Sands of Time (41 page)

It took him a while to thread his way back to the main entrance. Once outside he too searched for a cab, quickly feeling better in the damp cold air.

In less than an hour he was sitting across the table from his mother, shaking his head. ‘It was my imagination. It must have been. But the voice was so loud. So real. And Serena and Anna heard it too.’ He rounded on her. ‘Why in God’s name did you have to tell me we were related to Lord Carstairs?’

‘I thought that you would be interested, Toby.’ Frances sighed. She was a tall handsome woman with wild grey hair. The resemblance between mother and son was obvious. ‘Personally, I thought it was rather glamorous. I never mentioned it in the past because you weren’t interested in family stuff, but once Anna had showed me that diary –’ She paused. ‘I do see it is awkward for you as far as Anna is concerned. I am so sorry. He does seem to have given her ancestor a very hard time.’

Toby groaned. This whole sorry mess was all his mother’s fault.

Here he was, independent, if not entirely back on an even keel after the succession of best-forgotten traumas that had rocked his life, and Frances had managed to bowl him a killer ball – in Anna’s presence – which had slipped under his guard without his even seeing it coming. He smiled tiredly at the explosion of mixed metaphors and clichés running through his brain. He knew he was being unfair but just at the moment it was hard to be anything else.

And perhaps Anna was right. She usually was. She was a good judge of character. After all, she had not cared for him much at the beginning of their relationship. If it was a relationship. It certainly wouldn’t be now. He sighed. She was so beautiful, Anna. So vulnerable. Her ex-husband had somehow isolated her, kept her prisoner in a glass palace so that when she finally broke free of the marriage she was like an exquisite butterfly, unspoiled, naïve. But not nearly so naïve as he was!

He groaned again. ‘It is the understatement of the year to say he gave Louisa a hard time!’ He scowled. ‘And this morning, for a few minutes –’ He shuddered. ‘He seemed to be giving me one as well. Do you believe in possession? In life after death? Is it even remotely possible that what I’ve told you really happened, or have I gone stark staring mad?’

Frances raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think you’re mad. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what I believe. I confess I did go and see a medium once – hasn’t everyone? And what she told me was convincing – not guesswork at all. But in this case, I think maybe you’re right. I don’t mean I think you are mad, but I think it may be a hefty dose of over-imagination. Egypt seems to have had a pretty powerful effect on you all.’ She paused. Toby’s anguish was obvious. She bit her lip. ‘It’s hardly surprising when you consider the potent mix of Louisa’s diary, and the legends and myths and ghosts, and on top of all that the death of that poor young man you were travelling with. All that with the magic of the Nile itself.’ Climbing to her feet she put a hand on his shoulder, then went over to switch on the kettle. ‘I’m sure Anna is fine. She’s no fool. She’ll look after herself.’ She paused. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have come down to London. Perhaps after all it would do no harm for you two to be apart for a bit while you both take stock. What did Serena think about all this? Where did she go after Anna left?’

‘Home, I presume.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea what she thinks, though I can guess. Oh God, I wish I knew where Anna went. And what she intended doing with that damn bottle.’

‘You don’t care what she does with the bottle, Toby,’ his mother said firmly as she made a pot of tea. ‘Do you?’ She glanced up and scrutinised his face sharply.

He shook his head. ‘Not a fig. No.’

‘Good. Then leave it at that. She knows where we are. She knows she can always contact you here, and I am sure she will when she is ready.’

‘But I frightened her – ’

‘No, from what you have told me you all frightened each other. Don’t go convincing yourself you are a channel of some kind or a spirit medium or even, heaven forbid, the reincarnation of Lord Carstairs! You had never heard of the man a few weeks ago. You have not suddenly turned into a villainous Victorian occultist with swirling black moustaches and a silk lined cloak.’

‘He didn’t have moustaches!’ Toby grimaced wryly.

‘Well, whatever! From the diary he appears to have been extremely handsome.’ She smacked the cup of tea down in front of him, spilling a little into the saucer. ‘He did seem to have some strange habits, but then a lot of those Victorians were extremely odd. Keep focusing on the solid clergymen in our family, Toby. None of them kept pet cobras which obeyed their every whim like he did. Much more healthy to have a labrador! Don’t let him become an obsession.’ She frowned. ‘Did you go to Carstairs Castle?’

‘Of course I did. You gave me the guidebook, remember!’ The guidebook which had spelt out the enigma of Lord Carstairs’ final disappearance.

They stared at each other. Toby felt a strange chill strike between his shoulder blades. The hairs on his arms were standing on end. ‘It happened there. He was waiting for someone to come along. A patsy. A descendant!’

‘No. No, Toby. That’s fantasy!’

‘Is it?’ He stared down at his cup without touching it. ‘I’ve painted a portrait of him. That’s how I know he didn’t have moustaches. I know exactly what he looked like. It’s the best thing I’ve ever painted.’ He glanced up at her with a grimace. ‘That’s when it happened. Oh God, what have I done?’

‘Toby. This is nonsense.’

‘No. It isn’t. It’s happened.’ He stood up. ‘Christ! It’s like being told I might have got cancer! There might be something hiding inside me. Lying in wait. Something I can’t control.’

‘Toby! Stop it!’ Frances was terrified.

‘What am I going to do?’

‘You’re going to pull yourself together. Look at all the problems you’ve come through before, Toby. You’re going to remember that you are a strong, determined fighter. Roger Carstairs is dead. He has to be. Any other idea is a complete nonsense. I doubt if he is even a ghost. Even if he had some kind of weird pseudo consciousness it would be no more than that of a wraith; nothing you couldn’t override. I doubt if he even has that. I don’t think he exists at all in any form.’ She was trying to convince herself. ‘I don’t think he’s anything more than a waking nightmare. Your nightmare.’ She stood up, agitated. ‘For goodness’ sake, Toby. Don’t lose this chance. Anna trusts you – ’

‘Not any more she doesn’t.’ The interruption was very bitter.

‘She will, Toby. She knows you. She knows you are strong. Look how you took care of her in Egypt. When she was so ill at the end you brought her home. You looked after her. You brought her here.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’ He sighed. ‘If only I could guess where she was. Where she would have gone.’

And suddenly he knew.

She would have gone back to her Aunt Phyllis in Suffolk. Of course. It was so obvious. It was Phyllis who had given her the bottle when she was a child, Phyllis who had given her the diary, Phyllis who had suggested she go to Egypt, and it was to Phyllis’s house that they had driven – both of them, together – to talk about the horrors and adventures of the trip they had just shared. Phyllis was her mentor and her home was Anna’s natural sanctuary. The first place she would head for.

9

Serena was once again sitting cross-legged in front of the small altar in her front room, deep in meditation. Reaching out into the darkness, questing back into Egypt, towards the scented misty distances, she was seeking answers; advice; help for her friends. She could see the still, deep waters of the Nile, she entered the temple, walking across the sand blown courtyard, she could smell the
kyphi
, hear the sound of distant music, see the shadowed shapes of temple attendants at the periphery of her vision.

Help me; help Anna. What should we do with the bottle
containing thy tears?

Her prayer wove across the distances, drifting, seeking answer.

Shall I bring it back to Egypt?

She was there. She could see. She could hear, but there was no answer. The bottle was not hers to take back. It had gone and she did not know where it was.

Pressing her palms together she lowered her head in acknowledgment of the goddess, crossed her arms across her breast, hands on shoulders in the time-old Egyptian pose, and opened her eyes. The room had grown dark while she was praying. Standing up with a groan at the stiffness in her knees she blew out the candles, extinguished her incense and went to switch on the light.

Outside the street was dark. It was still pouring with rain. Serena shivered and, drawing the curtains, bent to switch on the electric fire. The central heating had gone off for the night while she had been praying and now the house was chilly. Glancing at her watch she wondered if it was too late to ring Anna – to see if she had come home yet.

The phone rang on and on in Anna’s empty house in Notting Hill. Glancing at the notepad beside her on the kitchen worktop Serena saw the second number she had jotted down. Toby’s number – or rather Toby’s mother’s. Toby, who had pushed past her, his face a mask of anger, his head filled with the thoughts of an angry, vicious stranger. Serena hesitated, shivering.

Frances Hayward was awake. Unable to sleep, she was huddled in the kitchen over a cup of cocoa and the newspaper when Serena rang. ‘I have no idea where he is. Where they are. Toby went off after her several hours ago; he thought she would have gone to see her great-aunt Phyllis. Do you know where she lives? I don’t drive so I couldn’t follow him and I don’t know Phyllis’s phone number or address. I think it’s Suffolk somewhere. I never thought to ask. He went off in such a hurry.’ Frances was glad to have someone to talk to. ‘I am so worried about them. This whole thing seems to have blown up into something so strange.’

‘Lord Carstairs seems to have been a terrifying man.’ At home in her kitchen Serena shook her head. ‘Just the idea of him is frightening enough. If he has indeed established some sort of link with Toby then we should be worried. We had enough problems with the Egyptian bottle without Carstairs sticking his oar in.’ Her voice was dry. ‘We needed Toby on our side.’

‘He is on your side. He loves Anna.’

‘I know.’ Serena’s wistful smile was betrayed in her voice. ‘But unfortunately Carstairs doesn’t. He has no reason to. And he is strong. I don’t know if Toby could fight him. That first time, it took him by surprise. It took us all by surprise. I don’t know how Toby would cope if Carstairs tried to speak through him again.’

‘So you do believe all this?’ Frances sighed. ‘I was so hoping it was Toby’s imagination.’

‘It’s not his imagination, Mrs Hayward. I’m afraid Lord Carstairs is all too real. In his way.’ Serena shook her head.

There was a short pause. ‘He said you told him how to drown Carstairs out,’ Frances said hopefully.

‘But will he do it?’ Serena shivered. She was thinking that it was Carstairs, not Toby, who had pushed her out of his way.

Frances was silent for a moment. When she spoke again her voice was full of doubt. ‘I’m sure he will do his best, Serena. He loves Anna. He really does. He would never knowingly do anything to put her in danger. He would do anything to protect her.’

‘If he can.’ Serena sighed. ‘If you hear from them, will you tell me? I’ll give you my mobile number. Please, call me anytime. I mean it.’

There was nothing more she could do. Turning out the lights she climbed up to her bedroom and laid the mobile on her bedside table. Downstairs the smell of incense from her ceremony began to dissipate. Soon it would be gone.

Frances walked slowly through her house deep in thought. If she could find out Phyllis’s address she could ask Serena to go there. Serena had sounded sensible and caring; she was knowledgeable and she had somehow managed to cut through Toby’s torment, teaching him her nursery rhyme mantra.

Out of the blue the name came back to her.

Lavenham.

That was it. And surely it wasn’t a big place? She reached for the phone.

Phyllis Shelley’s number was listed.

Serena wasn’t asleep. She answered the phone on the second ring; she was in the car and on the road within half an hour.

10

Leaving London just as the rush hour was starting, it had taken Toby three hours to drive to Lavenham. Pulling up his car in the darkness of Phyllis’s deserted street in the picture-book small town he sat for a moment, his head resting on his hands on the rim of the steering wheel. Faint light showed through the tightly closed curtains of Phyllis’s oak-beamed cottage. Now he was there he was wondering why he had come. Supposing Anna wasn’t there? What would he say to the old lady? And if she was there, what was he going to do then? What was Lord Carstairs going to do? He shuddered. Suddenly he felt very sick.

A twitching curtain indicated Phyllis Shelley had heard the car draw up outside. With a deep sigh he reached down to release his seat belt and climbed out.

She showed him into her sitting room where an apple log fire smouldered reassuringly in the hearth, supervised by a large sleepy cat. It was apparent at once that Anna was not there. A quick phone call established she was not at home either – or if she was, she was not answering her phone.

Phyllis, smartly dressed in a blue cardigan and matching skirt, her grey wiry hair neatly cropped, looked far less than her eighty-eight years. After one glance at Toby’s pale face and drawn expression, she wouldn’t let him explain the reason for his visit until he had consumed a glass of whisky, some tomato soup and a cheese sandwich in the chair beside the fire. Only then was he allowed to speak, but by then he was fairly certain her calm scrutiny had winkled out most of his innermost secrets without him having had to utter a word. She asked him nevertheless. ‘So, what has gone wrong, Toby?’ She had a quiet voice with a thread of steel in it. ‘You love each other. Can you not work things out between you?’