Clearly amused by her reaction, Levine laughed.
“Oh come on, Cee-Cee, are you trying to tell me you really didn’t know who I was? You had not the slightest inkling? That it wasn’t part of the reason you enjoyed our game of cat and mouse that evening?” More furiously, he added, “I’m your brother, how could you not know me?”
“You’re not. No...” she continued to deny it; the use of her pet name meant nothing. Perhaps she had revealed it once in an interview and Levine had picked up on it? But scouring her mind, she was sure she hadn’t. She had never found it endearing, had wanted to forget it if anything. Forcing herself to look into his eyes, she had to admit, there was something familiar about him. Was it the shape of his face perhaps – the turn of his head? She remembered she’d thought he looked familiar when she first met him, but had quickly dismissed the notion, her brother the last person on her mind.
“You can’t be,” she repeated, the cold fear she had felt earlier turning to ice.
“I can be and I am, sister dear,” was his cutting reply.
Cynthia stared at him again. No, it was not the shape of his face nor the turn of his head, it was the look in his eyes that was familiar, the vast swathes of emptiness in them – an emptiness she had always recoiled from as though somehow it could infect her too.
Quickly she tried to recall events in the hotel room. She hadn’t slept with him she was certain. She would have remembered. Surely to God she would have remembered. But it was all such a blur, too many drugs, too much alcohol. Panic threatened to choke her.
“It doesn’t matter...” she breathed at last. “I didn’t sleep with you. I know it.”
“You know it?” There it was again, that slyness about him that she loathed. “Cynthia, you know no such thing. You were gone that night, totally gone.”
“I wasn’t...” she tried to protest. “I... I...”
“Was as drunk as a common whore,” he finished for her. “Drug-addled is what you were.”
But not drug-addled enough that she couldn’t avoid him. She would know if he had touched her, she would not have forgotten it. His touch, it would have seared her.
“I DID NOT sleep with you,” she screamed.
“Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. The fact is you can’t be sure. And nor will our good companions that night be either. Everyone was as out of it as each other. Suggestion is a wonderful thing, Cynthia. All I have to do is suggest that we slept together – brother and sister – and people will start questioning – our friends that night will start questioning, imagining things that perhaps never took place. Vile things. And that, Cynthia, is enough.”
Cynthia was sure the ground was going to rise up to meet her. “You’ve got to keep quiet. You can’t tell anyone who you are. You can’t.”
Exposing his teeth, an almost feral expression, he said, “Au contraire, I plan to tell the world exactly who I am, about us. I just thought it courteous to let you know first.”
“They’ll never believe you!” she shouted, rallying. “I don’t believe you. This is some sort of trickery, nothing more. A nightmare I’ll soon wake up from.”
“Oh, but the world will believe me when I tell them about our sweet and humble life together as children, the kind of things a brother should know about his sister.”
“What things?” she said, testing him. “What do you remember?”
“Our neighbours for a start, how we liked to play together, the games we invented, you were quite fond of Greta’s brother, weren’t you? You kissed him once, frightened the life out of him I recall, he was eleven, what were you? Twelve? Thirteen? Always precocious. I bet he regrets pushing you off, I bet he wishes he’d let you kiss him now. More than kiss him. What a thing to tell your grandchildren, that you kissed the great Cynthia Hart when she was still young and innocent. They’ll remember me too, Greta and her brother, as will many others that we knew, not everyone found me as insignificant as you did.”
Cynthia was desperate now, clutching at straws.
“You’ll ruin yourself,” she pointed out, cursing the catch in her voice.
“Your concern is touching, but alas, the world is not interested in me, only in you.”
He was right; it would be her that the media would focus on. Everyone loved a scandal. She’d be ruined, everything she had worked so hard for, had sold her soul for, reduced to ashes. And unlike Gayle Andrews in The Phoenix, there’d be no glorious resurrection. She’d be a social pariah, forced into hiding. But hide where? The world wasn’t big enough.
Wringing her hands, she couldn’t help but rebuke herself. Yes, Jack had changed, but he was her brother, she should have recognised him. But then, had she ever taken much notice of him? Had she ever looked at her mother – really looked at her? All she had done was blame them: for the lowly life they lived, for holding her back when she was so much more; for letting her go, so young, into the big, wide world – alone.
“You weren’t the only one with ambition, you know,” her brother said, as though reading her mind. “I was ambitious too, not pretty enough to be in front of the camera, but I could be behind it. I slept my way up the ranks as you no doubt did, producer after producer using me as they once used you. Perhaps even the same producers? Fancy that? Some of them became quite enamoured with me, you know,” he seemed proud, “appreciating a young and supple body to ravish, a male body for a change, a dirty, but oh-so-exciting secret. A secret they wanted to keep; would do anything to hide not only from the public but from their unsuspecting wives. That’s how I managed to reach you, how I landed the job on Later in the Day. Harry Lord – the director – a family man? I don’t think so.”
She was sickened by what her brother was saying, by how low his quest for vengeance had brought him. She stopped short. Who was she to condemn?
She struggled to form a cohesive sentence. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”
“Because right now you’re the most famous actress in the world, something I knew you’d be one day. And so I waited, like a good boy, a patient boy, until you had reached the summit. You see, Cynthia, the higher you climb, the further you have to fall.”
Leaning forward, one hand clutching at her throat, despair overwhelmed her.
“I don’t understand,” she sobbed. “I have never wronged you.”
At her words, his cool demeanour slipped. Pure hatred seemed to ooze from every pore of Levine’s face, congealing to form a greasy layer on the surface of his skin.
“Because you left us, Cynthia. You found fame and fortune and not once did you think to share it with us, to even acknowledge us – your family. You knew how hard mother worked to provide for us, the hours she worked, but you didn’t care.”
Cynthia rushed to her own defence. “You were never interested in me – you and Mother. You were only interested in each other. I felt unwanted. I was unwanted. And when I left, I’ll bet you were glad. You never came looking for me, either of you.”
“We couldn’t find you! We didn’t know where you’d gone. We went to the police, they weren’t interested, they said young girls headed to London all the time in search of fame; that you’d be back when the weather turned. So off we went to London too, to walk the streets, showing your picture to anyone who’d listen. Most didn’t. Every time we returned home Mother would cry, it was heartbreaking. And then you started to make a name for yourself. I wanted to make contact then but Mother said no, not after so much time had passed, she said you’d take it the wrong way. She was a proud woman was Mother.”
“She was a hopeless failure! She had no ambition; she was content to drudge for others, to do their bidding. I knew I was destined for better things, I wanted a chance at drama school, I would have worked to pay for it too, charred alongside her if I’d had to, but no, she wouldn’t let me. She said the film industry would ruin me. Ruin me? What did she know? It made me. If you had got in touch, I would have told you both to burn in hell.”
“And she knew that, but still she follow
ed your every move, kept track of you in the papers. She was almost obsessive.”
Grabbing for the box, he blindly hurled it at her, its contents fluttering to the floor in a strangely graceful manner.
“I told her not to,” he was the one screaming now, “I told her you didn’t deserve her pride, but she carried on regardless, saving every article she could find about you, placing them reverentially in that stupid treasure box. Yes, that’s right, that’s what she called it, a treasure box. I couldn’t believe it! So damn proud of you she was, winning those awards. My only solace is that she never knew you won an Oscar as well; she had died of cancer before then. Whilst you bathed in glory, she writhed in bed, in agony, unable to afford the care that would have made her last days bearable, the care that you could have so easily provided. I went back, I nursed her, bathed her, cleaned up her shit. You did nothing, yet still she pined for you, her lost daughter, the world-famous movie star.”
Cynthia was stunned. Her mother had died of cancer? When?
“I... I didn’t know,” she started.
“You would have known,” Jack took a step towards her, his face so twisted with fury he was unrecognisable again, “had you bothered to keep in touch. That’s why I did what I did. I stayed sober that night, Cynthia, I watched you. I planned your downfall. And I did it to bring you back to the gutter, where you came from and where you belong.”
Staring at him, at the open box, at the cuttings lying strewn about her, Cynthia caught a movement at the door.
“Sally?” she cried brokenly and then, in horror, “John!”
John Sterling looked as shocked as she felt; he must have heard every word. It was too much. She was damned, earmarked for the Devil with or without Lytton’s help.
Her heart lurching violently in her chest, she lunged forward, falling amongst the cuttings, sending them fluttering further. She could barely breathe at all now, there seemed to be a weight bearing down on her, crushing her chest – the pain excruciating.
“Cynthia!” shouted John, rushing into the room.
As he scooped her up in his arms, Cynthia looked into his eyes, those beautiful eyes that had always reflected his belief that there was good in her when she felt there was none. Why hadn’t she allowed herself to love him? Love might have redeemed her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying to raise her hand, to touch his face, needing his help to do so. “I’m so sorry... for everything.”
“It’s alright, my darling,” John whispered back. “It’s alright, I’m here.”
“The world must never know,” she gasped as her heart lurched again. If this was to be the end, her legend must remain untarnished.
“The world will never know,” he assured, kissing her lips as life fled from her.
Chapter Thirty-One
As though waking from a dream, Ruby came to. She swung round to face the rest of the team, waiting anxiously beside her. It seemed like hours had passed but looking around it could only have been minutes – time enough though for Cynthia to reveal the truth.
“It’s not David Levine!”
“It’s not David Levine?” The shock on Theo’s face reflected Ruby’s own. “Who is it then? Mason?”
Ruby shook her head vehemently, wild eyes darting from face to face. “No, no, it’s not Mason either. The box, it didn’t belong to Cynthia as we thought it did, it belonged to her mother, Mary – Jack threw it at Cynthia that night.”
Ness stepped forward and gripped Ruby by the shoulders.
“Calm down,” she said firmly. “You’re not making sense. Tell us what you saw.”
“I saw Jack.”
“Jack who?” Ness quietly encouraged.
“Jack Hart, her brother. He changed his name to David Levine, but his real name is Jack Hart.”
Feeling recovered enough at last, Ruby managed to relate everything that had happened to the others who struggled, like her, to take it all in. Then they quickly joined hands again as Ruby began appealing to the spirit world once more.
“Jack, we know it’s you who resides in the shadows. Please don’t hide from us anymore. We are not here to judge you; we are here to help you. There is no judgement in the light either, only unconditional love and understanding. Don’t be afraid.”
No!
It was Cynthia’s voice.
He is an abomination! He is damned and in turn he has damned me.
“There is no such thing as damnation, Cynthia,” Theo was adamant. “Hell is a concept created by man. Come forward both of you and we’ll walk with you towards the light.”
No reaction. Perhaps neither of them brave enough to confront their sins?
“The box,” Ruby whispered to Cash, “where did you put it?”
“It’s in the bag. Do you want me to get it?”
“No, I will. Hold Ness’s hand, keep the circle complete.”
Ruby went over to the black bag which was lying close to the door and carefully took out the box. Retracing her footsteps, she bypassed the circle and crossed over to the bed. Placing the box down, she tried to match the exact spot it had been placed in by Jack.
As soon as she did so, she felt a rush towards her. Not Cynthia this time, but an altogether much darker energy, a seething mass of bitterness and resentment.
Ruby turned to deflect Jack, but too late, she was knocked off her feet, a cry of surprise escaping her as she fell to the ground, hitting her head against Cynthia’s bed. Although she tried hard to hold on, she felt her consciousness receding, only just making out the box being tossed into the air again. It hit Cash as he ran towards her, scattering the contents as they had been scattered once before, across the floor of Cynthia’s bedroom.
Throwing himself to the ground beside Ruby, Cash cradled her in his arms. She heard him call out her name, over and over again, as John must have called out for Cynthia, desperation in his voice, but she couldn’t respond – he seemed impossibly distant, light years away. She tried to swim back to him, to actually feel the comfort of his embrace, but instead she fell further, into the swamp-like darkness that seemed ravenous for her.
She could sense the energy in the room was at crisis point. It was like some enormous geyser bubbling away just under the surface, ready to burst forth at any given minute, to spew its contents over them all, to burn them, destroy them. She had to surface and fast.
Too late, the geyser exploded. Ness and Corinna were already embroiled in it, their screams piercing the air. Were they hurt? Oh God, she hoped not. Then Theo’s voice reached her above the maelstrom. Far from cowed, it was strong and determined.
“White light. Keep projecting white light. A wall of white light, solid and firm, no gaps at all.”
Ruby’s eyes fluttered.
“Ruby!” Cash sounded relieved. “Are you okay?”
“I... I,” she muttered, the worst headache she had ever experienced in her entire life temporarily blinding her, holding her prisoner in the void.
“Where’s Cynthia?”
Cash looked angrily around him.
“I don’t know, but this Jack character, he’s really starting to piss me off.”
As she struggled to sit up, Ruby’s attention was caught by Jed.
“What’s he doing?” she said, screwing up her eyes.
“What’s who doing?” asked Cash, confused.
“Jed, he’s ferreting about under the bed. What’s wrong with him?”
Cash shrugged his shoulders.
“He’s out again. He’s got something in his mouth.”
“I don’t...” Cash looked even more confused as a folded piece of paper landed on his lap. He grabbed it. “It’s a letter.”
“A letter? What letter? Was it in the box? Did I miss it?”
“If it was in the box, we missed it, you and me both.”
Leaning forward she asked Cash to pass it to her, but her head was thumping so violently she had to hand it back. “You read it... I can’t.”
Cash held up the paper t
o what scant light was available and did his best to decipher the jagged handwriting. As he did so his eyes grew wider.
“Right, Jacko,” he said, rising determinedly. “Listen up. You too, Cynthia, you’re going to want to hear this.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Dear Mary,” shouted Cash. As Ruby had been earlier, now he was wild-eyed, his head thrashing from side to side, looking all around him. “I presume that’s your mother, right?”
A hush descended.
“There, that got your attention, didn’t it?”
“What are you doing, Cash?” Ruby hissed, afraid for him but intrigued, as intrigued as Cynthia and Jack were, she knew they were listening just as intently as she was.
“Dear Mary,” Cash repeated, a little less frantically.
“My parents don’t know I am writing to you. They think they have absolute control over everything I do; well they don’t, not always. I wanted to thank you, Mary, for taking my darling baby boy.”
Cash took a breath, as much for himself as to allow time for the words he had spoken to sink in. After a moment, he continued.
“I miss Jack every day: the smell of him; holding him close to me. I didn’t want to give him up, but you know that. Words can’t describe how I feel about him; he is perfect, beautiful. And his smile, I’ve never seen a smile as sweet. He is so much a part of me; a part I will mourn until the day I die. If only I could keep him by my side.
“An orphanage or you – that was the choice I was given. And of course, I chose you. No doubt you were paid an insulting amount for taking him in, but I know money isn’t why you did it. You’re kind, Mary, I see it in your eyes. You were always kind to me, all the years you worked for us: taking the time to look in on me, to play cards sometimes or simply sit and talk. I always appreciated it – my mother and father, they’re busy people, far too busy to spend time with me. And you have a child too, Cynthia, I’ve heard you talk about her. I hope she and Jack will become the best of friends, as well as brother and sister.
“I will miss you too, Mary, when we move to America, but at least I can console my poor, broken heart that Jack will be well looked after. He is part of your family now, an ordinary, loving family, not one bound by social constraint. Please treat Jack as your own and don’t tell him about me, it wouldn’t do him any good. My family will never accept him – especially since he was conceived in somewhat difficult circumstances. But despite that, I love him. I never thought I would, but I do.
The Haunting of Highdown Hall Page 27
