Amused, he waited. They had guessed what had happened here. They knew the Roman’s secret. They hated him, but they feared him too. He was powerful, Marcus Severus Secundus. Powerful and clever, for all his craven terror when he had faced at last the moment of his death.
Anne had made soup when they returned. Cold and shaken they sat around the table gratefully: the taxi driver, the policeman, the poet, the painter, the psychologist and the author. On the sofa Paddy slept on. He had woken once and sat up, putting his head in his hands and rubbing his face. ‘Is it true, about Dad? I didn’t dream it?’ He had looked up pleadingly at Anne.
‘I am afraid it is true, Patrick.’ She sat down beside him and put her hand on the boy’s shoulder, comforting him until he fell asleep again.
‘So. What happens next?’ Jon looked at Bob Garth.
Ten minutes before, a message had come on the constable’s mobile phone that a police car was on its way to pick him up. The young man helped himself to a piece of bread from the basket and spread it thickly with butter. ‘As soon as the car comes, I’ll go back and report what we found. I can take you with me, Mr Cutler, if you like – and anyone else who wants to leave.’ He looked from one to the other.
‘You go, Anne.’ Kate said quietly. ‘You can’t afford to be away any longer.’
‘I am not leaving you here.’ Anne met her eye with determination.
‘Don’t worry about Kate. I’m going to look after her. She’s coming back with me,’ Jon said firmly.
Kate shook her head. ‘I’m not coming back to London, Jon. Not yet.’ She was too muddled, too shocked by everything that had happened to make decisions. ‘Or at least, I’ll come to Bill’s funeral, then I thought I would go to our parents’ for a while. I was going there for Christmas anyway.’
‘Kate –’ Jon looked at her in sudden panic. ‘Please – ’
‘Stay here, Kate.’ Greg put in softly. ‘At least until the cottage is dried out. It won’t take long.’
‘She’s not going back there!’ Jon interrupted. ‘After all that’s happened. You must be mad – ’
‘She agreed to take it for six months.’ Greg’s voice was very calm.
‘Things have changed since that agreement,’ Kate shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t stay there, Greg. Not now. Not after Bill – ’
A sudden imperious crackle from Bob Garth’s mobile phone cut through Greg’s growing anger. Unclipping it, Garth raised it to his ear. Glancing from face to face he listened to the message intently, then he grinned. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘That’s good news. The Farnboroughs are going home. Mrs Farnborough has two cracked ribs and young Susie is suffering from exhaustion, but that’s all. Mrs Lindsey is going to stay in hospital with young Alison overnight. They think she is all right, but they are going to do a brain scan just to be sure.’ He stood up. ‘Well, who is coming with me? Have you made up your minds?’ He couldn’t wait to be off.
‘Go, Anne.’ Kate said after a moment’s pause. ‘I will wait to collect my stuff as soon as they will let me in the cottage, then I’m going to Herefordshire. Allie’s gone. The grave’s gone. There’s no more danger. I’ll be all right.’ She shook her head ruefully. ‘I know you’re worried about work – and besides, there’s C.J. You go. Only don’t get lost this time.’ She gave a wan smile.
Anne grimaced. ‘If we can be dropped off at the end of the track, Pete has suggested that he drive in front of me, at least on these lanes, to check I don’t get lost!’ She glanced at the taxi driver mockingly.
‘That’s right.’ He bowed. ‘And I’m going to buy her a slap up meal in Colch to send her on her way thinking a bit better about this part of the world! So don’t you worry about us, folks. Just you look after yourselves.’
‘I hate to leave you here.’ Anne pushed back her chair. She put her hands on Kate’s shoulders and hugged her. ‘What are you going to do about Greg and Jon?’ she asked softly. She could hardly have missed the conflict between them.
Jon did not give Kate the chance to reply. ‘She’ll be all right, Anne,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’
Anne looked him in the eye. For a minute she was silent, then she smiled. ‘Make sure you do.’
When the car finally arrived, Patrick went too. He had not argued when Greg suggested that he go to Diana at the hospital and keep her company.
Kate glanced at Jon and Greg as the police vehicle disappeared up the track. Greg had turned away to throw more logs on the fire. Outside, the garden lay very still beneath the thawing snow. She bit her lip. The silence in the house had become suddenly threatening.
Greg straightened. His face was pale and strained. ‘You’ll have to stay for Dad’s funeral, Kate. He would have wanted you to.’
They all glanced towards the door. Someone was coming later to pick up Roger’s body and take it to the mortuary.
‘I don’t know, Greg.’ Kate bit her lip. ‘Please, give me time to think. Perhaps I can come back just for the day.’
‘Just for the day.’ Greg’s voice was heavy with irony. ‘How jolly.’ He stiffened suddenly and stared round. The temperature in the room was falling swiftly. ‘He’s come back,’ he said. ‘Can you feel him?’
‘Marcus?’ Jon moved across to put his arm around Kate.
‘Marcus,’ Greg confirmed. He sounded almost pleased.
Kate shuddered. She looked round. ‘Where is he?’
‘Here.’ Greg could feel the anger; the hatred. But this time the mood was different. It had changed. This time it was accompanied by fear. That was strange. Why should Marcus be afraid? Greg felt himself shiver.
For a moment no one moved, then almost defiantly Greg picked up a candle and limped to the door.
The study was very quiet and cold. His father’s body lay on the bed, covered by a clean white sheet. He stood, looking down at it. Was it Roger Marcus feared? Or something – someone – else?
He turned away and picked up his last painting of the woman in blue. Claudia. It had haunted him for so many months, this beautiful enigmatic face. He stared down at the huge oval eyes. They radiated hatred. He could feel it, directed straight at him. He frowned, touching the paint with his little finger then he walked back into the living room, taking the picture with him.
‘Well, what do you think?’ He propped it on the chair so Jon could see it.
Jon squatted down on his haunches so that he was level with the face. ‘Powerful stuff.’ He frowned. It was the first time he had smelt it: jasmine. Very strongly, coming from the canvas. He sniffed cautiously. It was heady, overpowering, sexy.
Greg was watching his face. ‘At last. He understands.’ His voice was very soft.
Kate crouched beside Jon. ‘It’s a very fine painting, Jon?’ She stared at him. ‘Are you all right?’
‘What?’ He looked at her vaguely and then he focussed his gaze once more on the picture.
‘The earth is cover’d thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heap’d and pent,
Rider and horse, – friend, foe – in one red burial blent’
he quoted softly.
‘Jon – ’
‘Leave him.’ Greg’s voice was a sneer. ‘Poor Kate. You have a rival. You see what she can do? The whore. Her power is infinite.’
‘Shut up, Greg!’ She rounded on him furiously. ‘Jon! Jon, what’s the matter?’
Jon looked at her. His eyes looked straight past her; through her. He did not see her.
LXXV
He knew he was dying. Lying on his low bed, his wife sitting at his side, he watched the servants scurrying silently to and fro with coals for the brazier. He was cold, so very cold even though it was still summer. His eyes strayed to the shadows. They were there, waiting. Nion and Claudia. Her dying curse had after all done its work. The web was spun. Already the sticky threads entangling him reached out to the farthest corners of time. But he would evade her; somehow he would evade her – as long as there was no evidence of his
crime no man on earth would censure him and, before the gods, he would take his chance like a Roman warrior, wandering the corridors between worlds where she would never find him.
He felt his lungs falter, the breath labouring suddenly in his chest, and a stab of panic went through him. Not yet. He wasn’t ready yet. The tablets. He had the wax tablets under his pillow. On them the priest had written the words which would protect him and guide him to places where they would never find him. He had given orders that he be buried without cremation; that would anchor his spirit more closely to the earth. The servants had gone now. The room was empty. Hazily, he could see that his wife was dozing, her head resting on her arm. It must be midnight. The loneliest time. The loneliest place. Through the door, open to allow a draught to stir the heat from the brazier he could hear the water from the fountain in the atrium. It had a pleasant, soothing music to it; a music echoed by the stars he could not see, blazing up there in the midnight sky where, before the dawn began to dim their glory, he too would be wandering, lost in the immensity of time. He tried to move his head a little as on the table beside him the lamp flame flickered and dimmed. Suddenly the room was full of the scent of jasmine.
When Kate awoke it was pitch dark outside, but the room was lit by a small lamp on the dressing table. She lay staring round, wondering what had awoken her. Then she realised. It was the engine of a car. She lay listening, trying to summon the strength to stand up and go downstairs to see who it was, but already her eyes were closing again.
When she next opened them it was daylight.
Downstairs the living room was empty. She stared round. It had been tidied. She sniffed. She could smell coffee. Walking over to the pantry door she peered in. Jon was there, rooting around amongst Diana’s jars and boxes.
‘Hi.’
He jumped, then he smiled. Putting his arms around her he kissed her on the forehead. ‘Hi. Did you manage to sleep?’
She nodded. ‘I can’t believe it but I did.’ Yesterday, after he had sat and looked at the picture for what seemed like hours he had retired to the chair by the fire and scarcely spoken again that evening. He had frightened her. Greg, in contrast, had been remarkably cheerful and unthreatening and it was he who had persuaded her at last to go up and get some rest. ‘Did I hear a car last night? Who was it?’ she asked.
He frowned. ‘They came to collect Roger. Greg saw him on his way.’
‘Poor Roger. He was such a nice man. I liked him so much.’ Kate bit her lip. ‘This has all been so terrible, Jon.’ She went back to his arms and stood there, her head resting on his shoulder, drawing strength from him. He was himself again now; completely himself. She could feel it, see it. She glanced over his shoulder into the living room. The picture had gone. ‘Where’s Greg?’ She looked up at Jon’s face.
‘He went out.’
‘Did you sleep down here last night?’
He nodded. ‘In the chair.’
‘And you smelt it: the jasmine.’
He nodded again. ‘Her face. It’s beautiful.’
‘It’s beautiful the way Greg painted it; but it’s frightening too, don’t you think?’ She shuddered.
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘He moved it. Put it away, I think.’ He glanced at her. ‘He’s a very disturbed man, Kate.’
‘Intense; artistic; sad. Not disturbed.’
‘Oh yes, disturbed. He’s jealous of me to the point of madness. I’m not being paranoid, Kate. I’m serious. He’s a threat. A threat to you.’
‘Jon – ’
He shook his head. ‘I know it seems absurd. Perhaps I’m being stupid, but I really believe it. There is something in his eyes – You must come away with me. Today. You know I’ve paid half the money I owe you into your account, Kate.’ He glanced at her. ‘The rest will be there by the end of January. You won’t let this come between us, will you.’
‘Jon, please. Don’t push me too fast.’ She looked up at his face. ‘I’ll come back to London. I’ll have to anyway to get the train over to my parents.’ She grimaced. ‘I will have to see about the car insurance and getting a new one. But about us …’ She wanted to go to him. She loved him, but something held her back. So much had broken in their relationship. It would take time to mend. ‘I don’t know, Jon. Not yet. Let’s take it slowly.’
She sighed. There was an added complication. Greg. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Greg. Not yet. ‘As soon as they let us into the cottage I’ll pack my things and we’ll have to think of a way of collecting them. Then we’ll go, Jon.’
Perhaps Marcus wouldn’t notice that they were leaving. She walked across to the window and stared out with another shiver. ‘Jon! Look! The cats.’ They were sitting side by side on the wall on the far side of the lawn. ‘It must be all right. They’ve come back. Surely, that must mean it’s safe.’
Jon smiled. ‘It means they think it’s safe out there. You and Anne and your cat lore! I’ll have to get used to it again, I can see.’ He stood beside her, looking out. A stray patch of sunshine had touched the wall to a warm red, and the cats, true to their kind, had made themselves comfortable exactly in the middle of it.
A movement caught his eye. Greg had been standing on the sea wall looking out across the marsh towards the now half-submerged car. He had turned and was walking slowly and painfully back towards the house, dragging his injured foot. They saw him stop when he saw the cats. He smiled and walked towards them. They stood up, their tails raised in welcome, then suddenly Jon saw first one, then the other stiffen, fur staring. With one bound, both cats had leapt from the wall and fled. Jon glanced at Kate. She bit her lip.
They could both see the anger on Greg’s face as he approached the house. It cleared as he saw them. ‘Poor old car. It’s had it.’ He walked in and eased off his boots, wincing at the pain. ‘Is there any coffee?’
Kate nodded.
‘I saw the police. They’ve gone on down to the cottage. They’ve advised us to keep clear for the morning. They’re going to take poor Bill away, and when they’ve finished down there the cleaners are going in. The sea’s gone down, apparently.’
‘What was wrong with the cats, Greg?’ Kate glanced at him as she unhooked three coffee mugs from the dresser.
‘They spooked.’ Greg shook his head. ‘God knows who they thought I was. They’ll be back as soon as Ma gets here.’ He had felt it at the same moment they had. The sudden anger; the frustrated rage. And now the fear. Marcus. He sipped the black coffee gratefully. ‘Are you still determined to leave Redall?’
Kate nodded. ‘Today, Greg. I’m going down to my mother’s until after Christmas.’
‘And then?’
She shook her head. ‘Then I’ll see.’ She sat down opposite him at the kitchen table. ‘Who knows, I might come back to write about Boudicca.’
‘After Christmas she’s coming back to me,’ Jon said slowly. ‘If I can convince her what an idiot I was to let her go.’
Greg stared at him. It was there again. The rage. He took a deep breath, trying to control himself. That bastard, Marcus. He was so close. It was jealousy. That was it. He was using the jealousy as a lever. He clenched his fists. Pushing back his chair and standing up he half staggered away from the table.
‘Greg –?’ Kate was looking at him, frightened.
‘It’s all right.’ He swung away to hide his face. It was like pain. It came in spasms; agonising spasms. This was what had happened to Alison; this was how she had killed Bill. ‘You go. Both of you. Go down to the cottage and pack. I’ll be all right.’
He pushed through the door into the study and slammed it behind him. The sight of the empty bed with the three blankets neatly folded, brought him up short. He stood still, letting the wave of misery flow over him. Where are you, Dad? He stared up at the ceiling. Help me. Please. He moved across to his father’s desk and threw himself down in the chair. For a long time he sat looking at the portrait which lay there, where he had left it the night before, on the blotter. Oh, she was so beauti
ful, the Lady Claudia. So beautiful. So deceitful. So evil. His eyes blurred with tears.
For a long time he sat there, staring at her face. Then he stood up. He picked up the picture and slowly he brought it up to his lips. He could smell the jasmine now. The whole room was full of it; beautiful; exotic. Haunting.
He heard Jon and Kate in the hall. They were putting on their boots and coats. His knuckles whitened on the stretcher of the canvas as he listened to their quiet, almost conspiratorial voices. Then the door banged behind them and the house was silent. He looked into her eyes again. Claudia …
It took no strength at all to smash the canvas across his knee.
LXXVI
Kate and Jon walked cautiously into the small living room and looked round. Bill’s body had gone, so had the police and after them the cleaners who had lifted the rugs, swept out the worst of the mud and opened the windows of the cottage to air. Relieved, Kate sighed. Somehow she had expected something to have remained of the aura – and the smell – of death, but the living room was more or less itself again, tidy and smelling only of damp.
She smiled at Jon. ‘I’ll go up and pack.’ He nodded. He glanced round the room. He had grown very quiet as they neared the cottage; almost brooding, staring at her now and then with a strange thoughtfulness.
It did not take long to pack her clothes and stack her books and papers in boxes. Later they were going to borrow another neighbour’s four-wheel drive to take it all back to the farmhouse. She took one last look around the cottage, listening to the silence, sniffing unconsciously for any hint of flowers or peat or Claudia’s jasmine scent. There was nothing. The cottage was empty. Reassured she pulled the door closed behind them and heard the lock click home.
The water had sunk slowly back out of the garden leaving a sea of mud. On the north side of the trees and bushes, large lumps of unmelted snow lurked, cushions of white in the damp undergrowth. The south wind after the days of ice-laden easterlies was a balm to the soul – sweet, gentle and almost warm. Jon glanced at Kate. ‘Do you want to see the grave before we go?’
Midnight Is a Lonely Place Page 45
