The Darkest Hour (68 page)

For a moment Tony didn’t say anything, then he leaned across and put his hand over Mike’s. ‘I never had any children of my own; I never married. Evie was the only one for me. You have no idea how much this means to me.’ He gave a beaming smile. Then he sobered again. ‘But why did Evie never get in touch? I told her in my letter that if she didn’t I would assume she didn’t want to marry me, but she didn’t know that. All she had to do was telephone.’

‘She thought you were dead. Your plane crashed.’

Tony looked perplexed. ‘I don’t know what gave her that idea.’ He shook his head and then he nodded slowly as the memory came back. ‘Of course. When I was stationed at Prestwick a plane I often flew did crash out at sea. It was another poor sod who was killed. The base knew someone else was flying it, of course they did. I was on leave when it happened. But someone must have got the news wrong.’

Lucy sighed. ‘Eddie gave her the message. Her diary records her misery. She mourned you all her life. She almost wrote to your parents and they would have told her the truth but she was too unhappy to finish the letter. We’ve seen it. Oh, Tony, I am so sorry.’

Tony‘s face hardened. ‘There was a lot of suspicion at the time that someone was out to get me. I don’t know if it was true but I always thought it was Eddie. He was not a man to cross. It would have been like him to tell her I was dead.’ For several seconds he was silent, gazing into the distance, then he went on. ‘Of course her father hated me as well. Or at least he didn’t approve of me, for some reason.’ He shook his head wistfully. ‘I found out later, or perhaps I guessed,’ he paused, staring off into the distance for a moment, ‘that he was part of an Auxiliary Unit, a kind of underground army. He caught me once going to see Evie at night,’ he paused again. ‘I thought he was furious that I was there, but he was angry because I had seen him on his way to some kind of secret exercise.’ There was another silence. ‘I never quite lost touch – my mother kept everything she saw in the papers about Evie’s exhibitions and sent the cuttings to me – but I moved around a lot. I had several postings before being sent to Egypt towards the end of the war. I think my original CO was watching out for me, keeping me out of trouble – he suspected sabotage and knew about my suspicions, but I had seen that Evie was married and had children.’ He stopped and cleared his throat. ‘I assumed she had made her decision and had forgotten me.’ He paused. ‘Is Evie still alive?’

Lucy shook her head. ‘Oh, Tony, I am so sorry. She died fourteen years ago.’

He nodded. ‘I assumed she must have gone. And Eddie?’

Mike and Lucy exchanged glances.

‘He died in 1989,’ Mike said.

‘And Johnny. My son?’ Tony hesitated over the words.

‘I am afraid he is dead too.’

Tony shook his head. ‘But he was young.’

‘Sixty. It was cancer.’

‘And he had a brother?’

‘Uncle George. I am afraid he died only a month ago in an accident.’

‘And he was Eddie’s son.’

Mike nodded.

Lucy cleared her throat. ‘George wasn’t Evie’s child. He was the son of a woman called Lavinia Gresham. It was in Evie’s diary. She wrote it all down. She lost a baby but shortly afterwards she found out that Eddie had a mistress who lived in Arundel and she went to see her and met the little boy. He was called Paul. Sometime later Lavinia died, I suspect of TB, and Eddie brought the child home. He changed his name to George. Evie seems to have doted on him. I don’t think he ever knew they had adopted him.’

Mike stood up abruptly. ‘It has just occurred to me that Christopher is no blood relation to Evie at all,’ he said. He spoke more loudly than he intended and glanced round, embarrassed, realising that the room had grown silent and people at the other tables were staring at him.

‘I suppose not.’ Lucy nodded.

‘And he took all the paintings!’

‘I don’t suppose he knew he was no relation. I don’t think George knew either although he did tell me that Johnny had once said he was adopted. He thought it was Johnny being mean and he didn’t really believe it. Or he didn’t want to believe it.’

She became aware that Tony had beckoned one of the stewards over. ‘I think this needs something stronger than tea,’ he said firmly. ‘What do you two drink?’ He pushed his teacup away. ‘My goodness. An hour ago I had no family. Now I seem to have inherited a grandson, a family scandal, one might almost call it a hornets’ nest, all sorts of relations, through you, my boy, and by the look of things, a biographer as well!’ He smiled at Lucy.

She returned the smile, almost mesmerised. ‘I am so pleased we found you. It is weird. This all goes back to your friendship with Ralph. My late husband bought a picture which he thought was a self-portrait of Evie. He started to clean it and there was a portrait of you, standing behind her shoulder in your air force uniform. It had been painted out, presumably by Eddie. Then I saw Ralph’s ghost.’

There was a long silence.

Mike cleared his throat. ‘There is a lot to catch up on, clearly. I don’t want to impose on you, but if you would like to take this further, I would love you to come down to Sussex. I inherited Evie’s cottage. It was her refuge from Eddie, the place she and her boys lived for many years.’

Tony had ordered a double malt whisky. He reached for it and took a hefty swig. ‘I certainly want to take it further, as you put it. Please don’t think I don’t want to know you all. This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.’ He took another sip. ‘I have just one painting by Evie. It is a portrait of me. She did it as a present for my parents in the middle of the Battle of Britain so they would have something to remember me by if I was killed.’ He shook his head. ‘When I went back home from Sussex and told them we weren’t going to be married after all my mother put it away in case I was upset by seeing it in their house but she treasured it and when my parents died I found it. It has always been a very special thing for me.’ Again he paused. ‘I would love to come to your cottage, Michael. Thank you.’

The banging on the door woke Huw from a deep sleep. He sat up abruptly, reaching for the light switch and groped for his watch.

‘What time is it?’ Maggie murmured.

‘Two thirty.’ Huw groaned. ‘Don’t get up. I’ll see who it is.’

Grabbing his dressing gown he turned on the lights and stumbled downstairs, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to straighten it.

He turned on the porch light before opening the door and peering out. At first he could see no one then he realised there was someone standing in the driveway. As the door opened the man turned to face it, his clothes muddy, his face scarred by a deep scratch. He was trembling visibly.

‘Help me, please. I’m Christopher Marston, Frances’s husband. You helped her and my daughter. Please, you have to help me! Please, let me in.’

Huw shivered. The ice-cold draught which whistled into the house was nothing to do with the night wind or the driving rain. It was evil. Eddie was back.

‘Come in, Christopher,’ he said. ‘We’ll go into the kitchen. It’s warm in there.’

He led the way down the hall, reaching for the light switches as he went. The darkness which surrounded this man was chilling. He glanced up and saw Maggie’s face peering over the banisters. Imperceptibly he shook his head, but he knew she would come down whatever he said and deep inside he was glad. He was going to need her.

They went into the kitchen and Huw sat Christopher down in a chair by the Rayburn. He found a rug and put it round the man’s shoulders and then went to fill the kettle.

Maggie appeared a few moments later. She was fully dressed and to his surprise he saw she was wearing a crucifix around her neck. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her wear a cross before.

‘This is my wife,’ he said. Christopher looked up but he didn’t seem to register her presence. He was still shaking violently.

Maggie went to the dresser and brought down the tea caddy. She glanced across at Huw. ‘He’s overshadowed,’ she whispered. ‘Bad stuff. Eddie.’

Huw nodded. ‘You did right to come here, my friend,’ he said quietly to Christopher. He pushed a cup of tea in front of him. ‘Tell me what happened.’

Christopher shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he murmured. His voice was husky. ‘I went to put some pictures in storage in Southampton. I locked the door and went towards the car then everything went haywire. I couldn’t see. I had this pain –’ He put his hand on his chest. ‘I thought I was having a heart attack. I got to the car and got in and then I knew he was in there with me. I had to get away. I don’t know how I drove.’ He tried to sip the tea, his hands rattling the cup on the saucer so it slopped over the table. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s going on.’ He took a deep shuddering breath. ‘Father, I have sinned. Isn’t that what one says –’ He broke off again with a sob.

Huw smiled. ‘Not to me, my friend. Wrong religion. But it doesn’t matter. We’ll sort this out. My wife and I will both respect your confidence as though in the confessional and we can help you.’

He sat down opposite Christopher and covered his hands with his own. ‘First, where is Frances?’

Christopher shook his head. ‘With her parents in Scotland. And the children.’ His teeth were chattering audibly. ‘They are safe.’

Huw breathed a sigh of relief.

Maggie had moved slightly to face him. She raised her hands in silent blessing and Huw felt the warmth of light coming from her. This was what she was so good at. Her strength was amazing. Now it was his turn.

‘Lord, give us your blessing and your help this night,’ he said quietly. ‘We pray for our brother Christopher in his trouble. Bring him comfort and guard him from whatever evil confronts him here.’

Christopher was not looking at him. He was staring down at his hands. ‘These are not mine,’ he said. His voice was barely audible. ‘They are not my hands. There is blood on them.’

‘Whose hands are they, Christopher?’ Maggie said firmly.

He didn’t seem to hear her. He was staring at his hands, turning them over, tensing his fingers, an expression of disgust on his face. ‘I need to get rid of them. To chop them off –’

‘Nonsense!’ Maggie’s voice was sharp. ‘If they are another man’s hands we will tell him to go away. You are a strong man, Christopher. You can dismiss him. Is this your grandfather?’

Christopher looked up at her at last. His mouth had dropped open. ‘How do you know?’ His whisper was barely audible.

‘Because I can see him! He is a wicked man, a bully and if you say so, it is his hands which are covered in blood. You are strong, Christopher. Tell him to leave you alone.’

Huw was praying quietly. He could feel the atmosphere around them growing thicker.

Christopher went on, stumbling over his words. ‘He tried to kill so many people. Anyone who got in his way. He killed my father’s mother so he could take George as his own. No one ever found out. He killed Tony so he could keep Granny. He killed my dad. He told me to destroy the portrait in Laurence Standish’s car to hide what he had done, so he was responsible for his death too. And now,’ suddenly he was crying, ‘he is going to kill me.’ He looked up. ‘You have to help me. Don’t let me hurt anyone else!’

‘You are not going to hurt anyone else!’ Maggie seemed to have taken charge. ‘And nor is he.’

Huw prayed on silently, content to leave this to her. Between them they were holding the light in the room. The shadow was wavering.

‘He wants me to kill Tony. I don’t understand. Tony is dead. He wants me to go to Rosebank Cottage and kill Tony.’ Suddenly Christopher was tearing at his hair with his fists, shaking his head in despair. ‘Don’t let me. Please, don’t let me.’

‘No one is going to let you do anything,’ Huw said firmly. He stood up and raised his right hand to make the sign of the cross. ‘Edward Marston, in the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to leave this man alone!’ His voice seemed to echo round the kitchen for several seconds.

The kitchen was desperately cold. The atmosphere was clogged, hard to breathe and full of electricity. For several seconds Huw felt his heart straining to beat as though he was hundreds of feet beneath the water. He wanted to turn away and run, he wanted to scream, he wanted to turn on God who had forsaken them. Then slowly he felt the room returning to normal. He took a deep breath and then another. Christopher’s face was shiny with perspiration, his eyes wide with terror, but he was slowly sinking back into his chair. The sinews of his neck were relaxing.

Eddie had gone. Huw could feel the space suddenly, the lightening of the atmosphere, the soft reassurance in the room. He tried to hide a smile. Round one to God.

The echo of his voice was still there holding the silence in place. As it died away the kitchen door opened and the cat walked in. It looked from one to the other and sat down.

‘Has he gone, Roger?’ Maggie asked softly. ‘I think he has, don’t you? For now.’

The cat began to wash its ears.

Huw nodded cautiously. ‘Good. Are you all right, Christopher?’ He put his hand on Christopher’s head. Christopher looked up, his face dazed. He stared round as if he didn’t know where he was. ‘I’m going to ring the doctor,’ Huw said gently. ‘I don’t doubt for a minute that you are better, my friend, but I think it might be wise if you were to have a bit of a rest somewhere safe, do you agree?’

Christopher nodded.

Huw headed for the door, then he changed his mind. He nodded at Maggie. ‘You go. I’ll stay with him. Tell them he’s had a psychotic episode,’ he said quietly. ‘It is over, thank God, but he needs to be kept safe from our friend Eddie. Eddie is the one we have to deal with now and no hospital on earth can fix him. I have no doubt at all that he will be back. I’d like to think that we have banished him for now, but my prayers have never been strong enough before. Even with God’s help, I don’t think he’s finished yet. He’s gone somewhere else.’

‘Evie loved thunderstorms.’ Tony smiled fondly as the sky darkened over the Downs behind the cottage. ‘We were caught in one once when I was with her. She adored the drama of the lightning up there on the Downs. I was scared we’d be struck but she was so brave. She revelled in it.’