Laura Possessed (5 page)

‘Edward has the somewhat naïve idea,' remarked Caroline rather caustically, ‘that it's all due to the fact that there hasn't been a war lately to absorb man's natural aggression.'

Fenella smiled. ‘As an American, I should have to qualify that. There's hardly been any time since nineteen forty-five when American
forces
haven't been engaged somewhere in the world fighting in the interests of democracy.'

‘And the maintenance of law enforcement,' intoned Edward nasally, ‘or was that only U.N.C.L.E. ?'

Sandilands said, ‘But it's a novel, surely, that Laura will be working on, which will give her a lot more latitude than we have, keeping strictly to the facts. Have you any idea how you'll set about it?'

‘Not really.' She pushed away her plate. ‘I think perhaps I might write round a central character who has been in all the trouble spots over the last twenty years, a mercenary, or someone like that.'

‘If that's the way your mind is working,' Edward commented, ‘you could hardly do better than to talk to Lewis Castleton. He's never been a mercenary as far as I know, but as a journalist he's been wherever, to coin a phrase, history has been made. You heard him yourself on Robert Kennedy, and I know for a fact he was in Vietnam, Kenya, the Middle East—he was even in Munich during the Olympic games massacre.'

Caroline said brightly; ‘Perhaps you could have a word with him when he comes to dinner next week.'

‘Then,' said Sandilands, ‘if I can't be of any more help, let's change the conversation to more pleasant topics! Has anyone any strings to get us seats for Drury Lane either tomorrow
or
Friday? I know we've left it very late, but a spot of light relief would be more than welcome. Failing that, any theatre that's not showing a murder play would be most acceptable!'

At ten o'clock Edward put down his coffee cup. ‘Would you think us rude if we left you now, Clive? It takes a good hour and forty minutes to get home, and that will be quite late enough for Laura. She still needs a lot of rest.'

‘Not at all. Of course you must go whenever you're ready. It's very good of you to have come all the way here to have dinner with me. I'll get your coats.'

They moved out into the hall together.

‘Where did you leave the car?' Sandilands enquired.

‘Down some little back alley behind the hotel. It's not far away.'

‘I'll come along and see you off.'

‘No, don't bother. You haven't a coat down here.'

‘Nonsense. It's a mild spring evening and I could do with a little exercise after that meal. Fenella, order another pot of coffee, will you? I'll only be five minutes.'

It was very dark down the alley alongside the hotel and they linked arms to steady each other on the uneven surface. Occasional lights from the windows high up in the wall shed sporadic pools of brilliance which only
intensified
the surrounding darkness. They turned left and then right and came upon the car in the narrow little street where they had left it.

‘Keep me posted about the progress of the novel,' Clive Sandilands instructed, ‘and the best of luck with it. I'll be in touch once we've settled down again.'

They shook hands and the three of them climbed into the car. Its headlights sprouted tongues of light, illuminating the small figure of Sandilands waving them off. Then they had left him behind and were threading their way through the narrow streets and out again into the well-lit thoroughfare of Cromwell Road.

‘What a charming man he is,' Caroline observed. ‘I can quite see why Fenella finds him attractive.'

They talked intermittently between themselves and in the back seat Laura closed her eyes and let herself drift towards sleep, her body swaying from side to side with the movements of the car.

There were no lights on in Brocklehurst when eventually they reached it, and the looming shapes of the houses, dark against the paler sky, had a foreboding about them which made Laura shudder, chilled as she was after her cramped half-sleep. However, the lantern shaped light at the gateway of Four Winds welcomed them home and as Edward drew up outside the front door, the sudden ringing of
the
telephone, sinister in the sleeping house, reached their ears.

‘Who the hell can be phoning at this time of night?' Edward demanded irritably, hurrying to put his key in the lock.

‘Quickly!' Caroline urged. ‘It'll wake Peter!'

Edward strode ahead of them into the hall and Laura was closing the door behind herself and Caroline when the tone of his voice altered drastically.

‘
What?
Oh, my God! How did you—?'

Caroline caught at his sleeve. ‘Whatever is it?'

He shrugged her off, glancing at his watch. ‘Look, I'll come straight back. I can be there by about one . . . Are you sure? Who's with you now? Can they give you a sedative? . . . Well, if you're absolutely sure, because it would be no trouble . . . Yes, all right then. I'll be there about nine o'clock. Try to get some sleep.'

Slowly he replaced the receiver and stood staring down at it, his face paper-white.

‘For heaven's sake, Edward—' Caroline began jaggedly.

He turned clumsily to face them. ‘It's Clive. He's dead.'

‘Dead'
Caroline's voice rose an octave. ‘But he can't be! We've only just—' She broke off.

Laura felt her legs give way. She sank down onto the monk's bench, staring unblinkingly at her brother.

Edward
was speaking jerkily. ‘He didn't come back from seeing us off. God, if only he'd stayed at the hotel! That last little act of courtesy cost him his life.'

‘But what
happened
?' Caroline demanded.

‘He just didn't come back. Fenella had ordered more coffee as he'd asked, and after about ten minutes she went outside and looked up the side alley but couldn't see any sign of him. She became anxious and sent the doorman out to look.'

Edward's trembling hand went to his forehead. ‘He found him lying sprawled in the alley. Of course, they thought he'd just collapsed, but—when they finally got him back to the hotel, they discovered he'd been stabbed, just once, through the heart.'

‘
Stabbed
?' repeated Caroline. ‘You mean—it was murder?'

Laura's fingers were pressing against her shaking lips. Not Clive Sandilands—not that polite, helpful little man—

‘But why?' Caroline whispered.

Edward shook his head helplessly. ‘It looks like a mugging. His wallet was taken, and his gold watch.'

There was a long silence while they all stared at each other, desperately trying to deny the truth of what they'd just heard. At last Caroline moved. ‘It looks as though the seventies are to be
our
violent decade,' she said, ‘but Clive won't be here to write about
them.'

* * *

The story of the murder made the later editions of the papers the next morning. Seeing it in black and white finally and irrevocably convinced Laura of the appalling truth. Soon after ten o'clock Edward phoned from London, but he had nothing further to report. The police were working on it, but it looked as though they hadn't much chance of finding the murderer. He had tried to insist on Fenella's coming to Four Winds, but she had held out against it. It was understandable; although they were her last link with Sandilands, she had only met them the previous evening. She was extremely calm, Edward reported, and seemed capable of handling everything necessary. In the circumstances all he could do was return to Ledbrook. He had been interviewed by the police and they knew where to reach him if they needed him.

At twelve o'clock the phone rang again, and Laura was surprised to learn it was for her.

‘Laura? Paul Denver here. I've just heard the news on the radio. Is it true? About Mr. Sandilands?'

‘Yes,' she answered dully, ‘quite true.'

‘But weren't you to have met him last night for dinner?'

‘We
did. It happened after he had seen us off'

‘God, it's unbelievable'

‘I know.'

‘Are you all right? You sound pretty shaken.'

‘Well, of course I'm shaken. If I hadn't—' She broke off and fought to steady her breathing.

‘Now look, it's bad enough without you starting to imagine things.'

‘I'm not imagining them, Paul; they're true.'

There was a pause, then he said abruptly, ‘Are you free this afternoon?'

‘I suppose so. I usually rest in the afternoons.'

‘I have a free one today. I'll come and collect you and we'll drive around a bit. Okay? It'll do you good to get out for a while.' She didn't make any comment. ‘Laura? Will you come?'

‘Yes, all right,' she answered apathetically.

‘I'll be round in a couple of hours.'

She was waiting for him at the gate when he arrived in a rather battered-looking Ford, and they drove for several minutes in silence before, with a quick glance at her face, he said in his usual abrupt manner, ‘Do you want to talk about it?'

‘I've nothing to say. It was all in the papers.'

‘There's nothing you can add?'

‘No, except that if I hadn't said I was interested in violence he wouldn't have invited
us
to dinner and it would never have happened.' The words came out in a rush.

‘In which case,' Paul said deliberately, ‘he would probably have fallen under a bus instead.'

‘Meaning his time had come? You really believe that?'

‘I'm not sure what I believe, except that you can't consider yourself even remotely responsible for his death. But that doesn't alter the fact that it's a terrible business, a brilliant man like that at the height of his success.'

‘I know. Oh, I know.'

They drove on a few more miles and then, completely changing the direction of her thoughts, he said almost conversationally, ‘Are you going to tell me why the sight of Lewis Castleton frightens the living daylights out of you?'

She caught her breath and shot him a startled look. ‘Did it show that much?'

‘I'll say. Every time he came near you, you nearly flaked out. Now, while he's not my type, I've never considered him in quite the same light as Count Dracula!'

He glanced at her with raised eyebrows, inviting a smile, but she was staring down at her twisting hands. He waited, guessing she was trying to decide how much to confide in him.

At last she said quietly, ‘You said a minute
ago
you didn't know what you believed in. How about—precognition?'

‘Ah-ha!' The old “I've been here before” syndrome. I think it's generally accepted nowadays that such a thing exists, more widely than most people realize. Go on.'

She kept her eyes on her hands. ‘The day I came to Four Winds I dreamt about Lewis. Four days before I even knew of his existence.'

When she didn't continue, he prompted, ‘And is that so very terrible?'

‘It is to me.' She shuddered.

‘What exactly did you dream?'

‘It was horrible.'

‘And that's all you want to say about it?'

She flushed. ‘Yes. I'm sorry.'

‘Could it be taken in any way to suggest you might be in danger?'

‘No, I suppose not.'

‘You are quite sure about dreaming it?'

Her eyes flicked up. ‘Of course!'

‘I only ask because one theory is that due to some mental quirk, a part of the brain might register something a split second before another part, with the result that when the second part sees it for the first time, it already looks familiar.'

‘Not in this instance.' She shook her head decidedly. ‘I was thinking about it all week. I couldn't get it out of my head.'

‘Did you feel it was “horrible” while you were actually experiencing it? Was it like a
nightmare?'

Her flush deepened. After a long moment she said quietly, ‘No.'

‘And presumably you also dreamt about those trees?'

‘Oh no, I actually
saw
them. Caroline confirmed it, didn't she?' She gave a shaky laugh. ‘No doubt by now you're convinced I'm quite mad!'

‘On the contrary, it's all most intriguing. By some means or other you managed to “see” trees which weren't there, only to learn later that they once had been. An interesting point arises: Did you in that flash see into the
past
, when the trees actually had been there, or into the future, to the moment in time when you yourself heard about their existence? Do you see what I'm getting at?'

‘I think so. Does it matter which it was?'

‘It could. Do you know anything about Dunne's theory of serial time?'

‘Nothing whatever!'

‘Well, it's very complicated, but the essence of it is that there is more than one time dimension.'

Laura said apologetically, ‘If you're going to launch into physics, I'm afraid I'll be way out of my depth.'

‘You wouldn't be alone in that! It was the dream business that made me think of Dunne, though. He carried out all kinds of experiments with volunteers who guaranteed
to
write down, immediately they awoke, everything they could remember dreaming about. These records were conscientiously gone through every day for about a month, and an incredible thing emerged. The dreams were almost equally divided between those that referred to things that had happened in the past and those that referred to the future. In other words, although we don't realize it, we're as likely to dream of the future as of the past, because in another dimension of time it has already happened. Most of the Oriental philosophies embrace the concept of the Everlasting Now, in which past, present and future co-exist.'