The Invitation

by A. M. Castle

  When is the next low tide? Roderick ought to be keeping us informed. I look over. Damn, he seems to have fallen asleep as well. He doesn’t even have Vicky’s excuse of a skinful of vodka. I’m reminded of those snail trails in the garden in the morning, as I see the tear tracks on his cheeks. I pity him, I do, but it’s not attractive. I suppose I can’t entirely blame him for zoning out. It’s one way to get through this. It feels as though we’re sitting in death’s waiting room. It’s not as if any of us have much in common, without Rachel. And we weren’t getting on even before she got stabbed.

  Who was it who said, Time and tide wait for no man? Here we sit, twiddling our thumbs, waiting, waiting for the tides to turn. I’m beginning to feel, ridiculously, as though Rachel is the lucky one. At least she’s left this place.

  She always did love a captive audience.

  Chapter 59

  Vicky

  Mount Tregowan, 1st November

  When I wake up, I can hear the ghost of a snort ringing in my ears. I hope it wasn’t me. I look around but no one seems to have noticed. I can feel something digging into my cheek. Great, it’s my phone. I prod it, but it’s run out of charge.

  I heave myself up and look into the mirror over the fireplace. Yep, there’s a red oblong right across my cheek. My hair is everywhere and my eyes look even grittier than they feel. None of that matters, compared to the ball of anxiety lodged in my chest.

  I turn to the others, about to speak, but Gita puts a finger to her lips and nods her head over to Roderick. His face is in shadow but I see, now, that he is asleep. I hope he was the one who grunted, though he seems quiet enough. Gita’s three girls are back, flanking her silently on the sofa. Tasha is avoiding my eyes. A bit of fellow feeling would be nice, though in the circumstances I suppose I can’t expect that.

  Nessie is sitting with an arm across her stomach, doing something on her mobile with one thumb. Ruby is deep in her own phone. Surely she’s a bit young to have one? Though at times like these it must be a blessing. Times like these? What am I saying? This is unprecedented. Well, I bloody hope it is. I’m certainly not planning to be in this situation ever again. I knew it was a mistake leaving London. Christ, what an understatement.

  I whirl around, looking at the foot of my chair, then broadening the search to the nearest coffee table, the mantelpiece itself, the window ledges … Gita catches my eye.

  ‘Lost something?’ she asks drily.

  ‘My cup,’ I say defiantly. She gives her head a sad little shake, but at least she keeps her mouth shut. I carry on with my search. I expect one of Rachel’s bloody minions has nipped in and cleared up. There’s a tray of coffee over by the window on a little banquette. I go over and clasp my hand to the pot; it’s still warm. I pour myself a cup and sip it defiantly, looking straight at Gita. Vodka is not the only liquid I consume. She shuts her eyes, refusing to get the message.

  ‘Before you drop off too, Gita,’ I say. ‘Has there been an update? When are we getting off this f … this island?’ I try and keep it clean for Ruby’s sake.

  ‘While you were out cold?’ There’s a pause. I suppose she wants me to try and correct her. As far as I am concerned, it was sleep rather than a state of unconsciousness, but I’m not going to argue the toss.

  ‘Yes! Yes, if you must, while I was out cold!’ Roderick stirs uneasily in his sleep and I hiss the rest. ‘So? Anything? What about the fucking tide, for example?’ So much for my resolution. And of course Ruby looks up, electrified. Gita tuts.

  Roderick is rubbing his bleary eyes now, but I’m past caring. ‘When does it sodding go down? Roderick, you know, don’t you?’

  The pathetic little man looks like a vole in the spotlight, blinking and blanching. ‘The tide?’ It’s as though he’s never heard the word. Even though, from the way he was holding forth earlier in the weekend, you’d think he was the world expert.

  ‘Yes, the frigging tide,’ I say, glancing at Ruby again. ‘When the hell does it go down? When can we get off this island?’

  He looks at the window in bewilderment, then back at me again. ‘But I don’t understand. I thought someone had gone for help. That boy … Raf.’

  I’m suddenly furious. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, he hasn’t made it back, has he? He’s probably died, trying to save us all, while you’ve been sat in that chair all afternoon snivelling.’

  Roderick’s brows disappear into his hairline, making him look more like a clown than ever. He shrinks back into his seat, and a couple of tears trickle down his cheeks, proving my point. God, I’d like to punch him. But then my anger leaves me and I’m horrified at my own outburst. I know it’s just my terror for Raf. But I must try and get a grip. If only there was vodka in this cup. I slosh the coffee down in disgust, march over to the window again. The bloody sea, crashing this way and that. People pay fortunes for views of this stuff. Christ. I long for concrete.

  I subside into my seat. Gita comes over, doing her best to bring comfort, despite herself. She puts a hand on my shoulder this time. But I feel so far away from human touch right now. I don’t know who I hate more: her, myself, Tom – or Rachel.

  ‘Why?’ I say to her, trying to clear the hair from my face, to find the space for words. ‘Why are we all still here? There has to be a way to get off this fucking rock.’ I don’t even register Ruby’s excitement anymore.

  ‘We’re perfectly safe here. It’s all good – it is, it really is,’ she croons, stroking my hair. It’s maddening.

  ‘Perfectly safe?’ I shake her off, incredulous, but she signals to me furiously with her eyes.

  Aha. She is saying this not for my benefit, but for her daughters. She’s trying to reassure them, pretend the situation’s under control. But under the platitudes, I hear something else, loud and clear. Something she doesn’t want to acknowledge.

  Shit. It’s blind terror.

  Chapter 60

  Jane

  Mount Tregowan, 1st November

  If I were drawing us, now, it would be as a nest of little mice, underground, while a cat sits above, waiting for some delicious whiskers to poke out. So it can pounce. That’s the feeling I get.

  But it’s at odds with what I know.

  What I know is this. The cat is dead and gone. We’re here, on the island, with two corpses: the killer and her victim. The mystery is done and dusted, though the boat is a bit peculiar. Hard to imagine Penny taking a hammer to it. And when would she have had time? But never mind that, because we also have a boy unaccounted for, and the minutes ticking by, every one suggesting more strongly that there’s another tragedy on our hands. Otherwise, this place would be swarming with police and we’d be on our way back to safety and sanity.

  So many unhappy people, gathered on one rock. Praying for deliverance, or for our escape route to come clear again. If we dare to use it. The waiting is unbearable.

  Geoff is one of the few who seem steady and certain. He’s convinced sitting tight is the right thing to do. Not that we have a choice. His anxiety levels seem to have abated hugely, from the moment we found Rachel dead. Which is very odd, when you think about it. I’d say that would be the time when you’d start fearing for your life, when the host of the party you’re at is killed in highly suspicious circumstances. But no, Geoff has become more expansive by the hour. And now he seems to have got over Vicky’s revelation about my abortion, and Tom’s hand in it, as it were, in lightning quick time. I’ve even seen him smiling to himself when he thinks I’m not watching.

  I’m trying not to let it worry me. I can’t let doubt creep in, I can’t. What possible reason could Geoff have, for being so pleased about Rachel’s death? They barely knew one another. And how has he brushed past all the baby stuff? He ought to be incandescent, at the charade that’s been foisted on him all these years, the fantasy that we could have had a proper family life together, with children and a future. What I’ve done is monstrous. But he doesn’t seem to care.

  Why was he saying ‘You wouldn’t dar
e’ to Rachel on the phone that time? Pointless, as she always dared. And she did love a secret. She was a voracious collector. Art, jewels … nuggets of gossip. Did she know, somehow, what has been bothering Geoff all this time? I wish I’d had the courage to confront her on Friday night. Instead, I just fell victim to her legendary charm, and then one of her cruel indiscretions. And she fell victim herself, to murder.

  I need to talk to Geoff. Just, not now. I’m glad Vicky has woken up. The snoring was embarrassing. As soon as she was finally awake, and even though she is understandably groggy, she pointed out the inescapable truth. The tide. We need to be ready, ready to go as soon as we possibly can. But there’s so much swirling round my head right now.

  I suppose grief pushes people into a passive state, even at the best of times. Sitting Shiva, as my Jewish mum would have done. Or holding a wake, like Geoff’s Anglo-Irish relatives. It’s all about being together, and doing very little. Well, we’re covering all the religions here. Even Gita’s girls are as meek and still and silent as the rest of us.

  Tasha is still so pretty, despite her swollen eyelids and her intermittent descents into tearfulness. She has more salt water in her, it seems, than laps around this island. Nessie, the complicated one, seems to have turned even further inward than before. Every now and then, a strange expression flits across her face, darting like a swallow in summer. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the girl has a secret. Ruby is hard to read too. I don’t pretend to know much about children, despite all my efforts and all my books, but shouldn’t she be wriggling more? She seems as glued to her phone as a kid twice her age. It’s not normal, surely.

  Oh well. All I need to concern myself with is our precious dogs. I should be getting them back from the sitter tonight. I sneak another glance at my watch. Time is doing that weird thing; at one moment, it’s standing still, the next, a couple of hours have passed. Oh, please say we won’t have to endure another endless afternoon on this island. With the dead bodies. And the living are no fun either. I must ring Bella; warn her that I won’t be back for my babies. I get up.

  ‘There’s no signal,’ says Geoff. Damn. I’d forgotten. But even so, I need to get out of this room, away from these people. I pretend I haven’t heard, and nearly collide with one of the servants. Another tray, laden with yet more tea and several plates of delicious tiny biscuits. It’s as though Rachel is looking down on us, making sure our needs are met.

  Though now that I think about it, it’s much more likely that she’s looking up at us.

  From somewhere very toasty indeed.

  Chapter 61

  Vicky

  Mount Tregowan, 1st November

  That’s it. I’ve had about enough. It must be past three o’clock … No, I am not going to sit here and drink tea and watch the winds continue to rage. There needs to be some sort of Air Sea Rescue thing going on. Don’t these people understand? We now need to be looking for Raf, as urgently as we should be vacating this island.

  I bolt for the door, before anyone can stop me. Maybe I’m being melodramatic. We’re not under guard, it’s not locked. But somehow everyone’s eyes have been restraining me, all this time. Now I can’t stand it anymore.

  Out in the corridor, I hesitate for a moment. I’m going to see Tom, immediately. But there’s something I need to do first …

  When I come to, the light has that grainy quality it gets not long before dusk. I get up with a jolt. Don’t tell me I’ve missed the fucking tide? I grab my phone, but only twenty minutes have passed. It’s just because the clocks went back – last week was it? Darkness comes earlier. There’s still time.

  God. I needed a drink, and that catnap. Though my head is pounding, I still feel better than I did earlier. And I’m full of Dutch courage. I shove all my stuff into my case – I’m going to be ready to leave even if no one else is – and then I head downstairs.

  I hesitate outside the door, despite all my resolve. Seeing Tom has always been difficult. And events this weekend haven’t made things any easier. In a different world, we might be working together to find our lad, our Raf. But of course it’s not certain that’s who he is, and anyway both of us made our choices long ago. I steel myself, and fling open the door.

  Tom isn’t at the desk. I hesitate for a second, then hear a noise from the back room. I tiptoe forward, stick my head round the door. It’s a tiny annexe to the main office, floor-to-ceiling filing cabinets. It looks as though it’s been burgled. Is this what Tom has been doing, all this time? When he could have been insisting we get organised, search for Raf?

  Tom looks up, irritated, furious even, but – I hate to admit this – as handsome as ever. Maybe it’s the light, I think, trying to minimise the pull. But he always was gorgeous. His eyes rake me up and down.

  ‘Vicky. Sobered up, have we?’

  In a moment, all kindly thoughts have vanished. Tosser, I think to myself. Always was. Some things never change.

  ‘I need to talk to you. About Raf,’ I say, but I’m looking over his shoulder as I speak. ‘Should you be snooping through that stuff?’

  ‘Just searching for something that might explain why someone wanted to hurt Rachel.’ He shrugs, with that old half-smile. He holds my fascinated gaze, moves towards me, and suddenly I’m all too conscious of him.

  ‘What was Rachel talking about, last night?’ I bark at him, trying to break the spell. God, was it only last night? It seems like weeks ago. He comes forward, takes my elbows. I flinch, but his grip is gentle.

  ‘Come and sit down, Vicky. This is all so difficult for you.’

  ‘It’s difficult for everyone,’ I snap, moving away.

  ‘Don’t get defensive. I wasn’t talking about your drinking. Though perhaps we should?’

  His voice is gentle, understanding. I go over to the window, put as much distance as possible between us. Here on the ground floor, in the office, the view is less dramatic than from those majestic picture bays upstairs. But the sea seems closer than ever. It’s moving like a children’s rocking horse, hypnotic. Empty. How much longer can we wait for the tide? ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Where are who?’ Tom says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

  ‘The bloody police. The reinforcements Raf was going to fetch.’

  ‘Maybe you should start to brace yourself, Vicky. Raf’s a strong lad.’ Am I imagining it, or is Tom’s smile actually proud? He carries on. ‘And in great shape. But he’s been gone too long.’

  It takes a second for his meaning to sink in. Then I realise. This isn’t some sort of flirtation. Tom’s being nice to me because he thinks … He thinks the worst.

  Now he’s putting his head on one side. ‘Vicky, if he’d survived, we would have been off the island by now. That wave did for him. He’s gone. You have to face it.’

  ‘Wave? What wave?’

  ‘Didn’t Gita tell you?’ he asks, his forehead creasing in concern. ‘We saw it come over the causeway, sweep him away. I don’t think he really stood a chance.’

  Time seems to pass, seconds, minutes, I don’t know. Then I’m shouting. ‘She said something about him risking everything, getting away … I didn’t take it in. Why didn’t she make me understand? She’s been sitting there, all this time, knowing this? It’s incredible.’

  Tom shrugs. ‘You’d have shot the messenger, wouldn’t you? Like you’re doing now. Besides, what good would it do? We don’t know anything for sure. We can only assume.’

  I slump into the chair. He looks at me across the desk, his expression so kindly now. ‘Why didn’t you tell him about me?’ he asks softly.

  ‘Why didn’t you ask if he was yours?’ I hit back.

  ‘Come on, Vicky. It never crossed my mind. But you knew. Didn’t you think it would be best to, um, share all that with him?’

  ‘No, I fucking didn’t, actually. Tell him his father took advantage of me when I could hardly say no? If you are his father, anyway. We don’t know.’

  Tom tuts. ‘You may have been drunk that n
ight, Vicky. Let’s face it, it would have been surprising if you hadn’t been. But you couldn’t get enough of me. You were giving me the come-on the whole night; don’t pretend otherwise. And when we were alone together, you were moaning away like some kind of porn star. That’s why Rachel burst in. Surprising the whole party didn’t come in with her, the racket you were making. Take some responsibility, for God’s sake. Gita was your friend, after all.’

  ‘And your girlfriend! And not long after that, she was your wife. What about your responsibility to her?’ I snarl.

  He spreads his fingers apart. ‘The heart wants what it wants,’ he says.

  ‘The heart,’ I say, and now I’m looking him up and down. With the contempt he deserves. ‘How would you know? You don’t have one.’

  As I get up and leave, I hear him laugh. ‘Takes one to know one, Vicky.’

  I slam the door loudly enough to wake the dead.

  Even Rachel.

  Chapter 62

  Gita

  Mount Tregowan, 1st November

  I sigh as Vicky erupts back into the room, gibbering about Tom and about what’s coming to him. I really don’t need my girls to hear any more nonsense from her. But she doesn’t stop there.

  ‘And is it true? Did you see Raf getting swept away by a wave?’

  ‘Calm down, Vicky. Can you speak more slowly? I can’t understand what you’re saying,’ I say, eyeing Tasha. This is the last thing she needs to hear right now.

  Geoff gets up, and gestures for Vicky to take his chair. He’s a nice man. I didn’t think a lot of him before this weekend, but his calm courteousness has certainly made today easier. He always seemed such a windbag before. Maybe he needed a crisis to come into his own.

  ‘Did any of you lot see it? See Raf being …?’ Vicky asks.

  Tasha sits bolt upright and I brace myself for more tears, but thank goodness Jane pours oil on the troubled waters.