During the next few hours, Cassandra tidied away Julian’s hamper, putting the food into the fridge and the wine with the rest of her store. While she pottered around the cottage, her thoughts kept turning in a morbid fashion to dwell on past events. The paint splashed around the shed, the face in the woods when she first arrived, the fire, the decapitated hare on her doorstep, the figurine in the grass on the hill, Bailey, Julian—and finally, the watcher. In all the time she had been there, it had only been during the latter few months that she had learnt to relax and wind down to a slow pace of life. She thought she was getting better, getting over Susan’s and Natalie’s deaths. But she knew, as she felt her heart sicken and sink, that she was fooling herself. There was always the feeling of being spied upon and especially when on her walks up on the hills. And there were the events of the day before, of course.
As these inexplicable issues came to the front of her thoughts, she found it impossible to concentrate on anything else. She sat down at her kitchen table, the fire still cold and unlit, as she worried over what to do. She knew everything was illogical, but still she felt she was haunted by neurotic anxieties, and perhaps more importantly, she knew how ludicrous anyone would think her if she tried to explain everything from beginning to end. She was on her own.
Cassandra stayed at the table, almost comatose with fright and incapable of movement. Gradually, as the minutes passed she came to a conclusion. She was not confused. There was nothing wrong with her mind. She was simply exhausted, and now she was paralysed with panic and apprehension. Good god, she was not blind to reality yet. All those things had damn well occurred, and the painting had been taken deliberately.
With a clear and cold resolve she stood up. Enough was enough. Everyone close to her thought she was going dotty because she chose to live alone for a time: Rosie, Cynthia, Julian, and almost certainly most of the neighbours here. Well, it certainly wasn’t affecting her mind. She knew there was danger lurking somewhere and not too far off. She owed it to herself; she wouldn’t return to the city a failed woman. For God’s sake, she wanted her self-respect.
Cassandra threw off the feeling of self-pity. Everything was not lost, and there was no cause for panic. Certain things had been nasty and unpleasant, but she was sure there was an answer if only she knew where to look. She thought of her neighbours: which of them welcomed her into their homes? Certainly not the dysfunctional horde at the farm, and Angus was an enigma. Had he always been so from the first time she met him?
She considered going to see Fiona and Donald, but the thought of Donald’s unctuous looks cast in her direction put her off. Maybe she would go when she was feeling stronger. Cassandra wandered over to her front window and saw the snowfall was getting heavier. The sisters’ house was just in view. Elizabeth and Lorna were always welcoming, if a little bizarre; she would start there. Cassandra was in the habit of stopping and chatting to Elizabeth whenever they met, and if Lorna was nearby in the garden, Cassandra never escaped being invited in for coffee, tea, and large helpings of delicious food. She felt sorry for the uncomplaining Elizabeth, who cared for her sister every minute of the day, and often wondered if Elizabeth yearned for time on her own.
Cassandra grabbed a coat and shrugged it on. She wound a scarf around her ears and pulled gloves onto her hands. If they were out, she would go to Fiona and Donald’s. Or to Angus, but in truth, the thought of his possible rejection made her hesitate. She crossed the garden, her boots making squeaky noises in the deepening snow, and looked both ways along the lane outside her gate. Her gaze slid over the farmhouse; one of the brothers was walking towards the outhouses, or it could have been the uncle. Beyond the farm, she noticed another heavily clad figure push open the gate to the kirk grounds and step inside. Even in freezing cold weather, life continued as normal in the Highlands.
“Come in, my dear,” Elizabeth said, after opening the door to Cassandra. “What awful weather. This wasn’t forecast, I’m sure.”
“Who is it, dearest?” asked a breathless voice from the confines of the kitchen. “We don’t have anything else for jumble. We gave it all away last week to the Townswomen Guild.”
“It’s Cassandra,” replied Elizabeth over her shoulder, smiling at Cassandra as she opened the door wide for her to enter. “Come on, before we let the cold in,” she repeated.
“Oh good, I’ll put the kettle on. You’ll stay for coffee?” Lorna bobbed her head round the door and nodded up and down like a novelty dog in the back of a car. Not waiting for an answer, she disappeared, and both women heard the clatter of mugs and kettle and the squeak of the fridge door opening and closing. Cassandra grinned at Elizabeth, and she caught a fraction of a conspiratorial smile in return.
“She’s happy having something to do,” she whispered as they walked through to the sitting room. “But what about you? You’re looking tired and a bit peaky. Are you feeling unwell?”
Cassandra wasn’t sure how to approach the matter which was uppermost in her mind, nor was she sure she should burden Elizabeth with her troubles. “I’m not ill, but no, I’m not sleeping as well as I could. I’ve been concerned lately.”
Elizabeth turned her head, and Cassandra caught what she thought was an anxious glint in her eyes.
“You’d better tell me all about it, my dear.”
Cassandra sat down and in a low voice began her tale. She didn’t mention everything which had happened to her and made sure to keep the details to a minimum. After a few minutes, she wondered whether Elizabeth was paying her full attention.
Cassandra tried not to sigh. “I’m sure there’s some explanation for paint being thrown over the wall and the painting disappearing like that.”
Elizabeth’s eyelids fluttered, and Cassandra decided to tell her something about her impressions when out walking. “And it’s happened quite a few times now. On one occasion I found one of Susan’s small sculptures up on the brae. Elizabeth, there was definitely someone up there watching me. He was tall and dressed in black.”
Elizabeth sat forward in her chair and finally spoke. “He? You’re saying a man was watching you?”
Cassandra nodded as Elizabeth continued in a slow, soft voice. “You know, I think it’s just this place, Inverdarroch. There’s something about it, which makes you think these things.”
“But dammit, Elizabeth, I’m sure someone has been inside my cottage. He—or she—must have a key. I’m positive I’ve always locked up when I’ve gone out. I wondered if it’s the same figure I’ve seen up on the brae. The first time I walked towards it, it just disappeared into the rocks. It was like a…an apparition.”
“Well, the valley and hills are supposed to be haunted,” she murmured.
“Elizabeth, this was no ghost. I saw him as clearly as I see you.”
“But my dear, it’s funny no one else has mentioned anything, don’t you think? We all go out walking from time to time…not as much as I’d like to because of Lorna. But I talk to everyone here, and nothing’s been said. It doesn’t make sense really. I think you’re tired and overwrought after being up all night with poor wee Bailey.”
“Yes, I’m tired and upset, but I’m not imagining things. I swear it.”
“Have you talked to anyone about this? Angus or Fiona and Donald, for instance. I know you get on well with them.”
Cassandra leant back, finding herself more frustrated than relieved after bearing her soul. “No, I haven’t. I thought I’d speak to you first before visiting Fiona. The Campbells are a waste of time. They hardly say a word to me, except for Carol, and she hardly ever goes out, so I doubt if she’d notice anything. She’s still shy and would probably panic if I mentioned a strange man watching from the hills.”
“Then speak to Angus and Fiona. I can’t vouch for Fiona, as she’s a bit of a flibbertigibbet, but Angus is sensible. If you want my advice, I’d go back home for a while and sort yourself out. Back to Liverpool, I mean. You’ve been through a difficult year after losing your sister, and this place
might not be right for you, after all. We’re used to this quiet existence, but you’re not. I’m sure you haven’t invented anything, but strange things do happen in these isolated glens.”
“Maybe…”
“You’ve experienced lots of little incidents during your time here, and you’ve pinned it all down to this man, this watcher up on the hill.”
“Ye-es, I do understand what you’re getting at. You think they’re not connected in any way.”
“Exactly. Normally you’d be busy rushing around with your photography work, but up here you’ve had time to take things easy and sit and ponder. Little things can often get all out of proportion, you know.”
“Okay, I accept odd things can affect you, but what about the disappearance of my painting? I know it was hanging on the wall just before I went out last night.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I expect you took it down while you were upset over Bailey’s disappearance and forgot where you put it. I’m always doing it. Sometimes I find things in the oddest places and can’t ever remember how they got there.”
“And Julian disappearing just like that?”
“I’m sorry, my dear, I know nothing about your personal relationship with your young man. Maybe he was a bit jealous of you being here or something? Perhaps he’d like you back home. If he just disappeared like you say, he’s probably waiting for you to call him and say sorry.”
Cassandra felt like banging her head against the nearest wall. Why did everyone think Julian had gone home in a huff after a supposed tiff? Why was Elizabeth skirting around the truth? Cassandra decided enough was enough. She was getting nowhere with Elizabeth. This time she did sigh. “Perhaps you’re right. I should go back to Liverpool.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it, being among your friends again.”
“Perhaps I should sell the cottage. I’ve spent loads of time doing it up, and it looks so much better now. Julian says I’d get quite a lot for the house and land. But if I left it empty it would get damp. I’ve not yet got round to putting central heating in.”
Elizabeth’s face brightened. “It’s not a problem, my dear. You can buy those oil-filled low wattage heaters which keep the damp out. I believe people use them in greenhouses and boats. And I’ll always keep an eye on the place. It will be no bother, I can assure you.” She leaned forward, warming to the idea.
“I didn’t want to leave quite as soon but maybe once Bailey is well again. He’ll miss the open space though. My flat in Liverpool is hardly dog-friendly.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of parks he’ll enjoy—” She broke off when Lorna waltzed into the room with a tray bearing coffee and an assortment of cakes and biscuits. “Ah, coffee,” she said and stood up to assist Lorna. Cassandra knew that as far as Elizabeth was concerned the matter was closed.
While Cassandra sat drinking her coffee and nibbling at a piece of delicious chocolate cake, she thought over Elizabeth’s logic. She wasn’t sure her hostess was being completely honest with her, giving Cassandra the definite feeling she wanted her out of the way. But why?
Lorna chatted about inconsequential things, while the other two women smiled and nodded. Cassandra felt her mind drift over Lorna’s prattle and allowed her gaze to roam about the room. Eventually her eye settled on the painting Susan had given the sisters. There was something compelling about the picture. Cassandra always assumed the boy seated on the rock was Lorna’s dead child. She wondered what became of him.
Cassandra switched her observation back to Lorna and noticed Elizabeth watching her covertly. There was something in her manner which unsettled Cassandra, and she resolved to leave as soon as she could.
When there was a natural break in the conversation, she stood up, thanked Lorna for yet another splendid cake, and said it was time to be going. Lorna bobbed her head and said goodbye before taking the dirty mugs and plates out to the kitchen. Cassandra heard the chink of china as Lorna scraped crumbs into the waste bin; Lorna was in her own world and had already forgotten she had left a visitor in the hallway. Elizabeth shook her head in her sister’s direction and said she would see Cassandra out.
As they passed the painting, Cassandra couldn’t help glancing at it once more and hesitated. “Yes, it’s Lorna’s son,” Elizabeth whispered.
“He was a lovely-looking boy,” Cassandra replied. “How did he die?”
This time Elizabeth wavered before shaking her head. “He didn’t. Thomas is still alive.”
Cassandra looked at her with widened eyes. “Oh, sorry, I assumed…I thought you told me he’d died.”
“No, I never said that. Thomas lives in a home. He comes to visit us when he feels well enough. It is very sad. Thomas has some problems, but he is a darling person really and hardly any trouble when he’s here. We would have him permanently with us, but Lorna can’t cope for more than a few days. There are such awful, horrific memories, you see. Sometimes I wonder which of them is the more damaged…”
Cassandra raised her eyebrows and felt saddened by Elizabeth’s explanation.
“Think about what I said about looking after your cottage. As I said, it’ll be no trouble.” Elizabeth said as Cassandra left the house.
Chapter 28 The Present, Inverdarroch
Cassandra knew she ought to talk to Fiona but really wanted to avoid involving Donald. There was something about him, which, although intangible and inexplicable, gave her the creeps. The handsome and sexy-looking man was always friendly whenever they bumped onto one another, and he never failed to flash his white and even teeth in a smile or be polite, but Cassandra still got the feeling he resented her being in Inverdarroch. Despite all his charm, was he devious enough to be the one who was trying to frighten her off? He did want her cottage, after all. And it was probably because of his charisma that she was afraid of confronting him. She suspected he could be aggressive and wondered what hold he had over Fiona. The woman was completely smitten with him, and Cassandra knew she was to tread carefully when talking about the younger woman’s lover. On more than one occasion Cassandra caught the look of temper on the younger woman’s face when Donald was particularly ingratiating towards her. Cassandra thought it funny at the time, but she was having doubts. There was she in her forties and Fiona was around thirty. She thought Donald might have been feeling mischievous by playing devil’s advocate and winding Fiona up. He was, after all, a bully.
Yet, despite Donald wanting Cassandra’s cottage, she wasn’t one completely sure he was the one playing mind games and creating havoc in her life. For one thing, apart from his running, she rarely saw Donald out walking in the hills, and his attitude was more obvious than cunning.
Fiona would be easier to talk to, and Cassandra considered she was dim enough not to understand she was picking her brain. Fiona liked Bailey, and Cassandra thought it a good excuse to engage Fiona in a little cautious exchange.
Cassandra glanced at her watch and decided there was no occasion like the present. With Bailey lying sore and forlorn back at the vet’s, she had time on her hands. Hopefully, Donald would be at work and Fiona on one of her half days. It was easier than she imagined. Once Cassandra left the Blackmores’ cottage, the first person she bumped into was Fiona, and from then on, Cassandra led the conversation until she found a neat way of asking her about possible strangers in Inverdarroch.
“You’re kidding. No one new ever visits here, except you and your friends, of course.”
“What about kids, teenagers? I’ve never seen any at the farm, but they must have other family. Farms are great places for kids to explore.”
Fiona shook her head and looked round Cassandra’s living room, picking up one of Bailey’s chewed-up toys. “It feels strange without Bailey. Tell me again what happened?”
“He disappeared when Julian and I were out walking, and then reappeared hours later. He must have caught himself on some barbed wire or a jagged piece of wood because he was bleeding quite badly. Either that or someone hurt him on purpose,”
she added in a low voice.
“Poor wee thing. Nobody would have done that, surely? Let’s hope the vet sorts him out. Was there a great deal of blood? I remember when your sister’s dog disappeared. She was ever so upset, too.”
Cassandra felt her heart flutter as she remembered the state Bailey was in when she found him at her door. Someone had come across the young dog and inflicted the awful injury on him. What she wanted to know was whether it happened up on the mountain or down in the village. At first, she assumed the sword carrier was the culprit, but Bailey hadn’t been around at that stage. She had just heard Fiona mention Susan’s dog. It was odd that she too had gone missing. Someone had told her some time ago that Susan thought she had been stolen and tied up somewhere. It was Angus—she suddenly remembered. It was Angus who told her.
Cassandra wondered about Fiona and Donald’s afternoon and nocturnal excursions. Donald was a bit of an exercise freak, often out running along the lane and no doubt over the moors. Fiona accompanied him on a few occasions, but Cassandra guessed her heart wasn’t in it, as she remembered hearing her complaining more than once when they passed her cottage. But if either of them possessed a key—and it appeared someone in the village did—they could easily have let themselves into her house the previous night and the times before. Donald claimed the cottage should rightfully still be in his family. What if he did bear an almighty grudge against her for being there?
What about Fiona? She was employed but spent a lot of her free time with Cassandra as she claimed to enjoy hearing about her photography work. As she mulled things over in her head, Cassandra poured their coffee. Fiona was standing near the window watching the snow drift down.
“Bailey is in the best hands. The vet said she hopes he’ll be home in a few days. Fiona, have you ever come past this place and seen anyone hanging round? You know, maybe if not a stranger—as you say there never are any—but one of the villagers perhaps?”
ON DEVIL'S BRAE (A Psychological Suspense Thriller) (Dark Minds Mystery Suspense) Page 18