The Invitation

by A. M. Castle

I’ve known Gita twenty years. She thinks she can hide every problem behind a perfect facade, but there are some things that poke out despite her best efforts. Yesterday she was furious Tom hadn’t got Ruby’s swimming up to scratch. Today she seems pretty pissed off he didn’t monitor Tasha and Raf.

  I’m beginning to think some dark thoughts about my lovely friend Gita. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do, to protect those kids.

  Look how angry she is now about Nessie – justifiably, I admit. What’s the betting that, if Rachel wasn’t already dead, she’d have been beaten to a pulp by Gita, for that alone?

  I sit here, my mind whirring. Yet, try as I might, I can’t quite get my suspicion of Gita to fit everything that’s happened this weekend. I don’t buy it that Penny killed Rachel and then herself. But I can’t squash Gita into that role, either. Would she really have fed poor Penny an overdose? It might have been a mercy killing, in its way … but still, I can’t see my conscientious, loving friend bending over the bedside, pressing pills on that poor skinny wretch.

  It’s a relief.

  But if she didn’t do it, then someone else did.

  Who is it? Who, who? As I cudgel my tired brain for what seems like the millionth time, Tom speaks up from his position in front of the fireplace. ‘Listen, folks. It won’t be much longer now. Who’s for another drink?’

  Tom sweeps the room again with that commanding stare. Everyone is silent. But, as I watch through slitted eyes, one person’s gaze swivels over and meets mine. And I’m sure I’m not imagining it, their eyelid closes, slowly, slowly, in a wink.

  Just then, the door flies open – and someone bursts in.

  Chapter 70

  Gita

  Mount Tregowan, 1st November

  I’ve just spotted the weirdest thing. Geoff has just winked at Vicky, of all people, when the door is thrown back almost off its hinges. Then somebody erupts into the room.

  It’s Raf – Raf like a superhero, like an avenging angel, flying into the middle of a group which, only a minute before, had seemed inert and hopeless. Suddenly the energy around us changes, infected by his determination and enthusiasm – and the back-up he brings with him. I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see the police before. I’ve even treated Tom’s closest colleagues with a degree of caution – you never quite know where you stand, as the wife, when your husband’s colleagues know more about him than you do – but now I just feel total gratitude. They are our liberators.

  And, if I ever doubted Raf’s parentage, that is put to rest forever. Raf is tall, furious, in command. Just like his father – the human rights barrister, delivering a blistering closing speech. Immediately, as soon as he’s bounced into the room, Tasha looks like she’s been plugged into the mains, completely reanimated. Raf’s directing people here and there, he’s pausing to give Tasha a brief (brotherly) cuddle, he’s trying to detach Ruby from his leg. God, it’s good to see him.

  There is so much going on in the room, I don’t really understand all of it. Not at first. Everyone’s got to their feet, the girls are now hugging each other, jumping up and down, Geoff is stepping forward to speak to the duo in plain clothes. The uniformed police, three of them, are milling amongst us, moving purposefully.

  Turns out Raf’s survival is indirectly down to me. I showed Vicky those pictures of surfers, she emailed them to him – and he bought a special new wetsuit, a 6mm thick one built to withstand even Rachel’s Cornish seas. If he hadn’t, he’d never have survived for long enough in those grim waters to bring us deliverance.

  Tom is in the centre of it all, slapping Raf on the back, talking earnestly to the policemen, smiling at me from across the room. Then he claps his hands. ‘Just a small announcement. We’ll all be making our way off the island shortly so I suggest that everyone gather their things in an orderly manner. Before we do that, and while my colleagues are here, I just wanted to share this new piece of evidence with everyone. I found it in the castle files.’

  Tom rifles in his pocket, and pulls out something – a scrap of paper. I crane forward but it’s too far away to see, and a few others are shaking their heads too. ‘I’ll just read what’s on it, shall I?’ Tom looks round and there’s a chorus of assent. ‘“I’m sorry, I can’t go on.” There. That’s all but, as I think we can agree, it says enough, doesn’t it? Poor Penny. Roderick, can you confirm? Is this her handwriting?’

  Roderick steps forward, looking puzzled. He bends over the paper. ‘Yes. Yes it is.’

  There’s a hubbub in the room. I feel relief course through me. Awful though it is, it’s nice to know the mystery is laid to rest. It really was Penny.

  But then Roderick looks up. ‘This proves nothing, though. My sister … was always writing stuff like that. I have notebooks full of it, from when she’s been in clinics. She didn’t mean it, and she never tried to take her own life. Not once. And this paper, it’s yellow. It looks old. Someone’s just ripped this out.’ He snatches it from Tom, and passes it to a uniformed policeman, who studies it and looks quizzically at Tom. ‘We’ll be getting this checked, sir. With all the evidence,’ the constable says.

  Suddenly, in the uneasy bustle that follows, Ruby pipes up from the depths of the sofa. Her pure, clear child’s voice cuts through the babble as efficiently as any knife.

  ‘Daddy, I just want to know one thing …’

  ‘Not now, Ruby,’ I try to shush her. ‘This isn’t the moment to bother Daddy. Wait till we’re on the boat.’

  ‘But this is about the boat, Mummy. The one that got broken. There’s something I really need to ask Daddy.’

  Tom and I exchange a glance. We both know Ruby will go on and on if he ignores her. He shrugs. ‘All right then,’ I say gently. ‘Ask away, honey.’

  ‘Why were you hitting the boat, Daddy? Yesterday, when we’d been on our walk.’

  It feels as though the whole room swivels to look at our little girl. She is twirling her hair round a finger, and fixing her father with round eyes. ‘What do you mean, love?’ I ask her, glancing towards the officers, at Tom. At anyone. What on earth is she saying?

  ‘I saw Daddy breaking the little boat, before Penny asked me to go in the cupboard,’ says Ruby, then reinserts her thumb in her rosebud mouth.

  Tom, in the knot of police colleagues, shakes his head with a wry ‘What can you do with kids?’ laugh. ‘I think you’ve been having nightmares again, honey. Don’t worry, we’ll be home soon.’

  Now Ness and Ruby are looking at each other, and at Tasha too, and I realise how tight their bond is, how much solidarity they have as a group. They might squabble amongst themselves, yet they’ll always stick up for each other against outsiders. But Tom … he’s not an outsider. He’s their father. And he can’t have scuppered the boat. Surely he can’t.

  Then Nessie is standing up, pointing at him. Her finger is shaking. ‘You were always talking to Rachel, when she came round. Whispering. I heard you. About art. And you don’t even like art.’

  ‘You can’t talk, young lady, about secrets with Rachel.’ Tom laughs again. ‘What is all this? My own kids. What are you even saying?’

  ‘Yes, girls, come on now. Daddy’s been working harder than anyone, trying to get us off this island,’ I say.

  Tom straightens up. ‘Now then. Enough of this silliness. I’ll just go and get our cases ready.’ he says firmly.

  And then he’s moving towards the door. But his head is down and forward; his arms are pumping. Even when I’ve registered how fast he’s moving, how determined he looks, I immediately start to rationalise it.

  He’s going to get our luggage. He’s doing something practical, something useful. He’s doing it for us. There’s a reason why he’s picking up speed. An explanation. An innocent one.

  Because Tom can’t have done anything wrong. He’s a police officer, like these people who are here to save us. And he’s our rock. He’s the cornerstone my life is built on. He’s my husband. He’s the girls’ father. He can’t be running. H
e can’t. He just can’t be.

  But he is.

  Not for long, though. My husband, my Tom, the man I promised to love and cherish all those years ago, is almost at the door, when a foot is stuck out at just the right moment. Geoff, the dry-as-dust country lawyer, has brought him crashing to the floor. The world is upside down.

  It isn’t until Tom is expertly caught and cuffed, with the beginnings of a bruised forehead from his collision with the fireplace, that I finally stop the endless rationalising, the making of excuses, the turning of blind eyes. And down it all comes, my life with Tom. The infinite adjustments I’ve had to make, to allow his behaviour to be normal.

  He is actually being led off now. He goes, with just one backward glance at me. I know that expression so well. The irresistible little boy, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Pleading for my forgiveness.

  This time I turn away from him. I can’t do this anymore. Would they have swooped on him so quickly, if he hadn’t given himself away like that, trying to bolt? The stress of a lifetime of lies must finally have got the better of him.

  We’re all on our feet, now. I feel strange, lighter in spirit but heavier in heart. I walk like an automaton, gathering Nessie and Ruby, and we all start moving to the door.

  Then Vicky, of all people, the woman with her emotions buttoned up tight into her sharp jackets, stops right in front of us and bursts into tears.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about Tom. I know you must be in bits too. But seeing Raf again, bursting through the door like that … I really thought he was gone,’ she says, her face working. She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. And as for me, I have absolutely no idea anymore. I bundle her into a hug. We both need this. For once she relaxes and it feels healing. There’s been so much that’s wrong between us, but maybe, just maybe, things will come right someday. I break down and sob all over her in turn as the truth sinks in. Tom has been taken away. I’m not sure how much more I can take.

  Then my girls are gently separating us, getting us both out. Around us everyone comes to life, not waiting for an invitation, scrabbling together belongings in double-quick time. Soon there is a ragged group of us on the pier, averting our eyes from the CSI officers going in to deal with the two poor shrouded women we are leaving behind.

  Miracle of miracles, the wind has dropped. The sea is like a millpond, mocking us with its complete docility. There’s no trace at all of the madness and storms that have kept us all at bay, stuck on this rock. Raf could swim this in minutes, now, and I feel we could too. Even Ruby. But of course, I’m not going to chance a single member of my depleted family.

  I can’t quite believe it as we step carefully into the police launch, holding on as the boat sways. Is this freedom? Are we really being allowed to leave this place? Even though nothing will ever be the same again, this heady moment of liberation feels precious. I look behind me as the boat picks up speed. The water is only wild in our wake. The rest stretches out, serene, with the island set into it like a jewel lying on blue velvet.

  There, high on the hill, is Rachel’s castle, fully visible, now the clouds have rolled away. As I watch, the last of the sun catches the turret where she loved to sit. I can almost imagine her there, still. Would she be sad that we are opting out of her games, for good? Or did she accomplish what she set out to do? She changed everything, for all of us; that much is certain.

  Ross and Roderick have opted to stay. I wonder what their life will be, left behind on the island, like driftwood washed up by the tides. I have a suspicion that eventually, each of them will be happier, in a way. Being stuck with each other will be so much less complicated than dealing with other people, with women and their moods and demands. I suppose they’ll reopen to the public, after a seemly interval. I definitely don’t think Ross will be making any more forays to Monaco, that sunny place for shady people, where he met our Rachel.

  He was always out of his league with her. But now he can look forward to a quiet old age, with Roderick as his solace. And the merry ring of the cash register. People will be flocking to see the place where Rachel Tregowan died. There are enough of them with Rachel’s own gothic, morbid streak to find the place horribly fascinating. I can just imagine Roderick laying on Halloween-themed parties to capitalise on the new notoriety of the place. All with that superior look on his face, of course.

  As I set foot on the solid ground of the mainland at last, with my daughters safely on the path ahead of me, I can’t resist one last glimpse at Rachel’s island. The castle, aloof on its mound, is beginning to disappear into the gathering dusk. The roar of wind and sea is gone, leaving nothing but a beautiful, deep silence behind. But when I turn back, there’s Tom, ahead of us on the path, his hands behind his back. Cuffed.

  Now that I think about it, it’s always been Tom’s speciality. Hiding in plain sight. Whether it was the flirtations with the mums from school – you’re being paranoid, anyone can see it means nothing – to conspiring with Rachel and then covering his tracks, he’s been masterly at concealing his motives. Or I’ve been incredibly trusting and naive, take your pick.

  He so nearly got away with it. Thank God for Raf, making it through. He’d begun to suspect Tom, realising how much he had to lose, but without direct proof he had primed the local police to stand back and watch Tom like a hawk, let him convict himself. And it happened, when Tom couldn’t resist the urge to run. Even if Vicky hadn’t started putting two and two together, even if Geoff wasn’t working his own way round to the truth, Raf was onto Tom anyway. Brave, brave boy, swimming through the storm. The knowledge that he’d be breaking Tasha’s heart – and mine – didn’t deter him.

  I still can’t quite believe what Tom has been capable of. Stabbing Rachel to silence her, maybe. But coolly dosing Penny up? Making her the sacrificial victim to his own vanity and determination to get away with it?

  Vicky. Jane. And Rachel herself, if Vicky’s right. He betrayed me with them all. And betrayed them in turn. And hid the lot of it. Maybe I was just so used to hiding my head in the sand. Maybe he chose me in the first place because I couldn’t see through him. But, whichever way round it is, my ignorance is the truth.

  I had no idea that he’d dipped into Rachel’s cursed money pot, or that she had found yet another of his weaknesses. Her art foundation seemed above reproach. All those glittering soirees, all that press coverage. But of course it was the perfect vehicle for money laundering. Even a fortune Rachel’s size had to feel the squeeze of a global meltdown. He must have been so excited, when he was first given the Cadogan Foundation dossier to investigate, and discovered what she was up to.

  ‘I’ve got my grandfather to thank for all this,’ Rachel used to say in interviews, implying the man was part saint, part business whizz. In fact, it seems he was wholly venal, stripping canvases from drawing rooms all over Europe as the jackboots moved in. And she carried on the family tradition, whitewashing funds from the worst crime families, so the Cadogans could always be seen at the best black-tie events.

  Tom must have been crazy, thinking he could hold any of that over Rachel. She soon made sure there was plenty of proof that he’d been taking her bribes, suppressing bits of the police investigation. But she signed her own death warrant when she threatened to show it all to his bosses.

  Ironically, he even used her money to pay for the swimming lessons that Ruby refused to take. No wonder he was so unruffled by our girl’s refusal to dip a toe in the water. It wasn’t his dosh he was wasting.

  He really thought Rachel would be in his power. Silly man, it was the other way round. Rachel always kept the upper hand. Even in death. She had records in more than one place. I can’t believe how stupid he was, thinking he’d covered his tracks, destroying files on the island. Did he really think it was that simple?

  Vicky’s smile is as wide as the beach, as she watches Raf lope along. She’s confronted a lot of demons this weekend, I can allow her a little joy at the return of her prodigal son. It doesn’t last
long, she turns to me, suddenly serious again, and whispers. ‘How on earth did Tom even kill Rachel? There was so little noise.’

  I’ve been thinking about this. ‘He did bio-med at uni in his first term, remember?’ Vicky’s eyes widen, and she nods.

  ‘And fusing the lights?’

  I shrug. ‘He changed to electrical engineering, for the rest of his degree. Rachel had tarted up the castle a lot, but she hadn’t bothered nearly as much with the bits that didn’t show. You know what she was like. All fur coat and no knickers. The wiring was probably a century old. And he knew his way around a fuse box. He always tinkered with our electrics at home. I used to be pleased, it saved getting an electrician in.’

  ‘Say no more,’ says Vicky. ‘Dodgy wiring. He did make a point of using exactly that phrase.’

  It doesn’t give either of us much satisfaction, but it fills in a few more blanks in this hellish crossword puzzle.

  ‘Right from the start, he was all over the castle and the grounds, doing recces, working out the terrain. He was so … sneaky.’ But I don’t need to tell Vicky that, do I?

  ‘I can’t believe the way he made us feel he was a bit reluctant to secure the scene, at the beginning. He practically got us to beg him. And all the time, he was destroying the evidence, binning documents, digging up Penny’s so-called “confession”. He fooled me completely. Again.’

  My smile is rueful. ‘You and me both.’

  There’s silence for a while, apart from the gulls, mercifully distant now. I think back to the aftermath of the first killing. Tom was so busy. No wonder. The golden hour, they call it in the police handbooks. Something strikes me.

  ‘When I went up to Penny’s room … you know,’ I say to Vicky. ‘He was so clever. He more or less talked me into saying out loud that it looked like suicide. And once the idea was in my head …’

  ‘It then got into all our heads. Tom was good at that.’ She doesn’t say any more. She doesn’t need to. Tom pulled whole flocks’ worth of wool over my eyes during our time together.