‘You know what’s happened between Peter and me, I suppose?’ She smiled at him apologetically over the cups of coffee.
Henry nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Emma.’ He looked away, unsure what else he could say.
‘It’s for the best.’ She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself.
‘And it will give you both time to think,’ he said guardedly.
She nodded. ‘I’m going up to Duncairn on Tuesday, to spend Christmas with Clare.’ She glanced up at him and saw the colour rise in his cheeks.
‘How is she?’ He was trying to sound casual.
‘She seemed well. Happy!’ Emma shrugged. ‘Until I spoiled it for her by talking about myself … I’m taking Rex Cummin with me.’
‘The man Sigma dropped?’ For a moment Henry couldn’t hide his astonishment. ‘Is it … I mean, are you …?’
‘No.’ She smiled. ‘We’re not. Not yet. But it’ll give us a chance to get to know each other better, and besides, he was so depressed about losing Duncairn to Sigma I thought it might cheer him up just to spend a bit of time there before they complete the sale.’
‘What on earth made Clare change her mind and sell to them?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t think, unless it was guilt. She probably thinks it is because she didn’t help Paul that he got found out, I suppose.’
‘How is he taking it all?’ Henry had pushed away his cup almost untouched. ‘You know the board have asked for his resignation?’
She nodded. ‘Serves him right if you ask me.’
‘What is he going to do?’
‘You mean when they let him out?’ Emma was totally unsympathetic. ‘I don’t know and I don’t care as long as he leaves poor Clare alone. She’s happy without him. She’s found this super man in Scotland. Her brother told me –’ She broke off as she saw Henry’s face. ‘Oh, Henry, I’m so sorry –’
‘It’s OK.’ Henry shook his head. ‘It’s OK! I know I never stood a chance. Just so long as she’s happy, that’s all that matters …’
Neil was walking down the Mound towards Princes Street, his shoulders hunched against the snow. Twice he had reported the line to Duncairn out of order; twice the exchange had told him that the engineers would go out looking for the fault as soon as there was a let-up in the weather. He crossed the road and cut behind the National Gallery, feeling the sting of the snowflakes hot against his eyes. Two more days to meet with anti-oil lobby people, then he would pack it in for the holiday. Usually he hated Christmas. For him the season was a lonely one without a family to go to. At Hogmanay there were always friends, and that was the one time each year he would drink himself into oblivion, but Christmas was empty. He had no religious belief to console him, no mother or father to eat and drink with, no one. But this year there would be Clare.
He stood at the lights in Princes Street waiting to cross the road. She deserved a really nice present – something special – but what? He had puzzled over the choice for hours, then at last, the night before, he had thought of it. A silver bangle. He grimaced. It would cost, of course, but it was something he wanted very badly to give her. He headed across Princes Street at last and on up Hanover Street in the direction of Hamilton and Inches.
He was halfway up the street when Kathleen spotted him as she came out of a shop. She hesitated, then she threaded her way between the cars and ran after him. ‘Neil? I thought it was you! How are you?’ Two days before she had moved out at last back into her own flat. She smiled at him, her red hair flecked with snow crystals beneath her green silk scarf. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news. I’m so sorry, Neil, but you must have known she would go back to him.’
He stared at her blankly. ‘What are you talking about, Kath?’ He was impatient to move on.
‘Why, Clare, of course.’ Her eyes were wide, carefully sympathetic.
‘What about Clare?’ They both moved back, away from the pavement’s edge as a delivery van swept past throwing a fan of black slush across the paving stones.
Kathleen looked at him incredulously, her triumph hidden. ‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘Know what?’ His voice was edged with irritation.
She frowned. ‘Well, if she hasn’t said anything, perhaps I shouldn’t –’
‘Said what, Kath?’ He was suddenly white with anger. She sensed she had gone too far and shook her head quickly. ‘It doesn’t matter –’
‘It obviously does.’ Neil stepped towards her. ‘What mischief are you plotting now, Kath? It won’t work, you know.’
‘Paul Royland went up to Duncairn yesterday –’ Suddenly she was blurting it out. ‘Apparently she’s gone back with him. Back to London. I’m sorry, Neil.’
Neil stared at her. ‘How do you know this?’ He was startled by the shaft of fear and anger which shot through him.
‘I rang Jack Grant last night. I’ve lost some of my music, and I thought perhaps I had left it up there.’ Kathleen looked down, unable to meet his eye. ‘He told me. Apparently she decided to go back with him because of the court case and everything. Jack said she had been going to speak to you – I suppose she didn’t have time …’
‘I don’t believe you.’ His face was ashen.
‘It’s true, Neil.’ She looked him in the eye again and was appalled by the pain she saw there. Suddenly she was less certain.
She had rung Duncairn, it was true. Both times the line was engaged, then the third time the line was dead. She breathed a silent prayer that by the time it had been repaired Paul would have got there and taken Clare away.
‘You’re lying, Kath!’ Neil clenched his fists.
‘I’m not lying.’ She held his gaze steadily.
Believe it. Believe it and it will be true.
‘Clare is beyond your reach, Neil. She never was yours. I did tell you. She was just amusing herself with you, Neil. She’s out of your class. Out of our class. The moment Paul beckoned she ran back to him. She belongs to him. She belongs with him, Neil. Even in trouble he has money, influence, friends. He’ll come out of this smelling of bloody roses – his sort always do! Don’t betray yourself, Neil. Don’t run after her!’
He had been standing completely still in the middle of the pavement, facing her, his face and hair wet with melted snow. Now, at last he began to walk on slowly. For a moment Kathleen stared at him, then she began quickly to walk after him.
‘Neil –’
‘Goodbye, Kath.’
‘Neil, if I come over to the offices tomorrow, maybe we could have a coffee together?’ She was almost running now to keep up with him. When they reached the corner of George Street he stopped. ‘Maybe I could lend a hand with something at Earthwatch over Christmas,’ she called. ‘When the show is over? I’m alone over Christmas, Neil. Please don’t leave me alone –’ She despised herself for begging: a woman like her should be able to snap her fingers and summon a man, but she could not help herself.
‘Maybe, Kath.’ He sounded very weary. ‘I just don’t know.’
When he crossed the road she didn’t follow him. She stood and watched him, feeling the wind whipping her coat open, shivering as the snow slid down her neck. She saw him walk slowly down the street and stop outside the jewellers for a long time, staring down at something in the window display, then at last he walked on without going in.
Biting her lip Kath turned away, her hand in her pocket clenched around the keys to his flat. He hadn’t asked for them again.
Clare was lying in bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, when Paul returned to her bedroom. He had a cup of tea in his hand.
‘Clare?’ He felt light with relief at seeing her awake. He put the cup down on the table beside the bed. ‘Clare, Geoff is coming to look after you, darling.’
She made no response.
‘It’ll be all right, Clare. They won’t hurt the castle, you know. Once they’ve got the well drilled and the pipes laid and everything you’ll hardly be able to see anything at all –’
Her face was completely blank. Impassive. The fear had gone, and the cold pallor of sweat.
‘I’m sure we can arrange for you to have visitation rights or something –’ He laughed nervously. ‘We’ll go back and visit it, darling, I promise, once all this stupid litigation is over. Nothing awful is going to happen to me, you know. I’ll probably get a fine, that’s all. And the case isn’t spectacular. I doubt if the press will show any interest. They’re getting bored with the City now. I don’t suppose anyone will hear about it. And the child need never know.’ He paused and looked at Clare’s stomach, hidden beneath the smeared raincoat. One of her shoes had fallen to the floor. He frowned. Approaching her he stood looking down at her. Now that he had had his way he wanted everything to be the same as it used to be, before Clare and he had quarrelled. They could be a perfect family now, with a baby of their own. A strange cold fear crept back into his stomach as he looked down at her still face. ‘Clare, can you hear me?’ He reached out tentatively. The buckle of her belt lay on the counterpane below the knot which tied the coat around her. She did not move when he pulled at it. With cold, awkward hands he undid it, and began to ease off the coat. She lay, completely unresponsive, moving puppet-like as he pulled it from her arms, rolling to one side as he eased it from beneath her, then falling back on to the bed again. He bundled up the Burberry and pushed it into the back of the cupboard, then he removed her other shoe and pulled the counterpane over her again, tucking it in.
‘Clare, you ought to drink something hot, darling.’
She ignored him.
‘Please. You musn’t get chilled. Have your tea. It will make you feel better.’ There was a wheedling note in his voice now. ‘I don’t want us to quarrel, Clare. If you’d behaved as a wife should, if you’d been loyal to me, none of this would have happened.’ He adjusted the counterpane again. ‘But I’ve forgiven you all that. In spite of what has happened, darling, I have forgiven you. It will be all right. Geoffrey will be here soon, and he will help you.’
He shivered suddenly. The room was icy cold. He glanced round, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stirring. The house was very silent.
‘I’ll go and make us some supper, shall I? And see that the heating is on. It is very cold outside.’ He backed away from the bed. ‘You’ll be all right, Clare?’ He was begging her now.
Clare made no response. She had heard nothing.
The woman who had earlier brought Isobel the ointment brought her the news. ‘Your king has won a great victory!’ she whispered, glancing over her shoulder towards the guards. Behind her the royal flag, flapping in the wind, proclaimed Berwick Castle still a stronghold of the English. ‘Scotland will soon be free!’
Isobel stared at her, almost too weak to hope. Her face, still bruised, was so thin and transparent now that her eyes were great black circles in her face. She stared at the woman without comprehension.
The woman smiled as she pushed the bowl of food through the bars. ‘Have courage, my lady. Have courage,’ she whispered.
Her tormentors were missing that day. A fine, wetting rain misted down across the river, soaking the stone of the castle walls, soaking her old faded robe and the cloak she wore around her day and night. Her bones ached, her joints were swollen and arthritic and her throat was raw, but the open ground below was empty and that was a blessing to be counted. She sat staring southwards across the Tweed, but the mist hid everything from her behind a damp grey wall and the world was silent.
Two days later the guard came at dawn. He unlocked the cage.
‘Out.’
She stared at him dully, not understanding.
‘Out. We’re changing your lodging, my lady.’ His voice was deliberately insulting in its tone as he held open the barred door. Behind him two other men were standing waiting, one armed, one dressed in a long sober tunic.
Scarcely able to move for pain and weakness she crawled towards the door of the cage and through it on to the battlements of the castle where the air was free. She still did not understand; she still did not allow herself to hope. Perhaps this at last was to be the death she had prayed for again and again of late as the pain ate into her limbs and despair closed over her in a black, heavy pall. She looked like an old woman; she was barely twenty-eight.
The second man stepped forward and took her arm as she straightened and stood painfully upright, swaying slightly. ‘It is the King’s command, Lady Buchan, that you be taken from the castle and lodged at one of the convents within the city walls. King Edward has seen fit to show you mercy.’ He smiled for the first time, his austere face dissolving into a maze of wrinkles. ‘He feels you have had sufficient punishment for your treason. Your imprisonment will be henceforth in the hands of the Carmelite sisters.’
Still she could not take it in. She thought it some new torment, a trick, a jape on the part of the governor, but they guided her slowly towards the door in the turret, and then she was carried by one of the men-at-arms down the long winding stair. At the bottom she was set on her feet again and for a moment she stood upright, looking around in confusion, unable to believe that it was all over. Then everything went black and she collapsed in a dead faint upon the herb-strewn flags.
They put her in a covered wagon in the end, and drove her in that, screened from the people of Berwick who had given her such torment for so long, to the convent which was to be her new prison.
There she was put in the infirmary and slowly at last she began to believe and to hope. The nuns bathed her wasted body and gave her nourishing food: pap at first as her teeth were loose and her gums sore. They gave her a feather mattress, soft sheets and new gowns, sombre, undecorated, save for the beads and crucifix she wore at her waist as they did, but clean and new. They combed the lice out of her hair, still thick and without a trace of grey, and washed it, drying it in the lavender-scented sunshine of the herb garden before binding her head in a snowy wimple and veil. At first she could not walk more than a few steps, then slowly her body responded to its freedom. By the time the first snows came she was able to walk around the convent unaided and she had learned much of what had happened to Robert in the past four years.
She heard about his flight from Scotland, his winter in Rathlin and his return. She learned of the death of two more of his brothers, Thomas and Alexander, both executed as Nigel had been. She learned of King Hob’s victories. She learned some of the legend which was growing round him all the time as his exploits were discussed and related across the length and breadth of Scotland and northern England.
The nuns talked of his prowess in battle, of his chivalry – even his enemies acknowledged that – his love of Scotland, his brilliance as a king. She learned too that the other women who had been captured with her, the women about whom she had wondered so often, were all still prisoners of the English as she was, and that Mary had been removed from Roxburgh and taken south into England as Robert’s victories had threatened to come nearer even that border stronghold. Somehow they had all survived, though her own ordeal had been very much the worst. And she learned from the garrulous old infirmarian with her long nose and her deep close-set eyes of King Hob’s love affair with his kinswoman Christian of Carrick and of his two children by her, and of his much-talked-of dalliance with other ladies up and down the land. She was aware of the sharp eyes watching her, of the woman’s curiosity and half-ashamed satisfaction at her pain, and she tried to muster some of her old pride; but nothing could hide her hurt that Robert had forgotten her and allowed her to hang so long in her cage at the mercy of his enemies.
There was no official explanation why King Edward had so suddenly ordered her release but the gossip in the cloisters and by the fire in the warming house was that Edward was afraid; afraid of what King Hob would do if he took Berwick and found his beautiful mistress a living skeleton in a cage. The sisters were afraid too, lest King Hob find Isobel and be displeased with their part in her captivity; they must take care of her and nurse her back to health, and so t
hey gave her better food, another feather mattress and they prayed for her with renewed ardour.
In her loneliness, however, Isobel could think only of Christian of Carrick, who had been Robert’s mistress, and of their two children, and quietly, in her small room in the infirmary, she would at last allow herself to weep; then she would sleep, and in her sleep she would find herself once more in the cage and see the eyes around her and feel her wings battering against the confines of the bars, and in her dream too she would be crying …
Neil was sitting at his desk, gazing down at a pile of unopened letters. In the corner Jim was supervising the elderly duplicator as it churned out copies of notices of a forthcoming meeting of Earthwatch. When the kettle boiled on its shelf by the window both men ignored it.
‘Your turn, I’m busy.’ Jim glanced up from his pile of paper.
Neil sighed and pushed his chair back.
‘Ring the hotel again, man.’ Jim straightened and shuffled a pile of posters on to the table near him.
‘The line is still out of order.’
‘And her home in England?’
‘There’s no reply there either.’ Neil unscrewed the jar of coffee and shook some into the two mugs. There was no spoon.
‘Then she’s still at Duncairn.’ Jim sighed. ‘There is no way I’d believe Kath’s story, if I were you. She’s lying through her teeth, Neil. She’s a spunky lady, and she’s fighting back the only way she knows how.’ He watched as Neil poured water into the two mugs and stirred it with the end of his pen.
Neil passed him one and then sat down on the edge of his desk. ‘I’ll call Telecom again this afternoon. The weather has eased up so they should have found the fault by now –’
They both looked up as the door of the office opened and a man and a woman walked in. Neil frowned, automatically categorising them: woman, late fifties; man, mid-sixties; well off, middle class, ill at ease – not the kind who usually found their way into the office. He put down his mug and stood up.
Kingdom of Shadows Page 77
