Echoes of Darkness

by SIMS, MAYNARD

  David looked away, embarrassed, and turned back towards the piano, watching Heather standing there like someone in a dream.

  The piano was rising in volume as the piece built to a crescendo, and Heather was lost in a world of temples and geishas; a mythical, ancient country that bore little resemblance to the thrusting cities of modern-day Japan. In her mind she was standing in a Japanese garden, at the doorway of a temple, and imagined she could hear the chanting of monks mingling with the vibrant melody of the piano music. The chanting was drawing her into the cool interior. Candles flickered, and her footsteps echoed on the cold marble floor. A beaded curtain hung down in front of her, the beads painted with the same dragon motif that decorated Anna Otani's dress. Incense filled her nostrils, a heavy, pungent scent, heady and intoxicating.

  She moved forward, parting the curtain and finding herself standing at the top of a long stone staircase. Blackness below her, and water, an inky pool that reflected the light from the candles that were set in the wall. Her feet moved and she felt herself descending, down towards the pool. At the bottom of the steps she stopped, music and incense clouding her thoughts. Something slipped through the oily water, casting small ripples in its wake, something that circled once, then came on towards her.

  The music reached its coda and two black, sinewy arms broke the surface of the pool. Smooth, cool hands caressed her ankles, and then gripped, tugging at her urgently, wanting her to enter the pool. She started to let herself fall, giving in to the insistent demand.

  "Heather? Heather?"

  She opened her eyes. David was standing at her side, a drink in his hand. "Do you want another drink?" She heard the words but did not understand them. David's face drifted in and out of focus. She blinked twice and suddenly she was back in the morning room. Anna Otani was rising from the piano to a small round of applause from the guests.

  "Sorry," Heather said. "I was dreaming. Yes, another drink would be fine." David shook his head and went to pour her another gin and tonic.

  "Something pleasant, I hope." Anna had come from behind the piano.

  "Sorry?"

  "I heard you say to David that you were dreaming. I hope the music gave you pleasant dreams."

  "It was wonderful," Heather said.

  Anna took her by the arm and steered her through the other guests until she found a quiet spot in the room. Anna let go of her arm and turned to her. "Tell me, Heather, honestly, was my playing any good? The others have all heard me play before, and I suspect they clap more out of sympathy than appreciation. As a newcomer I'd welcome your opinion."

  "That was one of the most moving pieces of music I have ever heard," Heather said honestly. "I felt transported. I've never been to Japan in my life, but that piece of music, and the way you played it, took me there. Who wrote it?"

  Anna smiled and lowered her eyes. "I did."

  "Do you juggle?"

  "Pardon?"

  Heather returned the smile. "It doesn't matter. Where's Simon? I haven't seen him since we came down."

  "That's a very good question. I'd better go and find him. He's neglecting his guests badly. It's very rude of him."

  Anna swept from the room. Heather watched her go with disappointment. She was enjoying the conversation and she was flattered that Anna had placed such importance on her own opinion.

  David poured gin into Heather's glass and added tonic and ice. He watched Heather and Anna deep in conversation. They seemed to be hitting it off well, which pleased him, but he had reservations. He tried to examine his feelings but they were elusive, slipping away from cogent thought. He tried, and failed, to pin down what exactly it was that was bothering him about Anna Otani, but there was something.

  "You're young Aylwin, aren't you?"

  He turned to see a large, elderly man at his shoulder. Ruddy faced with an atrociously bad toupee crowning his head. "Yes," he said. "David Aylwin. I'm sorry, have we met before?"

  "Not to my knowledge, but then after two or three of these," he held up a half-full tumbler of whisky, "I could meet the queen and not remember a bloody thing about it the next day. Alcohol does that to me, turns my brain to porridge. Arthur Graham, Simon's solicitor." He held out a clammy hand and David shook it.

  "So how do you know me?"

  "The family photo album. `Simon and David sailing on the Solent', `Simon and David walking in the Brecon Beacons', `Simon and David at their graduation'. Jane was very proud of her boys. That's what she called you and Simon, `her boys'. I was her and Freddy's solicitor too, and quite often I'd come here on some business or another and out would come the family snap-shots. I feel I watched you grow up first hand."

  "Jane was a fine woman," David said, keen to talk about his surrogate mother. "You knew her well?"

  "Knew them both for years. Freddy and I were like brothers. Played golf together, had the same handicap. And Jane was a jewel, a treasure, so tolerant...and being married to Freddy she had a lot to tolerate. Bloody sad loss, them both going like that. Mind you, I always blamed that new chauffeur of theirs. Drunk you know. Why they got rid of old Rider and replaced him with that Japanese bod was beyond me. Surly little devil. Never spoke to me once in the three months he was with them. Probate was a nightmare, of course. Freddy had his fingers in so many pies. Took a lot of hours pulling all the strands together."

  "I was never actually sure what he did."

  Graham took a gulp of his whisky and pulled a blue handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at his perspiring brow. "A bit of this, a bit of that." He tapped the side of his nose with an index finger and winked broadly. "Nothing illegal you understand, but Freddy was always very shrewd, a bloody sharp businessman. I envied him, truth be told."

  "He was quite a character, but Jane..."

  "Oh he was. I see a lot of him in Simon, but I've always felt that Simon lacked Freddy's killer instinct when it came to business. You see Freddy would have known how to handle that bloody pearl farm fiasco. He would have banged a few heads together and got things sorted. He certainly wouldn't have gone off cap in hand to that shark Otani."

  David looked at him quizzically. "Sorry?"

  Arthur Graham frowned. "Oh bugger, thought you knew about that, thought he would have told you, being his best friend. Look, forget I said anything. That's another bloody curse of alcohol, loosens my tongue too much." Graham excused himself and went back to his wife, a diminutive woman with hatchet features and a dowager's hump.

  "Is something wrong?" Heather asked him as he returned with her drink. "You look angry about something. Who was that man you were talking to?"

  "Simon's solicitor, although at some time over this weekend I'll be advising him to find a new one. The man's a lush and has a big mouth."

  "What did he say?"

  "Nothing important." David swallowed the rest of his whisky and shook his head. "Two years can be a very long time between friends," he said morosely. "You think you know someone..." He was starting to feel that in the time Simon had been in Japan, their friendship had disintegrated. It was still evident on the surface. The smiles, the gestures, the bonhomie, and, to any casual observer, the relationship looked as strong as it always was. But David recognised the shift that had taken place between himself and Simon. His friend had once abhorred secrets and had always insisted on David's total candour and honesty. And yet now, within the space of an hour, two elements of Simon's life had been revealed that David knew nothing about. Moreover, it appeared that Simon had deliberately kept his business troubles and his engagement to Anna from him.

  David felt a growing sense of unease; as if their friendship was nothing more than a handful of sand that was gradually slipping out through his clenched fist.

  "Anna is lovely, isn't she?" Heather said.

  "I haven't really spoken to her," David said non-committally. He did not want to share his thoughts about Simon with Heather. He felt he did not know her well enough to divulge such intimate feelings, also he did not feel she would understand his misgivi
ngs. He was finding it hard enough to understand them himself.

  From the hall came the sound of a bell chiming. Guests moved towards the door. Heather threaded her arm through David's. "I'm starving," she said. "I'm really looking forward to this."

  David said nothing but led her through to the dining room. His appetite had deserted him. His stomach felt queasy and the palms of his hands were sticky with sweat. He was starting to have a very bad feeling about this weekend.

  In the dining room Simon listened to the sound of conversation and laughter coming from the next room. He circled the table, adjusting knives and forks, nudging cruet into symmetrical patterns and checking wineglasses for smears. His irritation flared as he noticed a knife with a water spot staining its blade, and he used a napkin to remove it, setting the piece of cutlery back on the table exactly parallel to its partner. The evening was mild and he went across to the french-doors and opened them a fraction, staring out at the deeply shadowed garden, to the orchard where earlier something had moved furtively through the trees. He checked his watch. Five minutes until this room would be filled with the social niceties of a perfectly planned dinner party.

  He felt sick and wondered if he would be able to eat. The smells from the kitchen were mouth-watering but even these failed to tempt him. He had a great regard for David Aylwin, loved him like a brother, very much aware that his own parents had treated David like another son, but admiring and respecting him in his own right as well. And Heather seemed charming, certainly the beauty of her face was echoed in her personality. She and David seemed well suited; which only served to heighten the bitterness Simon Desborough felt about his own circumstances. He longed to find a woman who loved him without reservation, to have an unencumbered relationship with someone whose hopes and aspirations mirrored his own. He thought about Anna Otani and a wave of despair swept through him.

  He spun round as he heard a noise behind him, and found himself staring into Anna's beautiful face.

  "Your friends are missing you," she said.

  He shrugged and turned back to the table.

  Anna continued. "I don't think David likes me very much, but Heather is very sweet, innocent, very susceptible." She watched his back stiffen.

  "I don't suppose you've reconsidered?" he said.

  She laughed. Then the laughter stopped abruptly. When she spoke again the tone was cold. "Even now, you haven't grasped it, have you? My family take the bargains we make very seriously." She reached for his shoulder and turned him around to face her. "You would do well to remember that."

  Akira entered the room hesitantly. Anna swept past him without a glance. The old man stood before Simon, his features immobile, the eyes dead, stagnant pools of nothingness. The eyes flicked towards the dining table.

  Simon understood the meaning of the look. "Very well, Akira. Ring the bell and call them in to dinner. Let's get this bloody charade under way."

  He watched the old man shuffle from the room and gave the table a final check, feeling a desolate sadness well up inside him as he realised that all his hopes for a life partner, for a lover, for a wife were nothing but pipe-dreams. A chance meeting in a Kyoto bar had robbed him of a future that would be anything other than total misery.

  He heard the chime of the dinner bell, followed by the sounds of doors opening and the murmurs of continued conversations. He adjusted his tie, tried to shake off the all pervading gloom, and prepared to welcome his guests to dinner.

  Anna Otani sat at one end of the dining table, flanked by her father and Heather. Simon sat at the opposite end between Arthur Graham and a woman who had been introduced briefly to David as Daphne Rogers, a local JP. David had been isolated in the centre of the table, opposite the pale young woman with the crippled hands, whose name he still did not know, whilst her husband sat to David's left, concentrating stiffly on his meal and making no attempt at conversation.

  "So, Heather," Anna said between mouthfuls of the main course. "Simon tells me that you're an artist."

  Heather laughed uncomfortably. "Is that what David told him?" She paused and took a sip of her wine; her mouth had gone dry and she felt unaccountably nervous. She had always hated talking about herself, and in the presence of the Otani's, it would be even more of a trial. Just what had David told them? That she had flunked out of art college after only one year, that her paintings had been described by one of the tutors as lifeless daubs, without a whit of passion or skill? Is that what he had told them? She doubted it. "David exaggerates wildly about most things." Simon's words echoed in her mind. Oh God! "Well, I did go to art college, but if I relied on my art to support myself I think I'd end up starving in a garret."

  "Hardship builds character," Shinjiro Otani said. "Many great painters have endured years of suffering for their art."

  "I'm afraid I'm not the enduring kind," Heather said honestly. "I enjoy my creature comforts too much. At the moment I'm working in an advertising agency; the work is fairly bland but the salary pays the bills. I still paint, but I would never describe myself as an artist. What you do, Anna, that's art. I'd love to have that kind of power; to be able to evoke such deep emotions in people."

  Anna stopped eating and pushed her plate away from her. "You do yourself an injustice, Heather. I suspect you are a very fine artist. As for power, I think that we all have that to a lesser or greater degree. Had you not the talent, you would never have been accepted at art college."

  "Agreed," her father said. "Because you chose to put material security before your art does not mean you deny the artist in your soul. You are what you are, and that can never change."

  "What about you, Anna?" Heather said, eager to divert the conversation away from herself. The neglect of her art had been the subject of too many long hours of guilt-ridden introspection.

  "I work for my father," Anna replied.

  "Anna is my right hand," Otani said. "She trained at the Harvard Business School, graduated with honours. It made her family very proud."

  "So you lived in America?" she said to Anna. "I thought your accent might be..."

  "My wife was American," Otani interrupted. "I was working as a consultant to an oil company when I met Anna's mother. We fell in love, and when my contract finished and it was time to go back to Japan, I could not bear to be parted from her. I stayed in America, we married, and Anna was born a year later. Only when my wife died did we choose to return to Japan. At such a testing time there is great comfort in the traditions and familiarity of one's homeland.

  "In the United States I was an outsider; there was no history I could call my own. Japan beckoned and, when we returned there, it welcomed me home like the prodigal son."

  "And you, Anna," Heather said. "Surely you were born and raised as an American? Weren't you afraid you might miss your friends?"

  Anna dabbed at her lips with a napkin. "My family are my friends, and I always considered myself to be Japanese, never American."

  "Ours is a very powerful culture, Heather," Otani said. "It exerts a very strong pull over those that leave its shores, always calling them back, always calling."

  David was slowly getting drunk. He was following the conversation and becoming more and more irritated by Otani's pomposity. "And yet here you are in England," he interjected, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Isn't the old mother country calling you back yet?"

  Heather glared at him furiously.

  Otani handled the interruption smoothly. "I am here for my daughter, and to conduct a little business in London. My stay will last only a few days. It is just a happy coincidence that Simon should decide to hold this dinner party at a time when I am in your country. Otherwise I should have been denied the pleasure of meeting you and your charming and beautiful companion." He turned to the others, shifting in his seat and presenting David with his back, effectively dismissing him from the conversation.

  David fumed at the slight. A shark, Arthur Graham had said, and David could see the analogy perfectly. Otani's eyes were flat, lifeless and
black as onyx. The hair was oiled and slicked back and when he smiled he bared his teeth, a grimace not a smile. A shark indeed.

  Heather was still staring hotly at him. He shrugged nonchalantly and poured himself another glass of wine. Eventually Anna spoke to her again and Heather tore her eyes away from David and turned with a smile to her hostess.

  The meal ended traditionally with port and cognac. Two of the men lit cigars. Anna Otani rose from the table and said to the other women, "Shall we leave the men to their port?" There was ready agreement from the other women, including Heather who folded her napkin and got to her feet, her eyes avoiding David's. The pale young woman said nothing, but searched her partner's face for permission to leave the table. He gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head and she rose to join the others.

  On their way through to the morning room Anna linked her arm through Heather's. "Do you ride?" she asked.

  "Ride?"

  "Simon has a wonderful stable here. I thought perhaps you and I could ride together tomorrow. I could show you the estate."

  Heather hesitated. "I'm not very good on a horse, and I don't have any riding clothes."

  "That's not a problem. I can lend you everything you need, and I don't envisage any two-mile gallops, just a gentle hack. I thought it might be a more pleasant way of getting around the estate."

  Heather thought about it for a moment. She had been appalled by David's rudeness to Anna's father. In all the time she had known him she had never witnessed that side of his personality. Viperish and nasty. It was obvious he was in some way jealous of the Otani's and their relationship with Simon, but there could be no excuse for making that jealousy so apparent. His behaviour at the dinner table was threatening to spoil the entire weekend.

  Taking herself off with Anna tomorrow would signal her displeasure with him more eloquently than any words. "I'd love to come," she said to Anna.