Laura Possessed (4 page)

Laura jerked involuntarily as though an electric current had run swiftly through her body. ‘Balfour?' The name seemed to sound
an
echo in her mind.

‘Yes, you probably read about it at the time. Clark Balfour was winning all the acclaim in Vietnam. Then he was seriously wounded and was actually being flown home when his wife was killed. Now, on the face of it that was a perfectly ordinary car crash, but there were one or two circumstances about it that interest me—so much, in fact, that I intend to follow them up if possible when I get back to the States. For instance—Jumping Jupiter!' He broke off suddenly, a look of comic dismay on his face. ‘Whatever time is it?'

Edward glanced at his watch. ‘One-thirty, why?'

‘I promised my assistant faithfully that I'd be on the one-forty-five to Charing Cross. Will you excuse me? I must find Tom and Patty. Look, I haven't really contributed much to Laura's research. Edward, how about bringing her and your wife to dinner with me one evening? I'm staying at the Westmorland Hotel in Cromwell Road. It'll have to be this coming week because we're flying back to the States on Saturday. How would Tuesday suit you?'

‘Fine, as far as I know. Thanks.'

‘That's great. Sorry to rush off like this. I'll see you at the Westmorland, then, about seven-thirty on Tuesday? Delighted to have met you all!'

Laura discovered she had been holding her
breath,
and let it out in a long sigh. Edward glanced at her face.

‘I think it's time we went, too.'

Caroline said quickly, ‘While on the subject of dinner invitations, Edward, I did mention to Lewis that he must come one evening and see what we've made of his old home. When are you free, Lewis?'

Castleton was staring after Clive Sandilands and gave no sign of having heard her.

‘Lewis?'

‘I'm—sorry. Did you say something?'

‘I was wondering when you're free to come and have dinner with us.'

‘That's very kind of you.' He felt vaguely in his pocket for his diary. ‘I'll be most interested to see the house again,' he went on after a moment, and again Laura was aware of the strain in him and the effort it took to drag his attention away from his own concerns to make polite conversation. ‘I'm sure you've done wonders with it. Is there still that collection of twisted old trees at the bottom of the garden?'

Of its own volition, Laura's hand felt for and fastened tightly onto Paul Denver's. She was aware of Caroline's startled eyes on her face.

‘That's odd,' Caroline said after a moment, and there was a note of uncertainty in her voice.

Lewis Castleton was flicking through his diary and looked up. ‘What is? Hoping those
freak
trees are still there? I used to spend most of my time climbing them when I was a boy.'

Caroline said slowly, ‘There are no twisted trees in the garden now, and there weren't when we bought the house. But Laura saw them!' Her voice rang in accusation.

There was a brief pause while the three men looked at her in surprise. Then Castleton said reasonably, ‘I don't see how she could have seen them if they weren't there.'

‘Nor do I, but she did. Didn't you, Laura?'

Laura could only nod, unable to meet their curious eyes.

‘The day she arrived,' Caroline went on, ‘she looked out of the bedroom window and made some remark about twisted trees. I asked what trees and she said she was sure she'd seen some. For pity's sake, Laura, don't go clairvoyant on us!' Her laugh was brittle.

Paul Denver said briskly, ‘No doubt it can all be explained by association. It's quite a well-known theory, you know. Something reminds you of something else, and your brain assumes it's the same even though it isn't. For instance, at some time probably Miss Hardy—Laura—looked out of a window and
did
see some trees like she described. So when she looks out of another window, perhaps years later, for an instant in her mind's eye she sees them again.'

‘Do you read the teacups too?' Caroline asked, with an edge to her voice.

‘I
believe we were trying to fix a date for Lewis to come for dinner,' Edward remarked peaceably. ‘When are you free, old man?'

‘Well, I was just telling Caroline that I've decided to buy Gillet's cottage, at the far end of Brocklehurst.'

‘Really? I'm glad you've found something you like.'

‘It's in pretty poor condition and I want to paint it throughout before I move in. I'd like to get that finished this coming week if I can, but any time the following week I'd be delighted to come.'

Caroline extracted her own diary from her bag. ‘How about Friday the eleventh?'

‘That would be fine.'

‘Good. Now, Caroline, get the coats, will you? Laura's almost out on her feet.'

Paul Denver said, ‘I must be going, too. Good-bye, Laura. No doubt I'll see you again.' Presumably his secret support of her during the last few minutes had allowed him to dispense with ‘Miss Hardy,' and she was glad.

‘Good-bye, Paul. Thank you.'

When she turned from him, she saw to her untold relief that Lewis Castleton had disappeared. Edward was watching her anxiously.

‘Not overtired are you, love?'

‘A little, perhaps, but I'll be all right.'

‘I hope it wasn't a mistake to persuade you to come.'

‘At
least I met Mr. Sandilands, which was half the point of the exercise.'

‘He's a pleasant chap, isn't he? Dedicated to his work, of course. He seldom talks about anything else.'

‘Has he never married?'

‘No, but I rather gather that the girl he speaks of as his “assistant” assists him in more ways than one!'

‘Really, Edward!' Caroline admonished lightly, handing Laura her coat.

‘True, my love, quite true. I'll be interested to meet her. I believe she's a graduate of the American universities—a very intelligent young lady.'

They made their good-byes and Laura was glad to relax in the back of the car for the fifteen minutes that the journey back to Brocklehurst took. She leant her head against the cushions, letting the others' voices wash gently against her eardrums. She had a great deal to sift through, but that must wait till she was in the privacy of her room after lunch.

‘I see you allowed Paul Denver to cotton onto you, Laura,' Caroline remarked over her shoulder. ‘I should have warned you about him. Rather an uncouth young man, I'm afraid.'

‘I liked him,' Laura said defiantly. She refrained from adding that with his close-cropped hair and neat pinstripe suit she considered him far more ‘couth' than Lewis
Castleton.

‘Very left-wing, I believe,' Caroline said, with an air of having brought the subject to a close.

Laura smiled to herself.

‘Incredible story, that, about Kennedy,' Edward remarked after a moment. ‘I'd no idea Lewis had been there. I wish he'd been working for the
Courier
then!'

‘It wouldn't have done you much good, since he collapsed at the crucial moment.'

‘I suppose not. And what was all that nonsense about Laura having seen some trees?'

‘Just that she said she did, the day she arrived. That was weird enough, but when it transpired that they actually had been there once—'

Laura said jerkily, ‘I'll try to concentrate my powers on forecasting the Derby winner in future.'

‘I'd just as soon you'd no powers to concentrate,' Caroline murmured feelingly as they turned into the gateway of Four Winds.

CHAPTER THREE

Clive Sandilands' assistant proved to be decorous as well as intelligent, a slim, leggy American girl who was several inches taller
than
the rather short Sandilands, with swinging fair hair and round grey eyes behind enormous horn-rimmed spectacles.

‘Fenella's been my right hand for the last five years,' Sandilands said fondly. ‘She has a brain like a rapier and a wonderful capacity for skimming through mountainous piles of references and creaming off exactly the information we want.'

‘We could do with her in our offices' said Edward with a laugh. ‘Do you do any of the actual writing, Miss Gray?'

‘She does,' cut in Sandilands, ‘but she refuses to take the credit for it.'

‘Oh, but I only write the background parts that link the main events,' she protested. She had a rather low voice, with the kind of soft American accent which is a pleasure to listen to.

‘I may say,' put in Caroline ruefully, ‘that as the only non-literary member of this group, I have an outsize inferiority complex!'

They were sitting in the small cocktail bar of the Westmorland Hotel and Laura, away from Brocklehurst and all its associations, was relaxed and happy. She liked Clive Sandilands and she had felt an immediate affinity with the attractive Fenella Gray, who, she now decided, was not quite as young as she had first thought —probably in her early thirties, but still a good fifteen years younger than her employer. Laura's eyes went from her to the man next to
her,
with his pleasant, rather highly-coloured face, thinning brown hair and suggestion of middle-aged spread. Strange how nature triggered off attractions between two such dissimilar people as the bustling, middle-aged scholar and the quiet, studious American girl. Shared interests had obviously been the starting point, but Laura conceded that Edward's comment that there was more between them was probably not far short of the mark.

Following her train of thought, she glanced across at Caroline, remembering her taut gaiety in the company of Lewis Castleton. Was there really danger there for Edward? For the first time, Laura found herself wondering whether her brother's marriage was happy or whether, during the course of sixteen years, either of them had strayed. As this new thought occurred to her, she realized that ever since her arrival at Four Winds she had been aware of a tightly controlled impatience in Caroline, which she had subconsciously put down to her own nuisance-value. But it was possible that quite apart from the inconvenience of her own arrival, Caroline was at present going through a restless and dissatisfied phase. If so, it was surely unfortunate that it should be at this particular time that she had come into contact with the unattached and obviously attentive Mr. Castleton.

She
came back to her surroundings with the realization that they were preparing to go through to the dining-room. The Westmorland was one of the older, less pretentious hotels. It had been owned by the same family for fifty years and had a reputation for good if unimaginative food and a personal interest in the comfort of each guest.

The dining-room was small and rather old fashioned, but their table was attractively laid, the highly polished silver winking in the light from the candles which stood in the centre.

Their order taken, Sandilands leant forward and clasped his hands on the table. ‘Now, Laura—I may call you Laura?—I'm interested to know why such a delicate-looking young lady should have a consuming interest in the subject of violence'

Laura flushed and joined in the general laughter.

‘She thinks,' Edward said teasingly, ‘that she may have suffered a personality change as a result of a recent car accident.'

‘You were in a crash?' Sandilands asked.

‘Yes. My mother was killed.' Laura's hands interlaced tightly on her lap.

‘I'm so sorry. Was this only recently?'

‘Just after Christmas.'

‘Weren't you using some car crash to expound your theory on undetected violence?' Caroline interrupted, turning to Sandilands. ‘Just before you remembered you had a train
to
catch the other day?'

‘Oh, the Balfour business. Yes, I believe I was.'

‘And you thought it might not have been an ordinary accident. Why was that?'

‘Well, according to one report, the driver of a car Mrs. Balfour had passed minutes before the crash swore there were two people in the car. The police explored this possibility pretty thoroughly, but only the one body was found and the car certainly hadn't stopped in those few minutes. So if there
had
been someone else, who presumably escaped injury, why didn't he or she come forward? The obvious explanation, to my way of thinking, is that it must have been someone who didn't want his presence known—perhaps a lover? And remember all this happened while the General was actually being flown home.'

‘Was that suggestion ever put forward?' Laura asked.

‘It's not the kind of thing they could put into print, especially with the wounded hero desolate over his young wife's death.'

‘Was there anything else?'

‘Yes, apparently there were one or two reports that the car was weaving about erratically for some moments before the crash—time, anyway, for a couple of motorists to phone the police and report it. So why didn't this mysterious companion take over the wheel? Or did he attempt to, thereby causing
the
crash? One thing I'm positive about—if it hadn't been for Robert Kennedy being shot a couple of days later, the Balfour business would have been gone into much more thoroughly by the press. The police, of course, kept working on it, but no more was ever reported except the inquest verdict of accidental death. And to digress for a moment, what a stroke of luck running into that chap at Tom's! Almost an eyewitness account of the assassination! I was sorry afterwards that I hadn't included him in my invitation for tonight, but then I could hardly have left out the earnest young schoolmaster and our intimate little gathering would have been considerably stretched. But let us return to our sheep.'

‘Does this violence bit interest you too, Miss Gray?' Edward asked with a smile.

‘Fenella, please! Well, I guess so indirectly, but I'm more concerned with the corresponding sociological conditions between phases of violence in the past and those of the present day. If we can find some link between them, we might be onto something big.'