Kingdom of Shadows (16 page)

Paul gave him a withering look. ‘I didn’t see you as sentimental.’

‘No?’ James raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps you forget that I’m a Scot too, Paul. Aunt Margaret left the place to Clare because she thought I wouldn’t appreciate it fully. Perhaps she was right, I don’t know. But I wouldn’t have sold it. I may be a businessman, but to see Duncairn raped would hurt even me. I won’t go so far as to try and stop you selling; no one could ignore the kind of offer you’ve had, but I won’t stand and watch.’

Paul inclined his head slightly. ‘Fair enough. We understand one another, I think.’

James looked him in the eye. ‘Indeed we do,’ he said slowly. ‘Indeed we do.’

* * *

Rex Cummin sat down on the white leather sofa and pulled the telephone towards him. Mary was out, and the flat was quiet. His cases still lay humped together in a heap in the lobby where he had dropped them as he came through the front door. It took him only a few moments to be connected with Alec Mitchison in Edinburgh.

‘I’ve received a letter from Mr Paul Royland, the owner’s husband.’ The crisp Scots voice, crackling with energy, came down the wire. ‘He says that Mrs Royland is unwell and he is handling her affairs. I gather he may be prepared to discuss matters.’

Rex sat forward eagerly, his knuckles white on the receiver. ‘What did he say exactly?’

‘He says he would be prepared to meet you, that’s all.’

‘That’s enough.’ Rex took a deep breath. ‘Set it up, will you? In London or Edinburgh. Wherever he wants. You’ll be there, of course.’

There was a pause the other end of the line. When the voice resumed it was heavy with disapproval. ‘You wish to reveal your identity so early in the negotiations, Mr Cummin? I would have thought that a grave mistake.’

Rex could feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead. The supercilious Scotsman was right, of course, but he couldn’t wait. Not now. There wasn’t time. He took a deep breath.

‘I feel sure,’ he said slowly, ‘that Mr Royland and I can meet as private individuals. I will not mention my company’s identity at this stage. I will allow him to think that I am interested in developing the hotel.’ He knew Mitchison didn’t think he could pull it off; the man probably thought Royland knew about Sigma already. If so, so be it. They would negotiate with all the cards on the table. And he meant every card. As he put the phone down, he had already decided to find out all there was to know about Paul Royland. And he meant all. He was going to leave nothing to chance.

Behind him the door opened and his wife appeared, laden with carrier bags. ‘Rex! When did you get in, honey? Why didn’t you say you were flying back today?’ She dropped the bags and kissed him on the cheek.

Rex stepped back a little. ‘I came back sooner than I expected, that’s all,’ he said testily.

‘Is something wrong?’ His wife’s radar was finely tuned to every nuance of tone.

‘Nothing, honey, nothing. They are a load of old women back there in the States, that’s all. The drop in the price of oil is scaring the shit out of them.’

‘And they don’t want to invest any more in Europe?’

He shrugged. ‘They haven’t said yes or no. They’re hesitating and while they hesitate, someone else is going to get his goddam hands on Duncairn.’ He walked over to the bar and reached for a bottle of Bourbon. ‘Except they’re not. The Royland woman’s husband has written to Mitchison. He’s prepared to talk. She’s ill apparently.’

Mary sat down slowly, unbuttoning her white raincoat. She kicked off her shoes with a groan. ‘Poor woman. We must send her some flowers or something.’ She glanced at her husband and frowned. ‘Go easy on that stuff, honey, you know what the doctor said.’

‘That doctor is a fool.’ Rex refused to meet her eye. ‘I reckon he thinks I’m getting old. They all think I’m getting old.’ He drained the glass and slapped it down on the bar.

‘Were there problems in Houston, Rex?’ Mary asked gently.

‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ Hooking his finger into the knot of his tie he loosened it slowly. ‘I’ll be flying up to Aberdeen tomorrow and as soon as Mitchison can arrange it I’ll meet with Royland and get this deal tied up. Then perhaps that would be a good time to think about planning our retirement, what do you say?’ He turned away from her before he could see the alarm in her eyes.

The roses glowed in the misty morning sunshine as Clare reached up to cut them from the back wall, putting them gingerly into her basket one by one. She swore as a thorn pricked her.

Paul had driven straight to the office when he returned from Bucksters on Monday morning so she hadn’t seen him until yesterday evening when he had returned at about seven.

‘David and Gillian missed you,’ he said curtly as he walked in. ‘I explained that you were unwell.’

‘Was it a good party?’ She smiled at him tentatively, trying to gauge his mood.

‘Their parties are always amusing.’ He walked across to the sideboard and began to rummage in it for his whisky. ‘May I ask what you did all weekend?’

‘Nothing. You told them the truth, as it happens. I wasn’t feeling well.’ She knew she sounded defensive.

‘I see. Clare, I’ve been thinking.’ He poured two double whiskies, neat, and handed her one. ‘I think perhaps you should go away for a holiday. A couple of months in the sun would do you good.’

She shook her head. ‘Perhaps after Christmas; I don’t want to go away now.’

‘Why not?’

‘I want to go up to Scotland. I have to sort out one or two things.’ There was a moment of silence.

When he spoke his voice was grim. ‘May I ask what sort of things?’

‘Duncairn, for one.’ She looked him straight in the eye. ‘I want to discuss the future with Jack Grant. There are repairs that need doing as soon as possible to the hotel.’

‘I see. And where is the money going to come from?’

‘I am sure I can find it. I still have money of my own, Paul.’

‘Yes; and I know exactly how much. How far do you think that will go?’

‘Far enough for the time being.’

‘Clare! You’re crazy. You might as well stand on the edge of that damn cliff and tear up the money, note by note, and throw it into the sea. No one in their right mind would contemplate pouring money into that hotel.’

‘Except the man who wants to buy it. You wouldn’t object to him throwing his money away, I take it?’ She tried to keep her voice steady.

‘He doesn’t want the hotel, Clare. He wants the oil.’

‘Well, he’s not getting it.’ She clenched her fists. ‘I thought I would go up north later this week.’

‘We have a dinner party on Saturday, if you remember.’

‘Early next week, then. I’ve made my mind up, Paul.’

He had slept in the spare room, and he had left for the office before she was awake.

Thoughtfully she reached up to clip another rose, sniffing it absent-mindedly before she dropped it into her basket. Since Zak’s visit she had not left the house.

When the meditation had ended, she had remained sitting on the floor, still staring at the guttering candle, waiting for him to speak. Slowly he had risen to his feet and walked across to the window. Opening the curtains, he stood, looking out into the road. For a long time he said nothing, then at last he turned.

‘Clare, I think I must suggest you turn your meditations in a different direction. What you are doing is a valid exercise, but it is not one which is going to bring you the results you need. I want you to go back and practise some of the methods I first taught you. Especially the counting.’ He smiled. ‘That is the one you find so boring, I think you said.’

‘But why can’t I go on as I am?’ She looked up at him. ‘What am I doing wrong?’

‘You are not doing anything wrong, as such.’ He hesitated. ‘I have been trying to decide what is taking place. As you suspected, although your technique is correct, what is happening to you is not usual; it is not what you expect from a simple visualisation. There are several possible explanations. The most obvious, and the one I hope it is, because it is the least complicated, is that you are remembering a previous incarnation; that you were this Isobel in another life and that meditation has given you access to the memory.’ He gave an almost apologetic smile.

Clare stared at him in astonishment. ‘That’s not possible!’

‘Why? Don’t you believe that you have lived before?’ He frowned.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. I suppose I’ve had feelings that I’ve been here before – doesn’t everyone? But not as Isobel, Zak.’ She shook her head firmly.

‘What makes you so sure?’

‘I know. All right, you want something more positive than that. Well, Aunt Margaret saw her too. We can’t both have been her in a previous life, can we?’

‘Ah.’ Zak moved slowly back and sat down stretching his long legs out on the carpet in front of him. He was silent for a moment. ‘Then we must consider some of the other possibilities.’

‘Zak.’ Clare was thoughtful. ‘How do you know about Isobel? Did I talk out loud?’

He frowned. ‘A little. I prompted you and you answered.’

‘Without knowing it?’

He nodded. ‘You were hundreds of miles away, Clare, and you were in a different time. You had no knowledge of me being there, but with part of your mind you heard me and you replied.’ He hesitated, unwilling to give up his theory. ‘Are you sure your aunt saw the same things?’

Clare nodded.

‘And she spoke to you of them?’

‘Yes.’

‘And did she ever tell you how she summoned Isobel?’ He was feeling his way with care.

She nodded. ‘She used to tell me that she closed her eyes and imagined as hard as she could, and if I imagined hard enough I would see her too: that when I opened my eyes again she would be there.’

‘And it worked?’

‘Always.’

‘So that was that you were doing just now?’

‘Not consciously.’ She hesitated. ‘At least, I don’t think so. I’m not aware that I was trying as such – or at least not in the same way …’ She stopped, confused. ‘She just comes.’

‘That is because of the meditation technique. You have learned how to open your mind to the past without effort.’ He pushed. ‘When you were a child, was Isobel a child?’

She nodded. ‘I played games with her.’ She paused again, embarrassed. ‘She was very real to me when I was little, Zak.’

‘And she’s very real now, isn’t she?’ Zak was becoming more and more uneasy.

She nodded again. ‘And now she’s grown up. Each time I see her she is older, closer to my age. It isn’t meditation, is it?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think it is. I hoped you were reliving a past incarnation. That may be traumatic, cathartic even, but I don’t think it can really harm one. If that is not it …’ He stopped, again, trying to choose his words carefully. ‘I think, Clare that you must have managed to get the knack of doing something which takes people years of study. You have a natural aptitude for a science which should not be undertaken by someone who is not properly prepared, or by someone who is’ – he hesitated – ‘uninitiated. I think for your own sake you must stop, Clare.’

‘But why? Surely it can’t do me any harm? You yourself said anything I enjoy doing would be better than nothing.’ Something like panic had crept into her voice.

‘I didn’t realise then what you were doing,’ he interrupted her.

‘But you don’t
know
now for sure! All you could do was see me sitting there with my eyes closed and ask me a few questions!’ She scrambled to her feet and pinching out the candle put it on to the sideboard. Her eyes were alight with rebellion.

‘I do know,’ he repeated. He was watching the trail of smoke rising from the wick. ‘You see, I saw them, Clare.’

‘What?’ She stared at him, aghast.

‘I saw them. You have learned to project thought forms. You have made these people real. I don’t know if they are actual physical entities or whether I saw them telepathically, but I saw them. I don’t know if they are spirits, or from your imagination – I think perhaps the latter, as they seem unconcerned about relaying messages and only re-enact their own lives – but the power of your imagination has given them reality. And that is dangerous. Please, believe me, Clare. You should stop.’

‘And what will happen if I don’t? What if I enjoy it?’ She pushed her hair back from her face.

Zak sighed. ‘No one can stop you doing it if you want to continue, Clare, but you would be crazy to go on. The power of thought is very real. To a certain extent these people you have created have a life of their own now. And they will take you over if they can.’

‘You’re not serious!’

‘I am and I’d blame myself if something happened to you, don’t you see? You have, in a sense, set a mechanism in train which is very hard to switch off, not least because you, on your own admission, enjoy it.’

‘And is that so bad?’

‘It is once you lose control.’

‘But that won’t happen –’

‘It might.’ He was looking at her very seriously. ‘You might find you had no choice but to go on, Clare. I think maybe your Lady Isobel needs you as much as you need her.’

Clare stared at him. Her face had gone white. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Zak! You’re not serious? What I am doing is a child’s game. Pretend, that’s all. They are part of my imagination. It’s the meditation technique which has allowed my imagination to run wild, that’s all. You said that yourself. It’s a game! Just a game!’

‘Then why did you call me? Clare, you were worried enough about what you were doing to want to talk to me about it.’

She glanced at him almost guiltily. ‘I called you because I couldn’t do it any more. I panicked because I thought I would never see her again. Then I could and – well’ – she hesitated. ‘I wanted you to tell me it was all right, not tell me I’m engaged in some sort of occult practice! For God’s sake, Zak!’

‘You panicked because you thought you’d never see her again,’ he repeated, quoting her. ‘Leave it alone, Clare. I mean it.’

She had never seen Zak angry before. It was out of character. His cool, gentle tone had gone and he had sounded almost afraid.

And he had refused to change his mind.

‘Clare, please think about what I’ve said.’ He stood up slowly. ‘Promise me.’