Kingdom of Shadows (36 page)

Heaving her case on to the double bed in Neil’s bedroom she opened it, first taking out a pack of cards, wrapped in a black silk scarf. The dresses she had worn for the concert in Belfast were crumpled now and jaded. She tossed them on to a chair and then, catching sight of herself in the mirror on his chest of drawers, she stopped. In the bright sunlight, between downpours of rain, the light in the bedroom was uncompromising. She was exhausted after the late concerts, the hassle of a cancelled flight in Belfast and now the train from Glasgow and it showed. She despised make-up, but she used it more and more now, to hide the sudden transparency of the skin around her eyes, the shadows, the lurking thickness in her jaw line. She drew her hair tentatively around her face. Her hair was still glorious: glossy, long, thick and black. She smiled. A hairdresser for tints was something she would have despised two years ago, too. Nearly five years older than Neil, she had to be very, very careful.

She glanced down idly at a pile of papers on the chest of drawers. Topmost was the information on Paul Royland.Putting down the pack of cards, she picked up the file and sat down on the bed, flipping it open with curiosity. On the second page his two addresses were listed. Someone had underlined the second, in Suffolk, and written in pencil:

CR spends most of her time here.

CR. Clare Royland. Kathleen felt her stomach tighten warningly. She flipped through the rest of the file, but there was nothing of interest, and no photographs, only lists of facts about Paul Royland’s career in the City. Standing up, she was about to replace it on the chest when she caught sight of the map underneath. The Ordnance Survey map of East Anglia was folded so that Dedham was in the centre of the page. Bucksters was large enough to be marked on the map, and the name had been ringed with a red felt-tipped pen.

‘Hello! When did you get back?’ Neil must have come in without her hearing him.

Kathleen turned to face him with a forced smile. ‘Only about half an hour ago. I was going to give you a ring. I thought you’d be in the office.’

Neil gave her a perfunctory kiss. ‘I was. So, how was Belfast? I thought you were going to stay over a couple of days to see your parents. You look tired.’

Kathleen frowned, automatically straightening her shoulders a little. ‘There was trouble with the plane. They cancelled the one I was booked on to. I didn’t go and see Ma and Pa. I couldn’t face a weekend of innuendo and recrimination about my lifestyle.’ She turned away, so he couldn’t see her face. ‘So, did you go to London?’

He nodded.

‘And did you see Paul Royland?’

‘Only from a distance. We didn’t speak. He didn’t recognise me.’

‘From what I hear on the news, the oil lobby is backing down on prospecting new sites these days. These people will be withdrawing their offer for Duncairn any day now.’

Neil frowned. ‘No. You’re wrong. Sadly it’s the easy-access on-shore sites which are in no doubt at all. It is so cheap comparatively to extract the oil.’

‘You went to see her, didn’t you?’ She couldn’t stop herself; the words were out before she had realised it.

Neil frowned. She could tell instantly she had irritated him with the question.

‘If you mean Clare Royland’ – his eyes were on the tell-tale map beside the pack of tarot cards in their wrap – ‘the answer is yes, I went to see her. Briefly.’ Turning away he stood with his back to her, hands in pockets, staring out at Calton Hill.

‘What was she like?’ She couldn’t resist asking.

‘Arrogant.’ He hunched his shoulders uncompromisingly. ‘She ordered me off her land.’

Kathleen’s lips twitched imperceptibly. ‘And did you go?’

‘Of course.’

She could see the colour rising slightly in his face.

‘Forget her, Neil. She’s not worth it. This whole thing is going to blow over. You should be concentrating on real concerns like pollution and the disposal of nuclear waste. You’re letting this Duncairn business distract you from where you’re really needed.’

She threw herself down on the bed. ‘I’ve got a gig in London next week. Are you going to come down with me?’

‘I wish you wouldn’t call them gigs!’ Neil didn’t turn. ‘It makes you sound like a cheap pop star.’

‘I’m a folk singer, Neil.’

‘And a damn good one.’ He sounded irritated. ‘You don’t take yourself seriously enough. You have class. You should exploit it.’

Kathleen raised an eyebrow. ‘So class is important to you suddenly, is it?’ Her calm voice tipped slightly into sarcasm.

Neil turned at last. He looked at her gravely. ‘Don’t knock it, Kath.’

‘That cow has really got to you, hasn’t she!’ Suddenly she was venomous. ‘My God, I hope she’s pilloried! I’m going to enjoy seeing her sweat.’ She hauled herself off the bed. ‘You do still intend to shoot her down in flames, I hope.’

‘I haven’t changed my mind.’

Behind him a rainstorm swept across Calton Hill, followed almost at once by the blustery sunshine again. He picked up his jacket and shrugged it on. ‘On the contrary, I’m even more determined. Look, I’ve had enough of the office for a bit, so I’m going for a walk in the park. Do you want to come?’

‘The park he calls it!’ Kathleen threw herself back on the bed. ‘Thousands of acres of wilderness, with a bloody mountain in the middle of it, and these Scots call it a park, as if it had flowerbeds and benches and statues of Queen Victoria in it! And it’s raining! No thanks! I’m going to have a beauty sleep.’

Neil gave her an affectionate smile. ‘I’ll think of you, when I reach the top!’

‘You do that!’ She hunched over with her back to him. Suddenly she was sorry she wasn’t going.

Emma was sitting on Clare’s bed. ‘Paul says he’s going back to town this evening,’ she said cautiously. ‘Things aren’t going too well, are they?’

Clare shook her head. She was sitting on the window seat, her back to the blustery darkness. She shuddered. ‘I hate it when the clocks change. Suddenly winter comes and the evenings are dark.’

‘Why don’t you come up to London tonight, with us?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to, Em. I think it’s better if Paul and I see as little of each other as possible for a bit.’

‘So, are you still going to Scotland?’ Kicking her shoes off, Emma lay back on the lace bedspread.

Clare shrugged. ‘Of course. I’m just not sure when.’

‘You haven’t let that man scare you off!’ Emma sat upright indignantly. ‘Clare! It’s none of his business. Duncairn is yours.’

‘I know.’ Clare sighed again. ‘I have to be here anyway for a couple of things this week, and Paul and I have a dinner in town on Saturday. Once that is all over, there’s nothing in my diary for a week or so. I think I’ll go home for a bit then. Mummy says Archie will be away for ten days, so it would be a good time to go. I can’t stand it when he’s at Airdlie.’

‘Will you tell Paul where you’re going?’ Emma was watching her closely, her arm bent up to support the back of her neck so that she could peer at Clare across the room.

‘I don’t know. I expect so. He can hardly stop me going to my mother’s, can he?’

They were both silent for a moment.

‘He went to see David and Gillian this afternoon, on his own,’ Emma went on cautiously.

‘I know. He’s obsessed with that trust business.’

‘Has he lost money in the stock market, do you think? Peter thinks he must have.’

Clare shrugged again. ‘He’s put money in the firm apparently. He says they’re having trouble …’

Emma frowned. ‘BCWP aren’t having problems, Clare.’

‘Are you sure? Pete may not have wanted to tell you.’

‘No.’ A look of pain crossed Emma’s face. ‘No. You’re right. He might not have. He hardly talks to me these days at all, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. And when we do it’s trivia, or about Julia.’

‘Does he know about this other man?’ Clare asked quietly.

Emma smiled. ‘He’s not another man. Not like that.’ She looked away. ‘He’s just a nice person who’s fun to go out with.’

‘So you’re seeing him again?’

‘I expect so.’

‘When Peter’s away?’

‘Probably.’

They looked at each other for a minute, then Clare gave a rueful smile. ‘You’re lucky. I wish I could find someone.’

Emma’s eyes widened. ‘I thought you adored Paul!’

‘So did I.’ Uncomfortably Clare stood up. She turned and glanced out of the window towards the gravel drive where Paul and Peter had appeared in the dusk, followed by Julia and Casta. She could see the cold, blustery wind lifting Julia’s hair on the collar of her anorak. For a moment she watched them in silence, then she pulled the heavy curtains across the windows, blotting out the darkness. ‘But he’s changed, Em. He’s changed completely. Sometimes –’ She hesitated. ‘Sometimes he frightens me.’

Paul left Bucksters at six, throwing his briefcase and suits into the back of the green Jaguar. Half an hour later the Cassidys too were on their way.

‘Ring whenever you want to, Clare.’ Emma kissed her on the cheek. ‘And take care, won’t you?’

Clare watched the gold Renault speed up the drive until she saw the rear lights brighten as Peter braked at the gates and turned into the road, then the driveway was dark and deserted. She could hear the wind in the trees. It seemed to roar like a train gathering speed, carrying a spattering of icy rain. Slowly she shut the front door. She could hear the radio playing quietly behind the closed door of the kitchen down the passage where Sarah had returned in time to clear up the tea things.

Slowly she walked back to the drawing room and looked round. The chairs, so recently occupied, still bore in their cushions the imprints of the people who had gone; the drawing Julia had done for her, bright and cheerful, lay on the coffee table, flamboyantly signed across the bottom ‘Julia Victoria Cassidy’. Clare picked it up and looked at it.

There are ways of helping you to conceive a child
! Alice’s voice was so distinct she looked round startled.
I know some spells;
I’ll tell you, if you like
.

A log crackled and subsided in the hearth, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. She was alone.

Sitting down abruptly on the sofa, Clare put her head in her hands.

There are many things you can do: bathe in mare’s milk: wish on
a child-getting stone: carry bistort and an acorn and hang a necklace
of pine cones around your neck
.

Was the voice in her head or in the room? In panic Clare folded her arms over her head, pressing her elbows against her ears, trying to block it out.

Lady’s mantle and the juice of sage and roots of ginger rubbed to
powder. They will all help you. Wear your necklace of cones, and give
your husband a stone of beryl to reawaken his love … It works, it
always works …

The voice faded to silence. For a long time Clare sat unmoving, then slowly she lifted her head and looked round the room.

A long time later she stood up, her movements slow and dazed, rubbing her hands against her cheeks as she went almost unwillingly to her writing desk. She pulled open one of the little drawers and took out a small box. Inside, wrapped in cotton wool was a ring. It had been her father’s. She stared at the huge flat-cut stone with its engraved crest, then slipped it on her finger, raising it to the lamplight, where the pinkish red shone dully on her hand. Someone had told her once that it was a beryl.

Slowly she rehearsed Alice’s list of remedies in her mind. Most of them would be easy to find. Pine cones – ginger – sage. Such simple things. Did she seriously think they would help? What of the other things? Mare’s milk? Bistort? What was bistort? And where would she find a child-getting stone?

Shutting the drawer she sat down again by the fire, staring at the ring. If only she could ask Alice herself. But another visit to the past would have to come later when Sarah was safely in bed, and the house, outside her own locked door, was in darkness. She did not intend to be caught at her meditation again.

Paul let himself into the house on Campden Hill with a sigh. He switched on the lights and drew the curtains in the drawing room before going straight to the drinks cupboard and pouring himself a hefty half tumbler of malt whisky. Putting his attaché case on the sofa beside him, he opened it. The contract note lay on the top.

He did not touch the papers. Lifting his glass to his mouth he drained it, then he topped it up again. The knock at the front door caught him halfway across the room with the bottle in his hand. Cursing softly he put it down.

‘Hi.’ Diane Warboys was standing on the doorstep. ‘I hope you don’t mind my knocking, Paul, but I saw your light on as I drove past, and I suddenly remembered that we hadn’t discussed the plans for my Brussels trip. I did want to talk to you about it.’

Paul stared at her, trying to focus his mind. Reluctantly he stood back and allowed her to precede him into the living room. ‘I’ve only just got back from Suffolk. You’ll have to forgive me. Would you like a drink?’

Diane nodded. She glanced round, noting a suitcase in the middle of the floor and the attaché case open on the sofa. With a smile she accepted the glass of neat malt whisky. ‘Clare’s upstairs, is she? I don’t want to intrude –’

‘Clare is still in Suffolk.’ He frowned. ‘Look, I don’t want to hurry you, but I have quite a bit of work to do this evening.’

‘Of course. Oh, Paul, I am sorry, it was thoughtless of me to drop in like this.’ She paused as an idea struck her. ‘Look, if you’re on your own, why don’t you let me go downstairs and rustle you up some supper. I saw where Clare keeps things when I was here the other evening. It’s the least I could do after disturbing you, and it would let you get on.’

She stepped a little closer to him. He could smell her perfume, mingled with the whisky. Distastefully he moved away.

‘No, Diane. Thanks, but I’ve been eating all weekend. I don’t want any food. As for the plans for your trip, my secretary will be handling all those arrangements. Perhaps you could have a word with her in the morning.’ He turned away.