The Darkest Hour (33 page)

‘What happened?’ she whispered.

He shook his head. ‘He didn’t wait to see what I was going to do. He picked up the canvas and threw it at me. I felt a rush of icy cold! I couldn’t breathe! I felt hands round my throat!’

Lucy felt herself grow pale.

‘You are right,’ Huw went on. ‘It is a man. A strong man. My dear,’ he looked at her suddenly with such compassion she wanted to cry. ‘I am sorry. This is beyond my experience and my capability. I must contact the bishop’s office. This needs someone who is properly trained in the art of deliverance. I am not strong enough.’

Wearily he pushed back the chair and stood up. ‘I want you to pack a case now, and come away with me. My wife will make you up a bed and in the morning we will discuss this with people who understand these things better than I. I was wrong and conceited and overconfident to think I could do this. A prayer for a lost soul is one thing. A confrontation with an angry and vengeful spirit is quite another.’

Lucy’s immediate response was one of denial. ‘I can’t leave the gallery,’ she gasped.

‘Of course you can. Lock up, leave the lights on, set your alarm. It will be quite safe.’

‘But not safe from him,’ she said shakily. ‘I will ring Robin and see if he and Phil will come back. Please, don’t say anything to the bishop’s office. This is my problem. I thought you could help me, but I don’t want anyone else involved.’

‘I have to tell them, Lucy.’

‘No!’ To her own surprise she shouted the word at him. ‘No, I absolutely forbid it!’ She paused in the sudden shocked silence that ensued. ‘I don’t think it’s a ghost, Huw. I shouldn’t have called you in. I think someone is trying to scare me off. I am not getting the Church involved. If it was a ghost, you would have been able to get rid of it. You would have sent it away. But if you can’t do it, then it’s not a ghost. I would rather you left. Please.’ She was aware that she was sounding irrational, perhaps even a little mad. She tightened her lips. ‘I am sorry but I would like you to go now. Whatever it is, however they did it, you’ve stirred things up. You’ve made it worse,’

‘Lucy, my dear!’ Huw looked anguished. ‘I can’t leave you here. I just can’t! If you come with me we can discuss all this with my wife. Would you do that, at least? She is deeply intuitive, much more so than I am. She is nothing to do with the Church, I promise. In fact she probably feels as strongly about it as you do.’

Lucy shook her head. ‘No. Thank you, Huw, but no. Please go.’

‘But I can’t leave you like this. At least let me stay with you till morning.’

She almost stamped her foot. ‘Daylight makes no difference. It only seems more frightening in the dark, but he was here in broad daylight, in the sunshine. Please, just go.’

‘Then let me wait until your friends arrive,’ he pleaded. ‘You mustn’t be alone. If you now feel there is a real person behind this, then all the more reason you shouldn’t be alone.’

‘No need. Robin and Phil will come at once. I would rather you left.’ She was suddenly desperate to have him out of the house. If he stayed, perhaps it would lead to a confrontation. Ghost or man, she was too frightened to contemplate it.

Huw rose to his feet. With a glance over his shoulder towards the studio door he moved away from the table and slowly pushed the chair back into place. ‘I am so sorry to let you down. Remember, Lucy, it is my competence that has failed here, not God’s.’

Lucy pursed her lips. ‘I know you did your best. I don’t blame you. Thank you for coming.’

He waited for another few seconds as though hoping she would change her mind then with a sigh he turned towards the door. She stood without moving as he walked slowly downstairs, listening for his footsteps as he headed towards the gallery door, opened it with the faint jangling of the bell and then closed it again behind him. Then there was silence.

She put her face in her hands. She wasn’t thinking rationally. She wasn’t thinking at all. Why had she sent him away? At least he was company. At least he was there. With another glance over her shoulder she went through into the living room where she couldn’t see the accusing blank which was the closed door of the studio. Reaching for the phone she punched in Robin’s number. It went straight to voicemail. ‘Oh, no!’ She tried his mobile, then Phil’s. All switched off. Desperately she glanced at her watch.

It was barely midnight and she was only just holding herself together.

Rosebank Cottage was in darkness. There had been no sign of Mike’s car in its accustomed place and he had not answered the cottage phone. He must have gone back to London. The cottage was a refuge and she had the keys in her pocket. Cautiously she opened the front door and peered in. The place was very silent, the accustomed smell of polish and flowers and old wood surrounded her as she stepped inside and quietly pushed the front door closed behind her. She reached for the light switch and sighed with relief. It was as if she had been holding her breath for a very long time. If there were a ghost here it would be Evie, and Evie would keep her safe.

It didn’t seem right to sleep upstairs. She pulled an old tartan rug off the settle in the bedroom, wondering how it had escaped Charlotte’s modernising frenzy and huddled beneath it on the sofa in front of the empty fireplace. Exhausted by the events of the night she fell asleep at once.

Evie woke suddenly, staring up into the darkness of her bedroom. It came again, a sharp crack against the window. She slid out of bed and tiptoed across the floor, pushing aside the blackout curtains and peering out into the night. There was a figure standing out in the yard looking up towards the window. ‘Tony!’ She turned and ran for the door, pattering down the stairs in bare feet and across the hall to the kitchen. She pulled open the back door and went out. ‘Tony?’ she whispered.

He appeared round the corner, pausing as he saw her in her white cotton nightdress and bare feet. ‘Evie!’

In seconds he had wrapped her in his arms.

‘Why didn’t you come in?’ she whispered when at last she could speak. ‘You know the back door is never locked.’

‘I was afraid I might run into one of your parents.’

‘They are asleep, you silly. They are both so tired each night they would sleep through an air raid!’

Silently she took his hand and led him back towards the door. Her finger to her lips she guided him through the darkness of the kitchen to the staircase and up towards her bedroom. Once in there, the door closed, the key turned in the lock, they stood for a long time, their arms around one another, not speaking, not moving. She was the first to stir. Pushing him away slightly she groped for his belt and then his jacket and began to pull it off his shoulders. Quickly she unbuttoned his shirt and then reached for the waistband of his trousers.

‘Evie,’ he murmured. ‘Are you sure?’ She put her fingers on his lips to quiet him and determinedly went on divesting him of his clothes. Then she pulled him towards her bed.

It was a long time before they surfaced from beneath the eiderdown, tousled and giggling. ‘I can’t stay much longer, Evie. We might have a pre-dawn call,’ he whispered. ‘Sometimes Jerry sends spy planes over early ahead of the daytime attacks.’ He ran his hand over her stomach and up to her breasts. ‘Oh my darling, how I’ve missed you.’

‘Then why did you break it off?’ She rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed, the sheet round her shoulders as she groped for the matches so she could light the bedside candle, less risky than the overhead light. Suddenly she was shivering.

‘I didn’t. Evie, believe me it wasn’t my idea.’ He put his hand on her arm. ‘Darling girl. I would never have broken up with you.’ He climbed out of bed, reaching for his clothes. ‘It wasn’t my idea, sweetheart. Ralph had a word. He said there were reasons we couldn’t be together.’ He fastened his belt then he sat down next to her and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Ralph told you?’ Evie said after a short pause.

Tony nodded. ‘And your Dad sent me a note.’

Oh God! Ralph. Eddie. Her father’s loan. Evie’s shoulders slumped as she remembered. Turning to him she put her arms round him and clung to him. That explained everything and she couldn’t tell him however much she wanted to. Not yet. It was not her secret to tell.

‘I love you, Tony. I have never loved anyone like this before,’ she whispered.

He laughed gently. ‘And there speaks the voice of how many years’ experience?’

She giggled. ‘Enough to know you are the one.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘But Ralph’s right, we have to keep it a secret. Just for now. Just as I have to stay away from Westhampnett for a bit.’

He opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it again. He nodded. Gently he pulled away the sheet, burying his face in her breasts. They sat still for a few moments then at last Tony stood up. ‘I have to go, Evie.’

She nodded, biting her lip. It was bad enough for him without her making a fuss. ‘How did you get here?’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t hear Esmeralda.’

‘I didn’t dare make a noise. I cycled up. Don’t worry. It won’t take me long. Bill is covering for me and the lads at the gate will look the other way when I sneak back in.’ He bent and kissed her.

They tiptoed down the stairs, holding their breath as one of the steps creaked under their feet. Evie followed him outside and across the yard. By the gate she stopped and watched as he vaulted over it and retrieved an old bicycle from the hedge.

‘See you soon, my love,’ he whispered. Pulling the bike round he scooted it down the lane a few paces and threw his leg over the saddle and began pedalling for all he was worth. Then he was gone.

Upstairs in the farmhouse Rachel heard the click of the back door closing softly and the patter of feet across the hall and up the stairs and she smiled to herself. So, the romance was back on. She hoped Evie had been careful. Beside her Dudley groaned and turned over. ‘What’s that,’ he murmured. ‘Is someone there?’

‘No one,’ she whispered. ‘Just the wind. Go back to sleep. Morning will come soon enough.’

‘Lucy!’

The voice penetrated her restless dreams and dragged her slowly awake.

‘What are you doing here?’ Dolly was standing beside the sofa staring down at her in astonishment. Lucy sat up slowly, stiff and uncomfortable and for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. Then it came back to her, the gallery, the picture, Huw’s failure, and Mike. With a groan she sat up and glanced at her wristwatch. It was just after nine. The action gave her time to think of an excuse for her uninvited presence.

‘I don’t know how it happened. I was doing some extra work and I was suddenly so tired I thought I would lie down for a few minutes. Oh, Dolly. I’m sorry. How awful.’ She swung her legs sideways off the sofa, and managed to stand up, running her fingers through her hair, which hung loose on her shoulders.

Dolly looked at her quizzically but all she said was, ‘Go and wash your face, and I will put on some coffee. I’ve come in today to make up for the day I missed at the dentist.’ She picked up her bags and made her way towards the kitchen where Lucy joined her ten minutes later.

‘It was rather a hectic weekend,’ Lucy said by way of explanation. ‘I saw Michael – he came to the gallery – then I came over here a bit later hoping to see him again before he went back to London, but he had gone so I went over to the studio to catch up on a few things. I thought I would come in and make some coffee to give me the energy to drive home and I suppose it all overwhelmed me.’ She gave Dolly a hopeful smile.

Dolly merely nodded. ‘Would you like some toast?’

‘I would. Yes, please.’

‘Did Mr Michael come over to talk to you about Christopher and what he had told him?’ Dolly said. She had her back to Lucy, taking a loaf from the bread bin and reaching for the knife.

Lucy felt herself grow cold. So, he had told Dolly. ‘He did, yes.’ There was no point in lying any more.

‘And have you got one of Evie’s paintings?’

For a moment Lucy was about to deny it, then slowly she nodded. What was the point? It was all going to come out now. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘We hoped so. My husband thought it might be. Then there was the car crash.’

‘And the picture was destroyed.’ Dolly seemed to take it as a fact. ‘So that was why you became interested in Evie’s work?’

Lucy hesitated. ‘Not entirely. I was interested in the women war artists before, but seeing the picture focused me on Evie, yes.’

Now was the moment to say that the picture had survived, that it was in the gallery in Chichester and that it appeared to be haunted by a ghost who had chased her out of her own home last night, but somehow she didn’t have the strength to say any more. She reached for the cafetière and poured herself a second mug of strong black coffee. ‘Mike was angry I hadn’t told him about it,’ she said at last. ‘But the moment never seemed right. The picture has never been authenticated. It is very different from the others of hers that I have seen.’ All that was true.

If Dolly noticed the change of tense from was to is she didn’t say anything and Lucy found herself suddenly wondering if the picture did still exist. She had not gone into the studio again last night. The ghost, if that was what it was, had thrown the canvas at Huw, that was what he had said. It had thrown it at him and he had run away. If it hadn’t been a ghost and was some person, Christopher Marston, or even Mike playing some weird game with her, determined to get rid of the painting for some reason, it was in a way even more terrifying. Perhaps the picture was destroyed. She shivered. Dolly noticed that, at least.

‘Are you all right, my dear? I hope you didn’t take a chill last night. I saw you had the presence of mind to fetch down Evie’s old rug.’

Lucy blushed. ‘I must have woken up enough to realise that I was cold. I am feeling a bit shivery.’

‘Well, you’d best go home and go to bed properly,’ Dolly said firmly. ‘We don’t want you getting pneumonia, do we?’

The gallery was open when Lucy made her way from the car and pushed open the door. Robin was sitting at the desk writing something in the sales ledger. He peered at her over his reading glasses, then took them off and threw them down. ‘OK, ducky. What’s the story?’