‘Did your friend Zak get into the Caley all right?’
He saw her tense. ‘I think so. I tried to ring him last night but he wasn’t there.’ She was on the defensive again. ‘He doesn’t know where I am. If he gets in touch, will you tell him?’ She sounded lost. On her lap her fists had clenched.
‘He said he’d stick around for a few days, didn’t he?’
She nodded. ‘He wanted to see a bit of Scotland. He’s never been here before.’
They arrived at South Queensferry and Neil backed the Land Rover into a parking spot. The Forth glittered in the hazy sunshine. High above them a train roared across the diamond segments of the bridge. She desperately wanted him to touch her. Her whole body had suddenly become intensely aware of his.
‘Why are you doing this?’ They were leaning on the wall staring down into the swirling water.
‘What, exactly?’ He turned his back on the Forth to watch her, his eyes narrowed in the frosty sunlight.
‘Taking me out to lunch. Being nice.’
He smiled. ‘You don’t feel it’s in character?’
‘Kathleen told me you loathed me.’ Her gaze was fixed on the far shore.
He didn’t answer and she closed her eyes, unprepared for the desolation which gripped her. She had expected him to deny it at once.
‘I loathe what you stand for,’ he said at last. ‘A moneyed aristocracy; class privilege; the fact that you can own somewhere like Duncairn and can with the snap of your fingers dispose of it and the people who live there at a whim.’
‘But I haven’t disposed of it. I turned my back on the money and remembered my responsibility to the land and to the people.’ She intoned the words softly like a litany.
He glanced at her. ‘That must be why I think there is hope for you yet.’ He grinned at her unexpectedly. ‘Why don’t I buy you a drink and something to eat before you fade away completely? That’s another thing. You’re too thin.’ He softened the harshness of his tone by throwing his arm around her shoulders. ‘Come on. It’s cold out here. We’ll go and find a fire.’
After lunch they took Casta for a walk in the Dalmeny woods. On the edge of a sheltered bay they sat down on a fallen log out of the wind. Clare had been very silent.
‘Is any of what Paul told me true?’ He said it very quietly as they sat with Casta, panting, between them. Both of them reached forward to fondle her ears.
Clare tensed her shoulders. ‘What did he tell you?’
‘That you are under the care of a doctor. That you need regular medication.’
‘That’s a lie.’ She took a handful of Casta’s scruff and kneaded it gently.
‘That you’ve been ill since you were a child.’
‘That’s a lie, too. There is nothing wrong with me.’
‘When I came in and saw you in the bath –’ He was picking his words with care. ‘And later, that evening, when you were in bed, it was as if you were in some sort of a trance.’
She was staring across at the shore of Fife, hazy in the afternoon sunlight. ‘I was daydreaming, I expect.’
‘And that was all?’
‘What else would it be?’ Their hands met for a moment on the dog’s neck. Clare closed her eyes. She desperately wanted him to leave his there, lying coolly on her fingers. For a moment he did, then slowly his hand moved away towards Casta’s ears. ‘I suppose he told you about Geoffrey,’ she said. Her voice was strained.
‘Who is Geoffrey?’
‘My brother-in-law. He is a rector in London. For a joke I told him I was conjuring up spirits and things. He took me literally.’ She gave a tight laugh. ‘The Roylands are all very pompous. They have no sense of humour.’
‘My God! And the MP as well? How many are there?’
‘Three brothers and a sister, Emma. She’s my friend.’ She said it very simply.
Neil glanced at her. ‘You said that as if you didn’t have any others.’
‘I sometimes don’t think I have.’ She shivered. ‘A thousand acquaintances and one friend. I’m not doing very well, am I?’
‘To date, no.’ He laughed. ‘But I think you’ll find you’ve got a lot of friends in Scotland, if you want them. People at Earthwatch, at Duncairn.’
‘Jack Grant was my friend until you turned him against me.’
‘I’ll put him right.’ Neil stopped stroking the dog. He picked up a pebble and threw it far out into the water. It made no rings in the choppy windswept tide. Casta ignored it.
He took Clare to the committee meeting that evening, introducing her simply as a new member. Afterwards he dropped her at the door of the flat in Moray Place. He made no move to get out of the Land Rover. For a moment she hesitated; she wanted him so badly that she was almost prepared to beg. She didn’t understand herself. She had never felt this way before. The longing and the fear of being alone were sweeping over her, drowning her. She glanced at him, but it was too late. He smiled and leaning across her, opened the door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening,’ he said.
She gave him a strained little smile back, and snapping her fingers at Casta slid out of the car. Running up the steps to the front door she fumbled for the key and let herself in without a backward glance.
Zak looked at Neil hard, studying the rugged, weatherbeaten face, sensing the sensitivity and the turmoil within. Slowly he nodded. ‘Yes. Clare does have problems. Nothing like her family make out, but she needs help, without a doubt. Not the kind of thing her husband has in mind, however, that’s for sure.’
‘And she really thinks she sees this woman, Isobel?’
‘She really does see her.’ Zak spread his hands out on the table between them. The restaurant was very quiet. It was barely twelve. ‘Clare is very psychic. From the first time I met her I knew that, and I could tell she didn’t have the knowledge or the confidence to deal with her own powers. I taught her to meditate. I thought it would give her insight into her own subconscious and give her control …’ He shrugged. ‘At first I thought Isobel was some kind of visible projection by her mind of this woman she seems to have been obsessed with since she was a child. Now, I don’t think so.’ He was studying Neil’s face, looking for the slightest flicker of doubt or derision. Neil’s expression was impassive. ‘Nor do I think she is reliving a previous life. This woman Isobel seems to have haunted Clare’s aunt as well. She is a family obsession – and she is tied up with Duncairn Castle and with Clare’s nightmares and her claustrophobia. Clare feels – lives with – Isobel’s emotions all the time.’
‘So, you think Isobel is a ghost who haunts Clare? Or her family?’ Neil frowned. Nightmares – he had seen one of those himself – claustrophobia? Poor Clare. She hadn’t even hinted at the horrors that surrounded her.
Slowly Zak nodded. ‘When a person is haunted like this it is called possession,’ he said slowly.
Neil raised an eyebrow. ‘So, perhaps the good Royland rector could help her?’
Zak shook his head. ‘I doubt it. It is Isobel who needs help, not Clare, and I doubt if he is the man to do it.’
‘Do we need a Catholic priest then?’ Neil ignored the waitress who placed two large square rush mats on the table and proceeded to lay their places. She threw a menu down between them and flounced off. Neither man had even glanced at her.
‘Maybe.’ It was Zak’s turn to shrug.
Neil sat back in his chair and studied his face for a moment. ‘May I ask what your own qualifications were to get involved in all this in the first place?’
Zak gave a rueful smile. ‘I’m doing a doctorate in psychology. You could say all this is within the scope of my studies – all forms of extra-sensory perception have been a lifelong interest of mine.’
‘So you are a psychologist?’
Zak nodded.
‘But not a parapsychologist. Aren’t there people here at the university who can help with all this?’
‘Perhaps.’ Zak frowned. He had already thought of that, and rejected the idea. ‘But do you want
to run the risk of what might happen if Clare’s story became public property?’
‘No.’ Neil frowned. ‘She couldn’t take any more publicity – not the kind which would follow if this story got out.’
‘So, it comes back to me.’ Zak sighed. ‘And I admit, I’m out of my depth with this. I’m into meditation, spiritual progression; the individual’s pathway forward – all that is part of my sphere, but Isobel …’ He rubbed both hands down his face wearily. ‘Perhaps we should contact the university. I just don’t know. Clare is so vulnerable. I will stay here as long as I can – as long as Clare needs me, but I don’t think I can help her any more.’
The waitress returned. Neil ordered a Scotch and Zak a mineral water. Neil picked up the rush mat in front of him and balanced it carefully on edge. ‘Clare seems a very lonely woman,’ he said cautiously.
Zak nodded. ‘She is. She hates her husband’s world. She belongs here.’ He glanced towards the window. ‘I realise it now I’m here. History is everywhere up here and she is part of it. Maybe that is her karma.’
‘Is this Isobel threatening her in some way? Is Clare in danger?’
Zak stared into his glass of water. ‘I wish to God I knew. I don’t think so. At least, not physically.’ His voice died away.
‘Then how?’ Neil was growing impatient. ‘Damn it, man, you must know something about it! How do you know all this isn’t just her imagination?’
Zak closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I don’t, I suppose. I just feel it. Isobel is an external entity and she has a reason for contacting Clare, I’m sure of it. I don’t know what is going to happen to Clare – but whatever it is it will happen here, in Scotland.’
‘How do you know?’ Neil narrowed his eyes sceptically.
‘I just know.’ Zak raised his hands helplessly. ‘Quit pushing, Neil. If I knew what to do, I’d tell you! We’ve just got to be there when it happens.’
‘What about a doctor, or a psychiatrist?’
‘Her husband had her see a doctor. He was no use. She doesn’t want to see any more, and I don’t blame her.’
‘Is there any way I can help her, if you can’t? Anything I can do?’
Zak shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Get her to talk about it if you can. The more she talks about it the better – it’s all bottled up inside her. If she faces it, fights it, confronts it, that’s good.’
‘Does Clare recognise the danger?’
‘Sure she does. That is why she asked me to come.’ Why she had begged for help he didn’t know how to give.
There was a long silence, then Neil asked suddenly, ‘Are you in love with her?’ He drank down his whisky in one gulp.
Zak smiled humourlessly. ‘Hell, no. I’m gay, man, didn’t you realise? But I like her a lot, and as I said, I’ll stick around just as long as she wants me to.’
For the first time Neil’s face relaxed. ‘Do that,’ he said.
Paul stood staring up at the City skyline, sniffing the heady mixture of traffic The public meeting hfumes and excitement which characterised the ancient narrow streets. Sir Duncan’s message, relayed to the Edinburgh hotel by Penny, his secretary, had been terse, demanding that he come into the office as soon as he returned to London. Paul had caught the next flight down. He had no need to stay in Edinburgh; he had contacted a private enquiry firm up there. They would find Clare for him and then he would return.
He was glad to be back in London. His short exile had been painful. He missed the office, the pressure, the whole world of money which he lived for. He had given up his share in the family business, but his debts were paid and he was ahead. He shrugged heavily. He could recoup some of his losses fairly swiftly if he were careful. He had had a couple of tips which he was prepared to gamble on. As soon as he had spoken to Sir Duncan he would give Stephen Caroway a ring, and by now he should have had a response from Doug Warner at Sigma.
As he swung through the doors in Coleman Street he smiled broadly at Baines and took the stairs two at a time, smelling with pleasure the rich lavender furniture polish and the scent of the roses on the antique rent table on the landing beneath the portraits. The door of his office was ajar.
Penny was standing behind his desk. She glanced up as he swung into the room. ‘Paul! I was just leaving some messages for you.’
Paul threw down the newspaper he had been carrying. ‘Anything important?’
She shrugged. ‘The old man said he wanted to see you as soon as you came in. He seems anxious to speak to you. Are you feeling better?’
‘Much better. Thank you.’ Paul smiled at her.
She looked away. ‘Can I go to lunch, Paul? I’m meeting someone at 12.30 and I’m already late …’ There were rumours in the office already. She didn’t want to be there when he came back from his meeting with Sir Duncan.
‘Of course. Take an extra half hour or so if you like.’ He was feeling generous. As he picked up the sheet of notes from the desk he was already reading the top one. From Dan Mackenzie in Edinburgh. It contained an address and the words: ‘The lady in question has been staying at the above address for several days.’
He smiled and tucked the note into his wallet. It had taken the man less than twelve hours. The next memo detailed the summons from Sir Duncan, and Penny had underlined it three times. The old boy was obviously getting testy. He wondered why the urgency. The last message was from Diane Warboys. He stared at the piece of paper. Penny had, as always, meticulously noted the date and time of the phone call. 27 November. Time: 10.46. Message: ‘Tough shit!’
Paul stared at it.
Behind him Penny closed the door quietly as she left the room. He frowned at the paper, then he screwed it up and threw it into the bin, but his mood was spoiled. As he picked up the phone he felt a slight shiver of apprehension.
Sir Duncan was sitting by the window of his large, elegantly furnished office. His desk was empty of papers, the pens and pencils aligned with military precision on the maroon leather blotter. The empty office chair faced the desk squarely. Sir Duncan was sprawled on a hide sofa. His face was drawn and white.
‘Where have you been, Paul?’ he barked as his secretary showed Paul in. ‘I expected you at ten.’
Paul hesitated. The atmosphere in the office was icy. The woman had discreetly disappeared at once, going so swiftly it was obvious she knew something …
Paul glanced round. His collar felt suddenly tight but he resisted the urge to run his finger around inside it. The room smelled of tobacco.
Angry at his discomfort beneath the stony stare of his senior partner, Paul walked to the chair near him and sat down. ‘I’m sorry but the shuttle was delayed. I only just got back from Scotland. What is the urgency? Do we have a problem?’ He gave a forced smile.
‘You have a problem, Paul.’ Sir Duncan stood up slowly. His shoulders were stooped as he walked stiffly to his desk. ‘I’m sorry to have to inform you that I have been officially notified that your activities are to be investigated by the fraud squad. I’m sorry, Paul, the board has no alternative but to ask for your resignation.’
The public meeting had ended at just after ten and Clare, Jack and Neil had toasted its success in the small bar at the Duncairn Hotel. Then, as Jack built up the fire and covered it with turves, Clare made her way up to bed. She bathed and brushed her hair, relaxing in the warm glow of the electric fire. Outside the stars were brilliant, lighting the gardens and trees, picking out the dark silhouette of the castle against the sky.
She heard Neil’s door open and close as he went into his room across the passage. He had made no attempt to touch her, no suggestion that he wanted to make love to her again. They were no more than allies now in the fight to save Duncairn. She had denied her loneliness, fiercely ignoring her longing, concentrating all her energies on the Earth-watch campaign and on meeting again the people of Duncairn, mostly fishing families from the village at the foot of the cliff where the burn flowed out into the sea a couple of miles up the coast from the castle, many of
whom had known Margaret Gordon personally, and some of whom she had known herself when she was a child.
She walked to the window and drew back the curtain staring out at the starlight. Behind her Casta whined softly.
‘Do you want to go out?’ Clare glanced down at the dog, half exasperated, half eager to get out into the clear crispness of the night herself. Her head was aching slightly after the heat of the bar and the cigarette smoke and the two neat malt whiskies which had finished the evening. On impulse she pulled open the wardrobe and took out her fur coat, pulling it over her silk nightdress. She pushed her feet into her boots and opened the door to her room. The hotel was in darkness. Fumbling, she found the light switch on the landing and flooded the hall and stairs with light and on tiptoe, she crept downstairs, followed by the delighted dog. Outside it was ice cold; a thick heavy dew soaked the ground. In sheltered corners the grass was crisp and white with ice; the air had a clarity which resonated in the silence. Thrusting her hands deep into the pockets of her coat Clare walked quickly over the grass towards the break in the trees. Beyond it she could hear the sea sighing against the cliff base. The castle was very dark. The high walls cut out the starlight and the blackness within them was total.
She could see Casta zigzagging across the grass, her nose low, her plumed tail wagging excitedly as she tracked a rabbit towards the cliff’s edge. The wind off the sea was cold; she drew back behind the wall of what was once the great hall, and leaned against the stone.
‘Can’t you sleep either?’ Neil’s voice was very soft. Casta lifted her head and near front paw for a moment, pointing on the silvered grass, her paw marks black holes in the dew, then, reassured, she went back on the trail of her rabbit.
Clare hadn’t seen him in the shadow of the wall. Even now, with her eyes straining in the blackness, she could barely make him out.
‘Casta wanted a walk.’ She spoke softly, not wanting to spoil the silent magic of the night. ‘And it’s so beautiful out here. I couldn’t bear to sleep and miss it.’