Forest fires were commonplace. Mostly they took place in the summer months, although the weather had been dry for the past few weeks. If the fire was a big one, it would prove devastating to the local community.
“You think that’ll be good entertainment?” she said scornfully, but the woman had already hurried to catch up with her friends.
Natalie made a concentrated effort to walk towards her apartment, staying close to the railing in case she was knocked over. She lost count of the number of people who carelessly bumped against her in their rush to see what was happening.
Bloody ghouls.
At the end of the quayside was a slipway onto the river and opposite that, winding up the hill to the war memorial, was the High Street with its array of expensive gift shops and boutiques. It was eleven o’clock at night, yet the village was heaving with a solid mass of people. Even the locals were coming out of their houses to see what was going on.
Natalie realised the wind had changed direction. The aroma of rotting seaweed clinging to the slipway hardly masked the bitter scent of smoke. In the distance she could hear a faint wail, which could have been the siren of an emergency vehicle.
Her attention was caught by a teenage girl crossing the road in front of her, struggling to negotiate the cobblestones in her high heels. She had unusual white-blonde hair. There was a man with her. He had his arm curved around her waist and his hand was tucked into the back pocket of her bootcut jeans. He was tall, with broad shoulders, which he hunched protectively against the crowd.
Natalie shivered, knowing with a certainty that this had happened before. Some might call it déjà vu but increasingly it felt as though her past was trying to break through to her present. What the hell was the matter with her?
There was a buzzing in her ears. She put her hands over them.
The blonde girl glanced back. For the briefest moment familiar blue eyes stared knowingly into her own.
Natalie was chilled. “Sarah?”
The girl’s lips curved into a smile as she turned away.
“Sarah! It’s me! Wait!”
The crowd shifted. The girl and her boyfriend vanished.
Natalie turned her head, trying to see where they’d gone, but there were so many people …
So she ran in the direction she’d last seen them, across the road and up the hill - but as the road grew steeper her foot skidded on the wet cobblestones. She threw out her hands to prevent herself falling and the fingers of one closed around cold wet metal, keeping her upright. It was a metal banister, curving alongside the stone steps to one of the cottages.
Natalie looked up. Above her head hung a sign proclaiming cream teas and she watched it swing, back and forth, as it was caught by a gust of wind.
The memories came flooding back.
A girl running down a moonlit path and a man who waited in the shadows.
A man with dark hair and green eyes.
Geraint Llewellyn.
But he was dead.
Natalie closed her eyes, no longer sure what was real.
The noise around her faded away, leaving only the creak of the sign as it moved back and forth.
Back and forth.
Like a garden gate.
21
“Natalie? Natalie?”
The voice was a long way off.
“Natalie? Are you all right?”
Someone was patting her cheek, softly at first, then harder. It stung. She tried to bat it away. They caught hold of her hand. She opened her eyes, attempting to separate hallucination from reality. Familiar yellow-green eyes stared into her own.
Geraint?
No, not Geraint …
“Bryn?” She tried to bring him into focus. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He was crouched beside her, one hand still stroking her cheek. As soon as she spoke, he abruptly stood up and took a step away from her.
“You blacked out,” he said. “I was worried.”
“Why? I’m perfectly all right.” She looked him up and down. He was wearing the same scruffy jeans, red plaid shirt and work boots but seemed taller than she remembered. Except she didn’t remember him, did she? She’d never met him until yesterday.
“You don’t look all right.”
“I have a headache,” she admitted.
“Drugs will do that to you.”
Drugs? “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “I haven’t taken any drugs.” It was a struggle to sit up though. She appeared to be still clutching the banister, her fingers had stiffened and were now almost numb, but she had collapsed into a sitting position on the bottom step. It felt gritty. Her skirt was probably filthy but she had got to the point where she didn’t care. What was she doing sat in the High Street anyway?
She closed her eyes to concentrate. She’d been to Remedy, had a row with James -
“You’re certainly high on something,” Bryn said, his voice stiff with disapproval.
Again, he had disrupted her train of thought. Why was he even here?
“I had a rum and coke,” she said, watching her breath forming little clouds as she spoke. No wonder she felt cold. The temperature had dropped considerably.
“How many?”
“One. Not that it’s any business of yours.” Her concentration drifted again. She remembered the fragments of glass she’d trodden on and the alcohol she’d drunk. Had she taken painkillers? She couldn’t remember. They wouldn’t work well with the alcohol but she was equally sure they wouldn’t have caused a reaction like this.
“You don’t get a reaction like that from one rum and coke,” he said, reading her mind.
“Are you stalking me?” she demanded. There was no hint of slurring this time. Whatever had affected her, it appeared to be wearing off.
Hint of a smile. “Why would I do that? I know where you live. I know who your friends are. I know everything about you.”
“I think you’ll find that’s the very definition of stalking.”
She stood up. Her foot was still painful but apart from that she was fine. Remarkably focused, in fact. She shook her head and almost felt normal. Had she been drugged? Remedy attracted a rougher clientele than the other clubs on the quay. Had someone slipped something into her drink? She remembered the man who’d stood so close to her at the bar, the one with the woollen hat. He’d had the opportunity, certainly, but what would have been his motivation?
“Let me take you home,” Bryn was saying. “You’re not well.”
Intimidation wasn’t working so now he was going to be nice? “What do you want?” she sighed. “Did you follow me here from London? Why can’t you leave me alone?”
“I only wanted to make sure you’re OK - ”
“I will be - provided you stay away from me.”
Before he could prevent it, she stepped back into the mass of people crowding up the hill, letting their motion carry her along. She was going the wrong way - moving further away from her apartment - but she no longer cared. She would be safer surrounded by others than on her own. Safer away from him.
There were little glowing embers floating high above the street. She lifted her head to watch them, thinking how pretty they were, but as they drifted towards the cobblestones they turned into flakes of white ash. A series of flashbacks erupted inside her head. The fire - the reason everyone was headed up the hill. The embers were floating towards the forest not away from it. The fire was here in the village.
She had reached end of the High Street. In front of her was the stone cross of the war memorial. The roads behind and to the left returned down the hill to the quay. Ahead was the road which led past the castle and towards Norchester. To her right was a wide avenue of large Victorian houses, where a chain of old-fashioned street lamps twinkled amongst the trees, against the backdrop of a sinister orange glow. It was the same road where she’d visited her father, not two hours previously.
Her father!
Natalie began to push her way through the milling cro
wd until it became a mass of bodies, tightly packed, jostling together as more pushed from behind. Still she could not see what was going on. She slapped the shoulder of the man in front of her. Impatience made her sound imperious, which was probably why he ignored her.
“Excuse me?” She had to repeat it three times before he deigned to turn his head.
He was a great bear of a man and his irritation was evident. “Look, love,” he said. “Stop prodding me. The police have the whole road cordoned off. You’re not going anywhere.”
It was difficult to keep a hold on her patience. “The fire? Where is it? Which house?”
“It’s the nut house. One of the inmates has finally sent the place up in smoke.”
Her heart took a dive. “Rose Court?”
He had already turned away, presenting solid broad shoulders. If only she could see what was happening - but everyone was taller, bigger and stronger. No one would let her through. She moved sideways, off the pavement and towards the centre of the road. There were less people here but the reason soon became apparent. An ambulance was attempting to force a route through. There was no siren but the light on the cab spun silently, casting a cold blue light. As the crowd parted, Natalie was squashed even tighter against the people behind; the wheels of the ambulance only a few inches from her toes as it pulled up behind the strip of blue and white tape.
In the narrow gap between the crowd and the ambulance, she glimpsed a police officer winding up the tape to move it aside. The ambulance started up again with a deep rumble. Everyone moved back out of the way. Everyone except Natalie.
It was her chance to find out what was going on. She kept close to the side of the ambulance as it moved slowly through the crowd, picking up speed as it moved beyond the tape. She caught the surprised expression of the police officer as she slipped past, but she didn’t look back, even when she heard him shouting. As the ambulance increased speed and she could no longer keep up, she ducked between a row of parked cars and onto the pavement again.
She ran a couple of hundred yards, taking refuge in the shadow of an overgrown hedge while she caught her breath. The air here was warm and thick with black smoke. With no breeze it lingered in the air, stinging her eyes and making it hard to see or even breathe.
On the pavement opposite the police were herding local residents to safety. Some were still in their nightclothes. The road was filled with emergency vehicles. Three fire engines were struggling to keep the blaze under control. An ambulance was parked directly in front of her. The doors were open and paramedics were inside, administering first aid to an elderly man. His pyjamas were tattered and scorched black. What she could see of his face had been burnt almost raw. Another body was stretchered past her, the face almost hidden by an oxygen mask. Natalie recognised Mrs Barker - the feisty lady with the walking stick - and wanted to cry. All around her was total, hopeless chaos. She was never going to find her father.
Then she saw a man sat hunched up on the kerb a few feet away. He had dark hair and was wearing a familiar green uniform with white plimsolls.
She grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to look at her. “Jason!”
Except it wasn’t Jason. An unfamiliar dark-skinned face stared vacantly back.
“Sorry,” she said, backing away. “I thought you were someone else.” Her gaze dropped to the uniform. There was a rose embroidered on his chest, with his name underneath: Ty. He was Jason’s colleague, the one who had come to her aid the day her father attacked her.
Cautiously she sat on her kerb beside him, careful to keep a distance between them. He had a look about him she had once seen in her mother’s eyes. Like Magda, whatever Ty had experienced tonight, it had sent him into a deep shock.
“Hello, Ty,” she began the conversation carefully. “Do you remember me? I’m Natalie, John Grove’s daughter.” She paused to let her words sink in. Did he even understand what she was saying?
His unnerving stare did not drop. His eyes were red, there were streaks of dirt across his face and a long scratch across his cheek was bleeding.
“Have you seen my father? He has a scar here,” she pointed to her forehead, “and his hair is white. He’s in a wheelchair,” she added, unable to prevent her voice trembling. “Can you at least tell me if he got out safely? I can’t see him anywhere … ”
There was no response. She could have been talking to a statue. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and no amount of blinking seemed to make any difference. She rubbed the back of her hand across her face. Her father had been a complete bastard, who’d made her childhood a misery. She should be pleased that he was dead. So why was she crying?
Unexpectedly, something touched her shoulder. She pushed her hair away from her eyes to see Ty had his arm around her.
“Not seen Mr Grove,” he said in a deep voice. “Sorry.”
The blood on his cheek was now dripping onto his uniform.
“Shall I get a paramedic to look at that for you?”
“I’m OK.” His arm dropped away from her and the blank look returned as he refocused his concentration on Rose Court.
“You can’t stay here,” she persisted, moving closer, trying to regain his attention. “The smoke might damage your lungs.”
“I want to make sure my mate’s all right.”
Surely he didn’t mean Jason? Was he still inside?
Flames exploded through the windows of the upper storeys, making her jump. Even at this great distance, safely behind the fire engines, people around them had instinctively ducked. Her companion barely blinked yet she felt more panicked by the moment. She was desperate to find her father, yet she could hardly leave Ty on his own.
The decision was taken from her. A paramedic had spotted Ty sitting on the kerb and came to crouch beside him, talking in a calm, unhurried way. When she asked him if he’d seen a man in a wheelchair he shook his head.
She needed to try a different tactic. Natalie took out her phone and dialled Charles’s number. He would know what was going on. Most likely Charles was here somewhere, helping to evacuate the building, but there were so many people she’d never find him on her own.
Charles’s mobile went straight to voicemail, so she left the briefest message, asking him to call, before shoving the phone back into her bag. When she looked up, there was a familiar scruffy figure sat on the kerb beside her.
She couldn’t be bothered to be polite. “What is it, Bryn?”
“Do you want my help or not?” he said. “Because your attitude is really starting to piss me off.”
“My attitude - ”
“I found the guy in charge. He’s willing to talk to you. Are you interested?”
“Of course, but - ”
“Then follow me,” said Bryn.
22
Bryn was in work boots, Natalie wore heels; so it was hard for her to keep up. He only slowed down as he approached a line of cars parked close to the police cordon. The same line she had ducked between when she’d followed the ambulance.
He stopped in front of a dark-coloured saloon and held open the passenger door, indicating that she should get inside.
She hesitated, bending to peer into the car. She thought he’d brought her to see Charles. Instead, a stranger sat in the driver’s seat; a man in a suit, staring straight ahead, one hand resting on the steering wheel, his fingers tapping impatiently.
“Please get into the car,” the man said, not even glancing in her direction.
Did she look stupid?
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Police.”
His suit was too smart and his car was too clean. There was a pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses folded neatly on the dashboard and she could hear Etta James singing softly from one of the speakers. Police? He wasn’t like any police officer she’d ever met.
“Could I see your ID?”
He looked sideways at her and frowned. “If you want.” Taking a wallet from the inside of his jacket, he flipped it open and he
ld it up. “Detective Chief Inspector Bloom. Calahurst CID. I don’t have all night. Get in the car. Now.” He snapped the wallet shut and returned it to his pocket.
She still hesitated. The ID appeared real enough - but so would any good fake.
“The press are here,” he said. “You’re drawing attention to yourself. Unless that is what you want? Either way, you’re wasting my time.”
She took a look behind her, but all she could see were the emergency vehicles and the locals, still standing behind the cordon.
“Miss Grove? If you’re not going to get into the car, please shut the door. There’s somewhere else I need to be.”
“OK, OK.” She slid into the passenger seat. Bryn closed it, before getting into the back of the car. Then she heard the doors lock.
“It does that automatically,” said the DCI. “If you want to get out, lift the lever.”
It did not help to make her feel any more relaxed.
He turned the music down but left the interior light off. Even in the dim glow cast by the street lamps outside, she could see he was younger than she had first thought - in his mid-thirties at the most. His dark wiry hair was cut closely to his head and the intricacies of his facial hair were a work of art.
“I know you,” she said.
He hesitated. Caught briefly in the streetlight was an emotion that she had not seen for a long time. Pity. And everything fell into place.
“You were there,” she said. “That morning. I remember you.”
“I was the one who heard you scream,” he admitted. “I was the one who found you wandering in the castle grounds.”
“No, I was by the pond, with my sister.” Did he think she would ever forget something like that?
“Not then, later. You were running through the woods, crying - ”
“I don’t remember,” she said, and wished she had the courage to call him a liar.
“It was a long time ago,” he said.
She did not want to argue with him so said instead, “I was hoping you could tell me what’s happened to my father?”
“It’s not good.”
“He’s dead?”
Nemesis Page 13
