Isobel eased herself in the saddle wearily, her eyes always seeking for Robert amongst the men ahead. The rain was cold, soaking into her clothes, sliding down her cheeks like tears. She was uneasy, her exhilaration gone. There was a strange prickling of the skin at the back of her neck. Again and again she stared around into the cold wet mist feeling eyes upon them, but the distances were silent, shrouded in white. Even the eagles were quiet.
They were passing a small lochan now, on their left, as they approached the head of the glen where the mountains pressed closer. Ahead the track led between the low foothills of the pass and there, waiting in the mist, crouching behind boulders and scattered trees, were almost a thousand men, half naked in their short tunics and enveloping plaids, armed with swords and Lochaber axes. As Isobel saw them she screamed, her terror echoing in her own ears. Then she screamed again.
Only it wasn’t Isobel, it was Clare, Clare who had seen the ambush long before any of the men in Robert’s train, Clare, who from hundreds of years away, from the vantage point of her dream, had seen the trap and was trying to warn them. But they couldn’t hear her. They rode on, straight towards the pass, Isobel with them.
Again Clare tried to shout a warning, but her voice wouldn’t come. However hard she tried to make herself heard the room remained full of silence as, slowly, the figures of Robert’s army disappeared into the mist.
Stiff and cold she stared round her in the darkness, afraid, trying to call them back, but it was no use. The vision had gone. Something had distracted her, sent the shadowy figures back into the past, riding towards their fate, leaving her lost and shaking, on her knees in the middle of the floor. The moon had vanished and the silver streak of moonlight had crawled away from her towards the wall.
‘So, that’s how it’s done.’ Paul’s voice from the shadows made her jump violently. ‘No spirits; no devils, just the dream of a mad woman who sits in the moonlight, the tears pouring down her face.’ His tone was mocking.
‘How long have you been standing there?’ Clare knelt without moving. She didn’t even look at him.
‘Half an hour at least.’ He was wearing his dressing gown again, tightly belted, and leaning against the wall beyond the slice of moonlight. Somewhere in the garden two owls were hunting, their sharp cries echoing through the frosty silence.
‘What time is it?’ Her voice was flat, defeated.
Paul smiled. ‘It’s after three.’
‘So late?’ She was still dazed.
He smiled. ‘There is still plenty of time to go back. Why don’t you – go and find your Isobel again – all the ghosts who haunt you. I enjoy watching.’ He folded his arms.
‘There is nothing to watch, Paul.’ She scrambled to her feet, shaking with cold.
‘Nothing to watch? You cry, you smile, you laugh, you scream – your eyes follow them as they walk around the room.’ Paul shuddered. ‘God almighty, woman! And you claim you are not mad!’
She looked at him, but his face was dark, out of the moonlight, and she couldn’t see his expression.
Hesitantly she moved towards the door. ‘I’m going to bed,’ she said. ‘Please go away, Paul. Leave me alone.’ Her voice was flat.
He made no move as she put her hand on the handle and pulled the door open. Slowly she walked down the dark narrow stairs into the bedroom. The light on the side table was on, throwing shadows on the walls. Clare glanced at the door to the rest of the house, wondering for a moment if he had unlocked it. Something told her he hadn’t. Slowly she went to the bed and climbed in, shaking with cold.
Paul had followed her down and for a moment he stood staring at her. She looked at him sullenly, not wanting him to see her sudden fear, but he made no move towards her. Instead he walked over to the door, the key in his hand.
‘Sweet dreams, my love,’ he said as he unlocked it. ‘You might as well live in your dreams – you’re no damn good to anyone in reality.’
She sat without moving as the door closed and she heard first the key and then the bolt on the outside. It was a long time before she closed her eyes. She felt completely empty.
Rex glanced at the pile of newspapers on Emma’s kitchen table and shrugged. ‘We have a publicity problem, it seems.’
Emma had phoned him as soon as she had dropped Julia off at school. If it had been anyone else he would have told them to make an appointment in a week’s time – he didn’t appreciate being commanded anywhere, but for Emma he had cancelled two meetings and a lunch and grabbed a cab.
He sat down heavily in Emma’s pine kitchen and shuffled through the newspapers. Neil Forbes’s story had made the front page in four nationals, it was an inside lead in three more.
‘Scots heiress sells her birthright,’ he read out loud. ‘Scandal of oil rigs at more British beauty spots.’ He glanced at Emma. ‘Who is this man, Forbes? He should try and get his facts right. Sigma have withdrawn their application for a licence.’
‘What!’ Emma stared at him. ‘Why? What happened?’
‘The price of oil happened, honey. They don’t want to invest any more money in British exploration at the moment.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And I’m leaving Sigma.’ He had tried so hard to tell her when they had met at the weekend, but somehow he couldn’t put the fact into words. Not even for her. It still hurt too much.
‘Does Paul know?’ Emma folded the papers up and put them in a neat pile.
‘Sure he does. And he knows that I still want to buy Duncairn.’
‘For the oil?’ She looked at him, puzzled.
‘To restore the castle, Emma, honey. To save it when they do take the oil. If Sigma don’t get that licence someone else will. There is oil there, make no mistake about that. If I own the castle I’ll know what to do to make sure the place isn’t harmed.’
Emma stared at him thoughtfully. ‘Can you pay as much as an oil company, Rex?’ she said at last. She gave an embarrassed smile.
‘No.’ He grinned back at her cheerfully. ‘Nothing like as much. That’s Paul Royland’s bad luck. But I will still pay enough to bail him out.’
‘Why are you leaving Sigma?’ She looked at him steadily, sensing immediately the words were out of her mouth that it was a question she shouldn’t have asked.
‘I’m getting old, honey. They want new blood at the helm. The king is dead, so long live the king.’ He tried to make his words sound light, but he couldn’t quite hide the bitterness.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re leaving them. They sound callous.’ Emma was thinking of the newspaper articles again. ‘Is it true that a drilling rig is ten storeys high? That’s awful, Rex. Could you stop them doing that to Duncairn?’
‘I’m afraid it’s progress, honey.’
He glanced down at the paper again. ‘This bastard is making much of the fact that it is Clare Royland’s family seat. Perhaps I should tell them that my family lived there a long time before hers.’
Emma frowned. ‘Is that honestly true?’
‘The Comyns were one of the great families of Scotland. The earls of Buchan.’ He smiled modestly.
‘Buchan?’ Emma stared. ‘Like her Isobel? Then you must be related to Clare! You should be on the same side! Does she know that it is you who wants to buy the place, not Sigma?’
‘I don’t know, honey. That husband of hers is dealing with everything. He seems to think his wife is incapable of handling her own affairs –’
‘I’ve told you, that’s not true.’
‘Well, whatever the situation, Paul Royland is the only one I’ve been talking to.’
‘These environmentalists have got it in for Paul,’ Emma said quietly. ‘“City Fat Cat wants more and more.” Poor Paul.’
Rex glanced at her. ‘You didn’t call me here to show me these did you, honey?’ he said gently.
Emma shrugged. ‘Oh, I knew you must have seen them.’ She stood up.
‘I’ve been thinking about Paul.’ She looked down, flipping through the pile of papers again absentmindedly.
‘And?’ Rex badly wanted to take her in his arms.
She gave him a blank little smile. ‘I’m afraid.’
‘Afraid, honey?’ He stared.
She nodded. ‘Listen. I know my brother. He is ruthless. None of my family believe me – even they don’t realise what he can be like.’ She bit her lip. ‘You have offered him the way out of his financial mess. You said that if he doesn’t pay this debt he could go to prison.’
Rex nodded. He leaned forward and caught Emma’s hand. ‘That’s right, so there is no problem. Your brother is going to be OK.’
‘No. You don’t understand.’ Emma snatched her hand away. ‘For all this to happen he has to force Clare to sell Duncairn. Force her, Rex! Paul is capable of anything. He might hurt her if it were the only way to get his hands on the estate. He might even kill her, don’t you see?’ Her voice had risen sharply. She turned away, and leaned against the wall, her eyes shut.
‘Oh, come on, Emma.’ Rex was staring at her as he stood up. ‘That doesn’t make sense. No man is going to kill his wife over a piece of land, not even for the kind of bucks I’m offering. Besides, honey, he needs that money fast. The only way to get it fast enough is by special arrangement with me. If he waited to inherit the place it would take him months and months to clear up all the inheritance taxes and things like that.’
Emma shook her head stubbornly. ‘If he were due to inherit it, he could get a loan against it.’
Rex studied her face. ‘Emma,’ he said softly, ‘are you seriously telling me that your brother is capable of murder?’
She sniffed, groping in her pocket for a handkerchief. ‘I think he could be and you’re the only person who could stop it happening.’
‘Me? What the hell can I do about it?’
‘You can withdraw your offer to buy the land.’
There was a long silence. Rex’s face went white. No way was he going to change his mind now and withdraw from the deal. He sat down again, slowly, his hands on the table in front of him. ‘You are saying that you would rather your brother went to jail?’
Emma closed her eyes again and took a deep breath, then she nodded. ‘Please, Rex. Withdraw your offer.’
‘Honey, I can’t do that.’
‘You can!’ She came and sat down opposite him. ‘You can, Rex. We’re not talking about multi-million-pound corporations any more. The oil doesn’t come into it, does it? You say they’ll get the licence one day anyway. But you don’t have to buy it. You can change your mind.’ Lightly she put her hands over his. ‘Please, Rex. Please. Withdraw your offer.’ Standing up suddenly she ran around the table and slipped her arms around his neck. ‘Please.’
Rex reached up and stroked her hair. He was in a turmoil of conflicting emotions. He had Royland where he wanted him: desperate. He could pre-empt Sigma and rub their noses in the shit when the strike eventually came up. He had won. And yet this slip of a woman was trying to wheedle him into throwing up the deal. The touch of her body, young and vibrant, round in all the right places, pressing against his, so different from Mary with her brittle, designer-slim hips, struck chords he thought he had lost touch with long ago. She was beautiful, sexy, trusting and spunky. And now she had shown herself vulnerable too.
He stood up and folded his arms around her. ‘Emma, honey –’
‘Please, Rex. Withdraw your offer.’ She was looking at him, her lips near his.
He knew she felt it too: the attraction, the longing. They were both lonely; they had found each other when they both needed someone badly. The differences in age did not matter. He smiled triumphantly into her hair. Now she wanted something from him, something he had it in his power to grant if she could persuade him …
Slowly he brought his mouth down on hers. It was a gentle kiss, sensitive and full of carefully controlled passion. ‘Oh Emma,’ he breathed. ‘You’re so lovely.’
For a moment she went on clinging to him. His kiss had made her go weak at the knees, and she was appalled to find how badly she wanted him. She pushed him away gently. She wasn’t going to trade favours. If that was what he thought, he could think again. ‘You know it won’t work, Rex,’ she said sadly. ‘We’re both married.’
‘Does that matter so much?’ He reached for her again. ‘Neither of them would ever know –’
‘No, Rex.’ She spoke sharply. ‘I’m not going to bed with you to try and persuade you to withdraw your deal. That’s what you thought, didn’t you? Well, you’re wrong! I’m not like that.’
‘I know that.’ He shrugged. ‘Come on, Emma. The two things aren’t related. We want each other –’
‘Maybe we do.’ Her voice was very quiet. ‘But I am not going to bed with you, Rex. You’d better go.’
‘Emma –’
‘You’d better go, Rex. I’m sorry. You’ve got the wrong idea about me.’
‘That’s not true, honey. You’re special. Very special. What I decide to do about Duncairn has nothing to do with us – I’ll think about that, OK, but that’s all I’ll promise.’ He paused. She was asking a great deal of him. A very great deal. ‘I think you’re wrong about your brother,’ he said slowly. ‘For what it’s worth I think he’s a weak character. He hasn’t got the courage to kill anyone.’ He thought for a minute and then he nodded. He was right in his assessment of Paul, he was certain of it. ‘He’s a bully, that’s for sure, but he would never hurt Clare. He hasn’t got the guts.’
25
When Paul got back to London on Wednesday he found a message from Rex waiting for him. He scowled. He was no closer to obtaining Clare’s signature than before. He had hoped she would give in; hoped the threat of being locked up would make her change her mind, make her obey him, but it hadn’t. It had made her silent and sulky and more determined than ever to thwart him. The trouble was that Archie, pressurised by Antonia, hadn’t backed him up as much as he wanted. They had insisted she be allowed the run of the house during the day; they had treated her as normal, and he suspected they would relent as soon as he was back in London. By now they had probably released her altogether. Geoffrey and David had let him down too. They had not agreed to sign his document. They had both told him that Clare should see a psychiatrist first, and now John Stanford had refused to go north, saying that if Clare was ill she should see her parents’ doctor.
Archie had been the only one on his side. Archie seemed ready to believe anything of Clare, but Antonia had been a different matter. He had underestimated her. She was touchy and suspicious enough for him to have to proceed very carefully indeed.
He picked up the phone. Sarah Collins was his trump card. He had told them he would send her north to help look after Clare. She would make a good jailer. He smiled grimly. She would enjoy supervising the new régime he and Archie had devised.
Clare must not be allowed to dream. She must be watched at every moment of the day and night. The pressure had to be maintained. Archie saw the sense in that. He had disapproved of locking her up alone; that left her vulnerable. Instead she must be protected from the ghosts which haunted her. Paul patted his breast pocket to make sure that the document was still there. She was used to being alone – she had once told him that she had to be alone some of the time every day or she would go mad. She would find the strain of being watched all the time intolerable. Wasn’t that one of the things she had always had nightmares about? Eyes. Eyes watching her. Well, she was about to find out what it was really like to be watched all the time. To free herself of the eyes she would in the end do anything, even sign away Duncairn. The only problem was, did he have the time to wait?
He met Rex at the Ritz. Rex looked Paul up and down with new interest. There was a slight family likeness to Emma – the dark colouring, the square shoulders, the determined chin – but where she was slim and pretty, he was tall and muscular, or had been before the slight flabbiness and the relaxed skin at the throat and below the eyes had betrayed him. They stood eyeing each other.
‘So. Do you have your wife
’s authority?’ Rex said quietly.
Paul took a sip from his brandy. ‘I’ll have it by next week.’
‘No use.’ Rex shook his head. ‘I’m not waiting any longer. If you can’t get her witnessed signature by’ – he glanced at his watch – ‘by this time tomorrow, the deal is off.’
‘What do you mean, off?’ Paul had gone white.
‘I’m going back to the States, Mr Royland. All my affairs in this country have been settled except for this one. There is no more time.’
It was a calculated risk. When he set off for the Ritz this morning he still hadn’t decided what to do about Duncairn. He wanted it. He wanted it as he had never wanted anything before; yet in back of his mind lurked the fear that Emma might be right – that this man might indeed be capable of murder. Was he prepared to put Clare’s life at risk for Duncairn’s sake? He eyed Paul again.
‘There has to be more time. You can’t back out now, man!’ Paul grabbed his arm. ‘Look, give me two more days. My wife is in Scotland. I’ll fly up and get her signature –’
‘How?’ Rex narrowed his eyes for a moment. He could feel Paul’s desperation now; feel the unbalanced power of the man’s sudden panic. No wonder Emma was frightened for her sister-in-law.
As so often recently, Rex wondered what Clare was really like; this stubborn, passionate lady who was prepared to defy Sigma and all its money and sacrifice her own husband for a castle. His castle. He would like to meet her one day, even if she was in the end the reason why he would never own the place himself. ‘Your wife has made it very clear, it seems to me, that she doesn’t want to sell Duncairn, and never will,’ he went on. ‘You have had weeks to persuade her. I don’t think you’re going to manage it in another twenty-four hours.’ He glanced down at his Rolex again. ‘I think you ought to admit defeat.’ He smiled. ‘I told you I had certain information which I would divulge if you didn’t manage to get the contracts drawn up for me –’ He paused. Paul’s gaze was on his face, a rabbit before a weasel, paralysed with fear. Rex felt a quick rush of triumph. ‘At present,’ he paused again, for maximum effect, ‘I have decided to sit on that information. No doubt it will all come out anyway when you fail to pay up your debts on settlement day.’ He put his glass down on a table near by. ‘But for your wife’s sake, I shall say nothing. She has, it seems to me, enough to bear, being married to a shit like you.’
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