Happily, there were no symptoms of a fresh argument now though. Vicki and her mother were chatting about a new pair of sandals that Vicki had bought in Ilfracombe on the way here. Oliver had transformed his scone into something that resembled a snow-topped mountain, there was so much clotted cream on the thing, and was devouring the confection with utter bliss. There was peace. There was tranquillity. Happy families, John thought, smiling. I hope it lasts. I really do.
After sucking his spoon clean, Oliver fixed his bright eyes on John. ‘Tell me about Baverstock Castle again.’
‘OK. It’s a medieval fortress standing on a hilltop between the moor and the sea.’
‘Were there any battles there?’
‘Lots. When Lord Kemmis defeated the Earl of Boscombe in 1426 he cut off the Earl’s head, then he stuck it on a big iron spike on the battlements.’
‘Brilliant!’
John continued, ‘In the English Civil War, the castle was pounded with cannon balls. The worst damage occurred to the place was when some idiot walked into the gunpowder store, lit a candle and … boom.’
‘And you really lived in the castle when you were my age, Dad?’
‘To be accurate, we lived in a cottage nearby. Back then, Baverstock Castle had lots of tenants that farmed its land. Because the place is so remote it became a little self-contained world in its own right. The Kemmis family made the rules, told people what to do, and they also built a school. That’s where my parents – your grandparents – were teachers.’
Ingrid sipped her tea. ‘Sounds feudal. The king of the castle ruling the peasants.’
‘It might have been dictatorial hundreds of years ago,’ John said. ‘When we lived there Lord Kemmis really cared about his tenants. He was a nice guy, too.’
Vicki fluttered her fingers in the air. ‘Now, years later, you’re mysteriously drawn back to the castle. Ooooh … spooky.’
‘Is it haunted, Dad?’ Oliver’s eyes were wide. ‘Did you ever see anything weird?’
‘No, Ollie. There’s no such thing as ghosts.’
Ingrid distracted Oliver from notions of haunted turrets and phantom-plagued dungeons by offering him half her scone. Oliver was boisterous, mischievous – a typical eleven year old. But there’d been a spell recently when he’d had nightmares about ‘faces in the bedroom wall’. Now, John and Ingrid thought it wise to steer their son away from topics of conversation that involved the supernatural.
So why am I going back to the castle? John had been pondering that question a lot over the past few days. His return had a rational explanation, of course. John had specialist skills in archaeological photography. Utilizing a state-of-the-art camera, he photographed damaged or incomplete artefacts that had emerged from excavations. Then he used computer software to construct images of the shattered Viking bowl or mangled Roman brooch, or whatever the object was. That was his day job, and being self-employed gave him a freedom that he loved.
By chance, he’d seen a news item about experts restoring a neglected collection of ancient Egyptian artefacts. The story had immediately interested him, and his heart had leapt when he saw that the collection was housed in Baverstock Castle in Devon: the very place he’d lived near as a child. On checking the castle’s website he’d learnt that the restoration team required the services of a specialist to work on damaged papyrus documents. Reassembling those ancient texts electronically would be much simpler than the incredibly fiddly process of gluing together thousands of fragments of ancient paper. The work was scheduled to last four weeks.
John Tolworth applied there-and-then online; fortunately, he had an impressive CV and glowing testimonials from museums to support his job application. Within hours, he’d received an email from the head of the restoration team, informing him he was hired. Naturally, he’d then had to convince his family that his impulsive decision had been a sound one. His sales pitch ran something along the lines of: ‘Baverstock Castle is in a beautiful part of the world. School? No, don’t worry about that. The job’s in August during the school holidays. It’s perfect down there, and it’s so near the coast. We get a free cottage for the month, too.’
Persuading his family to move away from the comforts of city living hadn’t been that easy, however. Nevertheless, he’d found a way in the end – even if it had required a judicious bribe here and there to get the children to agree. Ingrid was a teacher, so had the time off anyway during the long summer holiday, and John hadn’t worried too much about convincing her. In the event, she’d only offered token resistance. If anything, she was intrigued about discovering where John had spent three years of his childhood. He’d always described his stay in Devon in such a wistful way, as if describing a piece of heaven on earth.
After they’d finished their cream teas, John and his family climbed the mound to catch a glimpse of Baverstock Castle in the distance. Its solid stone walls rippled in that mystifying way you get on a hot summer’s day. The ancient fortress appeared to be in the process of changing its shape and transforming its battlements and towers into something else entirely, as if in the power of a magic spell.
‘Dad.’ Vicki sounded alarmed. ‘There’s nothing there. It’s wilderness.’
‘Beautiful, scenic countryside,’ John corrected.
‘No! Wilderness – as in the middle of nowhere.’
‘It’ll be relaxing.’ Ingrid’s smile appeared to mask her own doubts about the place.
Vicki’s expression darkened. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about that castle. There’ll be nothing to do except die of boredom.’
Oliver chipped in: ‘Dad, were you bored when you lived there?’
‘No. I was friends with Lord Kemmis’s son.’
Vicki giggled. ‘Every time you met him did you have to curtsy?’
‘Nothing of the sort. I liked Philip a lot. We had a great time together.’
Oliver asked the next question so bluntly that it took John by surprise. ‘Why aren’t you friends now?’
‘We lost touch when he went to secondary school.’
‘I still see my friends when they go to different schools.’
‘Ah, but Philip was sent to a boarding school in another country.’
‘Why?’
‘Sons and daughters of aristocrats have to do things like that.’
‘So Philip never came home?’ Being condemned to a foreign school forever was clearly a worrying notion for Oliver. ‘That stinks.’
‘I suppose he came home for holidays.’ John shrugged and frowned. For some reason, even though the hot sun blazed down, he suddenly went cold. In fact, icy cold, as if snow was being packed inside his chest. ‘I never saw Philip again.’
Ingrid studied his face. ‘Are you alright, John?’
‘Fine.’
‘You don’t look fine. In fact, you look terrible.’
Vicki stood back. ‘Shit. Dad’s going to puke his guts up.’
‘No, I’m not.’ Though at that moment John felt he was going to do exactly that. Nausea stirred the contents of his stomach. His blood ran even colder. Shivers prickled across his skin. ‘It’s just that …’
‘What?’ asked Ingrid. She was worried now.
‘I’ve gone and remembered something. It’s so strange … I’d forgotten about it completely. Something happened to Philip.’
‘Oh?’ Ingrid became uneasy.
‘I’ve just remembered the last time I saw him. I was ten, so Philip would have been eleven. I’d been at a sleepover at the castle, and we’d gone exploring after everyone was asleep.’ John’s heart started to pound. ‘We went into one of the towers. We shouldn’t have done, because it was so dangerous. The place was falling apart.’ He frowned as he struggled to recall details of what happened. ‘Then Philip got injured. His arm … or his hand. You know, this sounds odd, but I’d forgotten all about it. Philip hurt his arm, and I never saw him again after that.’
‘Is he still alive?’ asked Oliver.
‘I suppose so.’ John tried to sh
ake off the strange sensation of cold liquid flushing through his body. ‘He’s probably doing what the sons of lords do – whatever that is.’ He smiled, trying to prove to his family that everything was fine so they shouldn’t worry.
As if telepathically sensing the uncanny chill gripping her father, though, Vicki shivered. ‘The castle’s a death trap? Why don’t we turn round and go home?’
‘That was years ago. You’ll love it there.’ Why do I feel as if I’m lying through my teeth? John wondered. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’
They headed towards the car park. A steady stream of vehicles, filled with holidaymakers, rumbled along the main road in the direction of the coastal resort of Lynmouth. Vicki and Oliver climbed into the back of the car. John hung back. For an unsettling reason he couldn’t explain, he found himself reluctant to complete the journey. Although the nausea had left him, those shivers of cold had not. The ‘someone’s just trodden on my grave’ sensation remained with him. Why did I forget about Philip hurting his arm? Why’s the memory so hazy? It’s like I’m remembering a dream … or a nightmare.
Ingrid slipped her arm around his waist. ‘Maybe seeing the castle again made you remember what happened to your friend?’
‘Maybe. I was only ten at the time.’
‘You can turn back, if you want?’
Her words made John flinch. Suddenly, he remembered Philip using that exact sentence when they entered the tower. There was something else, too. In that polished voice of his, the boy had said: ‘You’re so scared you could shit.’ Philip uttering that line came back so vividly as John stood by the car. But why was the rest of the visit to the tower so blurry? Something about mummies … about seeing the mummy collection. Something about …
‘John. John?’
‘Philip. What’s happened to your hand?’
‘John, what’s wrong? Why did you say that?’
His forehead ran with sweat. ‘I didn’t say anything, did I?’ He attempted a smile. The way Ingrid recoiled suggested that smile must have looked like the snarl of a frightened dog. ‘I’ve been sitting in the sun too much, haven’t I? And it’s been a long drive.’
She gently squeezed his arm. ‘When we get to the castle you’re going to have a couple of days relaxing. You don’t start work until after the weekend, so take it easy.’ She glanced round to make sure nobody else could hear, then gave him a sexy smile. ‘We’re going to have Us-Time. We’re going to spend time in bed together when the children are out. And not sleeping. We’re going to catch up on making love. Plenty of love. OK?’
‘OK.’
Still smiling, his beautiful, dark-haired wife kissed him on the lips. ‘Come on, there’s a castle waiting for the Tolworths. We’re going to inject some life into the place.’ She gave his bottom a cheeky squeeze. ‘There are those Egyptian mummies as well. So, Mr Tolworth, show me some mummy bones and I’ll show you some willing lady flesh. Get my meaning?’
John laughed. He dismissed the memory-ghosts of the past as things that couldn’t hurt him or his family, or poison their future happiness. Watch out, Baverstock Castle! Here we come – and everything’s going to turn out fine.
THREE
John Tolworth felt exciting tingles of recognition as he drove his family through picturesque Devonshire villages that he’d not seen since he was a child. Here were pleasant inns that dated back centuries and ancient churches that had stood tall for a thousand years. The last part of the journey, which had begun six hours ago in London, was along a private road. This took them through wilder realms of the Baverstock Castle estate. From rugged hillsides, strange fingers of black rock pointed at the sky.
Oliver leaned forwards from the car’s backseat. ‘Those stones are ace,’ he exclaimed as his bright eyes eagerly devoured what he saw. ‘They look like loads of soldiers, don’t they?’
‘They’re just a bunch of rocks.’ His sister yawned. ‘Are we nearly there yet?’
‘Five minutes,’ John told her before adding: ‘When I lived here those rocks always made me think of legions of dark knights on the march.’
‘Dark knights? Really?’ Ingrid smiled. ‘You must have been an imaginative child.’
Vicki shook her head. ‘You’re certifiably peculiar, Dad.’
Oliver studied the pinnacles of rock as they drove by. ‘Who put ’em there?’
‘No one. They’re natural.’
‘Will we see the lord today?’
‘You mean Lord Kemmis?’ John shook his head. ‘No, the Kemmis family couldn’t afford the upkeep of the castle so they sold it. The company that owns it now are doing the restoration. They’re the same people who hired me to work on those old Egyptian documents.’
Ingrid eyed the terrain with growing unease. ‘The place is more isolated than I expected – and more barren.’
Vicki ruthlessly got to the point: ‘It’s a bloody wilderness! There’s nothing but rocks, grass and sheep.’
‘And sheep poo,’ Oliver added with a gleeful chuckle.
John eased the car along the road where it passed between two massive outcrops of rock: monstrous granite jaws that swallowed the Tolworth family in one go.
‘There it is,’ John almost shouted with excitement. ‘Baverstock Castle.’
The castle appeared to have ferociously bludgeoned the crown of the hill in order to give it a level platform on which to sit. From this lofty position that muscular thug of a building, with battlements, buttresses and formidable towers, glared down upon the surrounding countryside.
Sight of the fortress brought out the schoolteacher in Ingrid. ‘Castles weren’t just built for defence. They were statements of power. Castles sent out a clear signal to local people that disobedience would be ruthlessly crushed.’
John nodded. ‘The architectural equivalent of pointing a gun at someone’s head.’
Oliver was impressed. ‘It’s great! I can’t wait to see inside!’
The emotion that flowed through John at that moment astonished him. He’d never expected to be so moved at seeing the place again after all these years. His entire body grew tense, and he felt butterflies in his stomach. This is such an odd sensation, he thought. It’s as if this area is hugely important to me. Like I’m coming home to see family. But his parents now lived in quiet retirement on the other side of the country, and his sister lived in Tasmania. Yet the landscape he drove through triggered powerful emotions he couldn’t explain or even properly identify. Strange.
His wife and children were busily commenting on what they saw. He, however, had been drawn into a remote oasis of the past. He visualized himself riding his bike along this road when he was ten. As likely as not, in one hand he’d be carrying a glass jar that teemed with tiny, silver fish he’d caught in the tarn.
John slowed as he approached the gatehouse. The castle lay half a mile beyond that Gothic archway.
‘What on earth is that man doing?’ asked Ingrid in surprise as she stared at a figure emerging from a line of bushes.
Vicki laughed. ‘Well, someone’s pleased to see us.’
The man, aged forty or so, wore a billowing green dressing-gown over a black T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. He fixed the car with a hard stare. Dark rings were etched deep in the delicate skin beneath his bulging eyes. However, it was what this striking individual was doing that caused John to reduce his speed to a crawl. The man was applauding. He clapped his hands together with a slow, calculating rhythm. His applause for the new arrivals became more impassioned as those bulging eyes locked on to John’s face.
Ingrid became alarmed. ‘John, keep going, don’t stop.’
The stranger lunged towards the car and started pounding at the windows. Inside, there was thunderous banging as he slammed a fist against the glass.
Vicki screamed in horror when the man opened the back door.
‘No, you don’t,’ snarled Ingrid. She reached back, caught the handle, and tugged the door shut. ‘John! Go on! Faster! Put your foot down!’
 
; John floored the pedal. The car roared away. In the rear-view mirror, he caught sight of a second figure, pushing a wheelbarrow. Clearly, he’d seen what had occurred. Within seconds, this man, who was sixtyish with white hair, had caught hold of the berserk Car-Hater. Firmly, yet gently, the white-haired man guided their attacker back towards the bushes.
‘Damn it!’ Ingrid took deep breaths to steady her nerves. ‘That’s a welcome we won’t forget in a hurry.’
John’s heart pounded. ‘You kids OK in the back?’
Vicki nodded. ‘We’re both alright.’
John found it touching the way his daughter gripped Oliver’s hand to reassure him. Oliver, meanwhile, twisted his head around to stare at the stranger in the green dressing gown. ‘Why did he punch our car, Dad?’ He sounded frightened.
‘I don’t know, Ollie.’
‘My God, what a psycho.’ Ingrid shook her head in amazement. ‘Why the hell is he allowed to roam about by himself?’
John drove along the final stretch of driveway to the castle. His mouth turned dry as a revelation struck home. For a moment, he struggled to put into words what was troubling him. ‘Ingrid … that man back there.’
‘The psycho?’
‘I’m sure it’s Philip Kemmis.’
‘Your friend from when you lived here?’
John nodded. He was certain he recognized Philip even though he was now an adult. What’s more, he was absolutely certain that Philip had realized that it was his childhood friend, John Tolworth, driving towards the castle.