Distant Voices

by Barbara Erskine

  He sighed. ‘Of course you can leave, Kate. In the morning. I’ll drive you to the airport myself if it will make you feel happier, and you can take the first plane back home then. I promise.’

  And with that I had to be content.

  As soon as I decently could I excused myself and made my way to my bedroom, conscious of several pairs of eyes following me as I left the terrace and disappeared into the house. For a moment I wondered if anyone would follow me, but I was alone as I made my way through the darkened rooms to the stairs. Only then did I allow myself to run. I fled towards my room, finding to my relief that there was a key in the lock, and turning it, I slipped it under my pillow.

  I kept telling myself that my suspicions were unfounded; that I was becoming paranoid if I thought Richard intended to find some way of forcing me to sign his wretched piece of paper, but I could not rid myself of my strange terror. Some instinct told me that I was in danger and nothing I could do would dispel it.

  I had been in bed for less than twenty minutes trying to make myself relax between the cool peach-coloured silk sheets when I heard a knock at the door. I sat up, my heart thumping with terror, and clutched the sheet tightly to my throat. ‘Who is it?’ I whispered.

  There was no answer, but as I watched, horrified, I saw the handle turn and heard a key in the lock on the outside. Whoever was there had a duplicate of my own and was using it to enter the room.

  The door opened slowly and I saw the tall figure of the housekeeper silhouetted in the doorway.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ she said, ‘but Miss Sara would like to see you before you go to sleep.’

  To my relief she had not made a move to enter the room.

  ‘As you see I am already in bed,’ I said, defiantly trying to keep my voice steady. ‘Perhaps you would tell her I’ll see her in the morning.’

  ‘She would like to see you now,’ the woman repeated mechanically, and there was something in her tone which defied argument. With a sigh I reached for my robe and pulled it on. I could not think what Sara Dashwood could possibly have to say to me.

  I followed Edith Marlesford down several passages until we reached a door. She knocked on it once, then left me.

  There was a murmur from behind the door and I pushed it open and went in.

  Sara, dressed in a short nightdress which left nothing to the imagination, was lounging on a huge double bed, a glass in her hand which she waved at me languidly as she saw me.

  ‘Come in and close the door,’ she said.

  I did so, staring round me in astonishment, half expecting to see Richard there, but she was alone. The walls of her room were hung with deep red silk and the bed itself repeated the colour in a darker shade. The only relief came from the windows which were wide open onto the garden so the moonlight flooded into the room.

  She sat up and put down the glass. ‘You’ll have to sign, you know,’ she said.

  I was staring at her in horrified fascination. The long elegant arms and legs curled languidly on the soft covers and her flaming hair hung provocatively over the low neckline of her nightdress.

  ‘May I ask why it should interest you what I do?’ I said, pulling myself together with an effort. I felt as little as a rabbit must feel confronted by a snake.

  ‘Everything that interests Richard interests me,’ she said softly. She smiled. ‘If he wants your land, he’ll get it one way or the other, believe me.’

  I felt a return of my earlier fear, but I was determined not to show it. Tearing my eyes away from hers I walked across to the window and stared out.

  ‘He’s going to be unlucky this time,’ I said firmly. ‘That land means too much to me to sell it, and you can tell him as much.’

  ‘Then you’re a fool!’ The scorn in her voice was like a whiplash. ‘You’re no match for him!’

  Was it jealousy, I wondered, which made her so hostile? Well, however possessive she was, she had no need to fear me; there was no way I ever wanted to see my cousin Richard again.

  I opened my mouth to say so, but she had risen from the bed in one sinuous movement and came to stand beside me. ‘Do as he asks, Kate Parrish,’ she hissed, her green eyes glinting in the moonlight. ‘Otherwise something unpleasant could happen. You might have an accident and be found floating face down in the pool, or you might find yourself cornered in some lonely New York street and beaten up! It’s happened before, you know.’

  I gasped. ‘You’re not serious,’ I said weakly. ‘You’re just trying to frighten me. He would never do such a thing!’

  She gave me a withering look and then she smiled, a long beautiful smile which left me chilled to the marrow. ‘Richard does anything he likes,’ she said huskily. ‘Do you want to know how you’d look when he’d finished with you?’ Before I could speak she reached down and with one quick movement she had pulled her flimsy nightdress up and over her head. She flung it on the floor and stood before me naked, the moonlight shining coldly on her ivory skin. Her body was disfigured with bruises.

  For one whole minute I could not drag my eyes away from the marks on her flesh, then I was running for the door. Appalled and terrified I was afraid I was going to be sick as I heard her laughter echoing up the passage behind me. I fled back to my room, slammed the door and locked it with shaking hands. Then, taking no chances, I wedged the back of a chair beneath the handle before I staggered trembling to the telephone.

  I misdialled twice before I reached Chris.

  ‘Kate? Do you know what time it is, for Chrissake?’ he said as I sobbed his name into the receiver.

  ‘Chris! Chris, you must come and fetch me, please,’ I begged.

  ‘Honey, it’s three in the goddam morning!’ he repeated patiently. ‘Look, I couldn’t even get to you for three or four hours. You’ve had a nightmare, Katie. Come on now, calm down!’ He was beginning to sound irritated. ‘If you hate it there so much leave, okay? Take the first shuttle out of Boston in the morning and I’ll meet you at the airport. No sweat. Now go back to bed, Kate!’

  There was no point in arguing. I knew he did not believe me. Trembling I climbed back into bed and pulled the bedclothes tightly round me. But I could not sleep a wink. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see were those livid bruises on Sara’s pale skin.

  The first tentative rays of light were beginning to steal across the carpet when someone tried my door-handle once more. Somehow I stopped myself from screaming out loud as I crawled, aching, from the bed.

  ‘Who is it?’ I stammered.

  There was a faint knock. Then I heard a whisper. ‘Let me in, quickly. It is Jacqueline.’

  ‘What do you want?’ I answered suspiciously. I edged towards the door, my bare feet silent on the thick white carpet.

  ‘I want to help you. I can get you away.’

  Her voice, from the keyhole, sounded distant and very tired.

  Cautiously I pulled away the chair and put the key in the lock. Jacqueline was dressed in jeans and a thick roll-neck sweater, her dark hair pulled back severely from her face. Her skin was paper white and her eyes had a drawn, haunted look which was inexpressibly painful to see. She slipped into my room and pushed the door silently shut behind her.

  ‘Get dressed as quickly as you can,’ she ordered quietly. ‘My car is round the back.’

  I did not bother to argue. I wanted more than anything on earth to be out of that house. Grabbing my clothes I ran to the bathroom and dressed, then flinging my things into the cases I put on my thin coat and I was ready. She had been watching me silently and now, with her finger to her lips, she tiptoed towards the door.

  The corridor was deserted, and holding my breath I followed her through the sleeping house to the polished gleaming kitchens where the back door stood wide open. Outside stood a sleek red two-seater Mercedes. We climbed in without a word, pulling the doors closed silently, then she started the engine. I was sure the throaty roar would bring heads to every window in the house, but there was no sign of life as she swung
away, the gravel spurting beneath the wheels, and headed up the drive, the headlights cutting swathes of brightness through the fresh silent dawn.

  The gates opened at the touch of a button on her dashboard and then we were outside Bay View at last.

  Only then did I feel I could breathe. I leaned back on the pale leather upholstery with a sigh.

  ‘Why are you helping me?’ I asked at last.

  She did not take her eyes off the road, but I saw her knuckles whiten on the wheel. ‘Richard has ruined enough lives,’ she said briefly.

  ‘Won’t he be angry with you?’ I asked.

  She gave a harsh humourless laugh. ‘It doesn’t matter if he is. There is nothing more he can do to me,’ she said.

  Already the car was slowing down and she drew into the side. I saw we were on a lonely road which overlooked a sea that was grey and endlessly empty. She opened the door and got out.

  Then she bent and looked in at the window. ‘Take the car, Katherine,’ she said. ‘I shall walk back along the beach.’ She smiled for the first time. ‘Don’t let him catch up with you. He always ends up getting his way and it’s time someone stood up to him. Good luck.’

  Already she was threading her way down through the steeply growing undergrowth towards the shore. She did not look back, and I did not wait to watch her go. I had to put as many miles between myself and Richard Bradshaw as I could before he found out that I had gone.

  PART TWO

  Slipping across into the driver’s seat I started the engine and gingerly began to ease off the handbrake. The Merc was the fastest car I had ever driven and for a moment I was tempted to take it all the way to New York, but the traffic was becoming heavier, and my nervousness was increasing as I craned in the mirror, wondering if I had been missed. I headed straight for Boston in the end and the airport, where I abandoned the Mercedes and caught the first available flight to New York after phoning Chris to come and meet me. He was there too; dear, dependable solid Chris, ready by now to listen to my story but still not prepared to believe more than half of it.

  ‘Kate honey, Richard Bradshaw is as sound a businessman as I ever heard of,’ he said as he drove me into the city. ‘There is no way he’d resort to the sort of things you are describing.’ He laid a huge comforting hand on my knee. ‘Come on. You need a good night’s sleep, that’s all. You’ll see it differently when you’ve had a do’nut and some coffee.’ Chris’s universal panacea!

  He dropped me off at the apartment, then he swung away from the kerb, already late for a business appointment, leaving me to let myself in. Pushing open the door I stared round cautiously. There were flowers in the room; things had been moved.

  ‘Minna?’ I called. ‘Minna, are you there?’

  She was lying face down on her bed, her hair tumbled over her shoulders, and for one awful moment I thought she was dead. Then I saw her drag herself almost unwillingly to wakefulness.

  ‘Kate?’ she murmured blearily. ‘Are you all right?’

  We hugged each other in silence for a long time. Then, over black coffee, she told me her story.

  She too had been driven up to Bay View by Dave Conway in the beige Cadillac. She too had been ordered to sign over her inheritance. But she, eventually, had given in.

  ‘Richard’s a fiend, Kate,’ she said weakly. ‘He was so charming, so nice at first, then he changed completely. He became hard and cruel, and yet he was offering so much money.’ She looked at me earnestly. ‘More money than it was worth, Kate. And it’s not as if Kingley means as much to me as it does to you.’

  ‘I understand, Minna,’ I said. She looked so miserable and guilty. ‘I only wish we had never met him. Either of us!’

  She nodded mournfully. ‘If you really don’t want to sell you’ll have to get right away!’

  I stared at her. ‘I have got away,’ I said warily. ‘You don’t think he’ll try again?’

  But of course I knew in my heart he would. Our fight was only just beginning.

  She stood up pushing her hair off her face. ‘Kate, I think he’ll keep at you till he gets what he wants. He’s that kind of man. And he knows where you live so you’re not safe here any more.’ I could hear the hysteria in her voice. It was very near the surface.

  ‘What shall I do then?’ I asked, feeling her panic beginning to creep through me. She was right of course. I was no safer in this apartment than I had been in my locked bedroom at his house.

  It was my boss who solved the problem. Martin listened attentively to my story then he scratched his head.

  ‘It seems to me, Kate, that it is time you took a vacation,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Put yourself right out of his reach for a while. I can spare you a little now the series has finished. Why not take a month; that’ll give him a chance to simmer down. And while you’re there,’ he grinned knowingly, ‘you can do some preliminary research on our documentary.’

  I stared. ‘You mean I should go home? To Kingley?’

  ‘Where else?’ he said.

  Chris agreed with him, though I could see he still thought I was over-reacting, and so without giving myself time to think I went to Pan Am and booked my flight to England. Only when the huge jet was safely in the air would I be safe again.

  I settled back into my seat in relief the next day, looking out of the window at the beautiful misty morning and resolved, as the plane soared up over Long Island, that at last I could relax.

  It was as the stewardess was serving coffee that I happened to turn to look back down the aisle and my heart stopped beating. On the opposite side, two rows back, sat David Conway.

  He smiled at me apologetically. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Richard’s Orders. He didn’t want you getting lost or anything. Not before you’ve signed the documents, anyway …’

  Far below, the mist and cloud had vanished and I could see the sparkling blue miles of the Atlantic Ocean. Why had I ever thought Kingley would be safe? It was so obvious that I would go there and so obvious that he would follow.

  Dave kept close to me through customs and out into the huge concourse at Arrivals and there for a moment I thought I had lost him; but I wasn’t quick enough. As I scanned the ranks for an empty cab I felt a hand on my arm.

  ‘If you’re going to Kingley you might as well let me drive you,’ he said. ‘I’ve a hire car waiting for me, and it’ll be much easier.’

  Easier for whom, I wondered, but in the end I gave in. There was no point in pretending I wasn’t going home, and I had no real fear of Dave. It was my cousin Richard I was afraid of.

  With a sigh, I settled back on the smart leather upholstery and let him drive; he seemed to know his way round London and out into the dark countryside. Once I even felt myself doze off, worn out by the long journey, and was jerked into wakefulness only when we stopped at a service station for coffee. There, facing each other across a checked tablecloth, we talked about my cousin.

  ‘Is he really so hard?’ I asked, stirring my cup obsessively as I watched his face.

  He scratched his ear. ‘He’s a very clever businessman,’ he said.

  ‘And he’s ruthless?’ I prompted.

  He looked very serious. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘He’s probably the most ruthless man I’ve ever met. It doesn’t do to cross him. Many a tough opponent has discovered that.’

  Tougher than me, he was implying.

  ‘You make him sound a very unpleasant person,’ I said frankly. I could feel the almost familiar creep of fear playing over my skin once more, as it seemed to at every mention of Richard Bradshaw’s name.

  Dave shook his head. ‘No. You’ve met him and you know better than that,’ he replied. ‘He’s charming; he’s a good friend. The best. But he makes a bad enemy and,’ he looked up and held my gaze for a long moment, ‘Kate, in case you should get any ideas about it, he dislikes women.’

  I felt myself colour. I had found him attractive, I had to admit it. I swallowed nervously. ‘What about Jacqueline and Sara? For a man who hates women he has more t
han average under his own roof!’

  He gave a slow smile. ‘Perhaps women like him,’ he said cryptically.

  A sudden suspicion crossed my mind. ‘Are you telling me he’s gay?’ I asked.

  He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Oh no, Kate,’ he said. ‘He’s not that.’

  It was late when we reached Kingley and he dropped me off at the farm before driving on up to the old half-timbered manor house which now belonged to my cousin. One look at my father told me that I should never be able to confide my worries to him; he had grown so frail since I had seen him, his white hair a silver cloud around his head, his face paper white and thin as he greeted me. He drew me into the kitchen and made me a mug of hot milk and gradually the old house began to envelope me once more in its usual warm peace, so that for the remainder of that night I slept soundly for the first time since I had come across Richard Bradshaw.

  Next day I went up to the manor, approaching it with some trepidation, afraid that seeing it with Grandfather gone would be more than I could bear, but it was just the same, a huge rambling Elizabethan building, the small leaded windows letting in little light, and it was still pervaded with the faint scent of burning apple boughs and, perhaps, a little of my grandfather’s pipe.

  I was greeted with open arms by Hill, the butler, and Mrs Dawson, Grandfather’s cook-housekeeper, and was left in no doubt at once that they had no reservations about Grandfather’s will. ‘Of course we are all looking forward to meeting Mr Richard,’ Hill said slowly. ‘I hope that perhaps he will one day make his home here, but meanwhile he has appointed a first-class manager to take care of the estate.’ Mrs Dawson nodded agreement. ‘And that nice Mr Conway,’ she said beaming. ‘So American, Miss Kate, and so charming!’

  I smiled to myself. They were right about Dave and what was the point of worrying them with my doubts about Richard?

  I enjoyed the next few days enormously. The weather was heavenly and I took a horse each day from the Kingley stables and rode out across the land: my land, where the marshes stretched out towards the sea, ringed by woods hundreds of years old where the sunlight dappled through the young leaves onto carpets of bluebells. The air smelled of sweetness and salt and the warmth of the soft sunlight, and I blessed Minna for suggesting I came.