Sometimes her eyes would go slowly round their table, imprinting the individual features of the family on her mind as though this might be the last chance she had of being with them: Edward, unusually tanned and relaxed in his open-neck shirt; Richard, even more handsome with his teeth flashing in his brown face; Caroline, beautiful but a little withdrawn; Gillian, quiet and unobtrusive, never far from Richard’s side, and the three children: Helen, whose puppy-fat was fining down in preparation for young womanhood; Robert, tall and rather gawky; and young Peter, intent as always on his food. Her heart seemed to swell almost to bursting point with love for them all. If only time could stand still, petrifying them into this everlasting contentment. But against her chair lay her handbag, containing the silver compact and the growing collection of love letters, symbols of that other life to which she had no option but to return.
At last the three weeks were up and it was time to pack for home. On the last day of August they reluctantly locked up the villa, clean, bare and impersonal once more, and piled into the two waiting taxis that were to take them to the airport. Edward and Caroline went in the first with the two younger children, Robert hanging back to go with Laura, Richard and Gillian in the second. During the holiday, Laura had become somewhat ruefully aware of Robert’s passionate admiration for his debonair uncle, and his mother’s furious resistance to it.
Several times, to the shared amusement of herself and Gillian, Robert had nonchalantly suggested that he and Richard should walk round the point to the next bay, or go on ahead of the others to the restaurant, or some other excuse to get him to himself. Richard, good-humoured as always and not unnaturally gratified by such obvious admiration, had complied, with a secret wink at the two girls, his enjoyment of the situation considerably enhanced by Caroline’s silent resentment.
Now, in the taxi, the boy began diffidently, ‘Do you think it would be at all possible for me to come up to London and spend a few days with you before term starts? It would be great if I could go along to the TV studios with you one day. I’ve decided I want to write plays myself when I leave school.’
Richard shot a wary look at Gillian, but she was answering pleasantly, ‘Of course you must come, if your parents will let you. There are all kinds of things we can show you, and I’m sure it could be arranged for you to watch some rehearsals for Richard’s play.’
‘Gosh!’ Robert turned his radiant face towards her. ‘That would be just groovy! Are you in it?’
Gillian laughed. ‘I’m in one of them, yes.’
Laura reflected that Gillian was much more natural and forthcoming away from the aura of Caroline. She wondered if she shared Richard’s dislike of his sister-in-law or merely felt uncomfortable in face of her unyielding disapproval.
‘We don’t want Helen, of course,’ Robert said firmly. ‘She’ll probably want to come, but she’d only get in the way.’
‘She could always come another time if she’d like to,’ Gillian said tactfully.
The taxi swung off the road, taking the turning for the airport. Overhead, giant silver planes screamed in take-off.
‘I bet it’s raining in London!’ Robert said gloomily.
Richard laughed. ‘Never mind, it’s been a wonderful holiday, and all the rain in the world won’t be able to wash away the memory of it.’
Laura stumbled out of the taxi after Gillian. Her disinclination to return to Brocklehurst had returned in full force and she grasped at her brother’s words to comfort her. At least she had the holiday to remember, the mental photograph of the circle of faces round the table.
‘Come on, love!’ Richard took her arm. ‘You look a bit shaky. Apprehensive about the flight? I can supply you with all the statistics about road accidents!’
She forced a smile. ‘Don’t bother—I was in one of them, remember!’
Richard put a hand theatrically to his forehead. ‘How tactless can one be! It shows how much better you must be for me to have been able to forget it!’
Edward and Caroline were waiting with the children in the departure lounge. Edward smiled across at Laura. ‘Glad you came after all?’
‘Didn’t she want to?’ Richard turned to her in surprise.
‘She wasn’t at all sure. Too many commitments at home!’
Richard frowned slightly. ‘Time enough for those.’
‘We all know you don’t believe in commitments, Richard,’ Caroline said shrewishly.
Richard, unabashed, glanced in her direction with malicious amusement. ‘Mi-aow!’ he said deliberately, and she flushed and turned away. Their flight was called and they gathered their cases together, glad of the diversion to dispel the embarrassment.
It had indeed been a wonderful holiday, Laura reflected, a welcome respite from all the strains and stresses of the last months. But now it was over and she had to return, to Noel as well as to Lewis. Had she been able to build up enough strength for the renewed battles that awaited her? With a little tremble of foreboding, she went up the steps leading to the plane.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Noel was waiting for her, resentful and impatient. If Laura had hoped to build up her resistance during her absence in Italy, she soon realized that Noel had been engaged in much the same exercise and, as always, she proved the stronger. Despairingly, Laura began to feel the firm ground slipping away from beneath her as her mind swirled with the rush of thoughts and remembrances that were not her own.
Briefly, she considered taking up Richard’s invitation and leaving Brocklehurst at once, but in her heart she knew it would be of no use. A temporary respite she had been unwillingly granted. Now there was to be no escape. Lewis and Noel would find her wherever she went. As the bleak realization came to her, she abruptly gave up the struggle, allowing herself to sink without further resistance into the waiting depths of Noel’s personality.
Her sudden and complete surrender seemed to throw Noel off balance and, intoxicated at this proof of her power, she used it recklessly to indulge in recollections of people and places which had been important to her during her lifetime.
A nightmare existence began for Laura. Even going into Brocklehurst became an endurance test as the scene before her eyes shifted and changed constantly—at one moment a busy city street full of roaring traffic, at the next a deserted beach with stretches of white sand. The village itself seemed to have existence only in her own mind, but even when it materialized in its turn, it was as strange and alien as the other unknown places she glimpsed in these crazed flashes. Vaguely she remembered her first impression of the square houses as frumpy matrons, and now she could easily imagine them huddling together and tilting their chimneys to exchange malicious gossip—‘There goes the mad girl from up at Four Winds.’
As these hallucinations gained in clarity and frequency, so the normal, everyday life of Four Winds receded, giving way to superimposed images until Laura, groping blindly, had no way of knowing which was the reality.
Unlike the gradual possession which had preceded it, this sudden and rapid decline could hardly fail to be apparent to Edward and Caroline, and they reacted with stunned incredulity.
‘Laura, what is it?’ Edward demanded urgently one evening, holding onto her hand. ‘Caroline says you walked straight into the road today and it was only because the lorry was able to swerve up on the pavement that it managed to avoid you!’
She frowned with the effort of trying to understand what he was saying. Edward’s face seemed to be hidden by a floating gauze curtain which obscured his features.
‘I guess I just didn’t see it. I was watching Clark take the salute.’
‘You were—? Who’s Clark?’ She heard his voice shake. ‘Laura dear, I want you to go and lie down quietly for a while. I’m going to ask Dr. MacIntyre to come and have a look at you.’
She refocussed on his face with difficulty. It was drawn and frightened and she wondered helplessly how she could reassure him.
‘I don’t need a doctor, Edward. I’m not sick, just a li
ttle confused.’
‘I know,’ he said gently, ‘but we have to get to the bottom of what’s causing the confusion. You’ve been making such good progress all summer, and in Italy you were almost your old self again. It’s hard to believe we’ve only been back just over a week, there’s such a change in you. I’ll be much happier for MacIntyre to see you.’
She said quietly, ‘He won’t be able to do anything.’
‘Of course he will!’ Edward contradicted sharply. ‘He can give you tranquilizers and sedatives, and if they don’t work, he can put us in touch with a specialist who—’
Laura sighed. ‘All right, I’ll see him if it’ll make you feel better.’
The doctor called the next morning. He talked to her in his low, attractive voice as he examined her, and since Noel was carefully suppressing herself, she was able to reply to his questions clearly and calmly. When he had completed his examination, he sat back and looked at her gravely.
‘Miss Hardy, you must know that your brother and sister-in-law are very concerned about you.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘They’ve asked me to persuade you to spend a few days in a nursing home near here, where you can have specialized attention.’
She held his eyes for a moment, then made up her mind. ‘Doctor, can I ask you something? Do you believe in psychic phenomena—spirits, ghosts, if you like, and the possibility of—possession?’
He drew a deep breath but his steady gaze never left her face. ‘That’s quite a question! As a man of science I can only give you a qualified answer, though admittedly almost daily things are being scientifically proved that no one would have given credit to ten years ago.’
‘ “More things in heaven and earth”?’
‘Exactly.’
‘You see, Doctor, there’s nothing wrong with my mind. The trouble is that someone—something—else is trying to—take it over. Can you come anywhere near accepting that?’
‘It does rather go beyond my sphere,’ he said slowly, ‘and as a medical man I’ve been trained to look for more concrete causes of mental disorder. On the other hand, I also know for a fact that in the last decade or so there has been a fantastic increase in requests for exorcism.’
‘ “Creature of water, creature of salt” and “Satan and his fallen angels”—but you know I don’t think that’s the answer. The Church persists in regarding these spirits as demons of some kind, whereas I don’t think she’s an evil spirit at all, just a desperate one.’
‘She?’
‘Noel Balfour. The girl who has possession of me.’
‘You actually know who she is?’ He was leaning forward incredulously.
‘Of course, I know everything about her. After all, part of the time I am Noel. There’s another thing against exorcism, from my point of view.’ A tremor ran through her. ‘She’s stronger than I am, Dr. MacIntyre. If any spirit was driven out, I’m sure it would be mine.’
The doctor leant forward and covered her shaking hands with his. ‘I’d no idea things had gone as far as this. You must have help, and quickly. I’m not qualified to treat you myself, but I would urge you most strongly to go to Moorlands for a few days and put yourself in their hands.’
She drew back. ‘I’ve heard of those places. If I go, I may never be able to get out again.’
‘Of course you will,’ he said briskly. ‘You’d go in as a voluntary patient; either for treatment or just observation, and you’d be free to come out any time you wished.’
‘Lewis wouldn’t like it.’
‘Who?’
‘Lewis Castleton. He wants me to marry him. He was in love with Noel, so he’s hardly likely to agree to her being driven away.’
‘My God!’ MacIntyre said under his breath. ‘Miss Hardy, let me phone Moorlands now, please, and book you in as soon as they can take you.’
His urgency reached her, but Noel, alarmed at this threat, clamped firmly over her mind.
‘No, really, Doctor. I’ve tried to explain. I’m sorry if you can’t accept my explanation, but I assure you I’m not ill and a nursing home would be no use at all. Thank you for your advice—I’m only sorry I can’t take it.’
He looked at her despairingly for a long moment then, with a helpless shrug, he left her. As soon as he’d gone, she slipped off the bed and opened the door again quietly. Edward had been waiting anxiously in the hall and his voice reached her.
‘Would you like to come in here for a moment, Doctor?’
She stole out onto the landing and down the stairs. No one was about. Carefully she put her ear against the closed sitting-room door.
‘To be honest,’ the doctor was saying, ‘this is hardly my province. Physically she’s tense and run-down, but nothing to cause undue concern, but mentally—I don’t know. She appears lucid and even rational, yet some of the things she said point strongly to schizophrenia.’
‘Oh, God!’ Caroline’s voice was high and shaking.
‘But you said she seemed quite normal!’ Edward broke in sharply.
‘That’s just the point. Schizophrenia is a personality split. One half would seem entirely normal, the other—well, it would depend.’
‘Is she dangerous?’ Caroline demanded hysterically.
Laura moved away without waiting for his reply. She had been dangerous once, to Caroline; or rather, Noel had. Was she Noel? Split personality. It seemed a fair conclusion, though she herself knew it wasn’t split but dual, two distinct and independent minds vying for position in one body.
It was suddenly imperative that she should see Lewis. She let herself soundlessly out of the house, keeping well over to the right of the drive, out of sight of the sitting-room windows. The warm September air touched her face, soothing her, as she hurried along the road trying to work out what had really happened that afternoon.
It had all been so clear at the time. They were at West Point and she was thinking how tall and strong Clark looked, with the sunlight glinting on his row of medals. How could a lorry suddenly have loomed up on the parade ground? No wonder she hadn’t been expecting it.
Clark’s picture filled her mind—the iron-grey, slightly curly hair, the straight, fierce eyebrows and clear, honest blue eyes. How could she desert him when he was badly wounded and needed her so much? Lewis must be made to understand.
The trees and village green of Brocklehurst quivered and wavered in front of her eyes like reflections in a deep pool of water ruffled by a passing wind. She must go to Lewis. She had no idea where she was, but somehow she would find him. Laura, do go away and stop distracting me!
She began to run, stumbling along blindly, bumping into the rough stone walls, twisting her ankle on the uneven cobbles. Would he ever understand how hard it was for her to turn him away?
‘Just one more evening together,’ he had said. And it really would have to be the last, because the plane had already left Saigon. She had refused to listen when Clark had warned her, all those years ago, that one day she might fall for someone nearer her own age. She had insisted, and implicitly believed, that he was all she would ever want. And, to be honest, her position as his wife had appealed to her strongly, with all the attendant respect and privileges. Clark Balfour was well-known and liked throughout the States long before the war in Vietnam had brought him world-wide fame, having distinguished himself in the Second World War under Eisenhower. And again, she had always considered herself too cool, too reserved ever to be passionately in love with anyone. How could she have known that when love finally came to her it would prove so strong, so indestructible as to transcend time and space and death itself?
Death? She stumbled to a halt, frowning and gasping for breath. Why had she suddenly thought of death? Because all at once she felt so strange and ill, and the steering wheel wouldn’t respond under her hands.
Lewis—She couldn’t turn her head to look at him, but in an intuitive flash, she knew he had no intention of helping her. Lewis!
The anguished cry, whe
ther it was in her head or shouted aloud, jerked her spiralling attention back to the present and she found herself panting and dishevelled outside a tiny cottage. Wonderingly, she looked back along the way she had unknowingly come. With no recollection of how she had arrived here, she pushed feebly at the door in front of her and it swung open. And then all was well because somehow Lewis was here, had gathered her up with a low cry and carried her to the small leather sofa, rocking her in his arms. Somehow, incredibly, she had come home.
At one point during the hours that followed, the telephone sounded shrilly and he stretched out an arm to it.
‘What? Yes, of course she’s here! Where else would she be? What the hell have you been doing to her? No—’ His voice sharpened. ‘Please don’t. I’ll bring her back myself when she’s calmer. My God, Hardy, I’ve some things to say to you!’
He dropped the phone back on its hook, cutting off the stream of argument that was still coming over the wire, and she nestled back in his arms contentedly. Outside the diamond paned windows the air was thickening bluely.
‘Darling—’ His breath was warm, and she lifted her face to it like a flower to the sun. ‘Could you manage a bowl of soup now if I get it for you?’
‘Yes, I’d like that.’ She was empty and lightheaded. When had she last eaten? At the motel? No, Edward—but who was Edward? She struggled through the wispy strands of confusion.
‘Stay here, then.’ He slid her gently off his knee onto the comfortable, sagging leather cushions of the sofa. She lay back, her eyes going dreamily over the old rafters and the little wooden staircase leading to the room above where, in a different existence, she had helped Lewis hang some drapes.
A wedge of light lay across the floor from the open kitchen door behind her and she could hear the clinking of crockery as he prepared the meal.
Suddenly a name struck into her mind out of nowhere, echoing like a vibrating chord. Paul? She pushed herself into a sitting position, trying to pinpoint an elusive memory, but Lewis was dragging over the small table and setting down on it two steaming bowls of soup, some crusty bread and a glass of milk. She let the memory slip away again and began to sip the liquid, her eyes on Lewis’s across the table.
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