You don’t think it an achievement to take his body?
The voice was mildly amused.
Behind her back Phyllis transferred the small parcel to her right hand. Moving so fast Anna almost failed to see what was happening, the old woman tossed it swiftly towards her, at the same time diving towards the poker which had been lying on the hearth.
Anna did not wait to see what happened. She was into the hall in a moment, bottle in hand, pulling open the front door and diving towards her car. With a frantically revving engine and a shriek of tyres the car sped away from the hedge and disappeared up the road.
Behind her Phyllis was staring at the body of the man lying at her feet, blood pouring down his face into the carpet.
12
Where do I go?
Changing gear Anna pulled onto the main road.
What shall I do?
She gritted her teeth, desperately trying to steady her breathing.
Drive carefully. The roads are icy. Don’t be a fool. Calm down. He can’t reach you here.
The bottle was lying in the foot well on the passenger side where she had thrown it. She couldn’t see it in the dark, but she could hear the bubble wrap rustling as the car swung round the corners.
What had happened to Phyl? Was she all right? What would he have done when he realised he had been thwarted? Oh please God, take care of her. Don’t let him hurt her.
She drove on. She didn’t know where she was going, all she knew was that she had to get rid of the bottle. Once and for all. Water. She had to find some water and throw the bottle into it. That would be the best thing to do. See it sink without trace. Deep water. Bottomless water which would suck it down for ever. Weight it down with something. Make sure it could never float to the surface again.
Her brain was working frantically as she threw the car down the narrow winding roads. She needed to go east, towards the sea. Which way? Her mind had gone blank suddenly. All she could think was:
Bring it back. Bring it back. Bring it back now!
The voice in her head was not hers.
‘No!’
She clamped her hands on the wheel until her knuckles went white. She was speaking out loud now. ‘Never! You can’t have it! Toby, fight him. Please fight him. Oh Toby!’ She shook her head angrily as her eyes filled with tears. How could this be happening? She had loved Toby, she realised it now. Really loved him. She had thought he was the one who would make her happy at last. And Carstairs, bloody, vicious, awful, DEAD, Lord Carstairs was taking him away from her.
But Toby wasn’t here. That voice had been in her own head. Not Toby’s. Oh dear God, what was she going to do?
She was heading towards the A14 now and almost without realising she had done it she swung the car onto the eastbound carriageway, heading towards the coast. She put her foot flat to the floor and felt the car gather speed alarmingly as she tried to put distance between herself and the source of the mocking voice in her head. Before her the road stretched away empty, leading towards the sea.
In the back seat a shadowy form had begun to materialise, invisible against the black upholstery. She didn’t hear the quiet chuckle above the sound of the screaming engine.
13
‘Are you OK?’ Phyllis bent anxiously over Toby’s recumbent form. He groaned, somehow forcing his eyes open to see the old woman in the red dressing gown standing over him, the poker still in her hand.
‘What happened?’ He put his hand to his forehead and brought it away, sticky with blood.
‘I’m afraid I hit you with the poker. Or at least, I didn’t hit you, I hit Lord Carstairs.’
Toby blinked. Somehow he forced himself into a sitting position. ‘How did I get downstairs?’
‘You walked, my dear.’ Phyllis lowered the poker, satisfied that the rightful owner was once more in charge of his body. ‘You were sleep walking. Your eyes were closed. You woke up but then somehow he seemed to overwhelm you again. I had to hit you. You were trying to get the bottle from Anna.’
‘Anna?’ He looked round. ‘Oh God! I remember now. Did I hurt her? Where is she?’
‘She’s gone. She’s all right, but if I had any doubts before about what you said had happened to you, I have none now. It was awful. Frightening. It was not you I hit.’ She shook her head ruefully. ‘But even so, I might have killed you. I don’t know my own strength. I’m so sorry.’
‘So Anna got away?’
She nodded. ‘And I don’t know where she’s gone so there is no point in asking me.’ She frowned. ‘Do you think I ought to call the doctor. Perhaps you need a CT scan or something.’
He laughed – then winced. ‘I doubt that. I’ve got a tough head. I might need a psychiatrist, but not a doctor.’ Levering himself onto his feet he groped for a chair. ‘Did I threaten her? I can’t believe this is happening to me. I love her.’
‘So do I, Toby.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘And I don’t know what to do. She’s safe for the moment. That’s the main thing.’
‘I hope to God she gets rid of that damn bottle. Permanently.’
‘She’s afraid to. She’s afraid that will unleash some awful curse upon the world.’
‘I’m far more afraid that it will release some awful curse upon her. Oh, God! I wish I could speak to her.’ He paused. ‘Mobile! Has she got a mobile?’
Phyllis shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
‘How stupid! I should have her number. I should have asked her. Who would know?’
She shook her head.
‘There must be someone! Her father? She told me about her father.’
‘With whom she doesn’t get on. No, Toby, let it be. Anna is safe now, wherever she is. For the time being it is better if she is as far away from you as possible.’
The Orwell Bridge. She was heading towards the Orwell Bridge, that soaring arc of white concrete flying high above the river which divided Essex from Suffolk. Anna smiled. At last, as her fear abated, a plan was taking shape in her mind. The river was deep in the centre; it must be. Deep, and its bed must be mud. Thick black mud which would contain whatever was in the bottle absolutely and completely for ever. It was there she would throw it to its final resting place.
The decision made, she pushed the car harder, concentrating on the road rolling out in front of her, unaware of the restless anger building in the seat behind.
A woman’s body. At first the idea had been exciting; titillating even. A curiosity. Something to be enjoyed; played with. But now he was not so sure. She was beautiful – in some ways not unlike her great-great grandmother, the woman who had so teased and angered and enticed him. But she had a different energy. She was stronger; isolated there inside her head. The love she had harboured for Toby had been reined in, fenced off, and in the fencing, he was not sure that there were any gaps so that he could slip inside her head as he had done so easily with his own great-great grandson. He had spent too long in the dark. His strength and his focus had waned. But that would change. His frustration was growing, and with it his substance.
On the back seat of the car the shadows deepened. They were taking on a shape. If Anna glanced in the mirror she would see it now. She didn’t. Her eyes were fixed on the empty road. Several lorries hurtled by on the opposite carriageway, heading for the Midlands. She didn’t see them. She was feeling sleepy. The exhaustion of the last days; the wakeful nights and nightmares, the lack of sleep, were catching up with her.
Carstairs was concentrating on Anna’s thoughts. He sensed her tiredness; it made her vulnerable. Weak. Soon she would be defenceless. He was only marginally aware that they were travelling at some speed; that he was seated in some sort of horseless carriage which was travelling faster than he would have believed possible. It was not until her eyelids drooped and the car began to veer across the empty road that he realised the danger.
At the last moment, her eyes flew open and her hands wrenched the wheel straight as a vicious shot of adrenaline knifed through her stomach. Carstairs f
elt the fear; he saw the danger through her eyes. He heard the small parcel roll around in the front of the car. He smiled.
‘Shit!’ Anna banged the steering wheel with the flat of her hand. ‘Be careful, you idiot!’ She was talking to herself again. Clutching the wheel tightly she concentrated on the road and now at last she glanced up into the driving mirror. The back of the car was in darkness, her passenger only shadows. She noticed nothing unusual as she drove on.
Ahead she saw a lay-by signposted. She swung the wheel and pulled in. Drawing to a halt she locked the doors and sat with her head back against the head rest, breathing deeply. She was shaking all over. A short nap. She must have a short nap. She couldn’t keep her eyes open.
On the floor beside her a tiny drop of moisture seeped slowly through the bubble wrap, spread across the shiny bumpy plastic and was absorbed by the carpet of the car. Inside the wrapping, in the warm darkness, the crack in the glass bloomed with another thin line of liquid. The life force of the ages was beginning to run out. The priests, hovering over the lay-by, were losing their power.
Anna’s eyes closed. This time she didn’t open them again. She felt safe now that she had stopped. Her breathing slowed. Behind her the shadowy figure leaned forward. Anna didn’t feel the light brush of his finger through her hair.
As the level of her sleep deepened she began to dream. Her bedroom was dark, her nightgown light as a feather, her feet bare. She was standing at the window, looking out into her small back garden. It was lit by brilliant moonlight and in the distance she could see the arched glitter of her small fountain, playing quietly into the pond, where bright concentric ripples spread out into the darkness at its rim. On the lawn she could see two wispy figures, one dressed in shadowed white, one in the skin of an animal. Hatsek and Anhotep. The priests of Sekhmet and of Isis, the would-be guardians of the little bottle, the men who had followed it through aeons of time. Their power was waning. They could feel it and they were angry. They turned as though sensing her watching them and she felt the strength of their impotent fury as a knife blade in her heart. With a gasp she staggered backwards, away from the window. Hands gripped her shoulders. Don’t be afraid. They can’t hurt you. Not any more.
She gave a small cry of surprise and fear as the hands tightened, stopping her from turning round to face him. She felt warm breath on the nape of her neck. You are safe here, my dear. Quite safe. I won’t let them come near you.
‘How can you stop them?’ She could feel him behind her. He was taller than her and very strong. Now she could feel warm lips on her neck. She tried to struggle free but she couldn’t move.
Surely you would rather speak to me than with them.
His hands slid forward to her breasts, caressing her, feeling for the buttons on the front of the nightgown, one by one slipping them free of their embroidered loops. The garment, feather-light silk, was slipping off her shoulders and she could do nothing to stop it.
‘Please. Who are you?’
There was a quiet laugh. Don’t you know?
He was turning her to face him and she found herself looking up into his eyes. The dark, handsome face looking down into hers was that of a stranger. He bent to press his lips against hers and she felt desire knife through her body. Behind her in the garden the moon vanished behind a curtain of cloud. The two wispy figures on the lawn faded.
She was behaving like a harlot, unable to control herself, pressing her body against his, feeling every line of muscle in his tall frame, hungrily reaching for his lips as his hands roamed her hot eager body …
In the distance a loaded container lorry heading for the coast thundered towards her. As it raced past the lay-by her car shook and rocked. Anna awoke with a start in time to see the tail lights retreating into the distance. She blinked hard, pushing herself up in the seat. The buttons of her blouse were undone, her skin was on fire. It was almost as if …
She groped for the dream but it was gone.
With a yawn she stretched. Then she reached for the ignition. She didn’t hear the quiet exultant laugh from the back seat.
14
Passing Ipswich Anna drove on, ahead of her the Orwell Bridge and beyond it the road to Felixstowe. When she drew up at last at the side of the road it was on the apex of the bridge. Exhausted, she sat for a moment, staring out of the windscreen at the empty road ahead. From the car she couldn’t see the river, only the expanse of road stretching away ahead; the central reservation; the parapets on either side. They didn’t look high. She should be able to see over. Taking a deep breath she bent and fumbled for the parcel. It had rolled under the passenger seat and for a moment she couldn’t find it. Swearing under her breath, she leant across the handbrake and the gear lever, her fingers groping frantically in the darkness, encountering nothing more than empty space beneath the seat.
Behind her, the shadow that was Lord Carstairs stirred. She did not notice.
‘Damn! Where is it?’ She leaned further across the seat. And then her fingers closed around the bubble wrap. It rustled under her touch and for a fraction of a second she drew back. Had Carstairs somehow conjured a snake to guard the bottle as he had on their boat on the Nile? Was it possible that now, here on the Orwell Bridge, there was a cobra, coiled around the bottle to prevent her from throwing it into the water? There was no snake. Almost as she thought it her fingers encountered the small parcel again. It was wedged in the far corner beneath some integral part of the seat. Gently she waggled it free, her fingers slipping on the wet paper, and then she had it. She didn’t pause to wonder why it was damp; wonder where those few drops of moisture had come from. She didn’t hear the anguished wailing from the shadows around her in the dark above the car or suspect that the guardian priests were nearing the end of their strength. Sitting up triumphantly she opened the car door and stepped out into the road. An icy wind whipped past her as she walked around the front of the car, stepped over the low metal traffic barrier and leaned against the parapet, looking down. The water was a long way below, just visible in the darkness.
Don’t do it.
The voice at her elbow made her cry out in fear.
Don’t dare to commit such sacrilege. You will take this bottle back to Scotland. To my house. There you and I will make use of it as I planned all along.
Anna stared round, terrified. The wind was tearing at her hair, her coat, bringing tears to her eyes. There was no one there. No one in sight. A lorry rattled past in the fast lane, with horn blaring, then she was alone again on the deserted bridge. The voice had not come from inside her head. It was real. External. Coming from the dark recesses of the night.
‘Who is it? What do you want with me?’ But of course she knew. Clutching the bottle she peered round desperately, trying to see him. ‘Where are you? You bastard! How did you get here?’ Terrified she turned to face the road. There were no cars or lorries in sight, no pedestrians. The road was completely empty again.
My great-great grandson proved weak and ineffectual. The voice echoed in her head. She couldn’t see where it was coming from. He wanted to protect you. How stupidly gallant of him, and how convenient that you should have given him the slip so effectively! And, there was a short pause, that we should get on so well.
How could he be speaking to her, close to her, in her ear, and yet she couldn’t see him? She turned round again, her eyes darting from left to right, frantically trying to see shadows where there were none, trying to see a figure where there was no one to see. Below the bridge the black was deeper, more opaque above the clear reflective darkness of the river. The night was suddenly very silent. ‘Go away!’ Her voice came out as a broken whisper. ‘Go away, leave me alone.’
Scotland, Miss Shelley! If you please.
‘Where are you? I can’t see you.’
You don’t need to see me.
‘I do. I am not getting into the car with a passenger I can’t see.’
There was a quiet laugh, nothing but a whisper in the silence. You brought
me here, Miss Shelley.
‘If I did, it was without knowing it.’ Dear God, he had been there in the car behind her as she drove. As she stopped in the lay-by. As she dreamed. She gave a small cry of horror. ‘I may have brought you here, but I am not taking you any further. This is where it stops. This is where everything stops.’ She raised the bottle in her hand, moving towards the parapet. ‘This ends now.’
But someone had grabbed her wrist, wrestling with her, holding her arm with iron fingers. She could feel them grinding her bones, she could feel him next to her, smell the sudden waxy perfume of the pomade he wore in his hair, she could feel the enormous strength of the man overwhelming her.
But she couldn’t see him. There was no one there. She was alone on the bridge in the dark wrestling with an invisible figure. The man from her dream. He was the man in her dream. It was all coming back to her now. The smell of his pomade was filling her nostrils. It had been Lord Carstairs tearing off her nightdress, caressing her breasts. His breath on her neck. His whisper in her ear. Her face grew hot. She had wanted him so badly. She wanted him now.
Desperately she tried to wrench herself free. But he was dragging her away from the edge. Somehow he was pulling her back towards the car. ‘You bastard!’ she sobbed, struggling violently. ‘Let me go. This isn’t happening. How can it be. Let me go!’
He was stronger than she was by a long way. She couldn’t fight him. Somehow he thrust her back through the open door of the car and it closed behind her with a slam.
Scotland! The voice was in the car with her. She sat behind the wheel panting. Tears were running down her face. Throwing the bottle down on the seat beside her she stared round the car, turning to scan the back seat. It was empty.
‘Where are you?’
There was no answer.
‘Are you there?’ She was trembling; her own voice was a whisper.
Silence.
Was he still there? She didn’t know. She could hear nothing. Smell nothing. The car was empty. Still.
Sands of Time Page 31