Kingdom of Shadows

by Barbara Erskine

  Sipping his coffee Henry watched her from the sofa. When she reached the third document he frowned. ‘Don’t you ever read them to see what you’re signing?’ he asked, reaching for a biscuit from the plate on the table near him.

  Clare shrugged. ‘Not usually. They’re so boring. Paul just marks the places.’

  ‘You should, you know.’ Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  ‘Do you know what these are?’ She looked up at him.

  ‘Of course not. The envelope was sealed. It’s just that no one should ever sign anything without reading it carefully.’ He grinned wryly. ‘Sorry, am I being stuffy?’

  She nodded. ‘Very. But I suppose you are right.’ Making a face, she drew her legs up beneath her and began to skim through the sheaf of papers. Near the bottom of the pile was a document, the contents of which were on the inside two pages. On the front there was merely the space for her signature, and beneath it, also marked by Paul with pencil crosses, the spaces for the signatures of two witnesses – Henry and Sarah Collins. Putting down the rest of the pile with a frown Clare opened the document and began to read.

  Watching her, Henry saw her face whiten as she read the two closely typed pages. She came to the end at last and looked up. She appeared stunned. ‘So, you couldn’t bring yourself to go through with it!’ she cried. ‘What stopped you? The hope that I might go to bed with you if I were grateful enough?’

  Henry clambered to his feet, his own face white. ‘I don’t know what you mean –’

  ‘Don’t you? Look at this! I would have signed it!’ She held out the folded paper to him and shook it in front of his nose.

  Henry caught it with difficulty and began to read. In it the signatory – Clare – made over all her property and the administration of all her affairs, voluntarily, to her husband, now and for the foreseeable future. Signed, witnessed and dated, it would have had the weight of a legal document.

  Henry read it again, slowly, feeling himself going cold all over. Carefully he put it down and retrieved his coffee cup. He did not look up at Clare. ‘I didn’t know what was in the envelope. Paul just said they were important papers from your accountant. I thought it was a bit odd, asking me to do it, but I always like seeing you. I suppose he knows that …’ His voice trailed away.

  ‘You know what this would have done?’ She jumped to her feet. ‘It would have given Duncairn to Paul. It would have allowed him to sell it! He was trying to trick me!’ Her voice shook. ‘I would have signed it, Henry. Why? Why does he want the money so badly?’

  Henry swallowed. ‘I think he’s in bad trouble, Clare.’ He could not bear to see her strained expression. Business loyalty was one thing, but this was quite another. Paul was behaving like a complete shit. ‘He’s in over his head on a deal. It went bad and now settlement day is coming up. I shouldn’t tell you this. I don’t suppose he even knows I know. He owes a great deal of money and I think he may have gambled again on some other shares using inside knowledge of a takeover that was being planned, and now they’ve gone down too. I suspect he needs to raise a lot of cash by early next month.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry, Clare.’

  ‘Are you talking about insider dealing?’ She stared at him. ‘He could go to prison for that!’

  Henry nodded grimly. ‘He’s not been very clever about it; I think quite a few people have guessed and now the deal has fallen through he is trying to raise money all over the place. He must have been left with a colossal bill. He might manage to get the broker to roll over the account until the next settlement date – that would give him another two weeks or so, but that’s it. They won’t extend it after that. He will be in real trouble then unless he can find the cash. Maybe –’ he hesitated. ‘Maybe, Clare, you should bail him out.’ He looked away, unable to bear the sudden bewildered pain on her face. ‘It might be his only hope.’

  ‘To sell Duncairn?’ she echoed. ‘But why? Why did he do it? We had so much money. He didn’t need more. What about his shares in the firm? He said BCWP were in trouble. He said he’s lost money there –’

  Henry shook his head. ‘Our first-year profits after the merger weren’t as good as we’d hoped, but things are OK now. His shares in the firm are all right.’

  ‘Then he could sell those.’

  Henry nodded slowly. ‘He could, but that would be the end of his career in the City.’

  Clare swallowed. Her mind was desperately darting back and forth, trying to find a way out. ‘And if I sell Duncairn, will that save his career?’

  There was a long silence. Henry shrugged. ‘That depends how much it would fetch, exactly how much he has lost and how many people know about the way he’s been setting up these deals.’

  Clare stared at him white-lipped. ‘You mean he might still be caught? Still go to prison, even if he has the money?’

  ‘There’s been too much scandal, Clare. Too many cases of insider dealing in the last few years. The authorities won’t let anyone get away with it now.’

  ‘Why didn’t he tell me?’

  ‘I don’t suppose he wanted to worry you –’

  ‘Worry me! I have been going through hell these last few weeks, knowing he wanted Duncairn sold and not understanding why, knowing everything was going wrong between us. I thought it was the fact that I couldn’t have a baby –’ Her voice broke suddenly and she turned away.

  Henry put out his hand towards her, then lowered it again helplessly. ‘Clare, my dear –’

  ‘He’s put everything I care about in jeopardy!’ she burst out suddenly. ‘Everything! I can’t sell Duncairn! I can’t!’

  ‘You may have to, Clare.’ His voice was gentle. ‘He doesn’t have anything else.’

  ‘But he does!’ She spun round suddenly. ‘He still has the Royland shares. He must have. He can’t sell them without offering them to his brothers and Emma first and I know he hasn’t done that. When his grandfather’s firm went public they all got founder shares. They are worth about two million.’

  Henry sat down. ‘Then there’s no problem about the money. If he’s careful he could get himself out of that particular corner without touching your money.’

  Clare closed her eyes. She was so pale that her skin was almost transparent. Henry wanted very badly to go to her, to take her in his arms and hold her. Clenching his fists he forced himself to stay where he was.

  ‘You’d better sign the other papers,’ he said.

  She nodded. Sitting down on a chair near him she read each one of the papers and carefully signed them. The other document she folded up and put into her pocket before standing up. ‘Take the rest back to him, Henry. Don’t say anything. For your own sake keep out of it. I’m coming up to London tomorrow. If he wants to scream and shout he can do it to me.’

  She watched as he put his case on the back seat of his BMW. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, then he climbed in. He did not trust himself to look back.

  After he had gone she walked back to the pool. They hadn’t replaced the cover and already there was a carpet of leaves floating on the water. She stood for a long time looking down at it, then, pulling the folded paper out of her pocket, she began to tear it slowly into a thousand pieces. As the clouds sped across the sun, sending black shadows racing over the garden, she scattered the pieces of paper over the surface of the pool and watched them drift lazily beneath the leaves.

  Mary Cummin stared out of the condo window and sighed. She had become used to the view across Eaton Square with its majestic trees and the white-painted Georgian houses on the far side. Each time she crossed the Atlantic now it took a little longer to adjust. Was that advancing age, she wondered? She turned her back on the window and stood instead in front of the mirror, smoothing her white skirt down over her narrow hips. Her hair was glossy and immaculate, her face taut and youthful. She looked far less than her fifty-six years. In the kitchen she could hear the Filippino maid, Teresa, rattling the plates and saucepans. Tonight they would dine early at home, even if they were out for ev
ery meal for the rest of their stay in Houston.

  She looked at the tiny diamond-studded watch on her wrist and frowned. Rex was late. The meeting with the bosses at Sigma must be running over.

  He came back at nine, by which time it was dark outside the windows, the city a landscape of lights beneath a luminous sky. She could smell the liquor on his breath.

  ‘Rex?’

  Teresa had gone to her room, the dinner slowly drying up in the oven where she had left it to keep warm. Mary pulled the cords which dropped the blinds across the huge windows. She turned on a white-shaded lamp in the corner, almost afraid to ask what had happened. Below in the street she could hear the wailing of a police siren speeding down the block.

  Rex threw himself down on the couch. His tie was already loose, swinging round his neck like a noose. He closed his eyes.

  ‘They’ve screwed me, Mary! Put the boot in, the bastards! After all the fucking years I’ve put in, they’ve screwed me!’

  Mary sat down near him, shocked as much by the unaccustomed language as by the damp pallor of his skin. ‘What do you mean, hon?’ Her voice came out as a whisper.

  ‘I mean they’ve kicked me out. Shown me the door. Sacked me. Told me to take early retirement.’ He put his head in his hands and she was appalled suddenly to see tears trickling between his fingers. She was too stunned to move for a moment.

  ‘Early retirement?’ she whispered at last. ‘From Sigma?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Not go back to London?’

  ‘No.’

  She stared at him, shocked into silence. No more London. No more apartment in Eaton Square. Probably no more condo. She bit her lip. She had dreamed for so long about the house in Martha’s Vineyard: lovely, old, white-painted weather board, pretty yard, nice neighbours – oh, she could picture it so clearly. But not yet. She wasn’t ready for retirement yet.

  They both sat for a while, each wrapped in their own misery, then at last Rex hauled himself to his feet. He reached for the decanter of Bourbon Teresa had left on the tray with two glasses and, pouring out two hefty measures, passed her one.

  She looked up blindly. ‘Why, Rex?’

  ‘Because I’ve been ill. Because they say I’ve lost my grip. Because Doug and those bastards in the London office have been plotting against me. Because the price of oil is dropping and they don’t need a full board executive over there, and if they do it is going to be Doug Warner, not an old has-been like me!’ He drank the Bourbon in one gulp. ‘They’ve vetoed any on-shore prospecting in Britain next year. The applications for licences are going to be withdrawn.’

  ‘You mean they won’t be trying to buy Duncairn?’

  ‘Nope.’ Setting down the glass with a bang on the table he tore off his tie and threw it down. ‘Some other company will step in there and clean up.’

  ‘Paul Royland will be upset.’ Mary found a tissue and dabbed delicately at her eyes. ‘He sounded like he needed the money.’

  ‘He sure did.’ Rex stood for a moment in front of the window. He parted the blind with his fingers and peered out into the darkness. ‘There’s oil there, Mary. I know it. I’ve been in this business too long not to play a hunch like this. All those years out in the field before they put me behind a desk. I know. It’s like tingling in the fingertips. I can feel it. There, under the ground. Godammit! Those stupid crazy bastards are going to lose the best strike there’s been in years!’ He picked up the decanter again and refilled his glass before going back to the window.

  ‘Will you get any money from Sigma?’ Mary asked slowly. The whisky was going to her head, but not so much she couldn’t begin to think of practicalities.

  ‘Oh, sure. A pay-off to ease their consciences, and a pension.’ He sighed. ‘And a month to go back, hand over to Doug, pack up the apartment, then that’s it. After forty years in the business all I get is a kiss on the ass!’

  Mary stood up unsteadily. ‘It means we’ll get time together at last, honey. We’ll be able to buy the place we’ve always dreamed of in the Vineyard. Get some travelling in to places we always wanted to go while we’re still young enough. Places they don’t have oil.’ She tried a not-very-successful smile.

  Rex was gazing into the bottom of the glass. He didn’t appear to have heard her. He dropped the blind and slowly he turned back towards her. Like a man in a dream he went to his briefcase and, opening it, he took out his calculator. The blurriness had vanished from his face. Mary watched him through a haze of misery as he tapped numbers into the little machine.

  ‘What is it?’ she whispered.

  He didn’t answer. He sat down abruptly and pulled a sheet of paper towards him, jotting down a column of figures. Suddenly he was smiling as he pulled the telephone towards him.

  ‘Who are you phoning, Rex?’ Mary picked up the decanter and refilled her own glass.

  He ignored her. He was already dialling. ‘Royland, is that you? I’ll be back in London on the 6th.’ He paused as Paul spoke on the other end of the line. Then slowly he smiled. ‘Good, but not good enough. The offer just went down by ten thousand. And if we don’t sign on the 6th then it will go down again, my friend.’ He slammed down the phone.

  ‘Rex?’ His wife turned to face him, glass in hand. ‘What offer? What in hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Duncairn.’ Rex pushed the sheet of paper in her face. ‘My ancestral home. I’m going to buy it myself.’

  The bar at the Duncairn hotel was packed. Neil looked round with some satisfaction as he climbed up on the stool which raised him head and shoulders above everyone there and lifted his hands in a gesture which eventually produced enough quiet for him to make himself heard.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen. First, I want to thank Jack Grant for letting us use the hotel for this meeting. It seemed the right place because here, more than anywhere, the changes which oil would bring to Duncairn would be felt.’ He looked round. He had their attention now. ‘As you know, there have been strong rumours that Sigma Oil, one of the American-based companies operating out of London and Aberdeen, has made an offer to buy Duncairn, the hotel, the bay, the village, the castle. I myself went down to England a couple of weeks ago and spoke to Clare Royland and she confirmed that an offer has indeed been made.’ He paused. The faces around him showed consternation, anger, polite interest, concern. It was his job now to see that every man, woman and child at Duncairn felt the same thing: the absolute commitment to fight.

  ‘Many of you knew Margaret Gordon personally. I know she came here often; she involved herself with Duncairn’s affairs even though she didn’t actually live here. She loved this place. Would she have wanted it sold?’

  He loved this part. Speaking to an audience, cajoling them, winning them, whipping them into a frenzy – even this small taciturn group, fishermen mostly and their wives, a couple of farmers, one or two newcomers who had settled in the bay.

  ‘The Gordons lived in the castle for four hundred years until the English government dismantled it after the ’45 and after that they stayed here in their hearts.’ Neil kept his voice even. He knew just how to appeal to their patriotism, the Anglophobia which was so easily stirred in the Scots heart. ‘They never stopped loving this place. They kept faith with their ancestors, Margaret Gordon as loyal as any of them!’

  There was a growl of assent around him and he saw them nodding. Behind the bar Jack Grant was leaning against the wall, his arms folded.

  ‘But Margaret Gordon made one mistake,’ Neil went on gravely. ‘She left the estate to her great niece, Clare. Oh, as a child Clare came here often. She loved it here. She felt the ties which have bound her ancestors to this land for nearly a thousand years. But then she went away. She married an Englishman.’ He paused for effect. ‘She left Scotland and she forgot Duncairn. Margaret Gordon thought the inheritance would be safe with Clare Royland. But she was wrong; it was not safe.’ He looked around. ‘She has agreed to sell!’

  There was a stunned silence, then a roar of dissent fro
m the people crowded round him. Neil let the noise continue for a few minutes, then he raised his hand.

  ‘It is true, my friends. I’m sorry. Now, you may wonder where I come into all this. I am here for two reasons. One is that I, like you, love this place.’ He paused. ‘I used to come here as a child; I went on coming here as a student.’ He grinned at them conspiratorially. ‘I used to camp on the cliffs and watch the birds, and on several occasions when I was doing that I met Margaret Gordon. The second reason is that now I am the Scots director of Earthwatch – the environmental group who are going to co-ordinate the fight against Sigma, the fight in which everyone of us here, tonight, is going to take part.’ He paused as a ragged round of applause and cheering broke out, then he went on. ‘Now, I know that the first argument Sigma will produce will be that the oil will bring jobs and money to the area.’ He paused again. ‘I think we have all lived with oil in Scotland for long enough now to know that the people who get the jobs are not necessarily the ones who live here. The benefits the directors of Sigma will talk about are not the benefits that we, here, will feel. Only two lots of people will make money from the oil here: Sigma and the government in England. And only one individual will grow rich. And that is Clare Royland!’ He took a deep breath in the silence which followed that statement, letting it sink in. Once he was sure it had, he went on. ‘And now,’ he smiled at them again, the same special conspiratorial smile which seemed personally directed at everyone in the room. ‘Now, I am going to open this preliminary meeting to the floor. Any thoughts or ideas you have which can help us in our fight are more than welcome, and to help inspiration the bar is now open and the drinks are on Earthwatch!’

  He stepped down from the stool amid even more rousing cheers as Jack Grant unfolded his arms and stepped forward.