Kingdom of Shadows

by Barbara Erskine

  Doug’s face remained impassive. ‘No reason why they should find out.’ He hauled himself to his feet. ‘How much are you paying for the land?’

  Rex looked down at the desk. ‘The final figure isn’t agreed yet. Royland is going to take less than I offered. He’s afraid I’m going to back out.’ He smiled again. ‘He thinks he can push me up, but he’s wrong. I know one or two things about Mr Paul Royland and he is going to pay me to keep quiet about them!’

  Paul arrived back at Bucksters on Friday night. Clare was in the drawing room, sitting on the rug in front of the fire, listening to some music. Casta lay beside her, deeply asleep. The dog looked up and wagged her tail. She did not run to greet him.

  For a moment Paul stood looking down at them, his face expressionless. The market had dropped fifty points at close of dealing. It would go up, of course, and the Carstairs Boothroyd shares would soar next week, but still, the knowledge that he was £10,000 down so soon had made him very twitchy. He smiled at his wife. ‘How are you, darling?’

  Clare jumped to her feet. ‘Oh Paul, I have missed you.’ She put her arms around his neck and almost shyly she kissed him on the cheek. Talking to Zak about leaving Paul, facing the real possibility, she had backed away from the thought. ‘I’m glad you’re home.’

  He gave a tight half smile. ‘I’ve brought you a present from Switzerland.’ He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an envelope. ‘A peace offering. I’ve been less than understanding lately, Clare. I’m sorry.’ He handed it to her awkwardly.

  Clare stared up at him, weak with relief. She had been dreading the possibility that the Paul who returned would be the new, hard, frightening man whom she had come to dread. But it was the old generous Paul.

  He was standing watching her, waiting for her to open the package. Slowly she pulled the flap up and extricated a fold of tissue. Inside it was a wafer-thin gold watch.

  ‘Oh Paul, it’s beautiful!’

  ‘Put it on. See how it looks.’

  She slipped it on to her wrist and held it up, staring at it in delight, then she turned back to him and put her arms around his neck again. ‘Oh Paul, thank you. It’s been so awful, quarrelling all the time.’

  He frowned, drawing back slightly. ‘We’ve both been under a lot of strain. I suggest we put our differences behind us and plan for the future.’ He sighed, throwing himself down on the sofa near the fire. ‘Pour me a sherry, darling, and listen. I’ve had nearly a week to think and there are some things I want to say. Now. While they’re fresh in my mind.’

  Clare poured two glasses of sherry and then subsided on to the rug again, hugging her knees. At the back of her mind there was a flicker of unease.

  Paul glanced at her quickly, then looked away. He frowned. ‘This has been a difficult year for us both. All those tests; finding out we could never have a baby –’ He did not see the look of pain on her face as she listened. ‘Your Aunt Margaret’s death obviously upset you, and then the will. On top of all that, I will admit, we have had worries at the office. BCWP have had a bad few months; the merger didn’t happen without some problems. The directors all put a lot of our own money into the firm to try and put things right. That is why I’m in need of some funds. That is why I feel it is right to claim money from the trust, and why it would help me beyond all belief if we could sell Duncairn.’ When the shares went up, if they went up enough, perhaps he would back out of the sale. Give her back her castle. But until he was sure, he had to go on, had to cover himself. There was too much at stake to stop now. ‘No –’ He raised his hand as she moved uneasily on the rug. ‘No, Clare. Let me talk. I’ve thought about it very hard. Hear me out. What I suggest is this. We sell Duncairn to Sigma, then I shall buy you another estate in Scotland – probably a great deal more beautiful, but a tenth of the price. I can’t say fairer than that.’

  ‘No.’ Clare clenched her teeth. ‘Paul, I’m sorry. No. Duncairn isn’t just an estate in Scotland to me. Surely to God you’ve realised that by now? It cannot be replaced.’

  His face was white and strained. She saw that there was a thin film of sweat over his forehead. ‘I need the money, Clare.’

  She shook her head miserably. ‘I’m sorry, but no.’

  Paul took a deep breath. He leaned sideways to take up the briefcase he had dropped by the sofa when he came in. ‘OK. I understand. We’ll drop the subject.’ His hands were shaking slightly. ‘But look at these anyway. I’ve had a couple of Edinburgh agents send some details of sporting and farm properties in the north.’ He pulled out a sheaf of glossy brochures.

  ‘No, Paul. I’m sorry, but no.’ She buried her face in her arms.

  He smiled thinly, throwing the leaflets down on the coffee table. ‘OK, darling, OK. Don’t get upset. We’ll forget the whole thing. Let’s not talk about it any more. Look, I’ve another present for you. Something to cheer you up. Here.’ Extricating a folder from the flap of the case he tossed it at her feet.

  Wearily Clare raised her head. ‘Paul, please –’

  ‘Open it, darling. The surprise I promised you.’

  She opened it cautiously and pulled out the contents.

  He smiled. ‘Six weeks in the Greek Islands with a quick flight over to see the pyramids. You deserve it, darling. To get you away from the horrible winter weather, to take your mind off things.’

  Clare was staring at the ticket in her hand. She looked from it to Paul and back. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s a holiday, darling. A cruise. So you can rest and get your strength back.’

  ‘Oh, Paul!’ She had scrambled to her feet. ‘Do you think I’m that naive? Come on. Give me credit for a little intelligence, please.’ She threw the ticket into his lap. ‘For a moment I thought you cared. I really thought you cared about me. Do you think I can’t see what you want to do? With me out of the country, you’d find a way to sell Duncairn over my head!’

  In the car Julia Cassidy was feeling sick.

  Emma turned to her wearily. ‘Open the window, darling, get some cold air on your face. Daddy will stop at the first lay-by and we’ll swop places so you can sit in front.’

  ‘Oh, Mummy.’ Julia, her face white, lay back, the wind blowing her hair back off her tense white face. ‘It’s so boring going up to Bucksters. Why do we have to spend the whole weekend there?’

  ‘I thought you liked your Aunt Clare.’ Peter ostentatiously pulled up the collar of his jacket against the draught at the back of his neck.

  ‘I do. But I wanted to go to Tamsin’s.’

  ‘Why do we have to go?’ Peter asked Emma in an undertone.

  ‘Because Clare begged me to come,’ Emma replied, keeping her voice low, hoping it would be drowned by the sound of the engine. ‘She rang last night. I told you! She and Paul have had another row. She couldn’t face the weekend alone with him because the housekeeper is away.’

  ‘So we have to go and act as a peacekeeping force. Great!’ Peter said sarcastically. ‘Well, for pity’s sake don’t get involved in the row, whatever it is about. I know you. You’ll wade in and neither of them will thank you. It’s fatal to get between husband and wife.’

  ‘Rubbish! If the husband is Paul I’m quite justified in getting involved. I know what a bastard he can be and as I introduced them, I feel responsible.’ She glanced over her shoulder at Julia, whose eyes were closed. Her face had now gone slightly green. ‘For God’s sake stop soon, Pete, or she’ll puke all over the car. I know what Paul does. He’s a master of psychological warfare – the iced fury type. He used to practise on me when we were kids. I know how to deal with him!’

  ‘I respectfully doubt that.’ Peter smiled. ‘He doesn’t appreciate your teasing, Emma. It just makes him more pompous. I can’t think how I managed to marry a woman with three such pompous brothers!’

  * * *

  Clare was desperately pleased to see them. ‘Poor Julia!’ She hugged her niece fondly. ‘Come and sit by the fire. I’ll get you some of Sarah’s biscuits.
She baked a big supply before she went away. They’ll make you feel better.’

  ‘I’m all right.’ Julia wriggled free. ‘Can I take Casta out for a walk over the fields?’ Her colour was coming back.

  ‘Good idea.’ Emma ushered the child out. ‘I hope she gets over the car sickness soon. It’s a bloody nuisance. Where’s Paul?’ She threw herself down beside her husband who had slumped on to the sofa.

  ‘Gone into Dedham. He’ll be back soon.’ No need to tell them about the long cold silences, the almost frightening atmosphere in the house last night, or about the nightmare which had ripped her out of her sleep, to wake, screaming, and alone. Paul must have heard her, but he hadn’t come. She threw yet another log on the fire, watching the blaze with a shiver. Nothing seemed to take the chill out of the house. ‘He still wants to sell Duncairn. I can’t make him change his mind.’ She turned to Peter. ‘Is it true he had to put a lot of his own money into the firm?’

  Peter shifted uncomfortably. ‘It could be, I suppose, Clare. I don’t know.’

  ‘He says BCWP are in trouble and he’s lost it.’

  Peter frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound right. As far as I know we’re doing well. We showed a good profit on the first year. Clare –’ He hesitated. ‘If you were to ask me my opinion, I should think very carefully and take some independent advice about whether or not you sell that old place. And, if there are any problems at the office it is important you keep any money you have or make from a sale in your own name. We are a limited liability company, so a wife’s property, separate and in her own name, should be completely safeguarded.’ He moved sideways slightly, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. ‘Do you have a good solicitor, Clare? And an accountant?’

  Clare shrugged. ‘Paul has –’

  ‘You. You personally.’

  ‘No. All our affairs are handled together by Paul’s people.’

  Peter frowned. ‘Then can I suggest you find yourself an independent advisor? It might be wise.’

  Emma stared at her husband. ‘You know something, don’t you?’

  Peter shook his head. ‘I don’t know anything. But if Paul is in trouble financially, there is no need for Clare to be dragged in. And there is a huge amount of money at stake with the deal over Duncairn. She cannot afford to make mistakes.’

  ‘She cannot afford to make mistakes.’ The words echoed in Clare’s head. She was standing in the middle of her room. She could hear the doors closing as Julia in the attic room, and Peter and Emma in one of the spare rooms, settled down for the night. Casta had followed Julia upstairs. Downstairs, Paul had disappeared into his study. She was alone. Slowly and wearily she undressed and pulled on a bathrobe.

  Peter and Emma seemed to have made up their differences. Even when she and Emma were by themselves after lunch, as they walked in the windswept garden, Emma hadn’t mentioned her American, and Clare, preoccupied with her own affairs, had not asked.

  ‘Are you still going on with your meditation?’ Emma had linked arms.

  Clare shook her head. ‘I’m not going to do it again. That was one of the reasons I wanted you to come for the weekend. I need to be distracted.’

  ‘Not going to do it again!’ Emma snatched her arm away. ‘Why on earth not? My God, I couldn’t resist it if I were in your shoes. I must confess, I did try it, but nothing happened. I don’t think I’m cut out for meditation. I kept getting distracted by thinking about stupid things like shopping lists and the gallery. I was really disappointed. It sounds so intriguing – and so deliciously wicked!’

  ‘Geoffrey thought it was wicked too. Only he didn’t see anything delicious about it. He thinks my soul is in danger.’ Clare had smiled wryly.

  ‘Oh sod Geoffrey!’ Emma stopped and stood in front of her. ‘You haven’t let him talk you out of it? Not really?’

  ‘Well Zak helped.’ Clare pushed her hands into her pockets. ‘I’m not going to do it again, Emma. Look, let’s change the subject. How’s Julia? I’m glad she recovered enough to eat such a huge lunch.’ She laughed. ‘Are you going to lend her to me this holidays for a bit?’

  ‘For as long as you like. But you’ll have to share her with Tamsin. That’s the latest best friend.’ Emma walked on slowly. ‘Paul didn’t seem too awful at lunch,’ she went on tentatively after a moment.

  There was bitterness in Clare’s smile. ‘He’s on his best behaviour. That’s what I was counting on. That was the other reason I asked you to come!’

  She had hardly seen Paul at all that afternoon. He had taken Peter and Julia off for a long walk down by the River Stour and after tea he had disappeared again, this time to show Peter the retiling that was being done on the barn. At dinner he had not spoken to her once.

  She went into the bathroom and stood watching as the olive-green bath filled. He had still not appeared. The bedroom behind her was empty, the bed immaculate beneath the white lace cover.

  Slowly she creamed the make-up from her face, standing for a while staring blankly into the mirror before untying the belt and slipping out of the bathrobe, letting it fall to the floor. She looked a herself critically, then tentatively she raised her hands to her breasts, gently stroking the nipples.

  Paul had never been a passionate lover; kind, considerate as far as it went, yes, but always detached, never sorry, she suspected, if she were too tired or too depressed for sex and by evening she often was depressed. Buried in his papers or on the phone to his colleagues long after she was exhausted and longing for sleep. She would wait, hoping this time she might – might what? Tempt him? Entice him to fling his papers over his shoulder and drag her into his arms? She enjoyed sex as far as it went, but instinctively she knew there must be more. There had to be more. Paul was the only man she had ever slept with. Sometimes she wondered if she had really slept with him at all.

  She lay for a long time in the bath, listening to the howl of the wind outside amongst the chimneys, then slowly she got out and dried herself. She massaged some scented body oil into her skin, slowly working it into her arms and legs, over her breasts and thighs, then walking naked across the soft carpet of her bedroom, she pulled open a drawer. Inside were several pure silk nightgowns. Slowly she pulled them out – black, coffee, deep red, midnight blue, all trimmed with lace, soft and sensuous beneath her hand. She chose the red one and drew it slowly over her head. The silk was cold and soft like water, as it fell to the floor, caressing her skin. She could feel it against her nipples which hardened responsively to its touch.

  Barefoot she tiptoed down the stairs towards Paul’s study. The central heating had gone off for the night and the house was cold. Outside the landing window she could hear the wind roaring in the branches of the horse chestnuts in the drive, tearing off the last of the six-fingered leaves. It was a clear night. Already the lawns beneath the stars were silvered with frost in spite of the wind. She put her hand tentatively on the latch of the door and listened. Inside the room all was silent.

  She could feel the skirt of the nightdress stirring slightly in the draught, the silk whispering against her legs. Taking a deep breath she raised the latch and opened the door.

  The room was in darkness save for the lamp which threw a pool of bright light over the desk where Paul was sitting. There were no papers before him, just an empty blotter, the blotting paper crimson in the lamp light.

  He looked up at her blankly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Paul. Are you working?’ she asked tentatively.

  ‘I am.’ He stared at her expressionlessly, his hands lying loose on the desk in front of him.

  She swallowed nervously. ‘I wondered if you were coming to bed?’

  ‘Later. I’ll sleep in one of the spare rooms so as not to disturb you.’

  She felt a sharp pang of disappointment. ‘Paul, I’m sorry –’

  ‘So am I.’ Sitting where he was on the edge of the bright pool of lamplight he could barely see her in the darkness by the door. If he noticed the nightgown, he gave no sign. ‘Good-night
, Clare.’

  Wordlessly she turned away.

  Paul sighed. He glanced down at the blotter and slid from beneath it the page of figures at which he had been staring when he heard her opening the door. Provided the market went up sharply over the next ten days there was a good chance of recovering most of his losses, and if the Carstairs Boothroyd shares doubled he could really come out smiling. However, to be sure, he needed the money from Duncairn.

  Back in her bedroom, Clare stood for a moment leaning against the door. The old house was never completely silent. The timbers creaked in the wind, the trees outside moaned and the radiator ticked once or twice as it grew cold. She was utterly alone. Even Casta had deserted her, preferring to stay with Julia and the promise of midnight biscuits high in the attic bedroom. The house might have other people in it, but her bedroom and her bed were empty.

  Her hand was on the key before she realised it, locking the door against the silence. With only the slightest hesitation she went to the drawer and took out a candle. Lighting it, she turned off the bedside lamp and stood for a moment staring at the single flame, her skin prickling with fear. The darkness of the shadows in the corners of the room seemed suddenly very threatening, but she hesitated only a moment, then, slowly and deliberately she walked around the candle in a circle; she raised her right hand and made the sign of the cross in the air, then she sank to her knees before the flame.

  12

  Alice was standing, her hand on the door handle, staring at Isobel who was sitting on a stool by the table. ‘You don’t want it!’ she repeated, her voice husky with shock.

  ‘No. I don’t want it.’ Isobel stood up wearily. ‘Have you not realised yet, Alice, that I do not want a child! The last thing I need is a charm to bring one! Keep it. If ever you marry your Sir Henry you may have need of it yourself.’ She picked up the small leather pouch from the table and pressed it back into Alice’s hand.