From the edge of the wood a ghostly shape detached itself from amongst the trees and swooped low across the field towards her. She watched, holding her breath. Part of her was aware that it was a barn owl, but in the deep, inner recesses of her mind, which understood the buried mythic traditions of the soul that are beyond rationality, she knew that this was a sign. The owl settled on the rowan tree and sat looking down at her. It didn’t seem afraid. For a moment she didn’t dare move, afraid of scaring it away, then slowly she raised the knife. Taking the tip of the branch in her cold fingers she cut two small twigs from it. Slipping the knife into her pocket she groped for the red thread which she had cut earlier from a skein of old embroidery silk inherited, like the knife, from her grandmother. It was difficult to knot the silk, her fingers were numb with cold and she couldn’t see properly for all the brightness of the moonlight, but she managed it at last and held up the small cross, aware that the owl was still there, watching her with detached interest and absolutely no fear. ‘Thank you,’ she said out loud. ‘This is to protect and bless my friend Jane, giving her your strength and your love and your safety.’ She held it out towards the owl. It didn’t move.
Not quite sure what to do next, she reached up and touched the tree. ‘I’m grateful,’ she said softly. ‘Can I come and talk to you again in daylight?’ There was no response, and slowly she turned away.
‘I don’t believe I said that!’ The cynical mutter under her breath escaped in spite of herself. Behind her the owl took off on silent wings and skimmed across the field and down the valley. When she turned again, on the edge of the orchard, to look back towards the rowan tree, there was no sign of the bird.
Slipping the cross into her pocket she headed for the gate and the shadow of the apple trees, which were dark after the brilliance of the frosty fields. Suddenly, she felt confident again.
Brid sat up. The curtains were only half drawn and she could see the moon above the dark roof of the house across the road. She frowned. Something had awakened her. There was a feeling of danger in the air – a shiver on the surface of the night. She looked down at Adam. He groaned and turned away, sensing the moonlight behind his closed eyelids and burying his face in the pillow. Slipping from the bed she walked across to the window and stood looking out, her long dark hair clinging round her naked shoulders. She was listening.
Her hand on the cross, Liza walked through the sleeping apple trees, hearing the frost crunch beneath her boots. She was careless now, her attention fixed on the house and the warmth of the kitchen waiting for her. She didn’t notice the cat’s eyes, staring at her from the shadows, or hear the stealthy tread of its paws.
‘Brid, come back to bed.’
Adam’s voice, heavy with sleep, reached her as she flexed her claws. She glanced over her shoulder, confused, already sensing the raw power, as yet undirected, coming from the woman’s pocket. Spirit of rowan is red and lively; normally she counted it her ally. She could fight it, but already she was feeling uncentred, pulled in two directions, losing focus. In a moment she was gone from the moonlit orchard and back in the bedroom of a quiet, tree-lined city street. Around her the moonlight sang in the darkness and Adam raised himself on his elbow. ‘Brid? Come back to bed. You’ll catch cold over there. Why have you opened the window?’ He sounded querulous and old. For a moment she glanced back over her shoulder towards the ice-bright orchard, then with a shrug she slipped in between the sheets, hearing Adam gasp with pleasure as she pressed her cold body against his warm flesh.
By the gate Liza stopped and looked round. For a fraction of a second she had sensed the movement in the shadows, smelled the feral breath of the hunting cat, and she clutched the cross more tightly and brought it to her breast. ‘Go away, Brid,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘There is no room for you here. Go back to where you came from.’
There was no reply. In Adam’s bed Brid flexed her fingers against his chest and he winced as a fine line of blood welled up on the spot above his heart.
‘Bitch!’ He caught her hand.
She gave a quiet, throaty laugh. She would deal with the woman later.
16
Liza put the cross, carefully wrapped in tissue, in a small box and silently sliding out the top drawer of her dressing table she tucked the box into the back under an unused packet of stockings. Behind her Phil was asleep. He had pulled the blankets and sheets over himself and wrapped them round him in a cocoon. Smiling, she undressed and pulled on her nightshirt, then she walked over to the bed. ‘Phil,’ she only wanted to wake him enough to be able to extricate some of the blankets. ‘Move over. Let me in.’
He groaned and turned over, taking the sheets with him.
‘Phil!’ She caught the end of a blanket and pulled.
He opened an eye. ‘Whatisit?’ His voice was almost incoherent with sleep.
‘Let me in.’
For a moment she thought he had gone back to sleep, then with another groan he rolled over and made room for her. ‘My God woman, you’re cold!’ He was awake now. ‘Where on earth have you been?’
‘Dancing under the moon!’ She snuggled up against him, grateful for the warmth.
‘Wow!’ He put his arms round her. ‘Then why on earth did you put this dreadful flannel thing on. Come on, off with it!’
‘No!’ Half laughing, she pulled away. ‘Phil, it’s late and we’re both tired!’
‘It’s late and we’re both wide awake!’ He buried his face in her breasts. ‘Mmm, you smell all fresh and wild and frosty. Next time you go dancing in the moonlight, call me and we’ll both go.’
She lay awake a long time after he had gone back to sleep, her body warm and satisfied as she lay naked under the blankets next to him. From time to time her eyes strayed in the darkness to the black outline of the dressing table where, she could have sworn, a gentle red glow came from the top drawer. Smiling at her own foolishness she let her thoughts stray to Adam and she wondered where he was now, and if he was with Jane or Brid. Somehow she knew it was the latter and she frowned. If it were her husband being seduced by that she-devil she would go in and fight.
The next morning she rang Jane as soon as Phil had disappeared into the studio. Near her Beth was playing with her toy rabbit, intent on stuffing its fat paws into a tiny doll’s jumper. In half an hour Liza was going to drive her down the hill to her little play school, then she would go on into Hay to the post office.
The phone rang on and on. Liza frowned. She hung up and went over to the table to finish her cup of coffee. It was early for either of them to have gone out. These days Adam usually left the house just before nine for the five-minute drive to the surgery, and Jane would not go out until she did the shopping much later, if she went out at all. Lately, Liza knew, she had been staying in the house more and more.
Draining her cup she picked up the phone again. She hung on five minutes this time, but still there was no reply. Glancing at her wrist watch she knew she ought to be leaving with Beth. Instead she found the telephone directory and looked up the number of Adam’s practice. There the phone was picked up instantly.
‘I wonder if I could speak to Dr Craig. It’s Liza Stevenson.’
‘He’s in with a patient, I’m afraid.’ The voice was crisp and efficient. ‘Would you like to speak to Dr Harding?’
Liza was about to say no when she changed her mind. Seconds later she was connected. ‘I am sorry to bother you, Robert, only I haven’t been able to get in touch with Jane Craig for several days – there’s no reply from home at all, and I was a bit worried. Are things all right there, do you know?’
There was a slight pause. ‘Have you not spoken to Adam?’
‘He’s busy.’ She said it more crisply than she intended.
‘I see.’ He hesitated. ‘I believe that Jane came into the office a few days ago, and as far as I know everything was all right then. Adam certainly looks very tired. I think he is under a great deal of strain, to be honest.’ They had known each other on and
off over the years, well enough for him to confide in her, and after Julie and Calum had died Robert had been a tower of strength to both families. Even so, he was guarded.
She had no such reservations. ‘There is something wrong, Robert. Terribly wrong. Will you do me a great favour? Will you check on Jane today sometime – even if it’s over the phone. I’m really worried about her.’ She hesitated. ‘And Robert, please, don’t tell Adam I rang.’
Jane rang her at lunchtime. ‘I’ve had Robert Harding on the phone.’ She sounded depressed, her normally attractive voice heavy and dull. ‘He said you were worried.’
‘I couldn’t get an answer from the phone.’
‘I had taken a sleeping pill. I can’t sleep these days. Robert got them for me.’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘No, of course he didn’t. I’m his patient.’ She gave a low ironic laugh. ‘As the cause of my problems is my husband, he probably thought he’d better honour patient confidentiality.’ She sighed. ‘Don’t worry about me, Liza.’
‘You know I do. Listen.’ Liza paused. ‘Is anyone there with you?’
‘No. Who would be?’ There was a moment of silence. ‘Oh, the cat woman. No, she’s never here when Adam’s at work. I expect she goes back to whatever swamp she crawls out of to rest until the sun goes down.’
‘Oh, Jane.’ Liza frowned. ‘Listen, I’ve put something in the post for you. Another amulet. One I made specially. I went to see Meryn. He’s back, and he knows all the recent developments. He said that if I did this for you it will work. She won’t be able to touch you. You must keep it with you all the time. All the time, Jane. And you must protect yourself. Do you remember, how we showed you before?’
‘It doesn’t work though, does it? What is the point of me being protected if she can walk off with my husband?’
‘We’ll work on Adam next.’ Liza frowned in exasperation. ‘Come on, Jane. You’ve got to help. Between us we can get rid of her, I’m sure we can. Listen, will you come down here, soon? Beth wants to see her Granny Jane.’
There was a sob from the other end of the line. ‘I want to, Liza. But I can’t leave him. She’s sapping his life blood. He’s shrivelling away before my eyes, and he won’t listen to me. I can’t talk to him any more.’
‘Then don’t try.’
‘He might listen to you, Liza. He’s always respected you.’ There was a long silence.
‘You know he doesn’t want to see me, Jane. He made it quite clear the last time I visited.’
‘I think he’d see you. Without Beth. It hurts him to think about Beth. He remembers Calum as a little boy and he can’t cope with the idea of him having been a father himself. Please, Liza. Will you come?’
Liza chewed her lip. ‘I’ll talk it over with Phil. He’s working at the moment, and he might not want to be left with Beth.’ Her skin crawled at the idea of going back to that cold, unwelcoming house with its locked doors and hidden grief, and at the thought of crossing swords with Brid.
‘Two days. That’s all I can spare.’ Phil shook his head. ‘And only if you absolutely insist. I don’t like the thought of you going to that mad house one bit.’
‘Nor do I, but what else can I do? I’ve got to help them.’ She was pushing sweaters into her overnight bag. ‘You are sure you’ll cope without me?’
He grinned suddenly. ‘Of course we will, bossy boots. Beth can look after me. If we get snowed up we’ll look after each other and go tobogganing on a tea tray every day. But I can’t spare more than that, Liza.’ He was serious suddenly as he pulled her to him and kissed her. ‘I’ve got to work now that my famous rich wife has decided to take a sabbatical from her equally famous clients and wear an apron instead. My paintings don’t rake in the lolly like yours, my love.’
She snuggled against him for a moment. ‘Maybe not, but they are a million times better. The awful part about portrait painting is that one always wonders how much the subject is paying for his or her own vanity rather than one’s skill!’
‘Modesty as well. What more could a man ask?’ He dropped another kiss on her head. ‘Take care, my love, won’t you?’ He couldn’t hide the worry in his voice.
‘Of course I will. Promise.’
She thought about that promise again and again as she drove east. She had called in at Meryn’s cottage on her way back towards Hay, but he had been out and as she scanned the hillside behind his garden there had been no sign of him. Not seeing him filled her with panic. She had wanted his advice and his blessing. Without it she felt exposed.
This time there was no car outside the house in St Albans as she turned into the quiet road. The front garden was neat once more, the house appeared quite normal, the curtains all open, the windows catching in the fitful winter sunlight. Ringing the doorbell she waited, her shoulders hunched against the brisk easterly wind.
There was no reply. Ringing again she frowned and looked at her watch. Jane knew she was coming, and she was just about on time. Someone – Jane – should have been there to meet her. Ringing it a third time she was about to walk round when, stepping back and looking up to survey the front of the house, she caught sight of a face at an upstairs window.
‘Jane!’ She waved her hand. ‘Let me in.’
The face stared down at her for a minute, then abruptly it disappeared from view. Liza turned back to the door.
‘I’m sorry, I was asleep.’ Jane was still in her dressing gown, her hair tousled and unwashed, her face crumpled.
Liza frowned. ‘Well, at least you heard me in the end.’ She spoke more harshly than she meant to, but the sight of Jane’s despair repelled her. ‘Come on, let’s get you up and dressed, then you can make me a cup of coffee.’ She suspected Jane’s need was greater than her own, but at least it was a reason for Jane to stir herself. Half an hour later they were sitting in the study, the French windows open onto the small terrace, allowing the fresh wind to stir the curtains and clear the stale cigarette smoke from the room. ‘I’m sorry, the place is a mess.’ Jane seemed half asleep still in spite of the large mug of black coffee in her hand. Under her sweater she was wearing the rowan cross, suspended on a fine gold chain around her neck.
‘Don’t you have a cleaner any more?’ Liza was looking round the room. Even Adam’s desk had a layer of dust over it.
Jane shrugged and shook her head. ‘I didn’t bother after Mrs Freeling left. No cleaner would stay after the murder, and now Calum’s gone …’ Her voice trailed away uncertainly.
‘You decided to stay in this house, Jane.’ Liza was bracing. ‘Once that decision was made surely you decided to make the best of it. You can’t “never clean again” because of what happened, Janie.’
‘I know.’ Jane huddled her hands round the mug, her shoulders slumped. ‘It’s all my fault and I have done the garden.’
‘It is not your fault at all!’ Liza’s indignation was strenuous. ‘For God’s sake! Nothing that has happened here has been your fault.’
‘Adam says it has. If I hadn’t spoiled Calum so much – ’
‘Oh no! I’m not wearing that. The bastard! Where is Adam?’
‘At work.’
‘And how is he managing to work in this state? He can’t be doing his patients any good.’
‘His patients all adore him whatever he does.’ She shrugged.
‘They won’t if he kills them.’ Liza was swiftly running out of patience. ‘Come on, Jane, snap out of it. Let’s try and clean this place up and get a meal ready for Adam when he comes home. Then I can talk to him once he’s eaten.’ She paused. ‘I take it Madam isn’t here during the day?’
Jane shook her head. ‘She disappears when he leaves.’
‘Disappears?’
‘I’ve never seen her go out of the door.’ Jane gave a hard brittle laugh. ‘I expect she dematerialises, or flies up the chimney on her broomstick. But she’ll be here when Adam gets back. Waiting for him up there in the bedroom.’ She shuddered.
Liza studied her
face, her impatience giving way to sympathy. She couldn’t imagine how it must feel to be in Jane’s position – to lose a husband to another woman was one thing, to lose him to a ghost was quite another. If Brid was a ghost. She shook her head in despair and then putting down her mug she stood up. ‘Come on. Let’s set to and get the house straight.’
‘In two hours?’ Jane hadn’t moved.
‘In two hours we can do an awful lot.’
By the time Adam put his key into the front door lock the sitting room was vacuumed and tidied, there were fresh flowers on the table, and Liza had a beef casserole simmering on the cooker. She had even put on a record of one of Adam’s favourite pieces, the Elgar violin concerto. Jane was changed, her hair washed and brushed, her face made up.
The two women were in the sitting room when they heard the front door open. Liza smiled encouragingly at Jane and nodded.
‘Adam,’ Jane called. Her voice was steady. ‘Come in and have a sherry. We have a visitor.’
Adam appeared in the doorway, his black leather bag still in his hand. At the sight of Liza his face darkened. ‘I don’t remember asking you to come.’ He put the case down with a thud.
‘No.’ Liza stepped in before Jane could say anything. She moved across to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, shocked by how tired and emaciated he looked. ‘I asked myself as I had to be over this way. I wanted to see you both.’
‘And it didn’t occur to you that we might not want to see you?’ He threw himself down on the sofa and accepted the glass of sherry that Jane handed to him.
‘No, it didn’t. Neither did it occur to me that you might have become surly, rude and inhospitable!’ she retorted sharply. ‘Never mind, your wife more than makes up for your shortcomings.’
‘Liza has cooked us supper,’ Jane put in defensively ‘It’s really kind of her after her long drive.’
‘She’d have to cook it if she’s hungry. I don’t remember you cooking lately.’ He took a large gulp of sherry, emptying the tiny glass. Standing up he went over and picking up the decanter he poured himself a second dose.
On the Edge of Darkness Page 38