The Layton Prophecy

by Tatiana March

  I wanted to be loved in return.

  After a few hours of nursing my grievance that grew with every push of the vacuum cleaner and every flick of the dusting cloth, my resentment boiled over, and I stormed next door to Mill Cottage. In the living room, I found two blond heads huddled together in front of a single computer screen. Aunt Rosemary was clutching Steven’s shoulder, pretending to be using him for balance while she leaned across. His hand rested on her thigh, not pretending anything at all.

  “Do you have the telephone number to the hotel where Miles is staying?” I asked Aunt Rosemary, my voice blunt with determination. “I wrote it down but I didn’t bring it with me.”

  “It’s on the notice board in the kitchen.” She glanced at me in a pitying way that told me she understood how I felt.

  “Are you going to call him?” Steven asked.

  I hesitated. My anger began to ebb, replaced by the hollow ache of unrequited love. “Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

  “How should I know?” He shrugged, without removing his hand from Aunt Rosemary’s knee. “I’m the last person in the world to offer advice on relationships.”

  “I don’t know about that.” I managed to keep my voice light. “You seem to be doing pretty well. Better than any of the last three dozen I’ve seen trying.”

  A smile lit up his face. “Beginner’s luck, that’s all.”

  “What do you think I should do?” I asked Aunt Rosemary.

  “You should call,” she said. “But be prepared to get nowhere. If Miles doesn’t want to talk to you, he won’t.”

  I sighed. “I know. But at least I’ll find out that he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

  I went into the kitchen to fetch the number from the cork notice board on the wall. “Don’t use your mobile,” Aunt Rosemary called out after me. “Use the landline. The call is free if you dial the TalkTalk prefix first.”

  I came back, clutching the small scrap of paper, and eased past the makeshift desk stacked with computer equipment. I started up the staircase, then turned to look back at them. “Is it all right if I use the phone in your study?” I asked, a polite afterthought, knowing how territorial Aunt Rosemary felt about her private lair.

  “Of course,” she said. Her concerned eyes followed me up the stairs.

  In the cluttered study, I closed the door, took a deep breath, and dialed the international number written down in Aunt Rosemary’s neat script. I got the reception desk at the hotel. They recognized his name and put me through to his room. The phone rang and rang, before switching to a message service. I hung up. I’d spent ages rehearsing what to say, but none of it had been intended for a machine. I was prepared for Miles to brush me off if he replied, but I didn’t think I could handle it, if he simply didn’t return my call.

  I sat a few minutes in Aunt Rosemary’s swivel chair, rocking around, holding back tears, arms huddled across my chest, steadying myself until I was in a fit state to be seen by others. Then I returned downstairs. The pair of them made a valiant effort to appear engrossed in their computer screen.

  “No luck,” I told them with a forced cheerfulness. “He wasn’t in.”

  “It’s the same time zone.” Steven glanced at his watch. “Not five even o’clock. He’s probably ensconced in some musty government office, making enquiries.”

  “Maybe he’ll call tomorrow. He knows that you’ll be here for the weekend,” Aunt Rosemary said, full of empathy

  My lips drew into a defiant pout. “You’re wrong to think that I’m going to hang around here, waiting for him to call.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Steven said.

  “I’m going out there,” I told them, startling even myself with the words. ”Just as soon as I can arrange the time off at the Bodleian.”

  Aunt Rosemary gaped at me, eyes round with surprise.

  Steven looked untroubled. “Good,” he said bluntly. “I was going to suggest that you go. There are a few things I want checked out in South Africa, and I’m not sure I trust that Yank.”

  I flicked a curious glance between the pair of them. What was it, some miracle of instant bonding? Aunt Rosemary and Steven were already beginning to sound alike, and they’d only known each other for a couple of weeks.

  “Fine,” I said. “If you brief me about what you need done, I’ll arrange the holiday at work and find out about flights.”

  As soon I’d settled on the impulsive plan, I felt a lot better. I’d always been puzzled by how some people seemed to rush around, trying to force things to happen, instead of letting situations resolve themselves with the passage of time.

  Now I knew.

  Doing something took away the sense of helplessness.

  ****

  Getting the holiday booked at work turned out to be easier than I’d expected. Before leaving England, I made a hurried trip to Southampton to see my mother. We’d never been close. When I was small, she was always too busy or too tired to spend time with me. I’d left home at eighteen to go to university, and since then I’d only visited once or twice a year, out of duty.

  It wasn’t until now that I began to understand how deeply her unhappiness and her bitter relationship with my father had affected my childhood. I hadn’t exactly been a pawn between them, but there had always been a need to decide where my loyalties lay. Instead of taking sides, I’d avoided the issue by giving most of my affection to Aunt Rosemary.

  The visit was a failure.

  I told my mother about the meeting with the lawyer and the discovery of my true family background. It felt as if the barrier between us suddenly gained another layer. I almost got the impression that she blamed my father’s Layton connection for everything that had gone wrong between them.

  Fortunately, I could spend another weekend in Layton Village before I flew out to South Africa. I needed the enthusiasm of Steven and Aunt Rosemary to shake me out of the dreary mood the visit to my mother had thrown me in.

  “So,” Steven said as soon as I got through the door on Friday night. “Are you ready for your instructions?”

  His cheeks glowed and his eyes sparkled, but as Aunt Rosemary sported tousled hair and smeared lipstick, I assumed his high spirits were not on my account. The closeness between them astonished me. If I hadn’t seen Steven at the Bodleian during the week, I would have assumed that they’d spent every minute of each day getting to know each other, so comfortable they appeared to be in each other’s company.

  “We know that Francis Layton visited the diamond fields at Lichtenburg in Northern Transvaal.” Aunt Rosemary brought a map up on her computer screen. “He got provisions from there.”

  I tossed my bag on the floor and flopped into an armchair that had been pushed into a corner to make space for their work table. “How do you know?”

  Aunt Rosemary pointed at the three diaries on the table. “We’ve combed through all the references to people and locations. The name of the local postmaster and one of the farmhouses matches.”

  “But he died in the Kalahari Desert.” I tucked my feet beneath me.

  “There were no diamonds left in Lichtenburg,” Steven explained. “Thousands of prospectors took part in a race to stake claims in 1927. The deposits ran dry quickly, and Francis Layton headed west, to the Kalahari Desert. The area near the Namibian border is littered with skeletons of perished prospectors.”

  “What do you want me to do?” My gaze shuttled between them. “Go out there and look for the diamonds he discovered?”

  “You’re not thinking like a scientist,” Steven said, reproach in his tone. “This isn’t a treasure hunt for an untapped kimberlite pipe carrying diamonds through the crust of the earth. This is a quest to break the curse.”

  Aunt Rosemary turned around to look at me. “There’s a gap in the date sequence between December 1928 and June 1929, which means there must be one more diary, just before the incomplete one. You’ve got to search for the information that would be contained in the missing diary. We need to learn what Franc
is Layton did with the diamonds he dug up, and the name of the man he murdered.”

  For the rest of the weekend, we talked about my trip and made plans.

  On Saturday morning, an email arrived from Miles to Aunt Rosemary with several questions about Layton Manor. It contained a postscript: Tell Alexandra I’m sorry. That was all he said. The message settled like a stone in my gut. But my tickets were booked, and I chose not to let the belated apology affect my arrangements.

  Back to contents

  Chapter Fifteen

  On a rainy Monday night in the middle of December, I took the direct BA overnight flight to Cape Town. I planned to start at Happy Valley, the farmhouse in Stellenbosch where Francis Layton had spent so much of his time. If I didn’t find the answers there, I’d head out to Lichtenburg in the North West Province.

  But my first task would be to track down Miles.

  The hotel in Cape Town where I’d tried to telephone him turned out to be a whitewashed country house in an affluent area called Constantia. My footsteps echoed on the terracotta floor as I entered, wheeling my trolley case behind me. The lobby was old fashioned, with a long mahogany counter, and rack of pigeonholes for room keys and messages mounted up on the wall. A girl of around twenty greeted me, her golden hair glinting in the morning light, her apple cheeks dimpling into a welcoming smile.

  I asked her about Miles.

  “Mr. Kendrick isn’t in residence at the moment.”

  My face must have betrayed my disappointment, because she hurried to reassure me. “He’s booked to come back today. I’m sure he’ll be here soon. When he checks in, should I let him know that you’ve arrived?”

  Heat flared on my skin, and I knew I’d blushed. “Actually, he isn’t expecting me. He thought I wouldn’t be able to get away until Christmas.”

  She beamed at me. “I’m sure he’ll be pleased that you’ve come sooner.”

  I tried not to look glum as I filled in the registration card.

  “This is a wonderful coincidence,” the girl piped up. “Here he is.”

  I froze. I’d expected to have an opportunity to steel myself, to build up my fighting spirit. If only I’d changed out of the loose black pants and the wrinkled cotton cardigan I’d worn for the flight, I might have felt less at a disadvantage.

  I took a deep breath and turned around. “Hello, Miles.”

  He looked unusually smart in beige chinos and a putty-colored linen jacket that appeared as if it was meant to be crumpled. His white shirt had the top buttons undone, and I could tell that he’d acquired a tan since I last saw him. He was carrying his leather briefcase in one hand, and the canvas duffel bag hung from a strap over his shoulder. My chest felt tight. I found it almost impossible not to step up to him and lift my hand to touch the exposed skin at his throat.

  “Alexandra.” His tone was polite, his face without expression.

  The impersonal nature of his greeting shattered me. I reeled in my emotions, pushing them into some secret chamber deep inside me, from where they couldn’t break loose again. An unexpected calm fell over me. I put it down to the confidence that Aunt Rosemary and Steven had inspired in me as we prepared for the trip.

  “I’m glad I caught you,” I said, and no tremor in my voice spoiled the carefree sound of the words. “I’d like to talk to you before I move on.”

  “Move on to where?”

  “Stellenbosch first. Then north through Transvaal.”

  “I’ve already been to Stellenbosch. There’s nothing for you there.”

  “It might have been better if you’d kept Aunt Rosemary informed, the way we agreed.” By now, I’d collected myself enough to control the pen, and I scrawled my signature on the registration card. “Since we didn’t hear from you, her boyfriend wanted me to come out and start my own investigation.”

  “Boyfriend? Who? What does he have to do with this?”

  I lowered the pen to the desk with a little clunk. “Aunt Rosemary has met someone new. He’s been helping us with the research. We tried to call you, to let you know about our plans.”

  “I was out of touch for a few days. Sailing.” A guilty look flickered across his face, and he fidgeted, adjusting the strap over his shoulder.

  “I’m sure you won’t mind us involving Steven.” Pretending nonchalance, I slid the card across the counter back to the girl. “He’s come up with several good ideas.”

  Miles puckered his lips. “A new boyfriend, huh? I didn’t expect your aunt to be such a fast worker.”

  I offered him my sweetest smile. “I guess it runs in the family.”

  It was only the second time I ever saw him flustered. To my surprise, I was enjoying myself. I’d expected to be embarrassed about having followed him, and heartbroken if he didn’t welcome me, but now that I’d managed to lock away my emotions, I was getting a heady sense of satisfaction from his discomfort. I watched him slant an awkward glance toward the girl behind the reception desk, and relished the thought that he was feeling put on the spot.

  “Why don’t we settle in first?” he said curtly. “Then we can talk.”

  “Of course.” I inclined my head in a gracious nod.

  “I’ve put you in adjoining rooms,” the girl said, her gaze bouncing a little uncertainly between us. “Mr. Kendrick can show you where it is.”

  “I’m sure he won’t mind in the least,” I assured her.

  Miles raised his brows, but said nothing while we accepted our keys and headed out. He directed me to the single-storey annex where our rooms were located, the wheels of my suitcase rattling over the cobblestones as we made our way across the sunny courtyard.

  “Do you need help with that?” Miles asked.

  “I can manage,” I replied, although it was obvious that I was struggling.

  He gave me a long look but didn’t insist. “So, who’s this guy Rosemary has hooked up with?”

  “You might have heard of him. He’s an academic. Professor Maitland.”

  Miles came to a sudden halt. “Steven Maitland? The chemist?”

  “That’s him. Do you know him?” Since I’d carried on walking, I had to glance back at him over my shoulder.

  Miles set off again and caught up with me. “Not personally, but I know of him. The guy’s in a wheelchair.”

  I nodded. “Doesn’t seem to bother either of them.”

  “There’s a rumor that he’s being considered for the Nobel Prize in chemistry,” Miles said, full of admiration. “A very clever man.”

  “Yes. And just as charming.” I looked down my nose at him to indicate that he was distinctly lacking in the charm department.

  He frowned. “You said that he’s been researching the Layton Prophecy?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What has he come up with? What has he asked you to do?”

  I lifted my chin and put a haughty tone in my voice. “I’ll have to check my notes. I really can’t remember the details right now.”

  With grim satisfaction, I watched as his scowl deepened. He handed me one of the keys and pointed me to the door with a wrought iron sign over it spelling Swallow. When I glanced at the big wooden key tag, it had a picture of a bird and the word ‘Swallow’ engraved on it. I was glad I didn’t have to rely on the picture alone, since Miles was in Skylark, and I had no idea of the difference between the two.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a bath before we talk,” I said as I unlocked my door. “And maybe a short nap. I’m tired after the flight.”

  He contemplated me, his expression guarded. Then he shrugged, appearing to relax, his tense posture easing. “Sure. Why don’t we get together for dinner? I have some emails I need to catch up with.”

  I gave him a brief nod and went inside. As soon as the walls shielded my privacy, I began to shake. My breath came in swift, shallow gasps. His cool reserve had wounded me, but I clung to my pride. I would not throw myself at him. I would not beg for an explanation.

  As far as I was concerned, we’
d had an interlude, and that was it.

  I forced myself to get on with settling in. The room was unusually large, with a dark red tiled floor, and iron bars protecting the windows. There wasn’t much furniture, just the bed, a pair of side tables, and a chest of drawers with a mirror above. The sparseness of the contents gave the room a curious impression of being stretched out.

  In strolled into the dated but spotless bathroom and turned on the taps. When I tried the water, I found it piping hot. I emptied the miniature bottle of bath foam into the tub and stripped out of my clothes while the bath filled. Then, luxuriating in the bubbles, I went over my conversation with Miles.

  The first round was definitely to me.

  I leaned back with a satisfied sigh and sank deeper in the water.

  Seeing him had affected me, but I’d handled it.

  I’d handled it much better than I had expected.

  ****

  I couldn’t work out how to call room to room, so I dialed zero on the black Bakelite rotary telephone and got the girl at the reception. She put me through to Miles.

  “I’ve got a rental car,” he told me. “We’ll go into town. Will you be ready in ten minutes?”

  When I said yes, he hung up without another word.

  During the drive, we hardly spoke. I watched the quiet roads between the sprawling country estates gradually transform into suburban streets, and then into city bustle. I saw nothing alarming, everything seemed calm, but I couldn’t help feeling troubled by the barricades of barbed wire that surrounded most houses, and the signs that warned there’d be armed response to unauthorized entry.

  Tension radiated from Miles, as tangible as the traffic noise that grew louder with every mile as we approached the center of Cape Town. I made no effort to ease the strain between us, but sat still beside him, occasionally glancing through the window at the outline of the Table Mountain that we skirted past.

  Eventually, we pulled into a row of parked cars, and Miles switched off the engine. “There are restaurants by the waterfront,” he said, turning sideways in the seat to look at me. “Will you be warm enough to sit outside?”