‘Please, not yet,’ Ashley said. ‘Let’s wait, at least for the evening star.’
I picked up the end of the rug on which she was sitting and draped it over her shoulders. For a while we remained silent, both rapt in our view of the darkening world where suddenly a distant speck of light glimmered. Now, as I write in another world, the courses of our lives have undergone such a sea-change that in fancy I sometimes wish I could barter the future to be back in that moment of the past.
‘Back home when I was a kid I used to go up on a hill like this and watch the sun set on Mount Egmont, which is our look-alike of Mount Fuji, and as the light went I imagined I was the only person left in the world …’
‘What had happened to the others?’
‘I never thought that out,’ she said with a reminiscent smile. ‘They just weren’t there — not nuked or anything nasty. Anyway, I felt like that again just now, only this time I was the only other person left — until that light went on. I’m so happy being up here alone with you that nothing else seems to matter. Tomorrow, though, we must talk. I want you to explain what the problem is that seems to be hanging over you.’
‘As I said, it’s just trying to get this wretched book finished on time,’ I said lightly.
‘Are you stuck with the story?’
‘No, it seems to be developing well at the moment. The atmosphere is building up nicely — it’s time I’m short of. Look, there’s your evening star. She’s a planet really.’
I pointed to where Venus hung like a glow-worm against a blue-black curtain. I tightened my arm about Ashley and she turned her face to me.
‘Jon, I want you … here and now.’
And despite the constraints of our clothing we made love while the dark wind flowed over us.
*
There is no need to detail the next few days except as they confirmed that I had fallen deeply in love with Ashley and she appeared to return the feeling. As yet we had not felt the need to discuss the future. I was in agreement with Ashley, who said, ‘Let’s just set our sails together and see where the winds blow us.’ But of course there was no more talk of her leaving Whispering Corner.
Only one odd incident is worth mentioning. After supper one evening I went upstairs to my study to bring down a copy of Shadows and Mirrors which she had dutifully declared she wanted to read, and when I entered the room I found that once again my books had been dumped in the centre of the floor. This time it had happened with such violence that one had its cover partly torn off.
My first — and very stupid — reaction was that it was a joke played by Ashley because of my conviction that every action, no matter how bizarre, had a logical explanation. My respect for books is such that it makes me over-sensitive to what I regard as misuse. A coffee cup placed on the cheapest paperback sets my teeth on edge.
‘You didn’t need to chuck them down quite so hard,’
I shouted down the stairs in a peeved tone.
‘What are you on about, darling?’
‘Your trick with the books.’
‘Sorry, I don’t know what you mean. I’m coming up.’
She came up the stairs carrying Mrs Foch who, while still suspicious of me, had been gradually enticed back into her old home and now allowed Ashley to comb out her matted fur and treat a wound that had gone septic after some desperate encounter in the woods. But when Ashley reached the study Mrs Foch, perhaps startled at seeing me, emitted a yowl, clawed herself free from her benefactor’s hands and vanished from sight.
Ashley ruefully ran her scratches against her lips and asked, ‘Now, darling, what’s all this about a trick?’
‘It’s happened again,’ I said and pointed to the books.
‘Weird!’ Ashley exclaimed, then a puzzled expression crossed her face. ‘You said something about a trick. You don’t honestly believe that I … ? Oh, how could you even think such a lousy thing?’ She flushed beneath her light tan and her cool dark eyes looked straight into my face. ‘If you think I’m the sort of person to do that you’ve got a bloody odd idea of me,’ she said in a deceptively low tone. ‘I may not be one of your genteel poms, but even in the backblocks where I come from we do have some respect for the printed word. Look at that book — it’s almost lost its cover. Do you really think I’d have done that?’
‘For goodness sake, Ash, you know I could think nothing bad about you. It just flashed through my mind that you might have been having a bit of fun at my expense.’
She did not reply but knelt by the books, handing them up to me to replace.
When this was done she said in an altered voice, ‘Jon, does anyone else have a key to this house?’
‘Not that I know of, except perhaps Hoddy. He must have had one when he was working here.’
‘You told me he thought my great-aunt was a witch. Perhaps he’s got a fixation about black magic or something. Those books that were thrown down were your occult reference books. He probably saw them when he helped you to move in and he may think they’re Satan’s handbooks or something.’
‘You could be right,’ I said. ‘You see, there’s a logical explanation after all …’
‘You’re really afraid that there might not be one, aren’t you? Why?’
‘I’ll have a very discreet word with Hoddy tomorrow,’ I said, ignoring her question. ‘If he was responsible it means that the first time he must have come in while we were asleep.’
‘Or when we were making love. He might even have watched us.’ Her nose wrinkled with distaste.
‘I didn’t hear anything,’ I said.
‘Darling, a Boeing could have landed in the garden and we wouldn’t have heard it.’
*
Next morning I had something more than Hoddy to worry about. The postman brought a recorded delivery letter which I signed for in my dressing-gown. With a sense of foreboding I took it into the kitchen where I had been making tea to share with Ashley. As I tore open the buff envelope the sense of insulation from the outside world which she had given me melted. Reality returned as I read that the Regent Bank’s solicitors had been instructed to bring legal proceedings against me for the full sum owed by Pleiades Films. Unless I immediately cleared the amount they would apply for a possession order on my house situated at Church Walk, Lychett Matravers.
Paul Lincoln had warned me that I would be receiving such a letter, but when I stood with it in my hand all the old anxieties returned and I was filled with anger that the idyll of the last few days should be spoiled.
‘Something wrong?’ Ashley said as I took the tea in to her.
‘Just a business problem,’ I said, trying to sound casual. ‘Authors should be allowed to live in ivory towers and not be bothered by mundane money matters.’
‘Poor darling, you look as though it’s something more than you’re trying to make out. Want to talk about it?’
‘Not at the moment.’
I felt reluctant to explain the Pleiades overdraft to Ashley for the simple reason that I had no wish to appear a fool in her eyes. I could imagine her exclaiming, ‘But surely you must have seen the bank statements? You don’t mean to say you never checked on the company of which you were a director?’
I still remembered my feeling of shame when I had to admit my carelessness to Paul Lincoln.
‘It’s no big secret,’ I added. ‘But I’d better put a quick call through to my accountant.’
I dressed quickly and set off on my well worn path to the phone box. ‘No need to panic,’ said Paul when I got through to him and read out the letter. ‘It’s just another station on the line. Now’s the time to get a solicitor — I suggest you use Swan, Floyd and Company. I’ve found them pretty reliable on this sort of thing. I’ll speak to them on your behalf if you wish. I don’t suppose you’ve been able to contact your partner?’
‘I’ve rung his number each day but no luck. I’ll try again as soon as we’re through.’
‘How’s the novel coming? Keep the midnight oil burning on
that.’
‘It’s fine,’ I said, feeling guilt that I had fallen behind schedule these last few days.
I dialled Charles Nixon’s number next and for the first time I got a reply.
‘Yes?’ came a young Thespian voice. I guessed that with his family away in Wales Charles was making the most of his freedom to entertain young actors who were initially impressed by his promises of film parts.
‘I’d like to speak to Mr Nixon,’ I said.
‘Who calls?’
I told him. I could almost see the hand being put over the mouthpiece, but it was done inefficiently and I heard a faint, sibilant ‘It’s Northrop’. There was a pause and then the voice said, ‘Sorry, he’s away on business. Location hunting.’
‘Oh yes?’ I said. ‘Who are you?’
‘I can’t see that it’s any business of yours, but if you must know I’m a colleague.’
‘Great. You’ll know when Charles will be available, won’t you?’
Another pause, and this time the only sound was static on the line. Again I could picture Charles miming a message not to tell me anything.
‘When Charlie gets in touch with me I’ll tell him you rang. Goodbye.’
‘Tell him now,’ I said. ‘I know he’s with you.’
There was a hiss of indrawn breath and the line went dead.
As I walked back along Church Walk to where the great tree spread its octopus roots over the bank and the plague victims were said to whisper their venerable secrets, I seethed with anger. Charles Nixon had cast a blight on my life at a time when I should be enjoying it to the full. It now seemed obvious that he had cynically run up the overdraft in the knowledge that the bank would look to me for its repayment because I was an easy target. I sat on a tangle of roots to give myself time to calm down. I did not want this miserable business to infect my relationship with Ashley.
She must have been watching for my return because as soon as I went through the white wicket gate she came out to greet me.
‘Not too tough?’
‘Not the end of the world,’ I said and even managed a smile.
‘I feel a bit guilty,’ she said, slipping her hand in mine. ‘I’ve been taking up so much of your time, and I know you’re worried about the deadline for your novel. I’ll spend today writing to the folks back home so you can lock yourself away and get a huge number of pages done. OK?’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘I think poor old Falco is in for a tough time.’
When I went up to my study I decided that before I began work on Whispering Corner I would draft a letter to Charles. I quoted the bank’s letter to me and asked him to answer several points which included why I had not been informed of the overdraft, where the money had gone and what the hell he intended to do about honouring his guarantee. When I typed the letter I omitted ‘what the hell’, and considering the mood I was in it was remarkably restrained. Very firm, but restrained.
*
When I came down from my study, back aching after a day at the typewriter, head aching from trying to create the fear which gripped my characters when they were confronted by the materialization of a past event, I found a stiff drink prepared for me in the dining-room and the table beautifully laid with a vase of wild summer flowers flanked by two candles. I was deeply touched by the work Ashley had put into cheering me up. It would be churlish not to respond, and I did my utmost to shrug off my gloom and enter into the spirit of the evening.
‘Something smells very good,’ I said, entering the kitchen.
‘Casseroled steak cooked in Guinness,’ she said.
Mrs Foch, who had responded to Ashley’s overtures by gradually reverting to the role of a pet in her old home, rubbed enthusiastically against her ankles and purred rhythmically.
‘You’ll get your share,’ Ashley promised.
It was a heart-warming domestic scene and I had to fight off the bitterness which rose like bile when I remembered that soon such an evening in Whispering Corner would be impossible.
A day at a time, I told myself. Just live for today. And I made such an effort not to think of the future that when we sat down to eat I actually had Ashley laughing at jokes dredged up from my old newspaper days. Thanks to a few drinks and Ashley’s company I did not have to work at being cheerful for long. I really did throw off the depression which had been louring over me all day.
When we were finished the smoked cheese and port which Ashley had bought in Poole, she suddenly said, ‘I’ve no right to ask about your problems, but what I do want to know is whether they have anything to do with you and me.’
For a minute I hesitated, but then I decided to tell her about Pleiades Films and the Regent Bank in order to dispel any idea that there was anything wrong between us.
‘So you really might lose Whispering Corner?’ she said when I had finished. She was really troubled, and not just on my behalf. Now that she was living in her great-aunt’s old home it had come to mean a lot to her. In a sense she would be losing Whispering Corner as well. ‘No wonder you’ve been on edge. But there must be some way round it.’ She made several suggestions, most of which I had already considered and rejected, and in the end she began to accept the fact that I was legally responsible for the debt. Now it was her turn to look depressed, and I said, ‘It hasn’t happened yet. Something will turn up. If the thought of it spoils the time we have together then my problem will be doubled.’
We sat in silence for a while. I wondered if Ashley regarded me as a fool for having allowed myself to get into this stupid situation, and I expected some remark to this effect when she looked up and said, ‘Jonathan, is it because of this Pleiades business that you drink so much?’
I was honestly surprised. ‘I didn’t think that I drank a lot,’ I said defensively. ‘I must confess that I have had the odd brandy when I’ve been a bit depressed. And it does help to keep me going when I’m tired, but I’m hardly a toper.’
‘No? It’s just that when you’re not working you do seem to have a brandy in your hand quite often.’
‘Well diluted with Perrier,’ I said. ‘I have a thing about having a glass in my hand. Don’t worry, Ash. I’m a world away from seeing purple snakes.’ But as I said those words I had a memory of that strange and frightening night I descended into the cellar. Brandy had been responsible for that.
‘I was silly to mention it,’ said Ashley. ‘It’s just that I love you so much and, you see, my father had a drink problem.’ She shrugged. ‘He’s not so bad now, but when we were kids he would have a bout every so often and then things were grim for the family. The rest of the time he was a kind and loving man, but when he came home with rum on his breath we knew all hell was about to break lose. Funny how things in childhood remain with you.’
‘You’re damn right,’ I said and was surprised at the bitterness in my voice. ‘That’s what real haunting is: not phantoms, but what Poe called “sheeted shadows from the past”, shadows of things we can sometimes hardly remember which follow us through life.’
‘Sorry, Jon, but I must go to bed,’ Ashley said. ‘I’m exhausted. It’s just hit me — I don’t know why.’
‘Because only a few days ago you came out of hospital, and you were warned it’d be a while before you were a hundred per cent. Now it’s up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire.’
She smiled at the old-fashioned nursery expression, and hand in hand we went upstairs to her room. As yet she had not moved into my bedroom. ‘Don’t take this amiss,’ she had said, ‘but things have happened so quickly between us that I don’t want to get into a marriage routine and lose the courtship.’
‘You’ll come and say goodnight?’ she said now as we reached her door.
I put on my pyjamas, then went along the landing to Ashley’s room. She was asleep. I lay down beside her, pulled the duvet over me and savoured her warmth, my fingers resting gently on the swell of her breast. As I became drowsy the old hypnagogic voices began their quarrel until I crossed the borderland into sleep.
It was Mrs Foch — the newly domesticated Mrs Foch — landing heavily on the bed that roused me. For a few moments I lay still in the darkened room. Beside me Ashley slept on. Then I caught a noise, a noise I sensed rather than heard, that suggested someone moving about. I felt no fear, rather indignation. It occurred to me it might be Hoddy sneaking into the house to vent his anger on my reference books.
I eased myself cautiously out of bed so as not to disturb Ashley. The bedroom door was ajar, and once through it I made sure that it was closed properly. Then, in the fading moonlight, I began to descend the stairs in an increasing state of bewilderment.
The first odd thing I noticed was a dark oil painting, I think of a pastoral scene with a ruined tower in the background and framed in ornate gilt, hanging on the wall halfway down. All my pictures were in plain silvered frames. Where the hell had this picture come from? Had Ashley bought it for me and hung it there as a surprise gift? If so it was strange that I had not noticed it earlier.
But Ashley could not have hung striped wallpaper on the walls which I’d had painted Lilywhite. It was as though I was descending into a stranger’s house.
A repetition of the sound which had aroused me dispelled the bewilderment. The intruder was my priority and I continued down to the hall, where a candle in a brass candleholder burned on a great polished chest I had never seen before. The air was filled with the aromatic smell of a log fire.
This transformation — this slipping through a tear in the veil of time — had been so rapid and mundane that I could not immediately comprehend it.
The sound of someone talking softly led me across the hall to the half-open door of the room I used as a dining-room, my naked feet feeling the texture of alien rugs. And it was at this point, gazing at a scene of two centuries ago, that my disorientation was transmuted to fear.
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