Echoes of Darkness

by SIMS, MAYNARD

  ECHOES OF DARKNESS

  MAYNARD SIMS

  The Maynard Sims Library

  Copyright Maynard Sims Limited 2014

  www.maynard-sims.com

  mick@micksims.f9.co.uk

  07801 472554

  Originally published in limited edition hardcover from Sarob Press 2000

  First ebook and paperback publication Enigmatic Press 2014

  3 Cutlers Close, Bishops Stortford, Herts, CM23 4FW England

  www.enigmaticpress.com

  orders@enigmaticpress.com

  This is a work entirely of fiction and all the names, characters, events and places portrayed are either fictitious or are represented entirely fictitiously.

  Typesetting and design by L H Maynard & M P N Sims

  Cover design by IAIN MAYNARD: MAD: Maynard Art and Design

  Contents

  ASHUSHMA

  AT THE END OF THE PIER

  AN OFFICE IN THE GRAYS INN ROAD

  PICNIC

  COMING HOME

  MALLORY’S FARM

  AN ENGLISH COUNTRY GARDEN

  MATTIE

  MOTHS

  ASHUSHMA

  The silver helicopter flowed with insistent noise through the lazy tropical air. It was the only blemish in an otherwise flawless sky. Clear sky, as blue as some innocent girl’s eyes, yet warmer, with more awareness.

  “What are those?” the expensively casual woman behind the pilot asked. She had seen dark shapes gliding through the trees.

  The land beneath was coated with lush green treetops, laid like a prayer mat awaiting spiritual fulfilment.

  The Stronghold Corporation representative sitting in the front didn’t even turn to look at Sybella Martin to answer her question. “There’s nothing down there, except occasionally a few fishermen.”

  In front a worshipful sea was the deep azure of restless dreams, the white frown marks merely ripples in the sequence.

  Sybella shook her head. “I thought I saw some animals moving in the jungle.”

  Now Vicky Towers turned to glance at Sybella and Leo. “There are no large animals here. Just a few monkeys deep in the jungle, and some bird-life.” She considered leaving it there but could see neither client was satisfied. “The island has never been host to much wildlife, too isolated, and what small animals used to live here were killed off by the locals years ago.”

  “Except the few monkeys,” Leo said quietly, and not for the first time Vicky Towers felt she had lost a small battle.

  Leo and Sybella were the third couple being flown in for the special long weekend which would give initial indications about the potential for the holiday complex the Corporation had almost finished constructing. No expense had been spared, in the preparations for the weekend at any rate, to convince the three couples, three men, three women, to purchase one of the nineteen bungalows that made up the Beaches complex.

  Once again Vicky Towers was struck by the incongruity of the couple she was playing nursemaid to. Sybella was no more than thirty-five years of age, black hair, smooth complexion, slim and almost beautiful with her aquiline nose, almond eyes and contented smile. Leo, though, was past sixty, silver-haired, shorter than Sybella, skin tanned from a life spent out of doors, and his hands…

  Almost casually the helicopter nudged left and downwards where a small clearing of pristine lawn beckoned.

  Vicky Towers donned her official mantle. “In a matter of seconds we will be landing in front of the Beaches reception area where refreshments will be served. Then Mr Redmond, the site manager, and myself will show you the complex before settling you into your bungalow.”

  She looked behind her to challenge any questions but Leo and Sybella were sharing a private moment, she with her eyes closed, he touching his forehead to the top of her shoulder. It felt to Vicky as though she had caught them naked.

  With the grace of a falling feather the helicopter floated onto the grass and the rotor blades slowly faded into memory. Taking care to walk with heads lowered Vicky led the still self-absorbed couple to the canopy under which a small group of people were already enjoying drinks and canapés. The pilot stepped down from his seat and laid his hand against the warm flank of his craft. He lit a long cigarette from a silver case and flicked a scarred lighter before drawing in the smoke with a sensual sigh. He glanced overly casually at the encroaching jungle, where another passenger had thought they had seen movement.

  When the three newcomers reached the group they were immediately given drinks and food, served in crystal glasses, and on china plates. There were two other couples, who were clearly the other clients, unmasked by the paleness of their skin and the over-eager looks of not wanting to appear too impressed. With them were two uniformed waiters who kept their eyes alert for any spaces on plates so they could fill them with more food. Or for a sip to be taken from a glass so bottles could be used for replenishment. And then there was the man in the suit.

  It was an immaculate light blue suit of Italian cut, with crisp white shirt and burgundy silk tie. In it was a man of possibly forty, with sun-bleached hair, trimmed short, and smooth, faintly darkened skin. When he spoke his voice was as smooth as the material of his suit, though somehow he was not quite as immaculate.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen. With the welcome arrival of Mr and Mrs Martin here, we are all present. On behalf of the Stronghold Corporation may I welcome you all to the island of Ashushma, which as you know is about thirty miles adrift in the Indian Ocean. There are a string of small islands surrounding us but inhabited by just a few fishermen and their families. Ashushma itself is completely uninhabited, except for this complex.” Oliver Redmond spread his arms as if to embrace all the buildings. Instinctively the others looked left and right as if they could see all he embraced, but all they saw was each other’s slightly embarrassed glances.

  “And the monkeys,” Leo said under his breath, and some of the others laughed as if they understood the reference.

  A young man dressed in shorts and polo shirt raised his hand, then realised this was probably not necessary and half lowered it. Redmond nodded imperiously in his direction and all eyes turned to look. Jack Grant was not intimidated by the attention; his lithe athletic body seemed the type not to be easily intimidated. “Once the complex is fully occupied, assuming it is, how many staff will there be including you?”

  Redmond winced as if calling him staff was an affront to his personal dignity. “Certainly full occupancy is anticipated, and rather quickly. Once the complex is fully functional there will be sufficient maintenance staff, service staff and management,” there was an emphasis on this word that Jack did not fail to notice, “to meet all the needs of our guests.”

  Emma Grant squeezed her husband’s hand to acknowledge his question. He thought to return the pressure, just a second too late.

  “This is a complex built for the needs of the twenty first century,” Redmond continued. “Constructed to the highest standards, every comfort catered for, every desire fulfilled.”

  Grace Toomey smiled inwardly and looked up shyly at her husband of thirty-six hours. Desire was something she understood but hadn’t had too much experience of. She knew it couldn’t be constructed, possibly catered for. She could forgive Stephen for being tired last night, but now they were on their honeymoon proper, under a tropical sky, she wanted her desire to be fulfilled.

  “The complex is constructed around the central building, which houses the restaurant, overseen by our international chef, and leisure facilities, including pool and gymnasium. In the sculptured grounds are the luxury bungalows, totally secluded, yet within walking distance of every convenience. Anything you require will be attended to by our staff, all of whom are local people.” Redmond didn’t quite keep
a trace of disapproval out of his voice as he mentioned this last fact.

  “When seen from the air it is soon apparent that the design of the complex is a deliberate one, and reflects an exact image of the ancient stones that rested here for centuries. Very much in keeping therefore, with the island’s history.”

  “What happened to the stones?” Sybella Martin asked quietly.

  Smiling broadly by way of reassurance Redmond said, “They were removed some time ago.”

  The basement room beneath the central building would be warm even if it didn’t house, as it did, the boilers and cooling systems that controlled the bungalows and the main building.

  Adam Pegg and John Smith tended to stick together. Their hours were variable, and with the complex still under construction, to a far larger extent than Redmond would reveal to the clients, their hours were long. This was partly compensated for by the beauty of the island, which they could explore in their free time, when they got some, and partly by the accommodating nature of the four local girls hired as waitresses.

  Adam was trying to lubricate the pressure valve that controlled the temperature of the swimming pool.

  “Brand new and it sticks like it’s rusted,” he complained.

  “Another cheap component, like those brush couplings,” John called from the other end of the basement. He was certain he had heard a noise, before Adam called out.

  Adam shouted, “Can you give me a hand?”

  There it was again, just inside the echo of Adam’s voice, a noise. A scraping, like a cat’s claws on tree bark, or smooth fabric being torn.

  John listened, beneath the constant hum of the machinery, over Adam’s increasingly annoyed mutterings. There was nothing, no repeat of the noise, leaving John uncertain what, if anything, he had heard. A fault in the cooling mechanism? They had had those before. A reverberation of sound from the work Adam was doing? The basement was like an echo chamber with smooth walls and flat ceiling. It hadn’t sounded like any of those familiar noises though.

  With a crash of spanner on metal John heard the rush of steam as the pressure valve finally conceded Adam’s right to open it.

  “Did you hear something while I was fixing that?” Adam asked as he wiped his hands down on an oily rag.

  Still half listening for the scraping sound again, John wasn’t sure if Adam meant he had heard something as well or whether he was merely enquiring.

  “Let’s take a look outside,” one of them suggested.

  The heat of the day was seeping into the ground, into the walls, coating the trees of the jungle with a haze of warm moisture. A bird flew noisily from the low branches of the nearest tree, setting off echoed cries from others who fled into the sky, a spectrum of vivid colours vying with the sun for brilliance.

  On the outside of the door to the basement, thin scratches had been scored into the wood. About five feet from the ground, several inches apart, deep enough to reveal bare wood beneath the veneer of fresh paint.

  “…and that Ladies and Gentleman, is the end of the preliminary tour.” Oliver Redmond smiled his smile and looked around the group he imagined were murmuring with delight having been shown the splendours of the newly constructed, nearly complete, complex.

  The group of six had been taken quite quickly around the facilities of the main building, hovering only where Redmond wanted to make a point of significant interest. There weren’t too many murmurs, most of them wanted to get to their own bungalows, which they hadn’t yet seen. They were tired and hungry.

  “Perhaps now Miss Towers and I can show you to your own bungalows, to give you time to prepare for dinner.” He hesitated as if waiting for a response. “But of course if there are any questions.”

  Before he had time to turn away, he saw Jack Grant point and heard him ask, “Just one. What’s wrong with the fish?”

  In the central foyer of the reception hall was a water feature with miniature waterfall and pool. In the pool were vibrant goldfish and koi. Earlier they had been swimming inanely but enchantingly in the clear bubble tossed water. Now they floated dead and charmless on the surface.

  Grace Toomey looked away with a sound of disgust. Sybella Martin moved across to the pool’s edge.

  “Don’t touch the water,” Vicky Towers instructed. “There may be an electrical fault. You might electrocute yourself.”

  Sybella smiled in thanks, but it was a smile that also suggested she understood the risks. She looked at Leo and he shook his head almost imperceptibly.

  Redmond was angry that death had intruded into his personally managed paradise. It was a personal affront, and if it were something as mundane as a wiring fault, he would ensure the two maintenance men suffered a severe dressing down for it.

  “Please let me apologise for this intrusion, Ladies and Gentlemen. Naturally when buildings are in the course of construction we must expect an occasional hiccup. Once we have shown you to your suites, this matter will be dealt with.”

  “And the fish?” Emma Grant asked in an attempt to lighten the suddenly tense mood.

  “Not on the menu, I can assure you,” Vicky Towers laughed.

  Water caressed her smooth skin as Grace Toomey turned round as sensuously as she could manage within the confines of the shower cubicle. She would have preferred it had Stephen joined her, but she was torn between wanting to please him and appearing too forward. Despite the occasion of their honeymoon she was still exploring the nature of her new husband and she didn’t want to put a foot wrong.

  She teased some gel from her fingers into the firm skin of her breasts, and closed her eyes while she softly massaged it around and over her nipples. In her mind her hands were Stephen’s, her thoughts were his and she was imagining his body with her, perhaps playing a little more roughly with her, possibly squeezing more than she was. His arms were around her, his legs between hers, the gel running in rivulets down her stomach, the froth caught like waves upon the shore at the apex of her thighs.

  On the bed in the main bedroom, Stephen Toomey was luxuriating beneath the spinning ceiling fan, idly flicking through the promotional brochure that he had found on the bedside table. It described the leisure facilities in exotic detail, giving him an idea for activity in the morning. So far as he could ascertain, the prices that would be asked for the bungalows were outside his league at the moment, but fortunately well within the confines of his father’s business fortune. What Toomey senior had, Stephen liked to share. It would all come to him eventually anyway so why not have it while he could enjoy it?

  He listened to Grace singing quietly in the shower. If he felt a lurch of guilt about not embracing her thus far in the new marriage, either physically or emotionally then he didn’t show it. If his father had taught him one thing well it was to keep his feelings to himself. Treat life as if it were a poker game for your soul, the senior man would say, and Stephen had adopted that as his maxim. He knew Grace expected consummation and he was ready and willing to oblige, but when the time was right, when he decided.

  The shower was playing on the small of her back now, tiny fingers tipping every individual fair hair on her skin, as if memorising each one. With her eyes closed and with the steam clouding the frosted glass door she was unaware of movement in the bathroom. Unaware that another shape was within the steam clouds with her.

  The bungalow was set amidst lush vegetation, civilised from the original jungle, and regularised with flowers and shrubs that delivered seclusion with beauty. As Redmond had shown them to it, Vicky Towers looking after the Grant’s and the Martin’s, it was soon apparent that much care and attention had been lavished on making the grounds almost as attractive as Redmond had promised, and the brochures had proclaimed. The other bungalows couldn’t be seen from this one, even from the veranda at the back.

  An open porch led into a small hall area from which led the kitchen, sitting room and the smaller bedroom. A light hallway moved further into the building and into the main bedroom, from where the bathroom was reached, an
d then on for the sun veranda. Back along the hall were the dining room and lounging area. In all it was light, airy, and very expensively decorated.

  In style it was an interior specialist’s idea of what the island homes may have looked like fifty years ago, but with every modern luxury, including piped music in every room. An unnatural mix of native and chic.

  In the shower Grace was suddenly aware that she was not alone in the bathroom. A dark shape was looming against the glass screen. She smoothed her short brown hair out of her eyes, breathed deeply and said, “That had better be you, Steve, and you had better be naked.”

  In answer the screen door opened slowly and her husband of hours stepped under the pulsating shower. He was indeed nude, although his emotions were still cloaked.

  “How the hell can a short circuit happen in brand new wiring?” an angry Redmond was demanding.

  Adam Pegg thought about shrugging his shoulders but decided against it. The short pleasure of increasing Redmond’s anger would be outlived by the length of time that anger was directed at him.

  “Probably cheap cabling,” John Smith opined.

  Redmond weighed up his response. If it had been the phlegmatic Pegg that made that remark then Redmond would have thrown it back at him, and with plenty of reverberation. Smith, a smarter, cannier man, needed a different approach.

  “What makes you say that?” Redmond asked, and glanced at Vicky Towers for support, knowing he was going to need it.

  Vicky was watching Smith, weighing up where the defensive strategy would come from. The wiring had been faulty, they all knew that; what they were manoeuvring around was blame.

  John chewed the inside of his left cheek; a nervous habit. He knew he and Pegg would have to shoulder the responsibility of the fault, and he also knew Redmond was not the kind of man who would admit to any degree of involvement, even though it was he who had organised the purchase of the cabling.