Time to Pay (42 page)

As it was, he wasn't quite sure what Lloyd's course of action would be. To remove the package entirely would doubtless give rise to much speculation, but maybe, as he believed them ignorant
of the diary's existence, he would take a chance on that. After all, he had no reason to think they suspected him, and Gideon had told him that Reuben was long gone.

Gideon swung the Land Rover into the drive of Graylings Priory, gritting his teeth as it skidded on the damp tarmac under the trees. His first priority was to get to the house while Lloyd was still inside.

At the top of the drive he slowed down, pulling into the cover of the rhododendrons just out of sight of the house. There he stopped the Land Rover, switched off the ignition and got out, leaving the door open so as not to make a noise.

Lloyd would have entered the house through the boot room into the kitchen, making use of the back-door key, which Mrs Morecambe habitually left in one of the old wellies. The Priory's keys were large in size and few in number, and it was a general rule that the less often they left the property, the better. In fact, John Norris had tutted in horror at their scarcity and recommended that Giles arrange to get some copies made as soon as he could.

Ducking low under the level of the window sills, Gideon made his way through the stableyard, noting the presence of Lloyd's Range Rover with a strange mixture of satisfaction and apprehension.

Unsure how close on Lloyd's heels he might be, he peered cautiously into the boot room before entering. It was empty, and he moved forward to the door into the kitchen, his heart beginning to thud uncomfortably hard.

What if Lloyd had somehow seen his approach and was waiting on the other side of the door, with heaven knew what in his hands? A carving knife, perhaps, or the poker from beside the fire?

He steeled himself to open it, and saw at once that there was nothing to fear. Pippa's dogs, Fanny and Bella, and Giles' two terriers were all standing by the far door that led into the hall, those who had tails waving them gently. No clearer indication was needed of where Lloyd had gone.

When Gideon shut the boot room door, all four dogs turned and bounded across, bodies wriggling and squirming their delight. He was heartily glad that he'd left his own dog at the Gatehouse, because he was almost certain that Zebedee would have given voice to his joy with a series of loud barks.

To be sure of leaving the kitchen without inadvertently letting one or more of the dogs escape, he gave them each a Bonio from the cupboard, and then opened the door a crack and looked through into the entrance hall beyond.

It was empty.

Light poured in by way of the tall, ornate leaded window to the side of the huge front door, illuminating gently whirling dust motes, and he could see that the mat in front of it was unadorned by a parcel of any kind.

Lloyd was clearly in the building, but where?

Gideon stepped quietly into the hall and closed the door behind him, his mind running through the possibilities. He had half-expected to meet Lloyd coming back out with the diary under his arm, or failing that, to find him ripping the padded
envelope open in the hallway. The worst scenario he'd contemplated was being altogether too far behind and for Lloyd to have put the whole thing in the Aga without stopping to look at it, but he felt this was the least likely outcome. The lure of reading the journal after all these years would surely be too strong for anyone with an interest in it, and besides, as far as Lloyd knew, he had all afternoon.

So where was he now?

Perhaps, Gideon reasoned, Lloyd hadn't been one hundred per cent sure the package
did
contain Julian Norris' diary. Perhaps he had decided to open it carefully and make sure, before taking any further action. If that
was
the case, Gideon had a good idea where he might have gone: the one place he could be sure of finding scissors, Sellotape and the like. Giles' study.

Moving to the foot of the grand staircase, he peered up, wishing he could see beyond the turn. He knew from experience that the stairs creaked badly – after close on five hundred years, they could be excused that – but, just now, a nice straight modern flight would have been a godsend.

Gideon hesitated. If he was right, and Lloyd
had
taken the diary to Giles' study, then he should be some distance from the head of the main staircase. On the other hand, if he waited in the hall, then surely, sooner or later, Lloyd would have to pass him on his way out. Where was the hurry?

Even as he thought it, he heard a door bang and the sound of someone walking across the old floorboards overhead. Another door opened and
shut, and the footsteps moved over the landing towards the top of the stairs, accompanied by the jauntily whistled strains of ‘Greensleeves'. Hurriedly, Gideon moved back out of sight as the whistler began to descend.

Lloyd came down the lower flight of stairs casually carrying the padded envelope in one hand, and headed for the front door, presumably to replace it on the mat.

‘Curiosity get the better of you, Lloyd?' Gideon said, stepping out of hiding behind him.

Lloyd paused, then turned smoothly, faint surprise showing on his misleadingly pleasant face.

‘Gideon! Well, well. What happened? Didn't you like the menu?'

‘Ha ha,' Gideon said humourlessly. ‘I might ask the same of you. Weren't you supposed to be rushing to the side of a sick horse? Badger, wasn't it? How is the poor old boy?'

‘In a bad way,' Lloyd said feigning concern. ‘But I couldn't do much in my Sunday best, so I called in to pick up a change of clothes.'

‘Which you appear to have forgotten,' Gideon observed. Lloyd still wore the cream trousers and brown wool blazer he'd been wearing when he left the restaurant. ‘Christ, Lloyd! Give it up, I'm not buying it. You left the lunch early because you were desperate to see what was in the package Reuben sent me. Why was that, I wonder?'

‘Looks like I wasn't the only one.'

‘Ah, but that's where you're wrong. I don't need to look at the package, because I know what's in it.'

Lloyd's eyes narrowed and he stood perfectly still, haloed by the sunlight from the window. Gideon imagined his brain racing, wondering how much Gideon knew and whether there was still a way out with honour, or if all was lost.

‘He told you? Well, I don't know why the old tramp sent it to you. It's just the ramblings of a manic depressive who's no longer around. Here, you might as well have it.' He tossed the envelope to Gideon, frisbee fashion.

Gideon caught it, pulled the tape away from the flap and took out the diary. Leafing through to the end of the written pages he discovered that the entries now stopped at the twenty-first of April. He looked up and found Lloyd watching with apparent nonchalance.

‘So, what did you do with the pages you cut out?' he asked, and had the satisfaction of seeing Lloyd's composure slip for a moment.

‘What are you talking about?'

‘The pages where Julian explains what happened the night Marcus Daniels died. The pages Damien photocopied and sent to you and the others.'

‘You don't know what you're talking about,' Lloyd scoffed, but Gideon could see he was shaken. ‘Look, I don't have time for this. I've got a horse to see to.' He started moving towards the kitchen door.

‘Oh, come on! We both know that's rubbish! I've read those pages you so carefully removed.'

Lloyd paused and turned. ‘You're bluffing . . . How could you have?'

‘Easy. Just before I wrapped it up.'

‘
You
sent it?' Lloyd's mask of indifference was showing cracks. ‘Oh, I suppose you think you're a real smart-arse, don't you? But it doesn't prove a bloody thing. And now you haven't even got the evidence.'

‘Damien's not the only one who's got a photocopier,' Gideon pointed out.

There was a pause while Lloyd visibly regrouped.

‘And who do you think's going to be interested in something that happened twelve years ago?'

‘Well,
you
appear to be pretty worked up about it.
Now why would that be?
I ask myself. Perhaps there's more to this than meets the eye . . .'

‘You're talking complete crap! It was an accident. The boy was drunk, tried to balance on the wall, slipped and banged his head. So – we covered it up . . . yeah, maybe that was wrong, but it was nobody's
fault
.'

‘On the face of it, maybe, but what if one of his mates – and I use the term loosely – what if one of them, the one, in fact, who suggested the dare, knew damn well that the boy had no head for heights? What if it was known that the mate in question had seen the lad absolutely paralysed with fear on top of a haystack? Don't you think that might make a difference when the inquest is reopened?'

‘You've got no proof.'

‘I've got a witness, who'll testify if needs be,' Gideon stated, reflecting that Stephenson might've been less than happy to hear him say that, but it was academic, at the moment.

‘I'd say your political career was looking a little shaky now, wouldn't you?' he went on. ‘And that's what this has all been about, hasn't it? Protecting your ambition, your status, your
standing
within the community. Oh yes, Damien knew just how to make you suffer, didn't he?'

‘You know fuck all!'

Lloyd moved towards the door to the kitchen, grabbing the handle and then flattening himself against the heavy wooden panels when it didn't open.

‘You looking for the key, by any chance?' Gideon enquired. He was almost enjoying himself.

‘Give it to me,' Lloyd said low-voiced.

‘Or else?' Gideon wasn't a habitual fighter, but he knew a few moves remembered from a couple of years in his university karate club and, besides that, he reckoned his extra height and reach must count for something.

Lloyd advanced on him, no longer troubling to disguise his loathing.

‘You think you're so fucking clever, don't you? Well, you're not. I was in the study when you drove up – oh, so carefully – and parked under the rhododendrons. I guessed you were up to something, and I was waiting for you. That's why I picked up this!'

On the final word he produced from his left pocket a slim shiny blade, some six or seven inches in length, which Gideon recognised as Giles' antique paperknife from the desk in his study.

He stepped back hurriedly as Lloyd jabbed the
point towards his face. As knives went, the cutting edge wouldn't win any accolades, but Gideon was uncomfortably certain that it had the potential to be an exceedingly efficient stabbing weapon and, from the expression on Lloyd's face, he was within a hair's breadth of finding out.

‘So, what now?' he asked, watching the knife and striving, for pride's sake, to keep his voice steady.

‘Now you give me the key,' Lloyd hissed.

‘And you go . . . where exactly?'

‘Just shut up and give me the key!'

Gideon took a deep breath.

‘I haven't got it,' he lied, his eyes glued to the blade that now hovered at neck level.

‘Then where the fuck is it?'

‘On the ledge.' Gideon glanced past Lloyd at the top of the door frame, and had the satisfaction of seeing him draw back slightly and follow his gaze, but the knife remained alarmingly close.

‘Why would you put it up there?' he demanded suspiciously.

‘To slow you down if you tried to make a run for it. And it worked.'

‘OK. Well, you can just get it down again. Go on,' Lloyd said, gesturing with the blade.

‘Sure.' Gideon moved cautiously past him. ‘You know, that thing you did with the clock was really clever, I have to admit.'

‘What clock?'

‘The one in the Daniels' house, when you broke in on the day of the memorial service.'

‘You're crazy! I was at the service, remember?'

‘I remember you turned up late,' Gideon said,
reaching up to feel along the ledge above the door. ‘But you gave yourself an alibi, didn't you? You made it look as though the clock had accidentally got broken, knowing that the police would assume that the burglar had still been in the house at that time. But
I
think you moved the hands on, so it would look like you were at the minster mourning your lifelong friend while the thieves were still in the farmhouse.'

Lloyd sneered and shook his head.

‘You're crazy,' he repeated. ‘Come on, hurry up! Where's the bloody key?'

Gideon turned, shrugged, and threw Julian Norris' diary in Lloyd's face.

He was so close and had done it so quickly that Lloyd had no time to duck, and didn't. The hardback book caught him somewhere around the bridge of his nose and, as his hands rose instinctively towards his face, Gideon caught the one that held the knife with both of his own. Bearing Lloyd backwards, off balance, he rammed his wrist against the spindle-turned posts of the banisters a couple of times and saw the paperknife drop from his fingers.

With Gideon concentrating his efforts on the hand that held the knife, however, Lloyd's other hand was left free, and he made good use of it by burying it with some force between Gideon's left hip and ribs. It wasn't a particularly debilitating blow, being delivered, as it was, from close quarters by the right hand of a left-handed person, but it was enough to momentarily wind him.

Still holding onto Lloyd's left wrist, Gideon
leaned back and swivelled on his heels, pulling Lloyd off balance and releasing him to go staggering across the hall and crash into the dark oak coffer that stood against the wall.

Lloyd recovered quickly, rubbing his wrist and regarding Gideon with intense loathing.

‘Whatever you might think I've done, you've got no proof. No fingerprints or witnesses. It's only your word against mine, and when they find out that you had it in for me because I got to shag the girl you've always wanted, I don't think they'll take you too seriously, do you?'