The silence in the room lengthened. Beth was watching him, speechless with horror, her eyes riveted to his face. She had gone cold all over.
At length, when he had finished his story, Adam stood up. He walked over to the window and stared out into the dark. ‘I turned my back on her. I wouldn’t listen to her pleas. I cursed her again and again.’ He was silent, gazing through his reflection into the darkness. ‘I went to America and travelled around. I drank a lot.’
Beth stared unseeing at the half-full bottle of Laphroaig in the corner on the desk.
‘Then I went south to Brazil. To Peru. To Bolivia. I thought I could forget her, but she came with me, in my head. Everywhere I went I could hear her calling me: A-dam.’ He mimicked Brid’s voice. ‘She was pleading with me. If I did not let her back into my life, Broichan would kill her.’ He fell silent again.
Giles and Beth were watching him in silence.
‘One day they picked me up on the streets in La Paz. To this day I don’t know what I was doing there. I had been beaten and robbed, but I was still alive. A Scots priest took me in.’ He gave a tight laugh. ‘A Catholic priest. My father in all his Presbyterian narrow-mindedness no doubt turned in his grave, but the man was a real Christian. He taught me what Christianity should be. Full of compassion and forgiveness and love. When I recovered I worked for a couple of years with him in his mission. In some ways I still barely knew who I was. I knew my name. I still had my passport. It appeared that I had been carrying it in a bodybelt and the robbers didn’t find it. But that was about all I knew. The embassy tried to trace my family and my address, but of course I had sold the house and had no family left.’ He did not notice the hurt on Beth’s face and went on, his eyes focused at some distant point in his memory. ‘Then Brid came back. I began to hear her voice again, more and more strongly. Broichan was so close. She was terrified of him. I knew I had to return. Father John lent me the money to fly back to the UK.’ He paused again. ‘When I arrived in England my memory started to come back in dribs and drabs. I found some friends. I found Robert Harding, my former partner. I found my solicitor. I found my bank. I found I had plenty of money after all. I sent Father John back the money for the fare, plus a lot more for his mission. I floated around a bit, not really knowing where to go. I couldn’t get Brid out of my head. Still I could hear her calling me, begging. So I came back to Scotland.’ There was another long silence. Then he went on, ‘I had forgotten so much. Everything.’ He shrugged. ‘But slowly it all returned. The deaths. The murders. But whatever she did, however angry I was with her, I began to realise that she had done it for love of me. She came from a world where people thought differently. She didn’t realise how evil and wicked she had been.’ He paused, as if considering for a moment. Then he shook his head. ‘I have to forgive her. That is the Christian thing to do. I have to release her. Save her from Broichan. But now I can’t find her.’ He walked back to the chair by the wood-burning stove and threw himself onto it.
‘When I was a young boy and I first met Brid, she was the most exciting thing I had ever seen. Exotic. Beautiful. I thought she was a tinker. That’s what we called gypsies in Scotland. But she wasn’t, of course.’
He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair. Beth studied him. He had a handsome, strong face, his weather-beaten colouring a contrast to his shock of unruly white hair. He was tall and wiry, his hands, clutching the arms of the chair, the strong hands of a working man rather than those of a doctor. ‘I still want her, Beth.’ His cry was tormented. ‘In spite of all she has done I still seem to be obsessed by her! I am trying to call her back to me, but suddenly there is silence.’
‘What is she?’ Beth’s voice was no more than a whisper.
He shrugged. ‘Broichan was the Chief Druid and foster father to King Brude. He was the man who opposed St Columba when he came from Iona on his mission to convert the Picts. By all accounts he was a very powerful magician.’
Beth glanced at Giles. He was frowning. ‘Are you saying that this – this Broichan – is some sort of ghost? That he is haunting Brid as she is haunting you?’ he asked at last.
‘And who is Brid?’ Beth put in under her breath.
‘Brid is the daughter of Broichan’s sister.’ Adam had not opened his eyes.
‘Then,’ Giles hesitated, choosing his words with care, ‘you are saying that Brid is a ghost, too.’
‘No!’ Adam sat upright, his eyes flashing with anger. ‘No, she is not a ghost! How could she be a ghost?’
They glanced at each other. ‘Then who is she?’ Giles persisted.
‘She is a Pictish princess; she was training to be a bard and a Druidess. She went to their equivalent of a college to learn. The training lasts nineteen years, but she gave up.’ He paused, lost in thought for a moment. ‘She broke the sacred oath. She ran away to follow me and Broichan cursed her.’ He was staring into the middle distance, his eyes fixed as he recited the facts as though ticking them off against some list in his head. ‘I have studied the books and worked it out. Her clothes were so exotic, her speech so strange – all I could think when I was a child was that she was from the Romany people, and I went on to think of her like that. A wild, glamorous gypsy girl. But she was far more than that. She had power and knowledge. Dangerous power and knowledge.’
Giles glanced at Beth and grimaced. He brought his forefinger to his temple quickly and made a small screwing motion. Beth frowned. It had occurred to her too, to wonder if her grandfather was sane. She cleared her throat. ‘Are you saying that these people, this college, still exists?’
‘Everything still exists, Beth. In parallel dimensions with ours. Do you remember your Four Quartets? That wonderful quote about time? You should look it up.’
She bit her lip and shrugged. ‘And Brid can travel between these dimensions?’
He nodded, still staring into the distance. ‘She was destined, I think, to be a bard. She has a phenomenal memory. But she also has the gift of the sight, and she learned to shape-shift. Furness spotted that. He could not believe it.’
‘Furness?’ Giles had picked up his coffee at last. He glanced at Beth.
‘Furness was the psychiatrist who took care of her when she was ill.’ Adam turned to face him suddenly. ‘You think I’m mad, don’t you? I don’t blame you. Why should you believe me? It is incredible. She can turn herself into a cat.’ He stood up and paced up and down for a minute. ‘It’s all there, in the books.’ He waved his arm towards the table. ‘You study the animal and meditate with it, then you leave your body in a trance state and become one with it. You can be whatever you choose: an eagle, a horse, a salmon, a snake– what is it, girl?’ He had noticed suddenly the chalk-white face of his granddaughter, heard her gasp.
Beth bit her lip. ‘I was attacked by a cat. At home. At Pen-y-Ffordd. Our neighbour told me that Granny Jane had been attacked there once too …’ Her voice trailed away.
Adam was silent. Then he shook his head. ‘Why can’t I find her?’ His voice was anguished.
‘You don’t really think it was her?’ Giles was incredulous.
Beth frowned. Half of her was afraid, half, like him, sceptical. ‘You sound as though you’ve studied this shape-shifting.’ She kept her voice steady, realising she was not very far from the edge of hysteria. ‘Have you tried it, Grandfather?’
He shook his head. ‘I have not yet learned to be single-minded enough. My technique is weak. But I have to learn. I have to find her. I have to know that none of it was her fault. That she was driven by that fiend, Broichan. That she is no danger any more to Liza or to you, Beth. I have to know that because I need her.’
‘And what if Broichan is waiting for you?’ Beth wasn’t sure where to look. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation.
He looked across at her, his face sad. ‘You think this is a huge joke, don’t you, Beth? Ask your grandmother. She will tell you. Expand your small, literal mind and use your imagination if you canno
t use your brain. I am surprised, brought up with her, that you don’t have more vision.’
Beth looked away, cut by his scorn. ‘I am broad-minded,’ she said defensively. ‘It’s just that I haven’t ever considered that any of this stuff could be real before.’
‘You have heard of Einstein?’
‘Yes, of course. I – ’
‘You have heard of quantum physics?’
‘I don’t see – ’
‘No. You don’t. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. One of the failings of the modern era is to rely on reductionism as the ultimate proof that anything exists. My profession of course is particularly susceptible to this, and rightly. I was trained in an empirical science.’ He threw himself back down into his chair. ‘But we have made the mistake of ignoring anything we cannot explain by our own criteria and dismissing any phenomena which are not susceptible to so-called scientific experiment and proof, as not existing at all. It is so arrogant.’ He leaned forward and thumped the table with his fist. ‘This is, I am glad to say, slowly changing.’ He waved his hand once again, this time at the books and magazines strewn across the table. ‘If you consult these there is a wonderful mixture of science and hokum. New Age hope, vision, and yes, rubbish, and true exciting experimental science combined at last with philosophy and observation of things which cannot be rationally explained.’ He was silent for a moment, then he went on, slowly, as though talking to a not very intelligent child. ‘I have seen a woman who lived during the time of Columba, that is in the sixth century AD, walking about as solid and real as you or you,’ he nodded at Giles, who was trying hard to hide his amused scepticism. ‘I have spoken to her, touched her, and yes, I have slept with her. I am not mad. I am not delusional, although you, young man, clearly still think so. And I am not, as our friend Ken Maclaren thinks, in cahoots with the devil.’ He stood up again abruptly. ‘Today I was in Edinburgh, consulting the university library, and I am very tired. I would like to go to bed. So, if you will both excuse me, I should like you to leave now. I don’t see any reason for you to come again. I do not enjoy being mocked.’
As soon as they were in the car Giles let out a loud whistle. He smacked his hand down on the dashboard. ‘Nutty as a fruit cake!’
Beth gave a small smile, half agreeing with him, half puzzled. ‘I wish I could be sure.’
‘You don’t believe him!’
She shrugged. ‘Giles. Please, not now.’ She closed her eyes. Then she reached for the door handle. ‘Listen, I’m exhausted. Will you drive?’
‘Of course.’ He stretched out and touched her cheek. For a moment they looked at each other in the darkness and Giles, overwhelmed by the feelings of love and protectiveness which flooded through him, leaned across and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘I’m sorry, Beth. This isn’t really funny, is it? That old man is probably a danger to himself. Come on. I’ll drive us back to the hotel.’ He climbed out and walked round the back of the car.
Beth didn’t move for a moment. Her worry about Adam had fleetingly been swept away by Giles’s kiss. She closed her eyes, hugging herself quietly in the warm darkness of the car. Then reluctantly she reached for the handle and opening her door she climbed out into the cold wind. The lights in the cottage behind them had already gone out. The night was very silent.
She shivered. ‘Poor Grandfather.’
The growl from the hedge of rhododendrons behind her was so quiet she wondered if it was her imagination. She stopped, her hand on the car door, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling with sudden warning.
‘Giles!’
He had walked round to her side of the car and was standing very close to her. ‘What is it?’ She could feel his warmth, his solidity.
‘Listen.’ She held her breath. ‘Oh my God! Listen.’
‘Beth, you mustn’t let all this get to you.’ He put his arm round her shoulders and pulled her against him. ‘It’s the wind. Come on, get in. Let’s get back before the rain starts again.’
This time the growl was louder and he heard it too. They froze.
‘Oh God, Giles. It’s her!’
He swallowed, his eyes raking the darkness. ‘Get in, quick,’ he whispered. He pushed her back down into the driving seat. ‘And shut the door.’
‘But what about you?’
‘I’ll go round the other side. It’s all right. It’s some kind of animal, that’s all. Probably a badger or a hedgehog or something.’ He closed the door softly after her, pushing it shut with a click and turned to face the bushes. He could see nothing. The wind had increased sharply and all he could hear was its passage across trees and heather and grass and then the flap of the heavy rhododendron leaves.
His back to the car, he began to edge round towards the passenger door again.
Beth leaned across the seats and pushed it open a few inches. ‘Get in, Giles!’
He scanned the darkness, feeling ridiculously vulnerable as he crept round the back of the Porsche. There was something there. He could feel its eyes, watching him. Whatever had made that noise had been far, far bigger than a hedgehog. Sweat broke out across his forehead as he felt the tail lights of the car pressing against the backs of his legs.
He launched himself at the door as the creature sprang. He saw eyes, teeth, and smelled the stink of its breath as he threw himself head first into the car and landed across his seat, half in Beth’s lap.
‘Shut the door! For Christ’s sake, shut the door!’ He pulled his legs in after him, sobbing. It had got him. His arm felt like fire.
Beth had leaned across him and was desperately pulling at the handle. ‘It’s your foot. Bring in your foot! I can’t shut it!’
She saw the blaze of the eyes and felt the creature’s hatred like a physical blow through the glass of the window, only a few inches from her face, then it was gone.
‘Oh, Giles!’ She was shaking like a leaf as he tried to straighten up. ‘Are you all right?’
He disentangled himself from brake and gear lever and sat up in the seat, holding his elbow in his other hand. His fingers were sticky with blood.
‘Drive! Quickly, Beth, drive!’ He was trembling violently. ‘It was a cat. I saw it. Let’s get out of here.’
She started the engine, engaged gear and let out the clutch. The car stalled. ‘Oh Christ!’
‘Calm down.’ He took a deep breath himself. ‘It can’t get us in here. Just drive slowly. Let’s get away – ’
‘What about Grandfather?’
‘What about him? He can take care of himself. Didn’t he even say he had slept with the creature!’ He gasped with pain as the car jerked forward again. ‘Just get us out of here, sweetheart. Please.’
In the quiet of his austere bedroom Adam looked out of the window into the darkness. He had turned out the lights and gone up as soon as his unwelcome guests had disappeared and within minutes he had forgotten all about them. He opened the window and leaned out, resting his elbows on the cold stone of the sill, breathing the soft night air, which was sweet with heather and mountain thyme and wet, peaty earth. His window looked out from the back of the house, across the small garden with its newly turned rose beds, towards the rise of the hillside. Over the ridge, which he could see black against the wind-shredded clouds with their backdrop of stars, was the hillside where Gartnait’s stone stood, displaying its array of enigmatic symbols.
Turning into the room with a sigh he pulled up a chair and sat down, staring out into the night. He was too tired for ritual; tonight he would just dream, launching himself out onto the wind in his imagination until, if he was lucky, sleep took him and erased the memories of death and fear and left him only with the beauty, the silver-grey eyes, the laughing red mouth, the darkly lustrous, silken hair.
21
Earlier that day Idina Campbell had been to Peter Jones. The four carrier bags with their distinctive green and white stripes lay discarded on the elegant Regency sofa in the drawing room. She had dropped them there when she came in, losing
interest in her purchases almost as soon as they were made. Fretfully she had made her way into Giles’s study and looked round. The floor as always was covered with books and maps, the desk a sea of papers, old half-drunk mugs of coffee, overflowing ashtrays and sticky notes to himself stuck over the phone, the wall, the filing cabinet and the computer – sometimes she wondered how he could see the screen at all. She would have been astonished to know that every inch of the chaos and muddle in Giles’s room represented meticulous filing to him. He could lay his hand on any paper or letter within seconds – well, more or less – and knew where just about every book in his extensive travel library was. As long as Idina didn’t touch anything.
She shuddered. Her husband’s room was so different from the rest of the house, so alien to everything that she liked and aimed for she wondered sometimes how she could live with him another minute. It was such a relief when he was away. She thought for a moment about Damien Fitzgerald, her latest protégé; he was everything Giles was not. A society photographer who had entrée everywhere that mattered, he kept his creativity and his talent carefully confined and organised. She had seen his study and dark room only the day before. It had been in that dark room that Damien had turned to her with perfect timing and gently but masterfully put his beautifully manicured hands on the shoulders of her shantung suit and pulled her towards him for a kiss. The kiss had shot a message through her system which dear old Giles with his dutiful fumbling had failed to convey for years.
She stared round thoughtfully. On the top of Giles’s desk were some sketches of a Celtic cross and others of a castle. She sighed. Giles and his latest obsession. The book. The book he was going to do with Beth Craig. She sat down on the chair near his desk, first lifting a pile of magazines and papers and throwing them to the ground. There was nothing in here that would betray him, of course. All Giles’s dreams and fantasies about Beth were where Idina would never find them, in his head. That little bitch had set her cap at Giles the first time she had met him. With a shudder she pictured Beth’s wild dark curling hair, her Bohemian, don’t-care clothes, the paint under her fingernails, and her equally dreadful grandmother, the countess. Well, they could be seen off with no difficulty again as they had been seen off before. If that was what she wanted. Idina smiled to herself and went back to contemplating the delightful prospect of whether or not she should have an affair with Damien. Damien or Giles.
On the Edge of Darkness Page 49