The Invitation

by A. M. Castle

  I can tell she is beginning to find our confinement in the library wearisome. It makes sense to encourage her to get up and out. Often jollying her along, taking her for a little walk, can make all the difference. So I reach for her hand and pull her up. She looks at me in surprise.

  As soon as we’re outside the room, I clear my throat and begin the speech I’ve prepared. I’ve had time, while the rest of them have been coming and going with their endless shenanigans. It’s something I do, to get things straight in my head. I take hold of her again. She turns to look at me.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ I begin. ‘You know, it wasn’t your fault. What happened, long ago. I was angry when Rachel told me, yes. And jealous. After all, we’ve never got a baby to stick. It hurt, that you’d had that. And with Tom, of all people.’ I wait for some sort of sign from her that she feels contrite – even that she’s listening. I clear my throat and carry on. ‘But we’ve been through so much. I’m not going to desert you now.’

  I don’t expect a rush of gratitude – I know my wife by now. But I think I deserve more than that tight, automatic smile. I hide my disappointment. She just needs time. Time to sort out her emotions. She’ll pour them into her next book, even if she can’t tell me about them. Yes, I do read them, assiduously. Of late, more and more mice have joined an exodus to the big and unfriendly city, leaving their snug little holes in the country.

  She’s looking up at me, about to speak at last, when someone comes round the corner into the hallway. Damn, it’s Tom.

  He gives Jane that up-and-down look, partly surprised, partly amused. I want to knock his block off, but I jam my fists into my trouser pockets. ‘Hello, old man,’ I say genially.

  Tom eyebrows arch. ‘How’s it hanging?’ he says to me. ‘See you later.’

  ‘Oh, where are you off to?’ Jane asks, rather to my surprise. It’s as though she doesn’t need to stop herself, anymore.

  ‘Yes, let’s all sit down and have a, erm, catch-up,’ I say, as brightly as I can under the circumstances. ‘Clear the air.’ We’re outside the Great Hall and we all exchange a glance. No one wants to go in there.

  ‘How about the office, downstairs?’ says Tom, without marked enthusiasm.

  A few minutes later, we’re settling ourselves down. Tom has assumed the power position behind the desk but I’m ignoring the provocation. ‘What do you think about all this business? From a, ahem, professional perspective?’ I ask him. The light from the window must be going into Jane’s eyes; I see her wince. ‘Seems like a pretty open and shut case, doesn’t it?’

  Tom looks up from where he’s been fiddling with a fountain pen, but he doesn’t speak. God, he’s a handsome bastard. Again I imagine how it would feel, ramming my fist into those white teeth. Pretty satisfying, I should imagine. Reluctantly, I go on. ‘I mean, now that Penny’s killed herself.’

  ‘Is that what everyone’s saying?’ His tone is polite.

  I look at Jane, who shrugs. ‘No one’s really talking about it. It’s so bizarre, isn’t it?’ she says. ‘It’s only hours since Rachel … That amazing mermaid gown, when we arrived! She was so sniffy about my fleece. And as for your gilet!’ She turns to me. I don’t know what she means. It’s a perfectly serviceable garment. ‘Then her blonde hair, and all the blood. The orange wigs … Why did she want us all to wear those? And the cloaks?’

  I look at her in concern. Why is she rambling like this? The whole weekend has really been too much for her. The sooner I get her away to some peace and quiet the better. Tom and I exchange a glance.

  Tom plays with his pen again. ‘Well, that was all very Rachel. Getting us dressed up. Out of our comfort zones. Into hers.’ His voice is neutral, but what he’s saying is not.

  I look back, and I can’t help remembering Rachel lying there, face down in her dinner plate. Although no one realised it was her. Not straight away. ‘Perhaps she just wanted to sow confusion? Make us all look the same, play some sort of trick?’

  ‘Maybe we should put our heads together, see if we can work all this out?’ Tom says to me. ‘Get the best brains working on it.’ I notice Jane gives him a sharp glance, but for once he’s making perfect sense. ‘For instance, what did you do, when the lights went out?’

  ‘Um, well. If memory serves … I think I just sat there. Yes, I just stayed in my seat.’

  ‘Was anyone else moving?’

  ‘Well, someone certainly was. Unless Rachel reached round and stabbed herself,’ Jane points out. She’s my wife, and I’d never say a word against her, but I don’t think either Tom or I appreciate the acerbic tone. Tom’s smile is a line straight as the horizon. Not the one I can presently see outside. That is still buckling and bowing with waves as big as the Old Bailey.

  ‘OK. Did you hear anyone?’ he persists.

  ‘Hear?’ Jane suddenly speaks up, repeating the word. It’s as though it’s sparked some sort of memory. She has that look she gets when she’s thinking about a new illustration. She does have very good recall. It’s handy when I’ve lost my reading glasses.

  ‘I did hear something. A sort of fizzing sound,’ says Jane slowly, looking at me, and then Tom, and then back at her engagement ring. She starts turning it on her finger. I always used to say I’d replace the row of shyly winking diamonds with something more substantial, when I’d fully consolidated the practice. But she’s got attached to it over the years.

  ‘And Penny?’ Tom asks. ‘Did you notice anything amiss with her last night?’ he asks.

  ‘Apart from the fact that her new stepmother had just been stabbed to death with a skewer?’ I say, with some jocularity.

  Jane launches into speech as though she hasn’t heard me. ‘I mean, I don’t pretend to know Penny, I’d never clapped eyes on the woman before this weekend. But she was nervous, highly strung. She was like that on Friday evening as well, it wasn’t just the … Rachel thing. Her hands weren’t dripping with blood, when the lights went up. Definitely no Lady Macbeth impressions. Wouldn’t she have had blood on her? There was so much …’

  ‘What? Oh, no. That was just on the floor,’ says Tom, as matter-of-fact as if we’re discussing a spilt glass of wine.

  ‘On her, though?’

  He shakes his head impatiently. ‘No, the skewer was inserted very cleanly, looks to me like it was between two of the vertebrae. If it hadn’t killed Rachel instantly, my guess is she’d have been a quadriplegic. It was a very neat job, I have to say. Which suggests a degree of medical knowledge …’

  With a jolt, I remember something. ‘Penny was a trained nurse,’ I remind them both.

  Tom nods with grudging respect. ‘Did you notice anything else? When the lights came up?’

  Jane is looking a bit queasy. She’s always had a delicate stomach. The idea of the vertebrae … or maybe it’s the thought of Rachel, paralysed. I see her swallow uneasily. Despite the, deucedly uncomfortable revelations of this weekend, I still feel compassion towards my wife. I hope I won’t have to rush her out of the room.

  ‘I didn’t notice anything,’ Jane says. ‘I don’t know if I even looked in Penny’s direction, to be honest. I was looking at …’ She gestures a closed fist, coming down hard, neatly conjuring up the skewer for us, and going green about the gills in the process herself.

  ‘Were there fingerprints?’ I ask.

  Tom shrugs. ‘The police will test for all that. But it would have been easy enough to use, I don’t know, a napkin, say.’

  ‘And the lights? How did they go out like that?’

  ‘Easy,’ says Tom, and he sits back expansively. ‘Someone removed a bit of one of the flex casings from a sidelight, then threw water on it. It fused. Because every light was on the same old circuit, they all went out. Pouf.’

  That explains the fizzing Jane heard. Cunning. Whoever did this has quite a practical bent. For the first time, I wonder about Penny. I can’t see her knowing a lot about circuitry. But it’s not the moment for me to add my two-pennyworth.

  Suddenly it
does all get the better of Jane and she’s rushing past me, for the door. ‘I’d better …’ I say to Tom.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, go,’ he says, suddenly dismissive. I try not to take his tone personally. I really can’t approve of Jane’s interest in the man, on so many grounds. Though I suppose she was a lot younger, and possibly stupider, then.

  It’s the only thing that makes sense.

  Chapter 56

  Jane

  Mount Tregowan, 1st November

  The cool of the bathroom is a comfort. I lean my sweaty face against the mirror, trying to control my breathing, trying not to catch my own eye, willing myself not to throw up.

  I remember being so impressed with this room when we first arrived. The tiles are a deep, serene shade of lagoon-blue. The stacks of impossibly fluffy towels, the plush dressing gowns on the hooks – it was all so beautiful, like one of those swanky European boutique hotels. The kind of place Rachel flitted in and out of. I’m always hoping Geoff will want to stay in one when we go away, but he’s much more a frilled valance and trouser press kind of man.

  Now the towels are trampled, there are puddles of bathwater on the floor and the loo roll lies in soggy strips, as though it’s been worried to death by the Andrex puppy. A sorry state. A bit like the island itself, I suppose. It’s staggering how fast things can go downhill. When we arrived, the chatelaine was holding court; everything was sparkling and wonderful and gorgeous, from the Great Hall to our hostess herself. Now she lies rotting and we’re all running around like headless chickens. Or perhaps we should be.

  Instead, we’ve actually been cooped up like battery hens in that bloody library. Raf is the only one who’s been spurred into action. And, as the hands on the clock go round, I can’t be the only one wondering if we’ll ever see him again. It will truly be a crime against nature if the sea has swallowed that beautiful man-child.

  I’ve got my breathing under control now and wiped the film of sweat off my face with a bit of dryish loo paper. I wonder what on earth that army of maids is doing? Are they all in shock? Or too busy being chased around the castle by Tom to do any cleaning? That would explain a lot.

  The array of Aesop bath products, brand-new when we got here, have been plundered and scattered by Gita’s careless children. I breathe in the expensive sharpness of mandarin and the soapy medicinal smell of rosemary. For a moment I imagine the Tuscan hillsides and sun-drenched orange groves they were plucked from, only to end up in this watery hellhole. I read the name of the hand soap from its black and white label. Resurrection. I almost laugh.

  Well, that’s not going to happen, is it, Rachel?

  Chapter 57

  Vicky

  Mount Tregowan, 1st November

  I can’t believe we’re all still crammed in here, lambs waiting for the slaughter. I walk over to the window. The sea has us cornered, as high as ever, cutting off any escape as surely as though we were floating in outer space or deep in some subterranean cavern. What time is it? It must be edging towards the second tide, mustn’t it? Or is my gnawing fear about my lad playing havoc with my internal clock?

  Where is he? Where the hell is he? I search the horizon, hoping against hope I’ll suddenly see his head popping up above the waves, slick as a seal.

  I remember that lesson I took him to, with Gita’s girls. He must have been five, Tasha all of four, though she’d been having lessons for two years already. ‘Now, you mustn’t expect miracles. It’s a slow process, learning to swim. They have these reflexes, as babies, but they disappear. It all needs to be relearned,’ Gita droned. Honestly, even then I found it irritating. I didn’t pretend to be a perfect mother and the ultimate worker bee, like she did. I was holding things together, and that was plenty. We were on our own, already. Whereas she had an au pair in tow, bloody Tom at home, and an army of relatives just dying to help.

  Anyway, Raf took one look at the water, jumped in and he was off. We looked on in astonishment. ‘Has he got his foot on the bottom?’ Gita asked, before having to concede he was a natural. Tasha did her best to follow him with her floatation swimsuit, but was soon out of her depth and whining. The instructor had to fish her out.

  I must admit, I felt pretty smug that day. Raf did me proud. I’ve done plenty wrong in my life, but making him was my best move by far. However I accomplished it. I raise my coffee mug to him, and salute my beautiful, brave lad. I sip and the familiar oily taste strokes my throat, fire in its wake.

  Yes, yes, all right. I’ve slipped. Again. I know I’m weak. But for God’s sake, who would begrudge me a shot or two of vodka right now? Only a monster like Gita. My lad is out there somewhere – no one knows where. In my view, I’m clinging to my sanity pretty well, and if a little drink helps me, then so be it. I turn to glare at Gita, but of course she’s already giving me the evils.

  Well, I don’t care. Tomorrow is another day for giving up. Today, I bloody well need this. I sip again and don’t even realise I’m crying, till the tears plop into my cup. Suddenly there’s a hand on my waist. I look down in surprise. It’s Gita, her third finger encrusted with all the junk Tom’s given her over the years, the wedding band, the engagement rock, the eternity rings. Prizes for looking the other way. Lies, told in hard cold stones.

  She guides me over to a chair and I sit down gratefully. I might just close my eyes for a moment. The room is moving, as though we’re on a ship. The waves, the bloody waves, surrounding this place, taking my lad, and now in here too. It’s more than enough. If I could just sleep, I’d be able to unjumble my head. There’s a ton of impressions, pictures. Little mice, so playful. One sneaking up behind another, and sticking a tiny shard of metal into a sleek furry neck. A joke, a game, it must have been.

  But Raf, out there, despite all his skill. That water is ice. It’s November now. All Saints’ Day. Ha! Neither Rachel nor Penny were saints. My boy, though. He took off all his clothes.

  ‘Wear a jacket,’ I always told him. ‘Wrap up warm.’ I did the mother stuff, I did. It was a foreign language, but I tried to learn it for him. I couldn’t learn ‘wife’, but ‘Mum’ I spoke. ‘You won’t feel the benefit. Don’t treat this place like a hotel.’ Well, he didn’t. He checked out.

  I feel myself drifting, between here and where he is. I open my eyes. Another sip – that might do it, send me after him for a while. To the place where I can forget. I look along my hand, to where I’m clutching my cup. I try and move it to my lips, but I’m so tired. I’ll shut my eyes again. Rest. That’s the thing. Rest in peace. Just for a while. Rest with Penny and Rachel.

  I smile as they take me away with them.

  Chapter 58

  Gita

  Mount Tregowan, 1st November

  OK, so Vicky has now passed out cold. But at least we’re all back in the room together. That leaves me with Roderick, who is pretty much a puddle on the floor, and Ross, who hasn’t spoken since he got back from his walk. Jane seems to have sunk into a miasma of gloom, or is it shame? I didn’t miss Rachel’s significant look, just before she died, so I suppose I can’t ignore the evidence of yet another of Tom’s flings anymore. Why wouldn’t he have slept with Jane, after all? He’s got through the rest. But I can’t be bothered with all that now. I need help, with this useless bunch of adults, and more particularly, with my girls.

  They’re not dealing with this well. I’m worried about Tasha. Her ‘boyfriend’, or whatever we have to call him, is still nowhere to be seen. I hate this, the waiting, the hoping. It would have been better in a way if we’d been certain he wasn’t going to make it. Not knowing is terrible. With Tash, I have to keep up a pretence that everything’s going to be fine. It becomes more difficult with every passing minute. She’s not a fool. We need to be watching her like a hawk. Both of us, Tom and I. She’s under my eye now. But I can’t keep her cooped up here forever. She’s just sitting here, alternately weeping, and checking her silent phone, as she has been for ages.

  All right, I never expected any help from Vicky. She’s n
ot equipped for an emotional crisis. Give her a financial meltdown, and she’ll be pushing buttons and righting the world in moments. But something that touches her like this … I mean, I understand. I was a mess, yesterday, with Ruby. And let’s face it, Vicky doesn’t need much excuse to start drinking. If there’s a ‘y’ in the day, a vowel in the month … We definitely need to get her into rehab, when this is over.

  But we’re in the middle of something bigger here. I’m angry she couldn’t stay sober a bit longer, when there’s so much at stake. Our lives, for instance. We’re stuck on an island in the middle of the sea with two dead bodies, and another one missing in action, somewhere out there. It was scary enough, even before the scuppered boat was found.

  Penny was nervous from the moment we arrived on Friday, skinny and skittish and strange. By all accounts, she had lived on a knife edge since her mother’s death, years ago. It was clear she loathed Rachel. And then, last night, there was Rachel’s little bombshell.

  But try as I might, I keep coming up with objections to the idea of Penny as the murder/suicide type. Penny was gawky, all elbows. I can imagine her trying to stab Rachel easily enough, but even with her medical knowledge, I have the feeling she would have messed it up. She was too clumsy. She looked guilty, all right, as soon as the body was found. She was on the verge of hysteria. But then, who wasn’t?

  Oh, I don’t know. I just want it all cleared up. I have to admit that poor Rachel was asking for it. And she did always get what she wanted. Then Penny had that cupboard full of tranquillisers. I suppose we’ll have to wait for the police. They’ll sort it out. They must get here soon. Even if – God forbid – Raf didn’t make it, then the tide will turn again at some point. Hopefully the waves will be a bit less deadly than they were earlier. I’m almost afraid to look out of the window. Even if it is as bad as it was before, I think we should take the chance. We need to get away from here. I’ll carry Ruby. I’ll carry all the girls. I’ll drag everyone bodily off this island if I have to. But we have to leave.