‘And all in luxurious surroundings, going by the hefty fees your guests or their benefactors have to pay.’
‘Yes,’ she replied simply.
‘Paid to the Inner Court?’
Her dark eyes skittered to one side.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Ash,’ she said, ‘that’s privileged information. May I ask where you heard it?’
He smiled pleasantly. ‘Why does everything have to be so covert?’ He was gently pressing her, genuinely interested, but he also had a mischievous desire to rock the boat.
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated, and she looked truly apologetic as she swung her eyes back to meet his. ‘I have to keep to the code.’
‘The code?’ This was becoming even more interesting.
‘Oh, it’s nothing formalized, just a general rule, but we are expected to be discreet. Why don’t you tell me more about yourself? I knew you were coming to Comraich Castle to investigate the strange goings-on there. Being a parapsychologist must be fascinating.’
She was deliberately changing the subject, and Ash had no wish to push his luck. ‘It is sometimes,’ he responded to help her out. ‘What have you been told about this investigation?’
She was immediately more relaxed now that he’d changed tack. ‘Just that you’d be with us for possibly up to a week and that we were to keep out of your way while you explored the castle.’
‘A week or so?’ Ash was dismayed: he’d hoped to draw conclusions within a couple of days.
Dr Wyatt nodded affirmation. ‘It’s a huge place.’
‘So I gathered. But I’d hoped to finish my job sooner than that. Tell me, have you personally had any strange or unaccountable experiences at Comraich?’
‘You mean have I seen a ghost, heard footsteps when there’s nobody there? Screams in the night, rattling chains, freezing areas, that kind of thing?’ She was joking, her voice low and eerie.
‘Not necessarily.’ He ignored the exaggerated dark humour.
‘Oh, Mr Ash, you don’t know Comraich.’
He grinned back at her. ‘How old is the castle, by the way?’ Maseby had already told him, but now Ash was only making conversation.
‘I think it dates back to the fourteenth century but it was considerably enlarged and improved on over the years. It was built on a clifftop, which makes it look very dramatic.’
He changed the subject again. ‘How long have you been with Comraich?’ He’d nearly said with the Inner Court, the answer to which might have proved more interesting; instead he put his question less obviously.
‘Almost three years,’ she answered without hesitation. ‘My father knew Sir Victor and some of his associates and I think he wanted me to be taken care of before he died.’
‘I’m sorry. I mean, about your father.’
‘Don’t be. It was a blessed relief when he was released from all the months of pain. The end for him was swift, mercifully so, and frankly it came as a relief. It’s hard to watch someone you love suffer.’
She lowered her eyes and her grief was palpable.
To move on, Ash asked, ‘Where are you from, Dr Wyatt?’
‘My mother was Brazilian, and Brazil was where I was born. My father was an English diplomat and he met my mother in São Paulo, the country’s largest city rather than Rio de Janeiro, as many foreigners seem to think. Rio is the playground that entices the tourists – and criminals – and Brasilia is the seat of government, but São Paulo is Brazil’s financial centre.’
She cocked her head sideways and stared into Ash’s eyes as if to see whether he was interested.
He was. ‘You were born in São Paulo?’
‘My mother was a Paulistano; that’s what people who live in the city are known as. Ambitious Brazilians flock there for the chance of a better life. It’s a modern city, expanding all the time. My mother was a translator working at the British Embassy, which was how my father got to know her. I’m the only consequence of their marriage.’ She said this with a hint of regret.
‘They divorced?’ The question was carefully put, and not, he hoped, intrusively.
‘No, my mother died when I was three.’
Ash could have kicked himself. ‘I’ve put my foot in it, haven’t I? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .’
‘Pry?’ she finished for him, smiling so that he could see his curiosity didn’t trouble her. ‘As I told you, I was barely three years old and now I can hardly remember her.’ She paused, as if in thought. ‘Although,’ she went on, ‘I sometimes see her in dreams. I’ve only a few faded photographs of her, but they’re enough for me to recognize her in those sleeping moments. At least, I think I do.’
She gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Listen to me, and I’m a psychologist! It isn’t hard to understand why I choose to identify this woman as my mother, despite having no real knowledge of her.’
‘I guess Freud would have the answer,’ Ash commented lamely.
‘Don’t be so sure. Many psychologists today are not in total agreement with all of Sigmund Freud’s tenets. Even Jung disagreed with certain Freudian precepts, especially with their constant emphasis on infantile sexuality.’
‘So which are you – Freudian or Jungian?’
‘It isn’t that simple: both have theories that are perfectly sound. Besides, they’re not the only psychologists worthy of study. And . . .’ she emphasized the word, ‘there’s a lot of overlapping going on in so many areas of different theories. Then there’s another approach called gestalt psychology, founded by Max Wertheimer, whereby it’s claimed that every aspect of thinking can have a gestalt character – emotional, interpersonal and social. I’m beginning to bore you, aren’t I?’
He was taken aback and raised his eyebrows at her.
Her chuckle was throaty and her face lit up at his embarrassment.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, still smiling. ‘I thought I saw your eyes glazing over.’
Ash grinned back. ‘You know, parapsychology is sometimes – no, often – linked with psychology.’
‘Of course. It’s why I wanted to have this conversation with you. Wouldn’t you accept that a good number of so-called hauntings are caused by the psychological make-up of their victims or observers, whatever you’d call them?’
‘Well, I couldn’t disagree with that.’
‘I know. You said much the same in your book.’
‘You’ve read it?’ Ash was genuinely pleased. ‘It was written some time ago.’
‘You’ve changed your opinions?’
‘Not completely. Let’s just say I’ve learned a lot more about the paranormal and supernatural.’
‘Does that mean you no longer dismiss the supposition of ghosts and disembodied souls? In your book – which, by the way, has been required reading for myself and Dr Singh, my psychiatric counterpart at Comraich, over the last few days – you’re very cynical regarding spiritualists and clairvoyants, branding many as no more than charlatans who are either in it for the money, or who truly believe in what they do but are misguided, even somewhat eccentric, if not deranged.’
‘As I said, I know a lot more about the phenomena than I did then. So how did you get a copy of the book? It’s been out of print for years.’
‘Simon Maseby obtained a couple of copies from Kate McCarrick at your own Psychical Research Institute. He passed them on to us a few days ago. I’m surprised you haven’t written more on the subject.’
Ash was surprised Kate hadn’t mentioned giving copies of his book to Maseby earlier. ‘One book was enough. The fact is, I’ve experienced too many genuine – or let’s say, inexplicable – cases that have led me to doubt most of my original conjectures. I’ve learned to approach each new case with an open mind.’
‘Is that possible?’ she asked.
‘No, of course not.’ He smiled. ‘But these days I try to keep my natural scepticism in check. Tell me, though, what’s your take on the alleged haunting at Comraich Castle?’
‘I’m just not sure about anything t
hat’s happening there. My own common sense keeps me grounded, but . . .’
Ash’s ears suddenly popped and he turned away to look through the window on his left. It was pure grey out there now and growing darker as the plane began its descent.
‘It’s just normal procedure, Mr Ash. We won’t be landing for a while yet.’
This time it was she who turned to the plexiglas window by her seat. He watched as she strained to get a view of the land below. Her neck was elegant, finely shaped, and her profile added to her allure. He thought he could sense a barely repressed passion hidden beneath the formal yet chic outfit and her calm manner.
‘We’re deep in cloud,’ she remarked superfluously as she tried to see through the mist. ‘At this point in the flight we’re usually somewhere over Comraich. When the weather is clear it’s a wonderful sight. Sometimes I—’
The cabin lights failed as the jet suddenly lurched, then began to free-fall.
Ash clutched the arms of his seat, his fingers clawing to grip them hard as he found his body was almost weightless.
The girl, Petra, shrieked as she was tossed from the three-seater. Then everything darkened as the plane plummeted towards the earth.
12
Luckily, Ash was still wearing his seatbelt, which had been such a comfortable fit he’d forgotten to unfasten it. Nevertheless, as the plane dropped with such suddenness, he felt as if he’d left his stomach behind. The cabin lights were not functioning and neither was anything else on the jet: there was no background hum of the engines and no seatbelt or emergency warning lights. He might have cried out, such was the fear that suddenly swept through him, but in the dim grey light coming through the windows he saw the psychologist rising weightlessly before him.
Instinctively, he grabbed her with both hands and pulled her down to him. He heard screaming, but it wasn’t coming from her. Petra had spilled from her makeshift bed to be thrown upwards almost to the ceiling as the Gulfstream jet had entered its steep dive.
Ash had managed to get his hands round the doctor’s back and he hugged her tightly, the side of her head pressed against his shoulder. Oddly, for such a perilous situation, he was aware of the sweet light scent she wore, and even under that, the faint fragrance of the herbal shampoo she must have used to wash her hair that morning. He felt her panic and heard her soft moaning even over the screams coming from her patient.
‘It’s okay,’ he told her, speaking loudly with all the calmness he could muster. ‘We’ve hit an air pocket, that’s all.’
But the plane went into a deeper dive which sent Petra sliding down the cabin. Ash knew a simple air pocket wouldn’t interfere with the aircraft’s mechanical and electrical systems, but there was no other explanation he could give to reassure the doctor.
She buried her face into the corner of his neck and shoulder and clutched him for dear life, her body trembling, her breath coming in short sharp gasps. He could feel her tears on his neck and he brought up a hand to press her head into him. The Gulfstream 450 dropped even further into the darkness of rain-filled clouds, and Ash, now sure they were all going to die, held on to the psychologist for his own sake as much as hers. Pressure built up in the cabin, sending terrible mind-numbing pain through his head. He wanted to release the quaking woman from his embrace and clamp his hands over his ears for relief, but he fought the urge and held her even more tightly in his arms. All noise seemed far away until his ears unexpectedly popped and Petra’s screams came back full-throttle.
Then the darkness gave way to daylight again, the row of windows quickly growing brighter, so that he was able to see around the cabin as before. But the jet continued to plummet and the screams from Petra hadn’t ceased.
Then the lights in the cabin suddenly returned and Ash heard the jet’s engines roar back into life. It took several terrifying seconds for the pilot to regain control of his aircraft, but soon the plane began to level out and resume its course. Captain Roberts’s steady voice came over the intercom.
‘Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve no idea why that little problem occurred, but I can assure you that everything’s shipshape again.’
Ash could imagine the pilot crossing his fingers as he spoke.
‘Everything’s running smoothly now and you can see for yourselves we’re below the clouds. We’ll maintain this height until our final descent to Prestwick in a few minutes. Please keep your seatbelts fastened until we land. Our landing will be fine, believe me. As far as we can tell, we have no faults, significant or otherwise, so please try to relax until we’re on the ground. When we do land, I recommend a fine Scotch or brandy, then another. I’m only sorry I won’t be able to join you – I’ve two more flights later today. “Chuckles” here has a grin on his face you wouldn’t believe, although I’m not sure he hasn’t wet himself.’
His voice was crisper when he addressed the air stewardess. ‘Ginny, will you make sure everyone’s comfortable back there, then report to the cockpit.’ His voice became less formal again. ‘First Officer Collins will join you to explain our unpleasant but mercifully brief interlude once we’ve run through a few more minor checks.’
The intercom went silent.
Ash felt Dr Wyatt slump in his arms, not in a faint, he was sure, but with relief. His hold on her became more tender, comforting, but still she trembled. He could hear sobs from Petra, who now lay in the aisle by his side.
‘Dr Wyatt,’ Ash said softly, ‘everything’s fine. We’re out of danger now. The pilot has control of the plane; there’s no need to be afraid any longer.’ Unless the same thing happens again as we approach Prestwick, he thought sombrely.
Rivulets of rain were driven diagonally across the row of small windows by the aircraft’s speed, but at least the grey daylight worked with the cabin lights to make everything visible again.
The woman in his arms gently pulled away from him so that she could look into his face. He relaxed his grip but didn’t entirely let go. Her deep brown eyes were softened by tears, but as they stared into his, he detected a trace of uncertainty in them. Somehow, the shared near-death experience and the intimacy it created between them had confused her even more.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, her face so close, her lips so near, her very scent so enticing, that he was reluctant to give her up.
‘It was my pleasure,’ he said glibly, stupidly. ‘I—’
Too late. She’d regained some of her composure.
She pushed against his chest to steady herself as she rose to her feet. ‘I have to see to Petra,’ she said, and he became aware of the girl’s cries of fear once more.
Dr Wyatt moved away from Ash and knelt to attend to her patient. ‘It’s all right, Petra, everything’s okay,’ Ash heard her say soothingly.
But the young girl was still in panic and she thrashed at the air around her as if the plane were still in free-fall.
‘Petra, Petra, please.’ The psychologist held the quaking girl’s wrists to avoid being struck herself.
‘Can I help?’
Dr Wyatt motioned her head towards the seat she’d occupied before the Gulfstream’s loss of power. ‘If you could get my bag . . .’ She hardly glanced at Ash, concerned that her hysterical patient might injure herself.
‘Sure.’ Ash reached for the leather strap-bag that was now wedged beneath the seat opposite, but he was restrained by his own safety belt. He quickly released the metal clasp and reached again for the bag. Pulling it free, he turned and thrust it towards the doctor.
‘Please, open it for me,’ she said evenly, her hands still around the girl’s wrists.
Ash fumbled with the bag’s two buckles and opened it up. Finally releasing Petra, the doctor took the crinkled leather bag and reached inside.
‘I have to sedate her,’ she said briskly. ‘I gave her a mild sedative before we boarded, but she needs something a lot stronger. It means an injection if it’s to have an immediate effect.’
‘Anything I can do? Hold her down, maybe??
??
‘No, I can manage. She’d only fight against you, but she trusts me.’ Now the psychologist turned her head his way. No confusion this time: she was all efficiency, emotions put aside for a while. ‘You could see if anyone else is hurt. The stewardess might be injured if she wasn’t wearing a belt.’
Ash levered himself off the seat. ‘Call me if you need a hand with Petra.’
But Dr Wyatt was already drawing out a small medical box from the open bag, all her concentration on treating her distressed patient.
Ash made his way down the cabin, walking unsteadily, and not just because he was on a moving plane. His first stop was by the shabby little man with the bald head. He was frozen in his seat, hands gripping the armrests on either side, his eyes closed. He could have been unconscious.
Leaning closer to the man, Ash said, ‘You okay? Can I get you anything? A drink, maybe? The plane’s fine, there’s no more danger.’
The man’s eyes opened, and they were cold as he stared up at Ash. ‘You might see to the stewardess,’ he said quietly. ‘I think she took a fall.’
Ash left him, wondering why this guy hadn’t gone to Ginny’s aid himself. He found her on the floor by the exit door, the seat in front hiding her from view. She seemed to have hit the back of her head when the Gulfstream had taken the dive, for one hand was stretched behind her neck as if feeling for a wound. At least her eyes were open, Ash noted as he knelt beside her. Her eyelids fluttered, but she recognized him immediately.
‘You must have cracked your head when the plane dropped,’ he said.
Ginny blinked several times more before responding. ‘I think I’m okay,’ she assured him weakly. ‘No real damage, just a knock to the head.’ She tried to rub the spot, but it was awkward for her.
‘Let me take a look.’ Ash put a hand around her neck and gently pulled her head away from the door. He peered over her shoulder and felt her scalp through her thick hair. ‘No blood. You might have a bump there soon. D’you hurt anywhere else?’