Laura Possessed (17 page)

‘And this is where you met the girl?'

‘Yes. Actually she wasn't exactly a girl. She must have been about thirty then. She'd been married for ten years to a man twenty-five years older than herself.'

‘Ah-hah!'

Lewis said quickly, ‘No, it wasn't like that. She idolized him. He'd been a friend of the family ever since her childhood. His first wife had run off and left him, apparently, soon after they were married. Anyway, he took—I'll call her “N”—to her first dances rather in the role of an uncle, introduced her to young people her own age, and so on, but apparently even then she'd decided he was the one she wanted.' He emptied his glass and Steve beckoned the barman for a refill.

‘Well, when she was sixteen her parents were both killed in a plane crash. She was an only child and she didn't seem to have any relations. Naturally enough she just turned to—him.'

‘He
hasn't got a name either?' Steve enquired with a smile.

‘If you don't mind, no.'

‘Fair enough, carry on. I presume she told you all this herself?'

‘Yes. Well, I suppose from then on their marriage was inevitable. He admitted that he'd always loved her, but he was very fair about it and most reluctant to tie her down so young. She was quite frank about being the one who insisted. However, as he was in the regular army and away a lot on active service, it was arranged that she should live with his married sister for a while, and I gather it was tacitly agreed that if she met anyone else, she would be quite free to break things off.'

‘He certainly seems to have bent over backwards not to take advantage of her.'

‘Precisely. But as I said, she'd always hero worshipped him and she wasn't interested in meeting anyone else, so eventually they were married, just before her twentieth birthday.'

‘When he would have been forty-five.'

‘Yes. He applied for a home posting and for some years she moved round the country with him and apparently they were very happy. Then the Vietnam War blew up and he was sent out there. By this time, incidentally, she had grown into a very beautiful woman, tall and fair, with an air of quiet dignity about her, and I might add there was no shortage of men who were interested in her. I heard about her
long
before I met her, the beautiful and remote Mrs. X.'

He glanced across at Steve. ‘Sorry if I'm being somewhat long-winded.'

‘There's no hurry. A question of filling in the background, I presume?'

‘Yes, I think it's relevant. Anyway, she had the reputation of being cool and reserved and not letting anyone within a mile of her.'

‘Except you?'

Lewis stared down into his glass. ‘God knows why I should have been singled out to get through to her. The timing might have been to my advantage. Her husband had been away for over four years by then, and I suppose to some extent they were bound to have grown apart. For my part, of course, I fell for her hook, line and sinker. I'd been forewarned, everyone had. Her unapproachability was one of the main attractions in the first instance.' He paused, uncomfortably aware of having said much the same thing about Caroline.

‘But in your case she reciprocated.'

‘Not at first. God, she was like a block of ice. I was “Mr. Castleton” for long enough, and amid all that trans-Atlantic informality that was quite a hurdle. I sometimes think it was partly the fact of my being English that made her notice me. She was a true Anglophile. Apparently several generations back her family had come from
Worcestershire.
Anyway, she couldn't hear enough about England, and especially my home. I don't know why, but it seemed to fascinate her. Time and again I had to describe it to her—“from the minute you turn in the gateway,” she used to say.'

He was silent for so long that Steve prompted gently, ‘So—what happened next?'

Lewis moved suddenly. ‘We fell in love and, tragically, she died.'

‘How?'

‘Does it matter?' His voice was brusque. ‘I'm sorry, I can't talk about that part. Afterwards I went completely to pieces. Everyone put it down to overwork. Incredibly enough we'd managed to keep the whole thing secret. As soon as I could stand on my feet again, I went careering back to Vietnam. I think I almost hoped I'd get blown up myself.'

‘Did you ever meet her husband?'

‘Yes, I did once.' He paused. ‘He was a very forceful man, well over six feet tall with thick, iron-grey hair.'

‘And he never knew about you and his wife?'

‘No. That, at least, I could be thankful for.'

‘And now you think she's trying to get in touch with you.'

‘Sometimes I do. Sometimes I'm convinced it's all imagination.'

‘Suppose you tell me?'

‘I'd still rather keep off names, Steve. You might gather whom I'm talking about, but even
so—'

‘Okay, if it makes you feel easier.'

‘Well, I moved round the world, deliberately seeking out the most dangerous places I could find. My guardian angel, if it exists, must have had its work cut out! I drank too much, I gambled, all the recognized devices for trying to forget something which is unforgettable. Of course none of it worked. Then, in the spring of last year, I suddenly realized the cycle had come round again and they were about to embark on another round of the ballyhoo which would lead up to a Presidential election. And I knew damn well I just couldn't face it. Quite suddenly I longed to be home, here down in Brocklehurst. So I dropped everything and came. I moved into digs in Ledbrook, submitted a few articles to the
Courier
and, to my own amazement, showed every sign of settling down. And I felt more at peace than I had for years.'

‘Did you go back to the house?'

‘My family had sold it years ago. I drove past time and again, but you can't see a great deal from the road. There was an “Under Offer” notice by the gate, and shortly after it changed to “Sold,” and then for months there were workmen's vans in the driveway. I wondered what the hell they were doing to the old place.'

‘And were you aware of—her—at this stage?'

‘No,
that's quite recent. I happened to meet the new owners of—my old home.'

‘Still no names!' Steve murmured.

‘And as I hoped, when they learnt I had once lived there, they were kind enough to invite me to dinner. There was a girl staying with them—'

‘Yes?'

‘Apparently she'd talked of seeing some twisted trees at the bottom of the garden. They were no longer there, but they had been when I was a boy.'

Steve was leaning towards him now, his eyes intent.

‘That was the first thing. Coincidence—all the usual slick explanations. But the night I went to dinner, this girl insisted she'd seen a boy upstairs who told her he'd just been in to see his dead grandmother.'

‘Ye gods!'

‘Firstly, of course, there had been no child in the house at the time. And secondly, almost exactly thirty years before,
I
had been in to see
my
dead grandmother.'

Steve gave a low whistle.

‘Soon after this, the girl begged to be allowed to write a book about my life, for heaven's sake. And gradually, God knows how, I began to feel she was strangely like—“N.” She “knew” things I hadn't told her, about my childhood particularly: a clock we once had, a German pilot who came down just outside
Ledbrook
during the war. It didn't strike me at first, but gradually I came to realize that although I hadn't told
her
about these things, everything that she “remembered” I
had
told “N.” '

‘Fascinating!'

‘That's more or less all. This girl has started to use American expressions which she never did before, she hums “N's” favourite tune—things like that.'

‘And does she seem aware of what's happening?'

‘Up to a point. I don't think she realizes the full significance of it, though. She talks quite openly about the other girl by name, says she was an unhappy presence in the house but is happier now she's being helped.'

‘My God!'

‘Look, Steve, what do you think, honestly?'

‘I should get her to a medium if I were you. I could put you in touch with one if you like.'

‘Thanks, I'll bear it in mind. And thanks for listening. I don't know if it's any clearer in my own mind, but it helped to talk to someone about it.'

‘I do feel you should take some kind of step to find out exactly what's happening. It's only fair, to both of them.'

‘You're right, of course.'

‘There's nothing else you can think of?'

‘I don't think so. Oh—this girl did say she dreamt about me before we met and I called
her
“N.” '

‘So now we have to add precognition to the other complexities!'

‘It would seem so.'

‘Is it only at the house that you're aware of the spirit of the dead girl?'

‘No. It used to be, but the influence appears to be gaining ground. She seems able to go now wherever the other girl goes.'

Steve's head jerked up. ‘Possession? God, Lewis, you'll have to watch it. That's something else again. I think the vicar would be your best bet.'

‘Oh, nonsense! At least not until I find out what it is she wants.'

‘But don't you see. You might be risking this girl's sanity!'

‘Don't worry, I'll keep it in check. And remember you're bound by the silence of the confessional or whatever.'

Steve smiled grimly. ‘Shows which way your mind's working—I presume you mean a “D” notice? Anyway, having given my word, I'll keep it, but I can't advise you too strongly to be careful how you handle this. It goes without saying that I'll be on tenterhooks to hear what happens next. If you run into any problems, I'll be pleased to offer what help I can.'

‘Thanks, Steve.'

‘I'd better be getting along. You've certainly given me something to think about! Good night, Lewis.'

‘Good
night.'

He leant his head back against the wall panelling and watched Steve thread his way round the bar and out of the door. Had it been wise to say so much? Steve would not have much trouble tracking down at least Laura and Four Winds if he put his mind to it, but he was a trustworthy man and Lewis felt he could depend on his silence.

The barman tapped him on the arm. ‘Sorry, Mr. Castleton, sir, but will you drink up? It's closing time.'

‘Of course.'

He realized everyone was moving slowly towards the door, finished his drink and went with them. High over the fields the moon swung like a golden ball and the warm night air was alive with expectancy. It seemed a sacrilege to drive meekly home, but there was no more exciting alternative. Also, his talk with Steve following on the emotional two hours he had spent with Laura had drained him. Wearily he climbed into his car.

Lights were at the upstairs windows of Four Winds as he passed, but Brocklehurst itself was deserted. The street lamps were strung along the roadway like miniature moons, but their light fell on empty streets and dark, huddled houses. He smiled to himself, understanding and acknowledging Harry's incredulity at his being prepared to spend his life in this backwater. But Harry didn't appreciate that
Noel
had summoned him back to the one place on earth where she felt able to reach him, and that time and place were immaterial if they could be together again.

With a feeling of acquiescence he turned into the dark, rutted lane that led to the cottage.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

He didn't see Laura that weekend. Her youngest brother had come up from Sussex with his wife and baby, prepared apparently to stay for several days. Lewis wondered with grim amusement whether he would be called upon to present himself for inspection as he had when Richard came, but no invitation materialized and on the Monday afternoon Laura phoned.

‘Lewis, it's just not worth your coming while Toby and Janet are here. The baby cries all the time and I can't concentrate on anything.'

‘You sound a little harassed, my dear. Would it help to get away from them for a while? We could always have our discussion here, if Big Brother would allow you to come.'

‘That's an idea. I am a bit upset. Actually I've rather a headache today, my first for some time. I didn't sleep well and when I finally managed to drop off, I had the most horrible
dream.'
Her voice shook slightly.

‘Never mind. Come as soon as you like; I'm in the rest of the day. If you can face pork pie and pickles, I can even offer you supper—but it might make you dream again!'

He gave the cottage a cursory flick with a duster and carried deck-chairs and a rug out into the overgrown garden at the back. Enclosed as it was on all sides, the little garden made a perfect suntrap and the long grass was bleached to hay.

Laura arrived at five o'clock, carrying her tape recorder and notebooks. ‘Edward dropped me at the end of the lane.' She flopped into a deck-chair and closed her eyes. ‘What a relief to get away! I adore Toby but he's so terribly analytical! Everything anyone says has to be taken apart, examined and given cross-references. And Janet's as bad. She was a schoolteacher right up until the baby became too obvious. She'll probably farm it out as soon as she can and go back to teaching.'

‘What an intellectual family you are!' Lewis observed, handing her a glass of ice-cold shandy.

‘I know. It's a bit of a drag at times. Toby writes poetry, you know, and he's also art critic to some frightfully erudite magazine or other. And Janet's hobby is pottery—too arty for words! She's always so
intent
on everything. No wonder she gives me a headache! She's only a year older than I am, but she treats me like a
backward
six-year-old. Heaven help that baby if she doesn't turn out to be a genius!'