Midnight is a Lonely Place (17 page)

It took her half an hour to walk the half mile through the wood. The track was muddy and slippery and the wind had scattered the springy resinous branches of the pine trees on the ground, making the path treacherous in the unsteady torchlight. Several times she stopped and glanced around, shining the torch into the trees. The narrow beam showed only wet, black trunks, deep shadows and a tangle of matted undergrowth.

Diana opened the door with an exclamation of surprise. ‘Kate, my dear, you haven’t walked! Greg said he was going over to pick you up half an hour ago.’

Greg, she thought. I might have guessed. She smiled, realising suddenly that her face was so cold it was hard to make her muscles work. ‘I wish I’d known, I would have waited for him,’ she said. She followed Diana inside, shed her wet outer garments and found herself ushered towards the dreamed of inglenook. Within minutes she had been settled into the warmest corner of the sofa with a whisky in her hand and a cat on her knee.

The room smelled gloriously of burning apple logs, and cooking; she sniffed in anticipation; garlic, oregano, tomatoes – something Italian then. Lying back with her head against the cushions she smiled at Roger who had seated himself opposite her. ‘This is heaven. It’s not worth cooking for myself. I’ve been living on baked beans and tinned soup for the last few days.’

‘So, how is your book going?’ Roger smiled. At the Aga Diana had lifted the lid off a pan and was stirring gently.

Kate took a sip of her whisky, feeling the warmth flowing through her veins. ‘Quite well. From the work point of view coming here was a good move. It’s given me the time to concentrate.’

‘Not much else to do over there, eh?’ Roger smiled. He cocked an eye at the door as it opened and Greg appeared. ‘I thought you were supposed to be fetching our guest,’ he said sharply.

Greg grimaced. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise the time. I was on my way out now to get you.’

Kate eyed him cryptically. She did not believe it. He had meant to leave it so late that she had to walk. She said nothing, however. She did not want to spoil the mood of the evening. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said easily. ‘No harm done. I enjoyed the walk.’

‘Well, you can be sure he will drive you back after supper,’ Roger put in quietly, and hearing the note of steel in his voice Kate realised that Greg’s father was as aware as she was that his omission was deliberate. She relaxed back in the cushions further with a sigh of pleasure, her hand gently stroking Serendipity Smith into a state of ecstasy, surprised to acknowledge how relieved she felt that she would not have to face the cold wet trees alone again that night.

It was when Alison and Patrick appeared that Greg, who had been morosely drinking beer in the corner chair, looked up. ‘Did you remember to bring the dagger you found in Alison’s dig?’ he asked. Though his voice was quiet there was a hostile edge to it that Kate picked up immediately.

She frowned. ‘I did indeed.’ Carefully, so as not to disturb the cat she leaned down to the soft leather shoulder bag which lay at her feet and rummaged inside it. The iron dagger was wrapped in a piece of newspaper. Lifting it out she held it up to Alison. ‘I found it lying on the sand,’ she said. ‘I only moved it because the tide was coming in. It would have been lost.’

For a moment Alison hesitated. She took the newspaper packet with obvious reluctance. ‘Thanks.’ She put it down without opening it. ‘I had put it in my haversack. It must have fallen out.’

Kate raised an eyebrow. ‘Aren’t you going to look at it?’

‘Later.’

‘What’s wrong, Allie? Lost interest already?’ Greg’s challenge brought a flush of angry pink to Alison’s face.

‘Of course not.’

‘You weren’t there today.’

‘I was.’ The retort was flashed at him furiously. ‘That just shows all you know. She saw me. Didn’t you?’

‘I did,’ Kate acknowledged.

‘So, what do you think of Allie’s dig?’ Roger interposed quietly, long used to stepping into the quarrels of his children.

‘Remarkable.’ Kate sat forward. ‘I hope Alison is going to get some experts up here soon. The tide is taking away the sand very fast. If she’s not careful the whole thing will have disappeared before it’s properly recorded.’

‘Did you remember to photograph it?’ Alison’s question stemmed not so much from interest, Kate sensed, as the desire to catch her out. It was with some satisfaction that she nodded. She reached again into her bag and produced the roll of film.

‘I’m afraid the light wasn’t as good as I’d hoped. It may not have come out, but it’s better than nothing.’

Alison took the film and threw it down on the table near her. ‘Thanks,’ she said again.

‘It was very good of you to take them for her,’ Roger put in. He had been watching his daughter with a frown. ‘Alison, have you told anyone yet about your finds? Kate is right. Someone expert on these matters needs to come and see it soon.’

‘She’ll do it when she’s ready,’ Diana put in from the kitchen. ‘Don’t pester the child. Give her a chance to write up her project on her own first, if that’s what she wants.’

Kate turned in her seat, resting her arm along the back of the sofa so she could see Diana who was grating parmesan at the kitchen table. ‘It really is getting quite urgent,’ she said almost apologetically. ‘A few more high tides and the tumulus will have gone.’

‘So that’s what it is. A tumulus,’ Greg put in. ‘It seems to me we have our own expert here on the premises.’

‘I’m not an expert,’ Kate turned back, conscious that the cat on her knee was becoming increasingly irritated by her apparent inability to sit still. ‘Far from it. But I do think it could be important.’

MARCUS!

The voice seemed to echo round the room.

Digging its claws into her knee the cat leaped off her lap and streaked out of sight up the stairs.

The others looked at it in astonishment.

‘Sorry. I hope he didn’t scratch you,’ Roger said with a puzzled smile. ‘I can’t think why he did that. He seemed to like you.’

‘It’s probably the smell of mum’s cooking,’ Patrick put in his first comment of the evening.

Had none of them heard it then, apart from the cat? The pain of the voice which seemed to ring round the room had rung so loudly in her ears. The anguish. The fear.

Completely disorientated, Kate realised that Greg was watching her closely. ‘Perhaps you don’t really like cats,’ he put in softly. ‘They often go and sit on people who don’t like them out of sheer perversity.’

‘Of course I like them,’ she snapped. Her hands were clenched tightly around her empty glass. Noticing, Roger levered himself to his feet. ‘Here, let me get you another one, Kate. Forget the moggy. He’s a damn nuisance.’ His voice was soothing. ‘So, tell me, how do you like Redall Cottage?’

‘Did you see the ghost again last night?’

Greg’s question floated into the conversation before she had time to answer Roger’s.

‘What ghost?’ Diana asked. ‘There’s no ghost there, Kate. Take no notice of my son. He’s trying to wind you up.’

‘Would I?’ Greg smiled. ‘Of course there’s a ghost there. Kate and I were discussing the unpleasant atmosphere at the cottage when I was up there last night. Weren’t we? And she told me she’d seen it.’ He appealed to her to substantiate his claim. ‘We both believe it has something to do with that grave on the beach.’

Alison had gone white. ‘Shut up Greg.’

Her brother looked at her. As their eyes met, he raised an eyebrow very slightly. Guiltily Alison looked away. He had explained it all to her an hour ago, when she had challenged him on the subject, how he was going to drive Lady Muck out of the cottage; how she was already nervous of being on her own out there; how it would take only one or two small things – noises perhaps, or strange happenings in the cottage – to send her screaming into the night. But he hadn’t mentioned the grave.

Kate was watching Greg closely. He was a handsome man, with, at first glance anyway, an honest face and guileless eyes. She had noticed how he could hold her gaze with his own, steadily, the humour and challenge trembling just behind the mask. But it was a mask. He was playing with her.

‘If it is a ghost it is a nice one.’ She smiled at him. ‘And it wore a beautiful scent.’

Alison bit her lip. ‘Stop joking about it. It’s silly.’ Her voice had risen in something like panic. ‘When’s supper going to be ready? I’m starving.’

From the far end of the room where she was laying the kitchen table Diana looked up and smiled. She had been listening to the exchange and had half guessed what Greg was up to. ‘It’s ready now. Come and finish this for me, Allie. Then we can eat. Greg, come and pour the wine. And Roger and Patrick, sit where you are till I call you. I know you both. The moment you think I’m about to announce the meal you will disappear on some urgent errand and I shan’t see you for hours.’ She turned to drain the pasta.

The room was busy, bustling, warm. Kate took another sip of her whisky. She was beginning to feel lightheaded. Had none of them heard it? Or had the voice, somehow, come from Greg?

Suddenly she realised that he was standing in front of her. He put out his hand for her glass. ‘Come. Let me take you in to dinner,’ he said, extending his arm.

She scrambled to her feet. ‘Thank you.’ He was about her height, broadly built and solid; she could smell his aftershave. With a sudden feeling of shock she realised he was really a very attractive man. Strangely conscious of the firm touch of his hand beneath her elbow she let him escort her to the table, where she found herself seated between him and his father.

‘If there are ghosts, then there are two of them.’ Kate was enjoying herself. ‘And they are Roman,’ she added as Diana laid a dish of paté on the table in front of her. ‘One would be your Marcus Severus Secundus, and the other, the one I think I saw, might have been – perhaps – his wife, Augusta.’

Roger laughed. He dug his knife into the butter and carved himself off an unfashionably large corner. ‘Good lord! How on earth have you come to that conclusion?’

Kate turned to Greg. ‘You said Marcus haunted Redall Cottage,’ she said. ‘I went to the museum and saw the exhibits about him and his wife. That is how I know her name.’

Greg grinned. He reached for the butter himself. ‘I think there must have been a beautiful villa here in their day. It’s strange. You make him sound almost approachable. I can’t say I’ve ever been on first name terms with him. I don’t think he was at all a pleasant character.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Kate hadn’t taken her eyes off Greg’s face, trying to read his expression.

‘Greg.’ Diana reproved her son from the end of the table.

‘I’m sorry, Ma, but I think Kate should be warned. She is, in a way, Marcus’s guest, after all. And if he and his wife have introduced themselves, it would seem that they are going to seek a closer acquaintance with her.’

There was a moment’s silence.

‘The dagger belonged to him,’ Alison put in softly. ‘He used it to kill people.’

Kate glanced at her, in spite of herself giving a little shiver of apprehension. Alison was staring down at her plate. Her headache had come back.

‘I’m glad to be rid of it then,’ Kate said. She forced herself to sound cheerful. ‘It will be safer here out of his reach with you looking after it. I was talking to a friend in the States on the phone this evening and telling him about it,’ she went on, determined to show that she was in no way upset by the sudden atmosphere in the room. ‘They don’t have Roman ghosts in America. He was quite jealous.’ Were they in it together, Greg and Alison? Were they all having a good laugh at her expense? ‘In what way is he unpleasant?’ she pressed Greg. She watched him closely. If he told her at least she would know what to expect.

He shrugged. ‘They say that on certain nights, when the tide is high and the moon is full, you can hear the screams of his victims – ’

‘Greg, that is enough!’ his father put in abruptly. ‘You are frightening your sister.’

‘Rubbish. Allie’s as tough as old boots. It would take more than that to frighten her,’ Greg retorted. He turned to Kate. ‘And I’m sure our lady historian is not frightened by ghosts. They are, after all, her stock in trade. She should be very pleased to be able to rent a couple so reasonably.’

So there you had it. The barb which had betrayed him. Kate smiled. Suddenly she felt more cheerful. She could handle Greg Lindsey. Taking another mouthful of Diana’s delectable home made paté she turned back to him. ‘Why should they haunt the grave on the beach? They weren’t buried there, and I’m fairly certain that it’s not a Roman burial.’

‘How do you know it’s a burial at all?’ Patrick put in another of his rare remarks. ‘Allie hasn’t found a body has she?’

‘No, I haven’t!’ Again the panic. Unexplained. Sudden. Overwhelming. Alison clenched her fists against the sudden pounding behind her eyes.

‘And she probably won’t. The sand dissolves bodies,’ Kate put in. She hadn’t looked at Alison. ‘Like at Sutton Hoo. Although that is a Saxon burial and therefore probably much later, it must be the same principle. The salts in the sand dissolve everything except the shadow. And archaeologists can only find that if the site has been undisturbed.’ She caught site of Alison’s strained look and hastened to add: ‘The trouble with Redall beach is that now it is right on the edge of the sea. The tide and the wind have already damaged the site beyond any hope of finding that kind of evidence.’