Kingdom of Shadows

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘I’m here to watch the sunrise.’ He rather enjoyed putting her down.

  She said nothing. Slowly she stood up. She gave him a quick dismissive glance, then she walked slowly away from him towards the arched doorway which had once been the entrance to the chapel. It was very still there out of the wind where the grass was neatly mown. Clare glanced round. The atmosphere was heavy, unnaturally cold. It seemed to be giving off waves of unhappiness.

  Almost without realising he had done it, Neil had followed her. He looked round frowning, feeling the strangeness round them. It was as if she triggered something in the ancient stones each time she came here. He shivered.

  ‘I hope you haven’t come up here to make trouble, Mrs Royland. I warned you about local reaction to your plans,’ he said, trying to shrug off the feeling of foreboding which had descended on him.

  ‘You know nothing about my plans,’ she retorted. She turned to face him. ‘Are you aware that you are standing on private property, Mr Forbes? Duncairn still belongs to me, you know.’

  ‘I have permission to be here. From Jack. Your tenant.’ He put his hands in his jacket pockets.

  ‘Then I must tell him not to be so prodigal with his favours.’

  Her face was beginning to take on some colour; sparks of anger were animating her eyes. She had forgotten what a good-looking man he was. Somehow it made her resent him more.

  Neil smiled coldly. ‘Do that.’ In spite of his intense dislike of the woman there was something about her that intrigued him: the contrasts in her, the sophistication, the expensive coat, the stylish haircut, the upper-class English accent, all so much at odds with her windswept wildness and whatever demon had brought her here to sit on a cliff top at sunrise on the coldest morning of the year so far. In spite of her anger she was slightly abstracted still, as if listening to something far away in her head, her face strangely enigmatic in its beauty. He watched her curiously, realising with a sudden flash of anger that she no longer even realised he was there. She and her castle were bound in some strange communion which did not include him.

  Behind them the sky was changing. High up the clouds were turning pink, racing inland from the sea, whilst the whole sun now rested on the rim of the world.

  ‘How could you sell it!’ The words were wrung out of him before he could stop himself.

  She stared at him. ‘I told you, I haven’t sold it.’

  ‘No. But you are about to. Dear God! Does money mean so much to you? Haven’t you got enough with your mink and your flashy cars! Haven’t you any soul, woman?’

  ‘How dare you!’ Clare’s temper flared. Suddenly he had her full attention. ‘I have told you before not to interfere in my private affairs. None of it is your business, do you hear? Now, for the last time, please get off my land!’

  From high in the keep a gull took up the wild pitch of her voice and echoed it, its cry ringing from the stones.

  ‘All right.’ He raised his hands. ‘I shall go. But don’t expect it will be the last you hear of me.’ Suddenly he was very angry. White-lipped, he turned and strode out of the chapel. Out of the shelter of the walls he stopped for a moment and glanced back. Then he turned away.

  Clare did not watch him. She walked across to the broken window arch and, leaning against it, stared out to sea, once more trapped in her own world.

  Isobel was there. Around her the air was electric, the shadows beyond the new cold sunlight opaque. Distantly she heard the yelping echo of the bird’s cry as it soared on the wind. With a sob she clenched her fists, pressing her forehead against the stone, wishing now she had not sent Neil Forbes away. Isobel only came to her when she was alone.

  Beyond the walls Casta gave a shrill bark and Clare looked up.

  The grass was wet where the sun had touched the frost and she could see the dog running zigzag across the meadow, leaving a trail of blackness in the silver. A beam of sunlight pierced the window near her and the shadows drew back. Pushing herself away from the wall she began to walk out towards the dog. She had fought Isobel and won.

  Twenty minutes later she drove up to the front of the Duncairn Hotel. She opened the front door and walked in, smelling the early morning scents of furniture polish and coffee and a newly lighted driftwood fire. It was very quiet.

  ‘Jack? Jack, are you there?’ She walked stiffly across the cavernous entrance hall and put her head around the door of the restaurant. One table was laid for breakfast. For two. The others were bare. She tried the bar and then the office. All were empty, then suddenly Jack Grant appeared behind her.

  ‘Mrs Royland?’ His voice was far from friendly. ‘No need to ask what you are doing here so early, I suppose.’

  ‘That’s right. I’d like some breakfast, please.’

  ‘I meant, I suppose you’ve come to give us all our notice.’

  Clare sighed. ‘Oh Jack! Have you been listening to that man, Forbes? Look, please. Listen to my side of the story. He doesn’t know what he is talking about. Give me some breakfast, and I’ll explain the situation.’ She was too tired for this.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m not serving breakfast.’ He turned away. ‘And I don’t need any explanations. You can do that through the post.’

  ‘Jack!’

  ‘I mean it. Now, I’d like you to leave this hotel.’

  Clare gasped. ‘May I remind you that I own this hotel!’

  ‘I hardly need reminding.’ He glared at her. ‘Very well, stay. But you’ll not be getting so much as a cup of coffee under this roof as long as I’m still manager.’

  She stared at him unhappily. ‘I didn’t come here to sack you, but if you go on like this –’

  ‘Aye, you’ll have a great excuse, I know. Well, do it then!’ He turned on his heel and walked out of the hall, slamming the door behind him.

  For a moment Clare stood still, shaken, then slowly she walked out after him into the wind. There was no sign of him as she climbed into the car. ‘No one seems to want me here, Casta,’ she said quietly and for a moment she put her head back against the head rest and she closed her eyes.

  She drove the few hundred yards back down the winding drive and then pulled off into the trees near the castle again. She had come to see Duncairn Castle, after all; the family home, Isobel’s home, not the hotel. Any tryst she had to keep was there amongst the shadows, not in the bright lights of an unwelcoming hotel.

  Paul arrived at Airdlie just after nine. The night before he and Henry had had a violent quarrel. ‘Where is she, Paul?’ Henry was standing in the drawing room in Campden Hill, conscious that Sarah Collins was hovering in the hall behind him.

  ‘That is none of your business.’ Paul was tight-lipped.

  ‘I think it is my business. I brought her to you at the office and since then no one has seen her.’

  Paul gave a quiet laugh. ‘And what exactly do you think I’ve done with her?’

  ‘Supposing you tell me.’ Henry stood his ground.

  The two men remained facing each other and for a moment neither spoke. Paul held Henry’s gaze. His partner knew too much. He knew about the document; he knew Clare had been to BCWP late at night, and Clare had probably confided in him about all their problems. Damn the woman. He had to be very, very careful.

  He contained his anger with difficulty. ‘I suggest you go away, Henry, and have a quiet weekend with your friend Ms Warboys,’ he said acidly. ‘Why don’t you worry about her? Let me worry about my wife.’

  ‘I just want to know that she’s all right, Paul.’ Henry kept his voice even.

  ‘She is all right.’

  ‘Then why won’t you tell me where she is?’

  ‘Because it is none of your damn business!’ Paul raised his voice at last. ‘What is it? Wouldn’t she let you screw her when you went to Bucksters? Well, I’ll tell you why. My wife is frigid, Henry, old pal. Frigid! Like an iceberg. She wouldn’t have you or anyone else if she was paid a million dollars! She’s not interested in you. She’s not interested in anyone but
herself, and she is swiftly going out of her mind. If I don’t stop her she will probably kill herself.’ He heard the gasp from the hall and turned towards the door. ‘Why don’t you come in, Sarah?’ His voice was full of solicitude suddenly. ‘It’s so draughty, eavesdropping out there!’ He folded his arms. ‘Is there anything else either of you want to know? Of course. Where she is. Well, I’ll tell you, even though it isn’t any of your business. She has gone home to her parents at Airdlie. Her step-father is looking after her.’

  When he found out that Clare had gone he was furious.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Archie! Couldn’t you tell the state she was in! Hallucinating! Having nightmares! On the point of a nervous breakdown! I told you she’d fool you. For God’s sake, where is she?’

  ‘Calm down, Paul.’ Antonia put a cup of coffee and a slice of shortbread on a plate on the table next to him. She eyed him closely. ‘You seem far closer to a nervous breakdown than Clare, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

  Paul took a deep breath, aware suddenly that his hands were shaking. ‘I’m sorry, Antonia. It’s just that I’ve been living with it for so long. Listen, if you don’t believe me, ring my brother. Geoffrey has talked to her. He was the first one to realise the danger she is in.’

  ‘You really believe this yourself, don’t you?’ Archie was sitting in his favourite chair by the fire, his feet up on the coffee table. He was wearing fawn plus fours and an old lovat tweed jacket. His favourite clothes gave him confidence; Paul always made him feel uneasy.

  ‘Oh yes, I believe it. And so will you, if you’re honest with yourselves.’ Paul paused. ‘Think back. Don’t you remember her doing odd things in her childhood? Daydreaming? Living in the past? Talking to imaginary people? I can remember you and Aunt Margaret telling me about it, for God’s sake! And now it’s developed into all this. Dear God! I wish it wasn’t true, but it is!’ He leaned back wearily in his chair. ‘I wish to God it wasn’t.’ His sudden defeated tone was far more convincing than his anger had been.

  ‘She said she’d spend the night at a hotel and ring me,’ Antonia said softly. ‘If we manage to find her, can we bring our own minister over to talk to her?’

  Paul frowned. Just in time he stopped himself from leaping to his feet and forbidding it. ‘Of course you can, only for pity’s sake speak to Geoffrey first. The sight of a man of God could trigger something off. She’s very volatile. You’ve no idea how careful we have to be.’ He leaned forward, elbows on knees.

  ‘I’ll tell you what we have to do. We have to bring her back here and keep her here. She musn’t above all be allowed to escape and go back to her friends in Suffolk. We must keep her here, under lock and key, if necessary.’ He glanced at them quickly, gauging their reaction. So far, so good. His plan, such as it was, was working.

  ‘Geoffrey has promised to come and see her up here, and so will our own doctor if he has to. The main point is to keep her away from this man Zak and his followers. I only hope we can keep her quiet and unhysterical. I have some tranquillisers I can give her if necessary.’ He had wheedled them out of John Stanford for himself.

  ‘Oh, Paul, no.’ Antonia was shocked.

  ‘Only if I have to, believe me. And in the mean time, there is another problem.’ He paused. He had to get it right; the right tone; the right amount of concern. He musn’t seem too anxious. ‘She is threatening to make over all her property, everything she owns, to Zak de Sallis.’ He glanced up at his father-in-law under his eyebrows, shrewdly judging his reaction. ‘I know you will agree that that can’t be allowed to happen. So I must have power of attorney.’

  ‘Oh, poor Clare!’ Antonia was weeping discreetly into a pink Kleenex. ‘And she told us you wanted it because there was oil there. Oil! Can you imagine! She will be all right, won’t she?’

  Paul smiled. ‘Of course she will,’ he said. He had won! He had trapped them with the three sacred cows that people of their background worshipped: the church, the medical profession and the sanctity of property. The first two could not be argued with and the third could not be put at risk. ‘Now the only thing is to find her before she harms herself.’

  ‘Duncairn,’ Archie said. He lowered his feet to the floor and stood up. ‘I’ll bet you a pony that’s where she’s gone.’

  ‘Of course.’ Antonia smiled, relieved. ‘She always goes there if she’s miserable. Why don’t I ring that nice Mr Grant?’

  ‘No!’ Paul put his hand on her arm. ‘No, Antonia, don’t phone. If she thinks we’re on to her she’ll run and that is the last thing we want. I’ll drive over to Duncairn myself. If she’s there I’ll bring her back.’

  ‘I’ll come with you, my boy.’ Archie straightened his shoulders.

  Paul shook his head. ‘No. Better not. You stay here. I’ll manage better on my own.’ Twenty minutes later he had climbed back into the hired car he had driven over from Edinburgh airport and set off back down the drive. With her parents on his side he would have Clare exactly where he wanted her. Either she would sign Duncairn over to him voluntarily or he would get power of attorney with the help of Geoffrey, David and her parents, and John Stanford, if he could persuade him to help, and he would keep her out of the way until it was too late for her to do anything to save Duncairn.

  In a sudden mood of exhilaration he wound down the car window and put his elbow out, inhaling the cold peaty air. For once it was good to be back in Scotland.

  Rex picked Emma and Julia up at twelve o’clock exactly. Julia was subdued and sulky. She had wanted to spend the day with Tamsin, but Emma had insisted. She wanted a chaperon.

  ‘Am I forgiven for the way I engineered our first meeting?’ When Rex had booked the table at the Compleat Angler he had ordered champagne on ice to be awaiting them.

  Emma frowned. ‘It was a bloody thing to do! You were spying on my brother.’

  ‘As it happened there was no need.’ He was watching Julia sip the champagne. She was a pretty child, very like her mother. ‘And that means that the other times we met because I wanted to talk to you about you.’ He smiled.

  Emma stopped herself from smiling back with an effort. The bastard wasn’t going to charm her that easily. She glanced at him surreptitiously. He was looking pale and tired, but he was still one of the most attractive and exciting men she had ever met.

  ‘Twice,’ she said. She looked at him quizzically. ‘So. What has happened about Duncairn?’ Henry had phoned her and told her of his talk with Paul the night before.

  ‘Your brother has agreed to sell.’

  Emma stared at him. ‘But it isn’t Paul’s to sell.’

  ‘No, I know that, but his wife has agreed, and anyway I gather he has control of her affairs since her illness.’

  Emma frowned. ‘Clare is not ill, Rex.’

  ‘Yes she is. Aunty Clare has gone mad.’ Julia looked up from her glass. The bubbles were making her wrinkle her nose. ‘Uncle Paul told Daddy.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Emma stared at her daughter furiously. ‘Were you listening at the door?’

  ‘No, of course not! Everyone knows, Mummy. Aunt Chloe has discussed it with Piers and Ruth. They told me last week when we went over to the Rectory. I think it’s rather exciting! She sleepwalks or something and has fits and screams in lifts.’

  ‘Holy Shit!’ Rex looked alarmed. ‘Is this true?’

  ‘No,’ Emma said firmly. ‘Or at least the bit about lifts is, because she suffers from claustrophobia, but she is not mad and she is perfectly capable of handling her own affairs. Look, Rex. I’d better tell you the whole story.’ She glanced helplessly at Julia. ‘And you’d better listen too, so you know the truth instead of this awful gossip.’ Briefly she outlined Clare’s interest in meditation and the story of her daydreams. ‘That is all it is. She is not mad or possessed, just obsessed by the past. But Paul –’ she hesitated. ‘Well, you obviously know my brother. He is single-minded, and devious and he wants the money for Duncairn. He is furious that Clare doesn’t want to sell and he
’s putting pressure on her to do so. I think that is why he is telling everyone she is ill.’

  ‘Why does he want the money?’ Julia put in. ‘Uncle Paul is stinking rich.’

  ‘Never mind why he wants it,’ Emma said sternly. ‘He just does.’

  ‘He wants it because he is no longer stinking rich, as you put it, honey,’ Rex said slowly. He was looking very thoughtful. ‘Paul Royland is about to go bankrupt. He’ll be ruined without the money.’

  Emma swallowed. ‘You do know a lot about him.’

  Rex smiled. ‘Enough. So, for your family’s sake it might be a good thing if I did buy Duncairn. It might make your sister-in-law sad to part with it, but it would make her an awful lot sadder to see her husband in jail for insider dealing and bankrupted into the bargain.’

  Emma clutched the stem of her glass. ‘Oh, Rex!’

  ‘Believe me, honey. I’m probably the only chance he’s got.’ Rex let his hand touch hers for a second. ‘So, if you have any clout with your sister-in-law, you use it. If she refuses to help her husband, she could be condemning him to several years in prison.’

  ‘Aunt Clare and Uncle Paul don’t like each other any more, do they?’ Julia put in. She had drunk her first glass of champagne and was hungrily eyeing the doorway through to the restaurant. ‘I expect Aunt Clare would like to see him go to prison!’

  ‘Don’t be silly! Of course she wouldn’t!’ Emma was agitated now.

  ‘Hey. Relax.’ Rex put his hand on hers, and this time he left it there. ‘It will be OK. They’ll come round. They’ll sell.’

  ‘But what if they don’t?’ Emma said, agonised. ‘Julia is right. They don’t like each other very much any more.’

  Rex shrugged. ‘I think I can persuade them. You leave it with me. Now, let’s not talk about them any more. Let’s talk about us and the first really important decision of the day, which is what we are going to eat for lunch.’

  Stiff and cold, Clare stood up. It had turned into a beautiful day, bright and blustery and very cold. She realised that she had been sitting staring out to sea on the cold wall too long. She was faint with hunger and her arm and shoulder were throbbing with pain.