Midnight Is a Lonely Place

  ‘She’ll do it when she’s ready,’ Diana put in from the kitchen. ‘Don’t pester the child. Give her a chance to write up her project on her own first, if that’s what she wants.’

  Kate turned in her seat, resting her arm along the back of the sofa so she could see Diana who was grating parmesan at the kitchen table. ‘It really is getting quite urgent,’ she said almost apologetically. ‘A few more high tides and the tumulus will have gone.’

  ‘So that’s what it is. A tumulus,’ Greg put in. ‘It seems to me we have our own expert here on the premises.’

  ‘I’m not an expert,’ Kate turned back, conscious that the cat on her knee was becoming increasingly irritated by her apparent inability to sit still. ‘Far from it. But I do think it could be important.’

  MARCUS!

  The voice seemed to echo round the room.

  Digging its claws into her knee the cat leaped off her lap and streaked out of sight up the stairs.

  The others looked at it in astonishment.

  ‘Sorry. I hope he didn’t scratch you,’ Roger said with a puzzled smile. ‘I can’t think why he did that. He seemed to like you.’

  ‘It’s probably the smell of mum’s cooking,’ Patrick put in his first comment of the evening.

  Had none of them heard it then, apart from the cat? The pain of the voice which seemed to ring round the room had rung so loudly in her ears. The anguish. The fear.

  Completely disorientated, Kate realised that Greg was watching her closely. ‘Perhaps you don’t really like cats,’ he put in softly. ‘They often go and sit on people who don’t like them out of sheer perversity.’

  ‘Of course I like them,’ she snapped. Her hands were clenched tightly around her empty glass. Noticing, Roger levered himself to his feet. ‘Here, let me get you another one, Kate. Forget the moggy. He’s a damn nuisance.’ His voice was soothing. ‘So, tell me, how do you like Redall Cottage?’

  ‘Did you see the ghost again last night?’

  Greg’s question floated into the conversation before she had time to answer Roger’s.

  ‘What ghost?’ Diana asked. ‘There’s no ghost there, Kate. Take no notice of my son. He’s trying to wind you up.’

  ‘Would I?’ Greg smiled. ‘Of course there’s a ghost there. Kate and I were discussing the unpleasant atmosphere at the cottage when I was up there last night. Weren’t we? And she told me she’d seen it.’ He appealed to her to substantiate his claim. ‘We both believe it has something to do with that grave on the beach.’

  Alison had gone white. ‘Shut up Greg.’

  Her brother looked at her. As their eyes met, he raised an eyebrow very slightly. Guiltily Alison looked away. He had explained it all to her an hour ago, when she had challenged him on the subject, how he was going to drive Lady Muck out of the cottage; how she was already nervous of being on her own out there; how it would take only one or two small things – noises perhaps, or strange happenings in the cottage – to send her screaming into the night. But he hadn’t mentioned the grave.

  Kate was watching Greg closely. He was a handsome man, with, at first glance anyway, an honest face and guileless eyes. She had noticed how he could hold her gaze with his own, steadily, the humour and challenge trembling just behind the mask. But it was a mask. He was playing with her.

  ‘If it is a ghost it is a nice one.’ She smiled at him. ‘And it wore a beautiful scent.’

  Alison bit her lip. ‘Stop joking about it. It’s silly.’ Her voice had risen in something like panic. ‘When’s supper going to be ready? I’m starving.’

  From the far end of the room where she was laying the kitchen table Diana looked up and smiled. She had been listening to the exchange and had half guessed what Greg was up to. ‘It’s ready now. Come and finish this for me, Allie. Then we can eat. Greg, come and pour the wine. And Roger and Patrick, sit where you are till I call you. I know you both. The moment you think I’m about to announce the meal you will disappear on some urgent errand and I shan’t see you for hours.’ She turned to drain the pasta.

  The room was busy, bustling, warm. Kate took another sip of her whisky. She was beginning to feel lightheaded. Had none of them heard it? Or had the voice, somehow, come from Greg?

  Suddenly she realised that he was standing in front of her. He put out his hand for her glass. ‘Come. Let me take you in to dinner,’ he said, extending his arm.

  She scrambled to her feet. ‘Thank you.’ He was about her height, broadly built and solid; she could smell his aftershave. With a sudden feeling of shock she realised he was really a very attractive man. Strangely conscious of the firm touch of his hand beneath her elbow she let him escort her to the table, where she found herself seated between him and his father.

  ‘If there are ghosts, then there are two of them.’ Kate was enjoying herself. ‘And they are Roman,’ she added as Diana laid a dish of paté on the table in front of her. ‘One would be your Marcus Severus Secundus, and the other, the one I think I saw, might have been – perhaps – his wife, Augusta.’

  Roger laughed. He dug his knife into the butter and carved himself off an unfashionably large corner. ‘Good lord! How on earth have you come to that conclusion?’

  Kate turned to Greg. ‘You said Marcus haunted Redall Cottage,’ she said. ‘I went to the museum and saw the exhibits about him and his wife. That is how I know her name.’

  Greg grinned. He reached for the butter himself. ‘I think there must have been a beautiful villa here in their day. It’s strange. You make him sound almost approachable. I can’t say I’ve ever been on first name terms with him. I don’t think he was at all a pleasant character.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Kate hadn’t taken her eyes off Greg’s face, trying to read his expression.

  ‘Greg.’ Diana reproved her son from the end of the table.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ma, but I think Kate should be warned. She is, in a way, Marcus’s guest, after all. And if he and his wife have introduced themselves, it would seem that they are going to seek a closer acquaintance with her.’

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘The dagger belonged to him,’ Alison put in softly. ‘He used it to kill people.’

  Kate glanced at her, in spite of herself giving a little shiver of apprehension. Alison was staring down at her plate. Her headache had come back.

  ‘I’m glad to be rid of it then,’ Kate said. She forced herself to sound cheerful. ‘It will be safer here out of his reach with you looking after it. I was talking to a friend in the States on the phone this evening and telling him about it,’ she went on, determined to show that she was in no way upset by the sudden atmosphere in the room. ‘They don’t have Roman ghosts in America. He was quite jealous.’ Were they in it together, Greg and Alison? Were they all having a good laugh at her expense? ‘In what way is he unpleasant?’ she pressed Greg. She watched him closely. If he told her at least she would know what to expect.

  He shrugged. ‘They say that on certain nights, when the tide is high and the moon is full, you can hear the screams of his victims – ’

  ‘Greg, that is enough!’ his father put in abruptly. ‘You are frightening your sister.’

  ‘Rubbish. Allie’s as tough as old boots. It would take more than that to frighten her,’ Greg retorted. He turned to Kate. ‘And I’m sure our lady historian is not frightened by ghosts. They are, after all, her stock in trade. She should be very pleased to be able to rent a couple so reasonably.’

  So there you had it. The barb which had betrayed him. Kate smiled. Suddenly she felt more cheerful. She could handle Greg Lindsey. Taking another mouthful of Diana’s delectable home made paté she turned back to him. ‘Why should they haunt the grave on the beach? They weren’t buried there, and I’m fairly certain that it’s not a Roman burial.’

  ‘How do you know it’s a burial at all?’ Patrick put in another of his rare remarks. ‘Allie hasn’t found a body has she?’

  ‘No, I haven’t!’ Again the panic.
Unexplained. Sudden. Overwhelming. Alison clenched her fists against the sudden pounding behind her eyes.

  ‘And she probably won’t. The sand dissolves bodies,’ Kate put in. She hadn’t looked at Alison. ‘Like at Sutton Hoo. Although that is a Saxon burial and therefore probably much later, it must be the same principle. The salts in the sand dissolve everything except the shadow. And archaeologists can only find that if the site has been undisturbed.’ She caught site of Alison’s strained look and hastened to add: ‘The trouble with Redall beach is that now it is right on the edge of the sea. The tide and the wind have already damaged the site beyond any hope of finding that kind of evidence.’

  The peat. The peat strata in the dune. The words floated into her mind as she stared down at the paté on her plate. The peat was newly exposed, only the edge was crumbling, smelling of sweet garden earth …

  She dropped her fork. The others were looking at her. ‘I’m sorry.’ She smiled, scrabbling for it. ‘It’s all this talk of ghosts. I think you are at last making me nervous.’

  ‘And that is unforgivable,’ Diana put in firmly. ‘I’ll have no more of this nonsense. I have known that cottage for most of my life. It is not haunted. It has never been haunted and we will not discuss it any more.’

  Kate stole a glance at Greg. He had meekly turned his attention to his plate.

  At the end of the meal as the others made their way back to the fire Diana put a hand on Kate’s arm. ‘Stay and help me make the coffee. I haven’t had the chance to talk to you properly yet.’ She smiled as she lifted the kettle from the hob and carried it to the sink. Neither woman spoke as the water ran into the kettle, then with a glance over her shoulder Diana beckoned Kate nearer to the stove. There was a hiss of steam as she put the dripping kettle onto the hot plate. ‘I think you have gathered that Greg is trying to scare you away from Redall Cottage, she said quietly. ‘I am so sorry he has decided to be childish like this. He can’t forgive me for making him move out. It’s got nothing to do with you. It is me he is angry with.’

  Kate turned to the table and began to stack the plates. She glanced at the far end of the room where Roger was choosing a CD from the pile on the stereo. Greg was bending over the fire, coaxing some fresh logs into a blaze.

  ‘I had guessed that was what was going on,’ she said after a moment. ‘He and Alison are both in it, I think. Don’t worry, I can handle it.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Diana frowned. ‘It seems so feeble to say I can’t do anything about it, but whatever I say to them, they will go on if they think it’s working.’ She banged two of her dishes together crossly and carried them over to the sink. ‘I hate to think of you out there on your own. It’s so far from anywhere.’

  ‘You don’t think they would harm me?’ Kate looked at her in astonishment.

  ‘No. No. Of course I don’t think that. Neither of them would hurt a fly. But they might think it amusing to frighten you.’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. I feel dreadful about this. Greg is not an easy person …’ Her voice trailed away helplessly.

  Kate felt a surge of anger. Impulsively she put her hand on Diana’s arm. ‘Please, don’t upset yourself. I told you, I can cope.’ She grinned. ‘It was real ghosts I wasn’t sure about. I can deal with imposters. I expect I can play them at their own game.’ Diana looked at her gratefully and Kate smiled again. ‘Just so long as I know it’s them. And just so long as I know you and Roger are there – a touch of sanity at the end of the phone.’

  ‘You can be sure of that.’

  ‘Then there’s no problem.’ She picked up the coffee jug and carrying it to the sink ran some hot water into it to warm it. Greg and his father were sitting down now, one of either side of the inglenook. The two younger Lindseys had vanished. Quietly, the sound of music floated through the long, low-ceilinged room.

  It was nearly midnight when reluctantly Kate climbed to her feet and announced that she ought to go home. Roger had been asleep in his chair for the last twenty minutes and Diana, for all her animated conversation, looked exhausted.

  Greg stood up immediately. ‘I’ll drive you back. You don’t want to walk up through those woods on your own at this time of night.’ He grinned.

  Kate glanced at Diana and she smiled. The implication was clear. More ghosts. ‘Thanks. I wouldn’t say no to a lift. It’s surprising how long that path can be when you’re tired.’

  The sky had cleared. It blazed with stars and there was a fine layer of frost on the windscreen. Greg opened the door for her then he fumbled about under the driver’s seat for a scraper. ‘It won’t take a moment. Did you leave the stove banked up?’

  She smiled. ‘I think I’m getting the hang of that beast at last. It’s voracious in its appetite for attention, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is indeed.’ A small circle cleared in the frost – apparently all he required to see the narrow track – he climbed in beside her and slammed the door. The engine started reluctantly, revving deafeningly in the silent darkness. Shoving the gearstick forward Greg turned the vehicle around and headed for the trees. A sheen of frost lay on the damp ground and the spinning wheels shattered crazy patterns into the thin veneer of ice on the puddles between the ruts.

  Kate hung on grimly as the Land Rover slithered around.

  ‘The friend you mentioned in the States,’ Greg said suddenly, out of the silence. ‘Your boyfriend?’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘What happened?’ He hauled at the gear lever as the tyres spun.

  ‘People grow apart.’

  ‘But you keep in touch.’

  She looked sideways at the handsome profile, trying to interpret the cryptic tone and she felt a small shiver of excitement. ‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘We keep in touch.’

  To her surprise he did not speak again until they arrived. Jumping down from the high seat she leaned in to thank him, but he was already climbing out.

  ‘You’d better let me check everything is all right,’ he said. ‘The least I can do.’

  ‘There’s no need. I’m sure the ghosts have gone.’ She smiled at him, but she gave him her key. Buoyed up with the knowledge that Diana and Roger were on her side she was curious to know what he would do next.

  The lamp in the living room was still alight as they went in, and so, to Kate’s relief, was the woodburner. Greg glanced at it almost approvingly and she saw him take note of the huge pile of logs next to it. If he was amused by her foresight he gave no sign. ‘It all looks OK to me. Do you want me to check upstairs?’

  ‘No need. Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I’m not afraid.’ She hadn’t taken off her coat, waiting pointedly by the door. He gave a final glance around. ‘OK then. I’ll see you around.’

  ‘Thanks for bringing me home. And thank your parents again for me, for a lovely evening. I really enjoyed it.’

  ‘Good.’ For a moment he paused, looking at her. It was there again, the humour, just behind the sober, almost stern exterior and for a moment she thought he was going to stoop and kiss her cheek as his father had done. If he was, he changed his mind. He gave a curt half-bow – the Englishman’s salute – and turned away.

  For a moment she stood watching as he climbed back into his vehicle and, flooding the darkness again with the arcing headlights, turned it and headed back into the trees. Closing the door she gave a sigh of relief. The cottage was warm and safe. The fire was lit, the water hot – she had left the immersion heater on to be sure – the door was locked, and she had allies. Marcus was a trick. A figment of someone else’s imagination.

  XX

  Switching out the lamp she turned towards the kitchen. A cloud of angry flies rose and buzzed around the light, hitting the ceiling, banging against the walls as she stared at them in disgust. Where were they coming from? She glanced round. She had left no food out, nothing to tempt them. Besides, it was winter. She walked over to the dresser, and then she stopped. A trail of wet peat lay over the pale wood surface. There was more on the floor in front o
f the cupboards and more again in the sink. She stared down into the stainless steel bowl and felt her stomach lurch as she saw maggots in the filth that lay there. The room, she realised suddenly, was once again full of that sweet, intense odour of rich earth. A smell which she had not noticed at all as she opened the door.

  She clenched her fists. Greg. This was something to do with Greg. Somehow he had arranged all this while she was out. One of his friends must have come to the cottage, using his key, while they knew she was safely at the farmhouse and had had all the time in the world to prepare a little surprise for her.

  Furious, she turned both taps on full, watching the black soil and maggots swirl away down the drain. Then she set about clearing up the rest of the mess. About the flies she could do nothing. Several energetic minutes with a rolled up newspaper only bagged a couple. Tomorrow she would buy a spray.

  Turning off the light at last and closing the door firmly behind her she paused at the foot of the stairs, looking up. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry. What had they done up there? Cross and very tired she walked firmly up, and turning on the light in her bedroom she stood in the doorway and stared round, holding her breath. As far as she could see there was nothing wrong. With a sigh of relief she went in and going to the bed she pulled back the lace cover. The sheets were undisturbed. Relieved that they had not succumbed to a childish urge to defile her bed in some way she looked round carefully, searching for any signs of intruders, but there were none. The room was as she had left it. The only smell in there was from the sweet-scented stems of daphne in the glass on the table by the window. Walking over to the window she drew back the curtain, and opening it she leaned out. The night was clear as crystal. The starlight was so bright she could see every detail of the garden and the hedge and across the dunes towards the sea which lay luminous and still, the movement of the waves on the beach dulled into a slow, heavy, rhythmic beat like the steady breath of a sleeping animal. She stood for a long time, her elbows on the ice-cold sill, then at last, shivering, she closed the window and turned back towards the bed.