Devil's Garden

by Aline Templeton

  ‘Take me home? What for? Is there a problem?’

  ‘Your mother’s not happy about you being away out there on your own, after what happened this morning.’

  Cassie swore, then apologised. ‘Sorry, Davy. Oh, it was only a minor bump – she wasn’t meant to know. Who told her – oh no, don’t tell me. It was Richard Sansom, wasn’t it? Lying toad – he said he wouldn’t.’

  ‘She’d have found out anyhow,’ Davy pointed out. ‘It’s all over the town already.’

  Cassie pulled a face. ‘Oh, it would be, of course, but Ma doesn’t exactly hang round gossiping in the street, does she? Anyway, it doesn’t make any difference. I’m not going back to be incarcerated in the ice palace.’

  ‘I’m to bring you. That’s what she said.’

  ‘Oh, a kidnapping?’ Cassie laughed. ‘I tell you what, as a special concession you can run me home and report to her that I’m safely there. But attempt to take me back to Highfield and I start screaming out of the window that you’re abducting me.’

  There was a lot of head-shaking but she won, of course, and Davy drove her back to Burnside. ‘I promise I’ll tell her you did your best, Davy,’ she’d said as she got out of the car.

  ‘It’s not that. She’s worried about you, lass. Could you not just—’

  Cassie’s voice had hardened. ‘No, Davy, I couldn’t “just”. I’ve spent too much of my life already “just” doing what my mother wants, not what I want myself. Thanks for the lift.’

  ‘You’ll be going in tomorrow with the Writers’ Retreat being on, won’t you? What time in the morning?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m to chauffeur you. Boss’s orders.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Davy, I’ve got a car of my own!’

  ‘She just feels you need a wee bit of looking after. And it’s no problem for me.’

  For a moment she had thought of opening up the argument again but she was, quite honestly, too tired. It didn’t really matter and if her mother would settle for that it would save trouble. She submitted with bad grace.

  The more she thought about it, the angrier she got with Richard Sansom. She’d got on very well with him over lunch. He was easy to talk to, on general things at first, drawing her out to talk about life in the Harper family. Normally she shifted away from that sort of discussion for fear it might damage the sacred Brand, but since his job was promoting it anyway, she didn’t have to worry.

  He’d asked interested questions too about the whole creative thing, questions that Cassie had often asked herself too. Like where did genius like Anna’s come from, for instance.

  ‘What were her parents like?’ Richard asked. ‘Any sort of literary background?’

  ‘No idea,’ Cassie said. ‘They were dead before I was born and she never talks about them. Out of sight is out of mind for my mother. My father left when I was four, but we never talk about him either. The only person she does talk to is Marta.’

  Richard picked up on that immediately. ‘They obviously go back a long way. How did they meet?’

  ‘Oh, at least I can answer that. Ma’s always loved Italy and she spent some time there just after she left school, I think. That’s when she began writing Stolen Fire and she got to know Marta at that time. Marta told me that she’d let her read it as it was being written and she knew then that Anna was a genius, and it had been her privilege to make it easier for her to give her gift to the world. That’s what she said, anyway.’

  ‘Fascinating. So, is she paid as a housekeeper or something?’

  ‘No idea. She always seems to have money – she likes good clothes, expensive perfume, that sort of stuff. But we don’t talk about things like that in our family, Richard. We don’t talk about much, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘We’ve tried to persuade Anna that if she was a bit more accessible it would actually defuse the interest in her background. There’s always someone digging, but even we don’t know if Harper is her real name or where she came from.’

  ‘Well, all I can tell you is that it’s the one on her passport. But Felix and I …’ her voice faltered for a second, but she went on, ‘We reckoned she changed it by deed poll sometime. Don’t know why – we used to invent reasons, like a prison record or a personal scandal that would reflect badly on “The Brand”.’ Cassie indicated quotation marks. ‘High-class call girl was Felix’s bet. She’d hardly need the money now, but we’ve always known she takes lovers in London.’

  Richard nodded. ‘Yes, we have too. Risky, when she has such a sanitised public image. But – “The Brand”? I can hear the capital letters as you say that. What is it?’

  ‘It’s the sort of thing you lot talk about, isn’t it – establishing a personal brand for an author? It’s what Anna is to the rest of the world and everything has to be in keeping with it. It was held over us like an iron rod. “Don’t do that,” Marta would say, “It will be bad for The Brand.” She was even hotter on it than Ma would be.’

  A waitress appeared with another glass of wine. ‘I didn’t—’ she protested, but Richard nodded to the girl to set it down. ‘I’ve got the car so I can’t drink, but that’s no reason why you should sit there with an empty glass.’

  Cassie looked down. He was right; her glass was indeed empty, though she hadn’t finished her main course. ‘Oh dear – I hadn’t realised. I’m talking too much.’ She’d felt uneasy, at that point. She hadn’t eaten breakfast and wine on an empty stomach, combined with shock, was not a good recipe.

  But Richard said smoothly, ‘Not at all. It’s very helpful background for us. Tell me about the retreat set-up – how does that work?’

  Relieved to have moved away from personal subjects, she said readily, ‘Oh yes. Actually, it works very satisfactorily. The retreats cost money, obviously, but in PR terms it’s small change, and then it’s often in use for Harper Foundation business meetings and if people have flown in from abroad, we can offer hospitality since we’re dragging them away out here. The rest of the time it’s available for local events – concerts, lectures and that sort of thing. It’s popular for small conferences that are based nearby too – we have an excellent firm of caterers who know the ropes and it makes it all very easy. Now with Gil here I can travel more.’

  ‘Oh yes, Gil,’ Richard said with a sly smile. ‘Am I right that the more you travel, the happier he will be?’

  Cassie laughed. ‘Definitely! He’s developed a very possessive attitude to the Foundation, and of course that shows loyalty, but to be honest I do find it a difficult relationship. He behaves as if he’s trying to elbow me out – he even wanted to co-sign my Christmas cards! Either that or he’s being a bit too friendly.’ She stopped. ‘Oh dear, what a bitchy thing to say. I’ve had too much to drink and it’s loosened my tongue. I must be getting back.’

  ‘No pudding? I’ll get the bill, then.’ He didn’t try to detain her, but as they waited for it to come he said, ‘So – what has it been like, being Anna Harper’s daughter?’

  She hadn’t weighed her words. ‘Tough,’ she said. ‘You had to take a lot of things on trust, you know? Like, she was our mother, so she loved us – that was axiomatic, even if you didn’t see many signs of it. Mostly she was somewhere else, mentally or physically. I could take it, but Felix—’ she broke off, tears coming to her eyes. ‘Let’s say I wouldn’t recommend it, OK?’

  That had been the wine talking. She’d regretted it afterwards, especially now she’d had evidence of Richard’s treachery. Certainly her mother’s PR was his job, but people move on; she couldn’t know what he was planning to do with what she’d told him, and if he was as two-faced as that his next move might be to sell the story. What might that do to The Brand, she found herself thinking? Automatically, guilt kicked in and her stomach lurched. She gave a little wail of frustration. She was still feeling guilt about possibly damaging The Brand? Guilt? After all that had happened?

  Cassie had kept herself so busy today that she’d hardly had time to think about Feli
x, but now the grief came flooding back. If Anna’s work hadn’t been so all-important she might have given her son the love he needed, might have pitched in to protect him after it all went wrong, instead of leaving it to Cassie. Admittedly she’d said herself that she didn’t think it would help, but Anna had agreed readily enough. She seemed to be trying to protect Cassie now, though – was being overprotective, indeed. All the accident had resulted in was a cut and a bruise and she’d come off her bike before. So why—?

  The slimy worm of an idea crept into her mind. What was it that had made Anna so jumpy? Cassie had said to Kate Graham that the person who had given Felix the drugs was a murderer; had Anna, perhaps, silently thought that too? Was she afraid that this was an attempt on her remaining child? The bath had cooled and suddenly she was shivering with a cold that came from within. She climbed out and huddled into her fluffy towelling robe.

  It was pitch-dark outside now. The wind had dropped and it was very still, with that deep silence that seems unbreakable, almost oppressive. Cassie went through to her bedroom, aware in a way she had never been before of her own isolation. The robe was damp and when she took it off to change into lounging pyjamas her nakedness made her feel even more vulnerable. Someone could be out there, moving silently beyond the drawn curtains …

  Oh, this was ridiculous! She was frightening herself in the most stupid way. An idiot driving a car had come too close to her on her bike this morning, just like all the other idiots who had come too close to her in the past on a regular basis, only this one had got it wrong and then had driven on because he was scared at what he had done. If it had been one of the huge 4x4s that were so common about here, it was possible he – or she, for that matter – might not even have noticed. It made perfect sense.

  She went through to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. For a moment she actually hesitated on the threshold; here, open to the hillside, there were no curtains and anyone could look in. And she could look out, she reminded herself firmly. She could look out and see that there was no one there, as indeed there wasn’t.

  Feeling a ridiculous sense of pride at her own common sense, she carried her drink triumphantly through to the sitting room. Here she had drawn the curtains and switched on the lights before she went to have her bath and it looked inviting. She switched on the TV and flicked through to find a box set to watch. Something absorbing enough to stop her sitting here thinking about Felix, thinking about the darkness swathing itself around the cottage.

  Game of Thrones was doing its work. Cassie had stopped listening for footsteps and the background music was loud enough to drown the sound of a car drawing up outside, so when the knock came on the front door, it came as a shock. She froze, her heart pounding till she thought her chest might actually explode. What should she do?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kelso Strang only had misgivings about the wisdom of his plan when he arrived at his cottage in Newhaven and observed the reaction of the females in his family. Finella’s look of surprise was replaced by one of delight as she came forward to welcome her brother’s guest; Betsy, after giving Kate a narrow look came over to hold her uncle’s hand in a very proprietorial way.

  ‘You’re going to read me my bedtime story now,’ she said, in case this strange woman might have distracted him from his duty.

  ‘Yes, Betsy, that’s why I’m here,’ he said, then turned to Finella. ‘Kate and I were mates at Tulliallan but I hadn’t seen her since until she turned up at a conference today. I’ll do the story bit but I’m going to take Kate round the pub for a bite before she catches her train. Hope you haven’t planned anything?’ As if she would, he added silently. Fin wasn’t very good at thinking ahead about food if there was a ready meal in the freezer; doing anything more interesting usually fell to him.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘That’s a splendid idea.’

  Kelso could see Kate shifting uncomfortably. ‘Yeah, fine. Now, Betsy—’

  Betsy was standing waiting for him, holding an album of Peppa Pig stories. He sat down and took her on his knee, rolling his eyes at the two women above her head.

  He opened the book with some revulsion. Then he looked at Betsy, then back at the book. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I’ve noticed something. When you’re listening to a Peppa Pig story, you have this sort of Peppa Pig face’ – he illustrated with a screwed-up expression and a snuffle – ‘and it’s like having a little pig for a niece instead of a little girl.’

  Betsy frowned. ‘I don’t want to look like a pig.’

  Kelso shrugged. ‘Well …’

  She was already scrambling down from his lap and putting Peppa Pig back on the shelf. He saw the two women exchanging smiles.

  ‘You’re a natural,’ Kate was saying, as Betsy came back bearing a book whose cover illustration showed Disney princesses of the most synthetic sort.

  ‘I want this instead. And the stories are longer too.’ She looked a little put out as the adults laughed, but didn’t let herself be diverted. ‘And you always do two now if I’ve been good and I was good, wasn’t I, Mummy?’

  ‘Oh, very good,’ Finella said basely as Kelso, with a resigned groan, hoisted his niece back on to his knee and began reading.

  The White Hart in Halliburgh high street had smart paint and gleaming brasswork as well as a board chalked with the evening menu; it was the only pub Sascha Silverton had seen that looked the sort of place Richard Sansom might frequent. She pushed open the door and went in.

  It was early but there were half a dozen people standing at the bar already, as well as couples at two tables beside the open fire. There was no sign of Richard Sansom, but Jason Jackson was there talking to two men, one with light red hair, pale skin, freckles and a beer belly, the other taller, quite thickset, with dark, curly hair cut short, and he was listening with a sardonic expression. They were turned away from the bar and she hesitated for a moment; she had no great wish to further her acquaintance with Jason but having overheard them talking this morning she guessed Richard Sansom would join him if he did come in.

  She stepped up to the bar. ‘Gin and tonic,’ she said to the barman, then, ‘Oh, hello, Jason – fancy seeing you here!’

  He stopped in mid sentence, looking startled as he turned. ‘Oh – yeah, hello,’ he said, sounding irritated, and was about to turn back when the shorter man who had been eyeing her said, ‘Who’s your pal, Jason?’ He moved round to stand a little too close to her so that she took an involuntary step backwards.

  The taller man said coolly, ‘Stop slavering, Grant. Show a bit of couth, can’t you? Give the lady room to breathe. Hello, I’m Steve.’

  ‘Sascha,’ she said. She didn’t really take to him much, but at least he wasn’t as squalid as his companions and it had given her an in to the group.

  ‘Visiting, Sascha?’ Steve asked.

  Jason answered for her. ‘Oh, she’s one of Anna’s little toadies. Here for a chance to suck up to the great genius.’

  ‘Look here—’ Sascha protested, but he spoke across her, ‘Not that it will do any good, you know. Show the tiniest bit of promise – always supposing there’s any possibility of promise in a chick-lit writer – and she’ll screw you into the ground. She’s a bitch of the first order and her lezzie pal is worse.’ His face had gone red and there was even a fleck of spittle at the corner of his mouth as he went into a tirade.

  Sascha didn’t shock easily but she did gasp as it got more and more obscene, and she was grateful when Steve said with unmistakable authority, ‘Shut it, Jason. You’re in a public place.’

  To her surprise Jason subsided, only muttering, ‘And I suppose you’ll arrest me if I don’t?’

  ‘Quite possibly, yes. Or I’ll get Grant to do it. It’s a bit beneath me to go round feeling collars. Have another drink and calm down.’

  ‘You’re police officers?’ Sascha asked.

  It was the shorter man who answered. ‘That’s right. DC Grant Wilson and the guy who’s a bit up himself is DI S
teve Hammond. Apart from that he’s almost normal. So you won’t be bothered by the rougher element while you’re drinking here.’ He grinned at her, exposing a mouth full of teeth that were crooked and stained, as he rested an arm along the bar in a way that more or less trapped her at one end.

  The rougher element might be preferable but Sascha wasn’t quite ready to beat a retreat to one of the tables. Leaning round Grant, she said to Jason, ‘OK, you’ve got a pick at Anna. But what do you know about her that I don’t know? The lezzie bit, for instance? I never heard that.’

  She was aware it might set him off again, but she did want to know, and in fact Jason didn’t return to the abuse. ‘Well, you wouldn’t. You never hear anything about her, but it sticks out a mile, doesn’t it? Best chums like that – what else would it be? And Morelli – she’s the one that does the nasty business. Listen, have you ever heard of a devil’s garden?’

  ‘Devil’s garden? No.’

  ‘You find them up the Amazon. There’ll be this tree with dead ground all about it, no other plants, because there’s a kind of ant that lives on this tree and poisons any plant that encroaches. Anna’s the tree and Morelli’s the ant, see? She’s the parasite and the protector as well.’

  It was, Sascha had to admit, a telling analogy. She’d heard rumours before that Anna was pretty ruthless. ‘But why would she need to do that? She’s got the world at her feet already. What has she got to be afraid of?’

  ‘She’s got a secret.’

  They all looked at him. ‘What is it?’ Sacha said.

  ‘Wish I knew.’

  ‘How do you know she’s got one, then?’ Steve asked.

  ‘Stands to reason. What do you know about her background? Nothing, right? There’s something she’s scared of. I need to know what it is and then I can get her off my back. Until I do, I’m wasting my time writing the next book.’