Val smiled, relinquishing her grasp on Rob’s face. ‘I am certain you did not think it ugly yesterday when you asked me to show you around after you discovered it was available to rent until the summer.’
Rob closed his eyes, sighed and shook his head. ‘I really don’t remember that. I seem to have lost a day, on top of the weird dream.’
‘I am sure it will all sort itself out. Now, you should get dressed and come down to breakfast.’
Once Val had left the room and closed the door behind her, Rob turned to his brother. ‘Am I going mad, do you think?’
Gerry shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s all just stress. Jonathan’s been on your case about writing the new book, after all.’
Throwing back the bedcovers, Rob nodded. ‘Maybe you’re right.’ He sniffed as he pulled on his trousers. The scent of honeysuckle was strong in the air. ‘God, I hope she hasn’t used that air freshener downstairs as well. It’s so sweet it’s making me feel sick!’
* * *
The brilliant sunshine that had bathed the village since dawn continued through most of the morning, the blue sky only replaced by grey clouds after Gerry’s car had left for London. Outside the graveyard, Rob waited for Val to close the shop for lunch so that she could take him over to Naghene Hall.
Naghene Hall.
The words tumbled around in Rob’s head amid a jumble of other thoughts as the first rumble of thunder crashed overhead, heralding the threat of yet more rain. His mind dragged his memory back to London, where similar meteorological events had occurred recently.
He frowned, as the memory incorporated a telephone call from Ginny, whom he had called from Val’s surgery a while earlier using the London number the doctor had supplied. The voice on the end of the line had sounded vaguely like Ginny, but some inner instinct warned Rob that it was not her, a feeling he had so far managed to avoid revealing to Val. If there were a conspiracy at work in Dorstville, Dr Val Hide-Guest was implicated: of that, there could be no doubt.
Naghene Hall.
His mind came back to the house, as though caught in a spiral of thought; round and round in a ceaseless circle of opinions; past the others concerning Gerry and Ginny and the ‘dead’ villagers, all of which were clearly insignificant as far as Rob’s subconscious was concerned; right back round to the house once again.
Rob was certain he had seen the house yesterday from Gerry’s car as they approached Dorstville, and he was equally certain that he loathed the house with a passion. The very thought of the place felt threatening, and yet apparently – according to Val – she herself had promised to show him around the house after he had mentioned the fact that he was looking for a place to stay for a while, and had seen the sign on the gates advertising the house for rent.
Why can I remember none of these events?
Whilst it was true that his memory of events was at odds with those both Val and Gerry had described earlier that morning, Rob did not gain any impression from either of them that they were lying – though he was equally certain they were not sticking strictly to the entire truth. They had recounted events as they remembered them, but that did not necessarily mean their memories were correct as far as Rob was concerned.
Nothing is ever really as it at first appears.
It was a proverb that Rob felt he had concocted personally, but had in all probability heard elsewhere and purloined because it rang with a degree of hollow truth. It certainly rang true with all of his novels, deception being the underlying theme for each book, and he felt the undercurrents of dark deception ran deep through the heart of Dorstville as well.
He had no clear idea of whom to believe, nor even what to believe, and so decided to go with his instincts, which told him that events were as he recalled them, not as Val and Gerry described them – otherwise he might as well start doubting his sanity.
He doubted the honesty of the villagers he had met last night – but if Val was to be believed, he had imagined that meeting. How could he have imagined the meeting of three men whose faces he could picture more vividly than any of his fictional characters – which was what Gerry had suggested they were?
Something had been troubling Rob all morning, and it was such a distant feeling of unease, lodged deep in the darkest recesses of his scrambled mind that it was only now, as his thoughts drifted back to previous events in London, that he finally recalled what troubled him.
‘Where is Satan?’ he whispered. He knew he was certainly not imagining the absence of his devoted feline friend – a cat Val and Gerry would have him believe to be alive if their deception about the car not exploding were in fact the truth.
His mind was still adamant that the car had blown up last night, taking Satan with it, yet that morning, Rob had watched Gerry drive off in a red car that may or may not have been the one that brought them to Dorstville. Rob did not know the registration number of Gerry’s car, so it could have been a completely different car as far as he was concerned.
If the car had in fact not blown up, then where was Satan?
Rob knew for a fact that he would not have travelled to a remote place to stay for several weeks without his companion, and he had seen no sign of the cat or his box in the car when Gerry drove off. As far as Rob was concerned, that meant only one thing: he had not imagined the exploding car, and he had not imagined seeing Virginia’s corpse… and he had not imagined meeting three men, two of whom Val claimed to be dead.
This could only mean that both Val and Gerry had definitely been spinning a complex web of lies all morning.
But why? What possible motive could either of them have for deceiving him, especially when there was every chance that he would not believe their fabrication, or that he might uncover the truth?
Was it connected to the mysterious telephone call, warning him to stay away from the Devill’s Tor?
There was undoubtedly a mystery in the village, and more than ever now, Rob was determined to seek out its roots.
He decided that the first step would be to set up a base of operations where he would be undisturbed, and Naghene Hall was perfect. If nothing else, the seclusion would give him the ideal opportunity to do some writing; Val and Gerry were correct there.
He also decided it would not be prudent to let Val know that whatever hypnotism technique she had tried on him had in fact failed, so he would play along with her charade for the moment.
He glanced up at the mulberry coloured sky, which looked fit to burst under the strain of an enormous burden of rain. In spite of the gloom, akin to midwinter early-afternoon darkness, and the wind that had whipped itself into a frenzy, the air was still oddly hot and humid, and amid that humidity, Rob’s nostrils twitched as they caught the faint hint of something putrid nearby.
It was a smell of death and decay, the stench of rotting flesh, and it emanated from within the graveyard, getting stronger with each passing second.
Rob was unsure he wanted to see what was making such a foul odour, but he had more than a vague idea of its nature and knew that his morbid curiosity would burn away inside him unless he investigated. The body in the graveyard, so fresh in his memory only that morning, had somehow slipped from his mind until that smell assailed his nostrils. How could he have forgotten?
Falteringly, unsure whether he was doing the right thing or not, he edged towards the lych-gate. As he approached, a sense of foreboding overwhelmed him, as if instinct warned him of some vile, evil presence lurking within the shadows of the graveyard. The evil seemed to seep outwards from its core, daring Rob to enter, challenging his stark terror and egging him onwards whilst warning him into submission. It was as if a great weight pressed inexorably down on him, and he was certain he would be crushed both mentally and physically if he took even a single step into the gloom ahead.
But he knew he had to; he had no choice in the matter. Some equally powerful force propelled him onwards, shoved him into the darkness, the antithesis of the oppression that dragged him back. One and the same, the two forces
battled against each other, against Rob, until he could stand it no more, and with a flying leap he hurled himself through the lych-gate.
He had to investigate, had to see if what he feared was real.
The instant he was through the gate, the sense of foreboding dissipated.
Silence filled the graveyard, almost a physical presence in itself; almost reverence, near omnipotence, totally cloying – just like the stench of decay that was so much stronger on this side of the gate. The absolute absence of birdsong added to the surreal silence.
And then, somewhere nearby, but not far enough away, the inharmonious buzzing of flies disturbed the deathly silence. Rob’s legs grew shaky beneath him as his unwilling legs took him in the direction of the disturbing noise, which indicated all too clearly to him that what he feared he would discover was in fact real.
The stink grew so overpowering as he drew closer to its source that Rob did not think he could press on. But he knew he had to, for his own peace of mind if nothing else. He had to know one way of the other about the corpse… about Ginny.
His hand flew to his mouth as he came upon the source of the god-awful stench, and he barely had time to turn away before vomiting.
There was little left of what he took to be human remains. There seemed no way he could possibly identify whether it was Ginny or not.
The clothes, what soggy bloodstained rags remained, glistened and twitched grotesquely as maggots and other creepy-crawly things, the nature of which Rob did not wish to speculate, gorged themselves on the flesh, whilst all around, the air was thick with flies. The hands were already reduced to bone, as were the feet, on which a pair of tattered stilettos looked ridiculously large. The mouth hung open slackly, the sinew and muscle that had held it in place eaten away so that the teeth protruded at odd angles; inside, more squirming things picked away at the remains of their feast.
Rob could not bring himself to look too hard, but he was fairly certain the tongue was missing, and the eyes seemed to have exploded in their sockets; the veins of whatever skin remained seemed also to have burst from within.
He shuddered in unremitting horror; the death must have been excruciating and did not bear thinking about. It was absolutely not the way Rob wanted to die. As far as he was concerned, the only acceptable way to die was peacefully in ones sleep. That was the way he intended to go if he had anything to do with it.
He could not bring himself to inspect the bodily remains closely enough to tell whether it was Ginny or not. However, he regained certainty that the scream last night had been her, so there was no doubt in Rob’s mind that this carnage was the same as that which he, Gerry and the trio from the village had found, and that the body did indeed belong to Ginny.
Poor Ginny.
What on God’s Earth could have inflicted such appalling injuries? And how could the decomposition if her remains have occurred so rapidly?
Rob could stand the stench no longer, so he ran from the graveyard, aware of how pale he must look, sweating profusely. He shook uncontrollably; the shock at his gruesome discovery was as overpowering as the fear and the smell.
Stumbling over to the grass verge opposite the lych-gate, Rob collapsed to his knees, struggling to regain his composure. He spat indelicately to try to rid his mouth of the taste of bile and vomit, blowing his nose and taking deep breaths to cleanse the stench of death from his airways.
Well, he thought, I certainly didn’t imagine that! So I guess that settles it. I didn’t imagine Gerry’s car blowing up, and I didn’t imagine the three villagers who are supposedly dead, or Lilly’s disappearance… or Jonno’s!
We came to find Lilly, he reasoned, so why did Gerry leave again so suddenly this morning, in a car that is clearly not actually his? And why did he pretend not to remember what happened last night? He must have been hypnotized… by Val, I shouldn’t wonder. But why? What’s she up to? Perhaps that means Gerry hasn’t returned to London after all. Maybe he’s still nearby somewhere.
So, have Lilly and Jonno really been kidnapped, I wonder?
Rob did not have the opportunity to ponder his new questions further. Val’s car approached, and as she pulled up alongside him, Rob stood up and opened the passenger door. He did not really want to get into the car with the woman, but he also did not want to arouse her suspicions.
‘Are you all right, Rob?’ Val asked as he sat down heavily in the passenger seat.
‘Yes, I’m fine. Why?’
‘You look a bit pale, and you’re sweating.’
Rob chuckled mirthlessly. ‘Well I can’t help being pale, it’s my natural colour. And as for sweating… well, it’s very hot outside.’
‘You look as though you have had a nasty shock.’
Rob shook his head as casually as he could, trying hard not to change the subject for fear of arousing any suspicions that Val might harbour. He decided to test how much Gerry had been in collusion with the woman. ‘No, not at all; I was just thinking about my cat. Did Gerry give her to you to look after?’
‘He most certainly did,’ said Val in a neutral tone. ‘A black one, yes, called Satan I believe?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. Is she all right? She’s not really used to strangers.’
Val nodded as she put the car into gear and accelerated off down the lane far too fast. ‘Yes, she is fine. She has taken to my house quite nicely, actually. We shall go and pick her up later. A most unusual name for a cat, I am sure you would agree.’
Rob forced a chuckle as he continued the pretence. Gerry had clearly informed Val about the presence of the cat and about its name, and now that Rob’s lie about Satan’s sex had been accepted as fact he decided to push the lie a little further to see how Val would react. ‘Indeed, but it was an obvious choice really. Satan has an unusual white marking on her belly… the shape of a white pentagram… the sign of the devil!’
‘Indeed,’ muttered Val absentmindedly, steadfastly avoiding eye contact with Rob, for reasons that he suspected were more to do with concern about perpetuating the lie than with careful driving. She was certainly not the most sedate of drivers, and yet even at such high speed she took the corners and curves in the lane far more accurately than any Formula One driver might.
‘Rather strange weather you get in this neck of the woods,’ said Rob, trying to take his mind off Val’s reckless driving.
‘That is a rather pointless observation, Rob,’ murmured Val in a decidedly dismissive tone. ‘The English weather is renowned for its eccentric unpredictability. There is nothing weird or unusual in it being lovely and sunny in the morning and pouring with rain a couple of hours later. I have even known it to snow in May!’
Rob did not press the matter. It was clear that Val was disinclined to pass comment on the subject of the weather, as she was clearly uninterested in speaking further about his cat now she had a better description of her.
Lapsing into a silence of oblivion, they sped along the track with astonishing smoothness, even though Rob was certain this was the same dirt track along which Gerry’s car had pitched and tossed them gracelessly at each pothole it encountered only yesterday.
The grounds of Naghene Hall were immense; a ten-foot high wall made of local stone surrounded the estate, whilst wrought iron gates hung open on rusted hinges midway along the wall traversing the edge of the road.
Val brought the car to a sudden halt outside the gates. ‘I feel it would be better if we walk from here. If we go on by car, every bone in your body will be shaken loose.’
Rob did not argue; his body still ached from the journey in Gerry’s car. As he and Val made their way up the driveway, he could clearly see why she had made the suggestion. No car could possibly traverse the savagely uneven track; loose chippings and gravel threatened to upend Rob and forced him to pay far more attention to what was beneath his feet than his surroundings.
The front section of wall was in a generally reasonable state of repair, but from the furtive glances that he managed to cast around him
as he tried to maintain some degree of perspective, Rob could see that the remainder of the wall was in a terrible condition. It seemed to him that the stone had crumbled and collapsed many years ago, with no one caring enough about the property to maintain them. It had been through these immense gaps that he had caught his few fleeting glances of Naghene Hall itself yesterday.
He had obviously not caught the best view of the house from Gerry’s car, because as he and Val walked carefully up the gentle curve of the ungracefully surfaced driveway, past well-tended flowerbeds – which he felt would look spectacular in the summer – and immaculately manicured lawns, the house came into view more clearly and Rob was immediately struck by how impressive it suddenly seemed.
It was certainly eye-catching; an attention-grabbing edifice comprised predominantly of the same local stone as the walls surrounding the estate. To Rob though it was still a monstrosity, a mausoleum of patently obvious false Victorian Gothic grandeur. Gross and grotesquely grandiose, the house nevertheless inspired Rob’s imagination: it would make the perfect setting for his new novel, which his mind had spent much of the morning fleshing out.
Not that I’ll get much writing done until I’ve solved all the mysteries of Dorstville!
The house comprised only two storeys, but in the gabled roof, Rob could see several small windows in a row; had the sun been shining, their odd angle in the roof would almost certainly have reflected the light, blinding anyone brave enough to come up to the house. Anyone approaching would not be able to see much of the house at all. As it was, the gloom of the afternoon afforded a perfect view of the house with its three immense chimneys placed an equal distance apart on the roof.
As he and Val drew closer to the house, Rob noticed that every window on the ground floor appeared to have bars placed across them. He wondered whether a previous owner had put them there to prevent burglars getting in, or whether perhaps they were to stop someone from escaping. They were without doubt potentially hazardous, and Rob decided that, should he decide to stay here, then the bars would have to go.
The Five Tors Page 10
