The Darkest Hour

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘I love you, Tony. I have never loved anyone like this before,’ she whispered.

  He laughed gently. ‘And there speaks the voice of how many years’ experience?’

  She giggled. ‘Enough to know you are the one.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘But Ralph’s right, we have to keep it a secret. Just for now. Just as I have to stay away from Westhampnett for a bit.’

  He opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it again. He nodded. Gently he pulled away the sheet, burying his face in her breasts. They sat still for a few moments then at last Tony stood up. ‘I have to go, Evie.’

  She nodded, biting her lip. It was bad enough for him without her making a fuss. ‘How did you get here?’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t hear Esmeralda.’

  ‘I didn’t dare make a noise. I cycled up. Don’t worry. It won’t take me long. Bill is covering for me and the lads at the gate will look the other way when I sneak back in.’ He bent and kissed her.

  They tiptoed down the stairs, holding their breath as one of the steps creaked under their feet. Evie followed him outside and across the yard. By the gate she stopped and watched as he vaulted over it and retrieved an old bicycle from the hedge.

  ‘See you soon, my love,’ he whispered. Pulling the bike round he scooted it down the lane a few paces and threw his leg over the saddle and began pedalling for all he was worth. Then he was gone.

  Upstairs in the farmhouse Rachel heard the click of the back door closing softly and the patter of feet across the hall and up the stairs and she smiled to herself. So, the romance was back on. She hoped Evie had been careful. Beside her Dudley groaned and turned over. ‘What’s that,’ he murmured. ‘Is someone there?’

  ‘No one,’ she whispered. ‘Just the wind. Go back to sleep. Morning will come soon enough.’

  Monday 12th August

  ‘Lucy!’

  The voice penetrated her restless dreams and dragged her slowly awake.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Dolly was standing beside the sofa staring down at her in astonishment. Lucy sat up slowly, stiff and uncomfortable and for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. Then it came back to her, the gallery, the picture, Huw’s failure, and Mike. With a groan she sat up and glanced at her wristwatch. It was just after nine. The action gave her time to think of an excuse for her uninvited presence.

  ‘I don’t know how it happened. I was doing some extra work and I was suddenly so tired I thought I would lie down for a few minutes. Oh, Dolly. I’m sorry. How awful.’ She swung her legs sideways off the sofa, and managed to stand up, running her fingers through her hair, which hung loose on her shoulders.

  Dolly looked at her quizzically but all she said was, ‘Go and wash your face, and I will put on some coffee. I’ve come in today to make up for the day I missed at the dentist.’ She picked up her bags and made her way towards the kitchen where Lucy joined her ten minutes later.

  ‘It was rather a hectic weekend,’ Lucy said by way of explanation. ‘I saw Michael – he came to the gallery – then I came over here a bit later hoping to see him again before he went back to London, but he had gone so I went over to the studio to catch up on a few things. I thought I would come in and make some coffee to give me the energy to drive home and I suppose it all overwhelmed me.’ She gave Dolly a hopeful smile.

  Dolly merely nodded. ‘Would you like some toast?’

  ‘I would. Yes, please.’

  ‘Did Mr Michael come over to talk to you about Christopher and what he had told him?’ Dolly said. She had her back to Lucy, taking a loaf from the bread bin and reaching for the knife.

  Lucy felt herself grow cold. So, he had told Dolly. ‘He did, yes.’ There was no point in lying any more.

  ‘And have you got one of Evie’s paintings?’

  For a moment Lucy was about to deny it, then slowly she nodded. What was the point? It was all going to come out now. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘We hoped so. My husband thought it might be. Then there was the car crash.’

  ‘And the picture was destroyed.’ Dolly seemed to take it as a fact. ‘So that was why you became interested in Evie’s work?’

  Lucy hesitated. ‘Not entirely. I was interested in the women war artists before, but seeing the picture focused me on Evie, yes.’

  Now was the moment to say that the picture had survived, that it was in the gallery in Chichester and that it appeared to be haunted by a ghost who had chased her out of her own home last night, but somehow she didn’t have the strength to say any more. She reached for the cafetière and poured herself a second mug of strong black coffee. ‘Mike was angry I hadn’t told him about it,’ she said at last. ‘But the moment never seemed right. The picture has never been authenticated. It is very different from the others of hers that I have seen.’ All that was true.

  If Dolly noticed the change of tense from was to is she didn’t say anything and Lucy found herself suddenly wondering if the picture did still exist. She had not gone into the studio again last night. The ghost, if that was what it was, had thrown the canvas at Huw, that was what he had said. It had thrown it at him and he had run away. If it hadn’t been a ghost and was some person, Christopher Marston, or even Mike playing some weird game with her, determined to get rid of the painting for some reason, it was in a way even more terrifying. Perhaps the picture was destroyed. She shivered. Dolly noticed that, at least.

  ‘Are you all right, my dear? I hope you didn’t take a chill last night. I saw you had the presence of mind to fetch down Evie’s old rug.’

  Lucy blushed. ‘I must have woken up enough to realise that I was cold. I am feeling a bit shivery.’

  ‘Well, you’d best go home and go to bed properly,’ Dolly said firmly. ‘We don’t want you getting pneumonia, do we?’

  The gallery was open when Lucy made her way from the car and pushed open the door. Robin was sitting at the desk writing something in the sales ledger. He peered at her over his reading glasses, then took them off and threw them down. ‘OK, ducky. What’s the story?’

  She dropped her bag on the floor beside the desk and threw herself into the armchair beside him. ‘I was chased out by the ghost. Huw couldn’t cope.’

  Robin leaned back in his chair and stared at her.

  ‘Have you been upstairs?’ she asked before he had a chance to speak.

  ‘Of course I have. I went to look for you.’

  ‘And is everything all right?’

  ‘Apart from the fact that you left all the lights on, yes.’

  ‘Have you been in the studio?’ She could hear the tension in her voice.

  He eyed her carefully. ‘I have, yes.’

  ‘And was the picture damaged?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No overpainting, no splodges of new paint, no scratches.’

  ‘And it was on the easel?’

  ‘Where else would it be?’

  If it was Christopher he would have taken the painting. Wouldn’t he? Or Mike? Always that nasty little caveat at the back of her brain, could it be Mike? But Mike wouldn’t do this to her, surely?

  But Mike or Christopher, neither would risk damaging a valuable painting. The terrifying sinister entity which had been here last night wouldn’t care, didn’t care. It wanted to stop her, it wanted to frighten her. What did it want?

  ‘He … someone … something … threw the picture at Huw. It sounded as though it had smashed. That was why I ran away.’

  ‘Huw left you here alone?’

  ‘No, he wanted me to go and stay with him and his wife. He … I … I was being unfair just now. He just said it was more than he could deal with and he would have to call in his God squad of ghostbusters and I said no. I was horrible to him. I tried to ring you too,’ she added. She glanced at him apologetically. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I wondered,’ she paused, ‘I wondered if Mike or Christopher were behind this. If you are right and ghosts don’t exist, maybe someone is pretend
ing to be a ghost, but either way, I couldn’t face staying here, so I went to Rosebank Cottage.’

  ‘You WHAT?’ Robin looked at her incredulously.

  ‘I knew Mike wouldn’t be there,’ she said after a moment. ‘He told us he was going back to London, remember? And I checked by calling first. I just didn’t want to be here!’

  ‘And if it was Mike behind all this?’ Robin said gravely. ‘It would mean he is a dangerous man. And yet you believed him when he said he was going back to London?’

  Lucy pushed her hair back from her face with a sigh. Her head was splitting. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight.’

  ‘No.’ Robin exhaled loudly. He sat forward in the chair, tapping a pencil on the desk. ‘So now what?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She felt like crying suddenly.

  ‘It seems to me,’ Robin said at last, ‘that you have stirred up one hell of a wasps’ nest here! And,’ he added grudgingly, ‘maybe not just in the present day, but perhaps in the past as well! I’m not sure the Marstons are capable of doing any of this, Luce. Didn’t it start before they knew about the painting? If it is all a hoax it is an incredibly clever one. I searched that studio. No one could have got in there.’

  ‘So, now you are telling me that you think it is a ghost?’ She looked up at him miserably.

  ‘I’m saying that all this is getting out of hand. You, we, can’t cope with this on our own.’

  ‘If it is a ghost, I don’t want the Church involved.’

  ‘Not even Huw?’

  She slumped back in the chair. ‘Huw is not like the other vicars I’ve met, like the one who did Larry’s funeral. I like Huw. I trusted him.’ Her shoulders hunched dejectedly. ‘He did his best. He is a kind man. It was beyond him, that’s all. When I realised he couldn’t do it, I panicked and sent him away.’ She groped in her pocket for a tissue. ‘That was when I decided that maybe it wasn’t a ghost after all, that maybe the Marstons were behind all this. I wanted to believe they were behind it.’ She looked at him pleadingly.

  ‘If the Marstons are behind this, Luce, we need the police,’ Robin said quietly. ‘But they aren’t, are they? They may be angry with you, they may be furious with you and want to stop you researching Evie for some reason, but they are not capable of entering a locked room on the first floor and conjuring with disappearing paint and flying pictures!’

  He reached across and took her hands. ‘So, on the one hand, you seem to have wound up this Christopher person big time, and you’ve alienated Michael Marston into the bargain. On the other, you are being besieged by something weird. Whatever and whoever it is, you can’t stay here with canvasses flying round your ears and doors slamming and oil paint being splodged over our portrait. Come on, Lucy. Get real! You are out of your depth. You have to move out and you have to call in the professionals.’

  October 27th 1940

  Waiting to taxi into position and take off into the pre-dawn light Tony smiled to himself. He had hardly slept at all after leaving Evie and crawling back into his bed at the Mess in the early hours, but this morning a mug of strong black tea and a cigarette had woken him sufficiently for him to feel on top of the world. As A flight roared over the grass and up into the air, heading over the spire of Chichester cathedral where it emerged from the early morning mist, and then climbed round towards the east he let out a whoop of joy.

  ‘Squadron heading vector one twenty, climb to angels one five.’ The sector controller’s instructions crackled over his headphones. He glanced to the side and saw Bill do a thumbs up as he held position next to him as the first rays of the rising sun caught their wings and glittered on the Perspex hood over his head.

  ‘One hundred and fifty plus bandits approaching Worthing at angels one eight. The buggers are early this morning, chaps. Let’s give them what for!’ The voice crackled again.

  Tony smiled. He glanced across at Bill and returned the thumbs up sign, then the planes were wheeling south again, gaining height across the still-dark sea away from the chalk cliffs of Sussex.

  Later that morning Ralph was grabbing a mug of tea, sitting in a shabby old deckchair outside the dispersal hut at Tangmere with a newspaper as his plane was refuelled when Al approached him. ‘That was quite a spat this morning! Three of theirs shot down but two of ours damaged.’ He grabbed a chair next to Ralph. ‘One of them was Tony Anderson.’

  Ralph looked up. ‘Was he hurt?’

  ‘Not much.’ Al pursed his lips. ‘Nothing a bit of sticking plaster and a good mechanic won’t fix.’ He rubbed his face with his hands wearily. ‘Is Tony still keen on your sister?’

  Ralph shook his head. ‘No. I think that’s over. Why?’

  Al frowned. ‘This is between us, yes?’ He leaned forward, dropping his voice, his elbows resting on his knees. ‘I’ve heard a rumour about Tony. It seems that he has enemies and I am not talking about Jerry.’

  ‘What?’

  Al reached into the breast pocket of his battledress and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He passed one to Ralph and brought out his lighter.

  ‘Someone told me in confidence that he thought we had a case of friendly fire. It was not officially reported but it looked to the observer as though it was intentional.’

  Ralph stared at him, the cigarette burning untouched between his fingers. ‘You’re not serious?’ He felt sick suddenly.

  Al nodded. ‘Serious enough to tip you the wink. I’m not sure who Tony’s muckers are over at Westhampnett and I don’t want to speak to the wrong person by mistake, but you might have a cautious word with him. Don’t put the wind up the lad too much, but it wouldn’t do any harm if he were to watch his back for a bit.’

  ‘That is appalling!’

  Al nodded. ‘Not something we need just now. He’s landed safely back at Westhampnett. I had a word with his CO on the phone after we got back. No accusations or anything, just a friendly enquiry. Don doesn’t seem to have noticed anything suspicious, but then he might be being as cautious as me. I was told there weren’t any bandits within range at the time.’

  Ralph finally remembered the cigarette and raising it to his lips took a deep draw on it. ‘I can’t think of anyone who doesn’t like Tony. But it’s difficult to know what’s going on, being based at different airfields.’

  Al stood up. ‘Just keep your eyes open, old boy.’ He raised his hand to his rigger as the bowser finished refuelling his plane and pulled away. Al was ready to fly again. He headed for the dispersal hut.

  Ralph stayed where he was, lost in thought. Of course Tony had an enemy. But surely to God Eddie would not contemplate trying to kill him and even if it had crossed his mind, his clammy reach would not, could not, extend to someone in one of the squadrons. And anyway, Tony and Evie had broken it off. Or Tony had. Hadn’t he?

  From the flight hut behind him the sound of a telephone rang out. Time to go to work again. Eddie and Evie forgotten, he threw down the cigarette and reached for his helmet and goggles.

  16

  Monday 12th August

  ‘The thing is, the picture hasn’t actually been damaged.’ Lucy and Robin had closed the gallery, stuck a ‘Back at 2 p.m.’ sign in the window and were having lunch in a bistro in South Street. ‘It is all smoke and mirrors,’ she went on. She had had a shower and a walk to clear her head and felt more rational now. ‘We think damage has been done, we hear the crashes, we see and touch the wet paint, but it isn’t real. It’s some sort of hallucination.’

  ‘You don’t think there is a risk of this becoming real? Of it actually happening? Of the picture being destroyed?’ Robin topped up her glass of wine and dug once more into his plate of linguini.

  It was only when she had realised that she was starving that Lucy had remembered that she hadn’t eaten for nearly twenty-four hours. With the door locked on the gallery and its problems, in the cheerful atmosphere of the crowded little restaurant, she felt marginally more relaxed. Safely away from the malign influence in the studio she felt a little more able to confr
ont what had happened and to try and decide what to do next.

  ‘I don’t know. That might be a real possibility.’ She tore a piece off her bread and dabbled it in the oil and vinegar dressing in the little dish between them. ‘If this is a ghost of some sort and not a human, then I need to talk to Mike and tell him everything. I can’t go on misleading him. I have to have him on side otherwise his evil cousin will manage to convince him I am all the bad things he suspects and more.’

  Robin grinned. ‘But that’s my Luce. Evil to her core. A schemer in the grand manner.’

  She smiled in spite of herself. ‘It’s not funny! The whole enterprise could go belly up. It’s bad enough not having Christopher Marston’s support, but if I have lost Mike’s co-operation then that would be the end of the biography. I couldn’t do it without his help. And yet now, I have this constant fear in the back of my mind. What if Mike is part of it?’

  ‘One way to sort it out, if only in the interim,’ Robin sat forward earnestly, ‘and I don’t know why we didn’t think of this before, is to get rid of the painting. It’s obvious, isn’t it. So, the first thing you have to do, Luce, is find somewhere safe to store it. The painting is the centre of all this. It obviously can’t stay in that studio right next to your kitchen.’

  ‘No.’ She sounded doubtful.

  ‘So, where do we store a haunted oil painting?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But I do. Or at least I have an idea,’ he said. ‘Leave it with me. I am going to call Phil.’

  By five o’clock that afternoon the picture had been crated and removed from the premises.

  ‘Don’t tell me where you’re taking it,’ Lucy said firmly.

  Robin stared at her. They had lifted it into the back of his car and slammed the hatch door on it. ‘Why on earth not?’

  ‘Then I can’t tell anyone.’