Anna smiled. ‘Being kind to ladies in distress again. It’s a good excuse. You’re forgiven.’
‘Good.’ Phyllis climbed to her feet with a groan. ‘Well, dears. I think it’s time for a stiff drink. You take these letters away if you want them. And the picture.’ She paused. ‘No? All right. I’ll keep your priests on ice, as before.’ She laughed. At the door she paused and looked back. ‘Did I tell you, Toby? You’ve passed muster. I think you’ll do.’
Anna grinned. ‘She hated my ex,’ she said quietly. ‘And most of my old boyfriends, so you are honoured.’
‘I’m glad.’ He moved forward and leant down to kiss the top of her head. ‘But this is going a bit fast, Anna. I’m not offering marriage. At least, not yet –’
‘And I’m not looking for marriage. Not ever!’ she retorted sharply. ‘I’m an independent lady, looking for a career in photography. Remember?’
He nodded.
‘But don’t tell Phyllis. Not yet. Don’t spoil her fun.’ She glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘OK?’
‘OK.’ He nodded. ‘Sounds fine by me.’
They arrived back in London very late, but lights were still burning in the basement of the house as they let themselves in. Frances was sitting at the kitchen table, reading. She glanced up at them. ‘Have you had a good day? I’m dying to hear all about it. But first –’ She stopped for a moment and they both saw a frown hover between her eyes. Then she went on. ‘I’ve been riveted by your diary, Anna. I’ve hardly moved all day.’ She stretched wearily. ‘And I’ve got something very odd to tell you. I don’t know how you’re going to take it.’
She watched as Toby carried the tuck box in and set it on the floor. ‘Sit down, both of you.’ She closed the diary and sat staring at the old worn cover on the table before her for several seconds. They sat down, one on each side of her, glancing at each other in concern, then they both looked at her expectantly. Anna felt a sudden worm of unease deep inside her. Frances’s attractive face, usually so tranquil, was etched with worry.
‘The villain of the tale. Roger Carstairs. Do you know what happened to him?’
Anna shrugged. ‘He’s never mentioned again in the diary after the Fieldings’ baby is born. I gather he was quite famous in his day. Serena knew a bit about him. And even Toby had heard of him.’
Frances glanced at her son and nodded. ‘He was famous. He left Egypt in 1869 and travelled to India and the Far East. He was away for about five years then he surfaced again in Paris. He lived near the Bois de Boulogne in a rambling old house which had once belonged to a French duke.’
Toby frowned. ‘How on earth do you know that?’
Frances held up her hand. ‘He married a French woman, Claudette de Bonville, and had two daughters. One of them was my mother’s grandmother.’
There was a stunned silence as Toby and Anna stared at her. ‘You are descended from Roger Carstairs!’ Anna said incredulously.
‘I’m afraid so.’ Frances shrugged. ‘He had two other children by his first marriage, of course. They stayed in Scotland. The elder, James, inherited the earldom, but it died out as neither he nor his brother had any children.’
‘And what happened to Roger?’ Anna was staring at Toby. He seemed as stunned as she was.
‘He disappeared.’ Frances shrugged. ‘Rather apt, really. It was thought he went back to Egypt. I was looking through the family papers and records this afternoon. He left France under a cloud after five years with Claudette and travelled to Constantinople. Then he moved to Alexandria where he stayed a couple of years. Then he moved on. As far as I know he was never heard of again.’ She turned to Toby. ‘Before you ask why you didn’t know all this, a: you have never been interested in family history and b: my parents would not allow his name to be mentioned in the house. I’d forgotten about him until he turned up in Louisa’s diary. Claudette took the children to Scotland in an attempt to get his estate to help her. She was destitute after he left. The brothers refused to give her anything and she came south to England to see Roger’s sister. She seems to have been a nice person. She helped them settle in England and in the end both girls married Englishmen.’
Anna was staring at Toby in silence.
‘I’m glad you ditched the bottle.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Or you really would have suspected me of coveting it!’
‘You haven’t inherited his powers, I hope.’ Anna forced herself to smile. She shuddered.
‘No, I haven’t.’ He was looking at her closely. ‘Apart from liking snakes. This has upset you, hasn’t it? Anna, it was more than a hundred years ago!’
‘I know. I know it’s a weird coincidence. I know it’s not logical. It’s just that I’ve lived in Louisa’s head for so long.’ She closed her eyes, stunned by the sense of despair which had swept over her.
‘I’m sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have told you.’ Frances looked at her with concern. ‘But I had to. I didn’t want there to be any secrets between us. I thought – I hoped – you’d be intrigued. It is such a strange twist to your story.’
Anna stood up. She walked over to the small cane sofa under the window and threw herself down on it. ‘Serena says there is no such thing as coincidence.’
Toby glanced at his mother. ‘In that case, maybe this is our chance to make amends. Maybe it is my karma to try and make up for the unhappiness he caused Louisa.’
‘And the other evil things he did?’ Anna was hugging herself against the cold which had enveloped her even in the warm kitchen. She was shivering.
‘A lot of people’s ancestors did evil things, my dear,’ Frances put in gently. ‘There has to be a place for forgiveness in history. That is what Christ teaches us. And although Roger Carstairs might have been an evil man, my grandfather, who was also Toby’s ancestor, don’t forget, was a rector in a village in the Midlands, a much loved and respected man who did an enormous amount of good in the world. He found it hard to live with the memory of his grandfather. He prayed for his soul every day, or so we were told. So there is balance. Our blood is not wholly tainted.’ She stood up and smiled wearily. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, it’s very late. I’m going to bed. Goodnight, my dears.’
Toby and Anna watched her go in silence. It was Toby who spoke first as the door closed behind her. ‘Well, that was a bit of a facer. Of all the things in my past I felt I might have to explain to you and talk my way out of, descent from Roger Carstairs was not one of them.’ He stood up and, going to the cupboard under the worktop brought out a bottle of whisky. ‘I need something a little stronger than hot chocolate at this point, I think. Would you like one?’ He reached two glasses down from the shelf over the sink. ‘Ma’s right, you know. It doesn’t matter.’ He poured out half an inch of whisky in each glass and passed her one. ‘No, I didn’t mean it doesn’t matter. Of course it matters. But it doesn’t affect us. It doesn’t, does it?’
Anna shook her head slowly. ‘Of course it doesn’t. It’s just that his memory resonates very powerfully in my head at the moment. It’s all tied up with the fear and anguish I felt. It’s tied up with the deaths of two men who lived three thousand years ago! It’s tied up with Serena and Charley. Everything.’ She put down the glass untouched and put her head in her hands.
‘It wasn’t a good holiday, then?’ Toby looked at her quizzically.
She laughed in spite of herself. ‘No, it wasn’t a good holiday! Although it was memorable and I saw some wonderful things and met some wonderful people.’
‘I wish I could confidently think I was one of them.’
She scanned his face for a few seconds. ‘You are one of them.’
‘Even though you are now seeing me in a black cloak with a pointed hat and a death-dealing magic wand, with a basket of pet snakes who kill at my command?’
‘Even though I’m seeing all that!’ She stood up. ‘I’m going to go to bed, Toby. I’ll take my drink up with me. It’s been a tiring day, going up to Suffolk and everything.’
‘O
K. Perhaps we can look at some more of those letters, tomorrow?’ He nodded at the tuck box.
‘Perhaps.’ She walked to the door, then she turned. ‘Toby, I want to go back home tomorrow. Your mother has been incredibly kind and hospitable but I’m well now and I do want to be under my own roof. You understand?’
‘Of course.’ He couldn’t hide his crestfallen expression.
‘It’s not because of Carstairs. I need to pick up the threads of my life again.’
He nodded. ‘Will I be a part of that life?’
She hesitated. ‘I am pretty sure you will, if that’s what you want. But I need time. Too much has happened.’
‘Sure. You’ll have all the time you need.’ He got up to open the door for her. As she passed him he leant over and kissed her cheek. ‘Meeting you has been the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time, Anna.’
She smiled. ‘I’m glad.’
It was only after she had gone that he realised she had not said she felt the same.
Her little attic bedroom was very comforting in the light of the bedside lamp with its flower-sprinkled shade. She kicked off her shoes and stood staring round, sipping the whisky. She felt safe here. Nurtured and cared for in a way which had not happened to her for a long time, perhaps since she was a child. She liked Frances enormously and she trusted her. She liked Toby. Perhaps she even loved him. So why, suddenly, was she filled with such misgiving?
She walked over to the small chest of drawers which did duty as a dressing table and peered into the mirror. Her face was thin and drawn and she looked pale, even to herself. Her face was shadowed of course, with the light behind her. She frowned.
The sun had come out. It was so bright now, shining obliquely across her features, that she had to screw up her eyes against the glare. The reflection cleared a little. She could see cliffs; a bird flying slowly against the sky; a palm frond tapping against the window …
‘No!’ She spun round, sending her whisky glass flying. It hit the corner of the chest of drawers and shattered, sending whisky showering over her hairbrush and make-up. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again the room looked the same as usual. Warm. Shadowed. Safe. With shaking hands she picked up the glass and put the pieces in the wastepaper basket. She was mopping up the whisky with tissues when there was a tap at the door. ‘Anna? Are you OK?’ Toby called softly.
She bit her lip. Tears were beginning to prick beneath her eyelids. Silently throwing down the wadded tissues she went to the bed and lay down, pulling the pillow over her head.
‘Anna? Are you asleep?’ There was a pause then she heard his footsteps padding back down the stairs. Ten minutes later she heard his car start up in the quiet street and drive away.
When she woke it was still dark outside. The lamp was still switched on and she was holding the pillow tightly in her arms. She was fully dressed and the room smelt disgustingly of stale whisky. With a groan she hauled herself out of bed and looked at her watch. It was four in the morning. Undressing, she crept downstairs to the bathroom, flushed away the whisky-sodden tissues and ran herself a deep warm bath. She hoped the sound of running water wouldn’t wake Frances but she had to wash away the stench of fear which seemed to cling to her skin, the hot grittiness of desert sweat, the misery which clung in her pores. She lay there a long time, staring at the pale pink tiles behind the taps then at last she climbed out and wrapped herself in a towel. The landing was quiet outside the bathroom, the door to Frances’s bedroom closed. Upstairs she opened the window wide, letting in a blast of cold night air then at last she turned off the light and climbed into bed.
It was after ten when she woke. She dressed quickly and ran downstairs to find the house empty. In the basement there was a note on the kitchen table: ‘I thought I’d let you sleep in. I’ll be back at lunchtime. F.’
Thoughtfully she made herself some coffee then she went back upstairs to the ground-floor sitting room. There was no sign of Toby. No message. She reached for the phone book and found Serena’s number.
‘I hoped I’d catch you. I wanted to thank you for coming to see me.’
‘How are you?’ Serena sounded cheerful. Anna could hear distant music in the background. She recognised the Classic FM jingle and then the opening bars of Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony.
‘Serena, I’m going home this afternoon. Will you come round and see me there? I’ll give you the address.’
‘Something is still wrong, isn’t it?’ Serena’s voice was warm. Concerned. Comforting.
‘Yes.’ Anna managed to swallow her tears. ‘Something is still very wrong.’
Toby and Frances returned together at lunchtime with pâté and cheese and bread and a bottle of Merlot. They were not surprised to find Anna’s case ready-packed in the hall. ‘I’ll drive you back after lunch.’ Toby gave her a glass of wine. ‘We’re going to miss you.’
She smiled. ‘I’m not going far. And I hope you’re both going to come and see me often.’ She hadn’t realised how formal it sounded, hadn’t meant it to sound quite so final, until she saw Frances glance at her son. His face was bleak.
He forced a smile. ‘You won’t be able to keep us away,’ he said. The words did not sound as though he believed them himself.
None of them ate much and less than an hour later he was driving her across London, her case in the boot, her bag, her camera, her guidebooks, lying on the back seat of the car.
He managed to find a parking place almost outside her door. ‘Fate taking a hand,’ he said wryly. ‘It’s determined to hurry you back to your own life.’
‘Toby –’
‘No.’ He raised a hand. ‘I’m a great believer in fate. What will be, will be, and all that. Come on.’ He pushed open his door and went round to the back of the car.
Anna climbed out and walked slowly to her front door leaving Toby to follow with the case. Late snowdrops and the first crocus were crowding the narrow bed under the front window and winter jasmine shone yellow across the London bricks. The windowbox held a straggle of winter pansies, nearly over now, clearly showing that their owner had not been there to look after them.
She reached for her keys. ‘This isn’t goodbye, Toby.’ She turned and faced him on the step. ‘There are things I have to work out by myself.’ She took his hands. ‘Please, be there if I need you.’
‘You know I will.’
She reached up and kissed him on the lips. Then she turned and hefting the case in by herself she closed the door behind her.
He stood for several seconds staring at it blindly, then he turned away.
On the other side of the door Anna stopped too. She dropped the case and her bags and took a deep breath, fighting back her tears. It was there again. The sunlight behind her eyes. In the narrow dark hall of a west London terraced house she could feel the heat of the desert sun on her face and smell the rich drifting smoke of kyphi, incense of the gods.
Biting her lip she glanced at her watch. Soon Serena would come and perhaps then they would be able together to chase away this intruder in her head for good.
She stooped to pick some letters off the mat. Amongst them was a small parcel. Throwing the letters on the side table she stared at the parcel. It had Egyptian stamps. She turned it over and over in her hands then she carried it into the living room and tore it open. Inside was a typed letter and a small bubble-wrapped packet.
The letter was from the Luxor Police Department.
The enclosed artefact was found in the hand of the deceased, Mr Andrew Watson, when his body was recovered from the Nile. It was later established that the item belonged to you and that it had been imported without licence. It has now been established that your ownership is not in doubt … I hereby return it … Please acknowledge your receipt of the same …
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No. Please, no.’
She put the packet on the table and stared at it. Then she turned and ran to the front door.
‘Toby!’ br />
She scrabbled frantically at the lock and pulled it open. ‘Toby, wait!’
His car was pulling away from the kerb.
‘Toby!’
She ran towards the gate but already, with a quick glance over his shoulder he had spun the steering wheel and with a hand raised to acknowledge the car which had paused to let him out into the stream of traffic, he drove away. He had never looked back in her direction.
‘Toby!’
She stood staring after him, feeling more lost and frightened than she had ever felt in her life. ‘Toby, come back. Please. I need you!’
Her hand dropped to her side, then slowly she turned and walked back towards the house.
As she climbed the steps she could already hear the distant call of chanting across the sand, smell the kyphi, feel the heat of the sun god, Ra, as he lifted over the horizon.
At the traffic lights in Notting Hill Gate Toby frowned. He drummed his fingers on the wheel. His head was strangely full of odd sounds, sounds he had never heard before: the plaintive chanting of distant voices, echoed by a harp and what sounded like the low haunting notes of an oboe, floating over vast distances.
He shook his head, puzzled.
Toby!
The call came from far away.
Toby, come back! Please!