‘Mayhap you heard but one side of their conversation. This Peter Neville of whom you speak might merely be a friend.’
‘“My darling Peter, I miss you too; only a little while longer and then I’ll be free; you’ve got to be patient!” Does that sound like just a friend to you?’
George admitted that it did not, though he felt it could be still innocent.
‘And she was speaking in a really odd voice; kind of breathless and sexy – a bit like Marilyn Monroe, sort of. Does that sound innocent?’
‘I would say not. They have arranged to meet, you say. When?’
The odd inflection and anxious edge to George’s voice passed unnoticed by Louise, and she merely shrugged. ‘I left before they decided that. I can well do without this problem. What am I going to tell Allan? I don’t need this added hassle. I have enough on my plate as it is!’
‘You were upset already, I recall. Would it help to unburden such upset upon another?’
Louise smiled. ‘Oh George, you really are quite sweet, in your own way, but I don’t want to stretch the boundary of our new found friendship by burdening you with all my silly little problems. The offer’s very kind though.’
‘Kindness comes not into it, Miss Barncroft,’ George sighed, smiling sweetly as he looked her directly in the eye. ‘I like you, you see, really like you, and I always have!’
Louise remained silent, staring at him, her blue eyes piercing into his of slate grey. It was as though she had seen him for the first time, as if a blindfold had been removed and she was seeing the truth about him in a different light.
‘Oh George, I really rather think you mean that!’
George took her slender fingers in his broad flat hands, pressing them tenderly to his lips. ‘I do so mean it,’ he whispered, apparently helpless in her intoxicating beauty. ‘I have loved you always, Louise, as I shall forever. I care not that you loathe me. I must learn to pause afore speaking, but I cannot. It is part of who I am.’
Louise was touched to see tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes, almost as if he was petrified of some horrible rebuke. She smiled, wiping a thumb across each of his eyes, and she kissed his lips gently. In an instant, feeling the passion coursing through George’s veins from that solitary soft kiss, Louise felt all her troubles start to dissolve. ‘Oh George, I don’t think I ever really hated you.’ She sighed deeply, sat back in the comfortable chair, and cast her eyes up at the ceiling as she struggled to make sense of her confused emotions. ‘I really don’t know what my feelings are!’ She laughed mirthlessly. ‘I don’t know what to think of anything anymore. Gloria has been my best friend all my life. I thought I knew her better than I know myself, and now it seems I don’t know her at all!’
Unaccustomed though he was at showing such emotion, George bent down, enfolding Louise in his arms.
Louise, unaccustomed as she was to having emotions other than enmity where George was concerned, yielded to his welcome embrace. She was startled when his lips brushed so gently against hers, yet surrendered her very soul to him in a heartbeat. ‘Just hold me, George,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘I just need to be held by someone who loves me.’
‘Can I ever hope that you might love me back?’ asked George in such a quiet voice that Louise almost missed his words.
‘I think I can, George. I truly think I can!’
Her softly spoken response evoked further emotions within George, but even as they continued their embrace, with George smiling triumphantly into the air over her shoulder, Louise felt a few doubts creep into her subconscious, though for the moment she could not place them.
*
Gloria towelled herself dry after the invigorating shower that left her feeling refreshed, when she heard the telephone ring. Tucking the towel around her still damp body, she rushed to the bedroom, threw herself across the bed, and snatched up the receiver.
‘Hi,’ she called gaily, hoping it would be Louise again. Nearly an hour had passed since her previous phone call.
‘Good afternoon, child.’
Gloria laughed. ‘Nana Turner! It’s nice to hear your voice. It’s been so long!’
Mary laughed too. ‘Cheeky as ever. I was just calling to make sure you got home all right last night.’
‘Yes, as you can now tell, I’m fine.’
‘Have you been awake long?’
‘A while.’ Gloria kept her response deliberately vague.
‘Phil called here earlier. He said he’d been trying to reach you for hours, and that you didn’t answer your phone.’
‘Hey, Nana Turner, what can I say? It’s a long drive down from Scotland. I was exhausted, so I turned the volume down on the phone. I slept like a log, so I obviously needed my sleep, because I didn’t wake until about an hour ago.’
Aware that she was rambling, she could not help herself. Her grandmother’s attempt at wheedling information out of her made her nervous.
‘Are you all right, child?’ Mary asked, detecting the note of nervousness in her granddaughter’s voice. ‘Have you had another dream?’
‘I’m not sure. I woke up feeling mentally drained. It’s odd, but I feel like I’ve forgotten something important.’
‘The mind can be a mysterious beast,’ Mary said cryptically.
Not for the first time, Gloria had an ominous feeling that her grandmother knew far more than she was letting on. She knew it would be useless to press Mary further. Her grandmother would tell her what was on her mind when she was good and ready, and not a moment before. ‘I just feel like I’m slowly cracking up. Nana Turner, am I going mad?’
Mary heard the note of anguish in her granddaughter’s voice, a subconscious cry for help. It’s no good, she thought sadly. I have to tell the poor girl something more before she goes completely off her head. ‘I really think you should finish reading the book, child.’
Gloria sighed. ‘I really don’t think I can. It feels like every time I read some of it, that’s when things happen.’
‘You are remembering things?’
‘Not really. It’s just a feeling I have.’
‘Well perhaps you and I should have along talk. I have read the whole book. I think perhaps it’s time that I revealed everything I know.’
Her heart pounding in her chest at the thought of finally getting all the answers, Gloria glanced at the hidebound manuscript that lay beside her pillow. It would be so easy to just open the book and finish reading it, but the book was beginning to frighten her. ‘Yes, Nana Turner, perhaps you should tell me everything.’
‘May I come by to see you this afternoon?’
‘Sorry, Nana Turner, this afternoon’s out. I have a meeting with Isolde. What about tomorrow?’
‘Your parents are taking me shopping in Regent Street.’
Gloria stifled a chuckle. ‘Do you mean Dad’s going too?’
‘Yes. It was your mother’s idea. She thinks your father and I need to have a bonding session, and how better than with some retail therapy. Apparently, your father loves shopping! Personally, I thought all men detested going shopping with women, though I’m quite looking forward to it, actually.’
‘Dad doesn’t know yet, does he?’ laughed Gloria.
‘No, he doesn’t. Okay, so how about the day after?’
Gloria frowned. She had a vague recollection of having something planned for that day. ‘Hang on, I’ll check.’ She hurried downstairs and grabbed her diary from her study, making certain that Louise was not sat anywhere down there waiting for her, and then grabbed the telephone extension in the kitchen. ‘I have nothing planned, Nana Turner, so Saturday’s fine.’
‘Excellent. I shall call on you around mid morning. Try not to worry, child.’
‘I’ll try, Nana Turner.’
They ended their call, and as she replaced the receiver, Gloria paused for thought. In her message, Isolde had merely requested Gloria get in touch, not that she go to her office in person. Maybe I should give Isolde a ring and see
what she wants? Her hand hovered uncertainly over the telephone. She knew exactly what Isolde’s first words would be – “Would you mind coming into the office, Gloria?” She would save herself time and money by simply going straight to Isolde’s London office. Even without a firm appointment, she knew Isolde would see her. On more than one occasion, Isolde had wrapped up a meeting with a client as quickly as possible upon finding out that Gloria was waiting for her in reception. Isolde always dropped everything for Gloria.
It was nearly one o’clock by the time Gloria finally got dressed, and still there was no sign of Louise. Gloria was a little irritated. Louise clearly had no sense of responsibility: what was the point in phoning someone, telling them you were on your way round, and then not turn up?
Oh God – what if she’s been in an accident?
What, walking up the lane from George Palmer’s house?
This morning she had said she needed a shoulder to cry on, and her voice had definitely sounded agitated. Something must have happened to her while on her trip – why else would she have cut short her journey? Maybe someone had tried to kill her? What if that person had followed her to England? What if she was lying in a ditch, dying? What if she had been kidnapped? Maybe I should call Susan and Daniel. Should I call the police?
Get a grip, Gloria! You’re getting melodramatic in your old age!
The best course of action, Gloria decided, was to drive down the lane to George’s cottage before heading on up to London to see Isolde. She grabbed her jacket and keys, made certain to shut all the windows, and then locked the door behind her.
It took three minutes to drive the short distance to George’s cottage, and a further five to manoeuvre the car up onto the verge opposite the gate to enable other vehicles to pass. Thankfully, there was no sign of a body lying anywhere along the lane.
Knocking loudly on the front door of George’s pretty, white-washed cottage, Gloria was perturbed to obtain no response. She walked around the side of the property, ducking under the clematis that wound its gloriously bejewelled tendrils over the willow arch separating the front and rear gardens, and peered through the kitchen window at the back.
Inside the cottage, a door through from the kitchen into the lounge was open, and Gloria could see a suitcase standing alone near the middle of the lounge floor. Even from this distance she recognised it as Louise’s – she herself had bought it for her friend’s twenty-first birthday, and having been all the way around the world it had proved an excellent investment.
Gloria tried the back door, and it opened beneath her gentle touch. She stepped into the tiny kitchen, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the stench of stale tobacco, which hung in the stuffy airless cottage, catching in the back of her throat. She left the back door wide open to get some fresh air into the place.
‘George?’ she called. ‘Lou, are you there?
Gloria stepped into the lounge, inspecting the suitcase. The nametag confirmed that it was indeed Louise’s – not that there had been any doubt in Gloria’s mind.
‘George?’ she called again. ‘Lou? Is anyone here?’
Grasping the banister, one foot on the first step, she paused as she heard a muffled noise coming from upstairs. She climbed the stairs slowly. There were three doors at the top of the stairs. The muffled noise came again – from behind the farthest door.
Grasping the doorknob firmly, Gloria took a deep breath and opened the door, not knowing what to expect.
The very last thing she expected was to find Louise sprawled naked on George’s bed, George, equally naked, lying next to her, both covered in a sheen of perspiration, both slightly out of breath, and both with the rosy flush about their bodies from the afterglow of lovemaking.
Neither had heard the door open, nor had they noticed Gloria standing in shocked silence in the doorway. The pair gazed into each other’s eyes, caressing each other’s bodies as they tenderly yet passionately kissed one another.
‘My God, what are you doing?’ Gloria all but shrieked, causing the pair to leap from their embrace. George grabbed a pile of clothing from the floor with which to cover his nakedness, clearly mortified.
Louise on the other hand had a look of plain fury on her face. ‘What does it look like!’ she snapped. ‘What the hell are you doing up here? This isn’t your house!’
‘I… I was worried,’ stammered Gloria, suddenly realising the inappropriateness of her own situation.
‘Well you needn’t have been. I’m quite able to look after myself.’
‘Yes, but you said you were coming by the house. You said you needed a shoulder to cry on.’
There was animosity in Louise’s voice when she replied. ‘Yes, well, I decided George has a better shoulder to cry on than you! Just who the hell is Peter Neville?’ She slipped into George’s shirt as he passed it across to her, and it swamped her slender figure.
Gloria was confused. ‘I’m sorry, Lou, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Louise took a threatening step forward. ‘Like hell you don’t!’ she shouted vehemently. ‘I went round your house earlier, to find you in the kitchen, all gooey-eyed and lovey-dovey on the phone, arranging to meet some bastard called Peter Neville! So who the hell is he?’
Gloria was not about to tell her friend that the only Peter Neville she knew of was someone who had died hundreds of years earlier. ‘I’m telling you, Lou, I really, really, do not know anyone called Peter!’
‘Are you calling me a liar?’ cried Louise tearfully.
Gloria shook her head. ‘No, of course not, but you are mistaken. I only spoke on the phone twice today, once to you and the other time to Nana Turner.’
‘But I heard you!’ screamed Louise. ‘I stood in your kitchen and heard you, as plainly as I hear you now!’
‘Well now I know you’re deluded. Don’t you think I’d have heard you come in… or seen you even?’ Even as she spoke, Gloria knew Louise was not making things up; it explained the curiously open back door. Nevertheless, she genuinely did not remember talking to anyone on the telephone that day besides her grandmother and Louise, and she certainly had not been speaking to a ghost!
‘Doubtful!’ retorted Louise, her voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘You were far more interested in Peter Bloody Neville! Now I ask you again – who is he? How long have you been having an affair with him behind Allan’s back?’
‘For the last time, Lou, I don’t know this Peter Neville!’
‘Oh, get out of here, Gloria!’ Louise grabbed a pillow from behind her and hurled it at her former best friend. ‘I’ll never forgive you for betraying Allan. Never!’
Gloria dodged the pillow with ease.
And I thought I was going mad, she thought.
As she hastily left George’s house via the front door, barely pausing to close it behind her, she ran across the road to her car, shaking in distress. She had never before heard such vehemence in her friend’s voice. Such anger had to be genuine.
Gloria fought to control her breathing as she sat in her car for several long minutes, her thoughts tumbling around in her mind like fallen autumnal leaves gusting in a cold wind. I must have blacked out, she thought. But for how long, and what happened in that short space of time? Has Isabella revisited my subconscious yet again? Who was on the phone?
Phil!
She turned the key in the ignition and sped off, still consumed by her confused thoughts. She remembered that her grandmother had said Phil was trying to get hold of her for hours that morning. Had he succeeded? What did he want?
By the time she reached the London office of her agent, her thoughts and feelings were still as chaotic.
Alighting from the car, she made her way into the reception area, and minutes later she was back in the car. Isolde had not been in, and her new secretary, who had been trying to get hold of Gloria for the past couple of days – so she said – politely informed Gloria that Isolde was in New York on business and would not be back until the middle of the following week.
‘But she left a message,’ Gloria countered.
‘That was on Friday last week! She thought you would have been back from Scotland before now.’ The secretary spoke in a voice that Gloria didn’t much care for, suggesting as it did that this twelve year old girl had an intellect superior to a client’s, and that she had better things to do with her time than speak to a jumped up author who could not even be bothered to return a phone call.
Gloria decided not to waste her breath on the girl, who clearly had not been trying very hard to chase her up, if at all. She would make Isolde aware of her new secretary’s attitude upon her return from New York.
Sitting in her car, Gloria wondered why Isolde had said nothing in her message concerning imminent business in America. It must have been a sudden emergency, which had required her immediate attention, though Gloria could not imagine what kind of emergency it might be.
Still, now she had plenty of time to play with, she could go to see her grandmother and clear up the bloody mystery, finally.
However, more disappointment greeted her as her mother ushered her into the house. ‘Mother’s not here. She and your father have gone for a meal, and then they’re off to see The Phantom of the Opera.’
‘More bonding?’
‘Ah, Mother told you about shopping tomorrow, then?’
‘What’s going on, Mum? Dad’s seldom has a good word to say about Nana Turner, and now all of a sudden there’s shopping and a theatre trip.’
‘It was Mother’s idea. She said she wanted to take us both out, so I suggested shopping tomorrow, and then your father went out this morning and got standby tickets for Phantom tonight.’
‘Hmm… not quite the way Nana Turner described it. But why haven’t you gone with them?’
‘When he told me this morning what he was planning, I suggested he take Mother on his own. The idea freaked him out a bit.’ There was a mischievous twinkle in Rachel’s eyes, and Gloria laughed, perfectly picturing her father’s reaction. ‘But he agreed, said it was a great idea and that he really felt the time was right to lay to rest the ghosts of the past.’
Master of the Scrolls Page 19