Kingdom of Shadows (45 page)

‘Soon. King Edward is going to give us safe conduct, it seems. Perhaps he too is anxious for peace at last. We ride for Perth tomorrow; we shall sail within weeks, I hope.’

‘And I, my lord? Am I to stay here?’ She kept her voice low, aware of Sir Donald sitting beside her, his elbows on the table amongst the trenchers and goblets. He was idly cutting his gravy-soaked manchet into squares with his dagger and throwing the pieces to the hound which lay beneath the table at his feet.

‘You?’ Lord Buchan turned to her with a look of scornful amusement. ‘You think while I am away to chase after Lord Carrick again, perhaps? Didn’t you know that he is now married to Lord Ulster’s daughter, and confirmed as a traitor to Scotland’s cause?’

He was watching her closely. Isobel held her breath, not allowing a muscle to flicker in her face as she met his eye. ‘So I believe,’ she said. ‘What Lord Carrick does, my lord, is of no interest to me.’ She managed to keep the defiance out of her voice. ‘My only concern now is to serve you, my husband.’ Meekly she lowered her eyes. Below the linen napkin on her lap her fists were clenched so tightly together that her knuckles cracked.

On her knees before the altar in the chapel of St Drostan, who had built his cell upon the promontory of Dundarg hundreds of years before the first Comyn keep was built there, she had in the long weeks of the summer begun to pray. There she had prayed for the soul of her beloved Mairi and there she had vowed to forget Robert the Bruce, Earl of Carrick, with his handsome, easy charm. She could never win against her husband. Her only hope of an even tolerable existence would be to make up her mind to obey him – even to wheedle him a little if she could. Now she forced herself to smile at him and she saw with a small flicker of hope the answering widening of his eyes.

He stared at her. The months of hardship and fasting had made his wife intolerably thin – but her face with its fine nose and mouth and high cheekbones was more beautiful than ever. The suffering had changed her. She had grown calmer, more controlled and, in his eyes, infinitely more interesting. He felt a sudden wave of desire. ‘Eat.’ He beckoned the food forward again. ‘You’re a bagful of bones. Then we’ll go to bed.’ He didn’t meet her eye, not wanting to see the fear and loathing he knew would be there.

Isobel picked up her spoon with a shaking hand. ‘I’m glad to see you, husband,’ she said in a whisper.

She had already gathered the herbs she needed against this day. There would be no child this month. Almost cheerfully she began to eat.

‘Good.’ He dropped his knife, and put his arm around her shoulders awkwardly. ‘Because we will be seeing a great deal of one another from now on. I have decided to take you with me to Paris, to see the King of France!’

Henry Firbank raised his glass in a slow, heartfelt toast. ‘Here’s to your husband. It was very gracious of him to let me take you out to dinner.’

Clare, wearing a deep-blue silk dress, with sapphires at her ears and throat was looking exceptionally beautiful and far happier than when he had seen her the week before.

It was three days since that last vision of Isobel and since then she had had no dreams, and no visitations from the past, spontaneous or otherwise. She had not felt threatened in any way, and so she was much calmer. Even Paul had been bearable. She had had time to think and to plan.

‘Paul has been in a strange mood these last few days.’ She clinked glasses with Henry with a smile. ‘When I came down to London on Thursday I was terrified he’d do something awful when he found out that I’d torn up that document.’

‘And did he?’ Henry tried hard to make the enquiry sound casual.

She shook her head. ‘We had words, but not too bad. Then he became terribly civilised, even solicitous. He bought me these,’ her hands strayed to her throat, ‘to wear to the party on Saturday.’

Henry resisted the urge to stretch out to touch them. ‘I thought money was a problem,’ he said.

‘Apparently not now.’ She smiled. ‘And he hasn’t mentioned Duncairn again. We went out for lunch with friends of his on Sunday and that was fine as well, and then yesterday when he found out that he had such a late meeting in the City he suggested this dinner tonight to make up for it.’

‘And now he’s unavoidably detained at the last moment so you have to put up with me as understudy.’ Henry grinned ruefully. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m not.’ She touched his hand lightly. ‘I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have dinner with.’

‘Really?’ For a moment he allowed the eagerness to show.

‘Really.’ She picked up her fork again. ‘How is Diane? I haven’t seen her since you both came to dinner.’

‘And you went into a trance before the hors d’oeuvres.’ Henry chuckled. ‘She’s fine. OK. Nice lady.’

‘But not special?’ She looked at him sympathetically.

‘There’s only one special woman for me, Clare.’ He stared ruefully down into his glass.

There was an awkward silence. ‘Paul oughtn’t to have asked you to take me out tonight, Henry. It isn’t fair,’ she said quietly after a moment.

‘No, he oughtn’t.’ Henry’s fingers whitened on the glass. ‘He knows damn well how I feel about you. He’s thrown it at me often enough!’

She stared at him. ‘Paul knows?’

‘He knows. He also knows you’d never be unfaithful to him. I wish I could prove him wrong, the bastard!’

Clare looked away unhappily. ‘We shouldn’t be talking like this. And we shouldn’t meet again. Not alone. It isn’t fair to you.’ She crumpled her napkin between her fingers. ‘Look Henry, there’s something you ought to know.’ She fixed her gaze on the creased linen, studying it with concentration. ‘I’m going away next weekend; back home to Scotland, and I’m not telling Paul.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m just going. Leaving him.’

‘You mean you’re going for good?’ Henry put down his knife and fork abruptly. He was surprised how much her news shook him.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. My stepfather is going to be away for a few weeks and Mummy rang last night. She doesn’t dare ask us home when he’s there. He hates James and me.’ She gave a dry laugh. ‘He must hate us even more now James owns the house he lives in. Anyway, with her there on her own I can talk to her and think. Get things straight in my mind about the future.’

‘Any chance I could be part of it?’ He pulled a face, trying to keep the question light.

She shook her head apologetically, knowing she was hurting him. ‘You stick to Diane. She’s perfect for you. I’m much too bitter and twisted.’ She smiled, but he noticed that the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

‘Are you going to visit Duncairn while you’re in Scotland?’ He changed the subject abruptly.

‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head. ‘Maybe. Maybe I’ll go up there and chase Neil Forbes off my land.’

‘Neil Forbes?’ Henry looked puzzled.

‘An objectionable man who tried to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do with Duncairn.’ She gave up trying to eat and pushed her plate aside. Neil Forbes’s image had returned to plague her again and again since his visit to Bucksters. Even the thought of him made her angry.

Henry noted the sudden colour in her pale face and the sparkle in her eyes. Thoughtfully he leaned back in his chair.

‘I’d like to be there when you catch him.’

She laughed. ‘I might even sell tickets. Come on, let’s order some ice cream.’

He watched her as she ate it. Her black mood had passed as soon as it had come; she was happy again now, laughing, and in control. He prayed he wasn’t going to spoil her mood.

‘I think Paul is hoping you’ll give him one more chance to exonerate himself,’ he said quietly. He sat back, watching her face as the waiter brought their coffee.

‘Another chance?’ She picked up her cup at once, enjoying it black and scalding.

‘Another surprise.’ He gave a weak smile. ‘He asked me to take you back to the office after we’d finished here. He’s got yet another present for you, apparently.’

‘At the office?’ Clare stared at him. ‘Why not at home?’

Henry shrugged. ‘Something to do with your Mrs C always poking her nose into things, he said.’

‘But she’s out this evening.’

‘Perhaps he meant he couldn’t find anywhere to hide it. Does she peek and pry?’ He laughed. ‘Anyway, I’ve orders to deliver you back to BCWP at eleven o’clock on the dot. And he will be waiting with champagne ready in his office.’

She frowned, suddenly apprehensive. ‘You’re coming too?’

He glanced at her sharply. ‘Of course. If you want me to.’

Sarah Collins already had her coat on when the doorbell rang. Frowning she pulled the door open, telling Casta to be quiet as the dog jumped, barking, at their visitor.

‘Hi, Mrs C. Remember me?’ James Gordon was leaning against the side of the porch. He bent to fondle Casta’s ears as the dog jumped up at him, tail wagging excitedly. A heavy rainshower blew sideways down the street behind him, splashing off the pavement, rattling against the parked cars, sending the plane leaves cartwheeling down the gutter. ‘Is Clare here?’

Sarah shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, your sister has gone out, Mr Gordon. She won’t be back until late.’

‘Shit!’ James was already in the hall. ‘I hoped I could scrounge some shelter and a drink.’

Sarah glared at him distastefully. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you having a drink, Mr Gordon.’

‘Good. Were you going out too?’ He suddenly noticed her coat.

She hesitated. ‘I was going off to spend the night with my sister. Mr and Mrs Royland know about it –’

‘Then go, Mrs C. Please. Casta and I shall keep each other company. Won’t we, Casta?’ He rumpled the dog’s ears.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure. I shall be very good and I promise not to steal the silver.’ He smiled at her, his head on one side.

As soon as the door had closed behind her he walked back into the drawing room and helped himself to half a tumbler of Paul’s best malt whisky. He stood looking round the room as he drank it. At his feet Casta sat watching his face expectantly.

‘Just you and me, old girl.’ He raised his glass to the dog in a toast. Casta’s tail swept the carpet with enthusiasm. ‘So, how are your master and mistress getting on together?’ James sat down on the sofa. ‘Still fighting? I bet you’re on your mum’s side, aren’t you?’

Standing up again restlessly, he walked over to the bureau and pulled open a drawer. Idly shuffling through the contents he closed it and pulled open another. He read through a couple of letters and threw them down. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for; anything about Paul’s finances, or Duncairn, he supposed, while he had the chance.

He had been thinking about Paul’s offer to sell Duncairn to him, and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. His initial reaction had been stupid and sentimental; his second and third thoughts had been far more complicated. After all, it was possible that Clare would agree to sell to him, and she might agree to do so for far less than Paul was asking. She might even agree to swop the land for one of the farms, or even for Airdlie. Once Duncairn was his then he could sell it to Sigma himself. Putting down his glass he began systematically to search the house.

It was upstairs in the master bedroom, in the bottom drawer of a regency walnut chest of drawers hidden behind a pile of silk nightdresses, that he found the candles. Half a dozen tall, silver candles, wrapped in a black silk scarf. He unwrapped them and lined them up neatly on the pale green carpet, staring at them thoughtfully. With them in the drawer was a stubby candle holder, some incense sticks and a small bottle of oil. He opened the bottle and sniffed its contents cautiously. It was scented: spicy and sweet and rather exotic.

Casta was sitting in the doorway watching him intently. James glanced at her. ‘Are these the candles your mum uses to summon the spirits?’ The dog put her head on one side. ‘Of course they are.’ He picked one up and weighed it in his hand. ‘These are special, magic candles.’ The dinner-party candles were in the dresser with the napkins and table mats. He had seen them downstairs.

As the doorbell rang Casta leapt up and hurtled downstairs, barking. Guiltily James bundled the candles into their silk wrapping and stuffed them back into the drawer. He put the candlestick and oil back with them and pushed the drawer closed, then he ran downstairs, two at a time.

Emma stared at him in astonishment as he opened the door. ‘I thought there was no one in except the dog. Where’s Clare?’

‘Out for dinner, apparently.’ James stood back to let her in. ‘I came in to wait, but now I don’t know. She might be hours. Can I give you some of Paul’s Scotch?’

‘Please.’ Emma took off her raincoat and hung it in the hall. ‘I wanted to talk to Clare.’

‘About your new boyfriend?’ James smiled.

Emma stared at him. ‘What the hell do you mean? What new boyfriend?’

‘The gorgeous American. It’s OK. I won’t tell Pete. Privileged information, and all that.’

‘If Clare told you, she had no business to!’ Emma was furious. ‘Anyway there is nothing to tell. There is no boyfriend. It turns out he was just a passing acquaintance.’ She had seen Rex twice more, both times for lunch, both times for only an hour, and on both occasions he had talked more about Paul than about anything else. Then she had heard no more. She had waited a long time for him to ring again, then at last she had called him. His office had said he was away in the States, and there was certainly no reply from his flat. He seemed to have disappeared without a word, and she was more upset than she cared to admit.

‘I didn’t come to talk about him anyway,’ she said stiffly. ‘Apparently Clare had lunch with Chloe last week and she scared the pants off her. I wanted to know exactly what she said.’ She giggled suddenly.

‘I thought the sainted Chloe was unscarable.’ James did not like his brother-in-law’s relations.

‘Clare was going on about witches and spirits and Satan.’

He laughed uncomfortably. ‘And Chloe believed her, did she?’

‘I think so. You can never quite tell with Chloe, but Geoffrey’s taken it very seriously. I gather he’s now talking about consulting his bishop.’ She sobered. ‘James, what do you think about all this stuff Clare’s involved in? Does she really believe in it?’