see you have the very best room. It's usually possible to juggle them round a bit.”

“Thank you. I'm most grateful.”

He turned from the phone as Tania emerged, yawning, from the bedroom. “Who were you speaking to?”

“The Lakeside Hotel. We're booked in for the first fortnight in June.”

“Determined devil, aren't you?”

“You could say that. Where's Françoise?”

“She has an English class this morning. I hope she left some coffee.”

“She did. I've already had two cups.” He glanced at her. “You don't really mind, do you? Coming with me?”

“It's a bit late to ask, after all this high-handedness.”

“I want you to enjoy it.”

“Oh, I'll have a ball, I don't doubt.” She moved towards the kitchen. “More coffee?”

“No thanks. I'm going round to see Pen. I heard from Ted that Emily's not well.”

“Nothing infectious, I hope.”

“Tonsilitis. Will you be in for lunch?”

“No, I'm – lunching with Derek, before the matinée.”

He said steadily, “Then I needn't hurry back. Good luck for the performance.”

As he started the car he wondered dispiritedly whether he was doing the right thing in rushing off to the Lake District. If Tania spent the time sulking it could be difficult. No doubt it was Derek Paterson who was so anxious to take her to France. He knew quite well they were having an affair. God, why did his marriages go so disastrously wrong? He smiled sourly at himself in the driving mirror. Not like him to indulge in self-pity. He must be in need of a holiday.

“Jason! What a lovely surprise!”

“Hello, Pen.” He kissed her cheek. “Not disturbing anything, am I?”

“Of course not. Alexander's out playing cricket and Emily and I are just pottering. She's had a sore throat this week, but I think she's over it now.”

“So Ted told me.”

“That's right, he was dining with you last night, wasn't he? How's Tania?”

“Tired, I think, though she won't admit it. The last weeks of a run often get her down.”

He had followed her through to the sitting-room, where his daughter looked up from a book. Small for her twelve years, with brown eyes, high cheekbones and a fringe of dark hair, she was her mother in miniature.

“Hello, Daddy.” She came over dutifully for his kiss.

“Hi, poppet. I hear you haven't been well. Sorry about that.” To his own ears his voice sounded stilted. He was never at ease in the presence of children, his own or anyone else's. Fleetingly he thought of the gypsy twins who'd had such a profound effect on Ted.

“I've had tonsilitis but I'm better now.” She was a quiet, polite child, Emily. The epithet “old-fashioned” came to mind, but out of a sense of loyalty he suppressed it.

“Can you stay for lunch?” Penelope asked.

“I'd be glad to.”

“Lovely, then we can take our time and get talked up to date. Alexander's been picked for the First XI, incidentally. That's why he's not here. He'll be sorry to have missed you.”

Privately, Jason doubted that. His son, like his daughter, was always constrained in his presence.

“How's the writing going?” he asked, settling comfortably into a chair. “I read a very glowing crit of
Sheridan
in the
Telegraph
.”

“Yes, it was most gratifying. I've chosen a female subject for the next one, Philippa of Hainault. I became interested in her years ago, when I was working on
The Black Prince
, and of course those notes will be a help. How about you? Any dates for a world première I can note in my diary?”

“Not as yet, but I'm at the restless stage, always a sign I should get down to writing. The TV business is a distraction but we've only a couple of shows to go in this series. I'm hoping to make a start on a new play during the summer.”