Refuge (17 page)

                ‘We will be entertaining you up here,’ he said. ‘Mr Worthing has given the staff the night off.’

                ‘How fortunate for them,’ murmured Veva. Cassandra half-smiled. She understood exactly what she meant. Good. She only hoped her own intentions weren’t as noticeable. The man pushed open the door and Mr Francis Worthing sat, his bulk resplendent in a smoking jacket, smiling at the girls.

                ‘Ahh, you found us,’ he said. ‘Excellent. A drink?’

                ‘No, thank you,’ replied Cassandra. ‘We did come to, umm, see the paintings? As you recall?’

                ‘Yes. I do recall,’ said Mr Worthing. ‘But before that, please, let me introduce my friend. Clarence Burgess Esq.’

 Veva had walked off, apparently tired of the banal conversation and she was staring out of the window at the street below. ‘You haven’t allowed us to introduce ourselves,’ Veva said. ‘That’s rather impolite, is it not?’ She turned and smiled sweetly at the gentlemen. ‘Or do our names not interest you?’

                ‘Well I wouldn’t say that,’ said Worthing.

                ‘Hmm,’ said Veva.

Cassandra heard her quietly begin to hum and she bowed her head to hide a smile. ‘Not yet, darling,’ she murmured, lowering her voice.

                ‘Please, sit down, Miss...err. Miss... and Miss...ummm.’ Worthing faltered.

Veva laughed. ‘Please don’t concern yourself,’ she said. She sat down on the chaise longue and looked at Clarence Burgess Esq. ‘Are you the gentleman who likes art?’ she asked. She lay back on the chair and tilted her head to the side. She had left her hair loose tonight and pinned an artificial rose into the side. Cassandra, on the other hand, had swept her hair up into a complicated chignon. Both men studied Veva and Cassandra felt the old jealousy prick her. It was never her, was it? Much as she hated these men and others like them, for once, just
once
, she would like to be the centre of attention. Veva eclipsed her though. She always had done. As far back as Will Hartley.

                ‘Mr Worthing is the art lover,’ Cassandra interjected. ‘He made a very exciting discovery. Didn’t you, Mr Worthing?’ She made a point of sitting next to Veva, so the men would have to notice her too.

                ‘Oh. Yes, I did,’ Mr Worthing replied. He heaved himself out of his seat and moved over to the doorway. He picked up a scrapbook and brought it over to the girls. ‘This is my house in Paris,’ he said. ‘The refurbishment is almost complete. Work stopped when we made the discoveries.’ Veva cast a glance at Cassandra, a question in her eyes. She reached out and took the book from Mr Worthing and bent her head over it.

The men wouldn’t have noticed, but Cassandra did; Veva stiffened and her fingers grasped the edge of the book. ‘You say you made some discoveries?’ she said, her voice tight. ‘Where, may I ask, did you find them? And, more importantly, what were they?’ She looked up and Cassandra felt a little thrill when she saw the shutters half come down in her eyes.

                ‘Did your sister not tell you?’ asked Mr Worthing? ‘It is an exhibition that is taking London by storm. I call it “Found”.’ He smiled complacently. ‘Clever, yes? A pile of canvasses, clearly created by a genius, and all discovered by accident. The art world is frantic.’

                ‘It was my idea,’ said Burgess. ‘Francis is my business partner. We have consolidated some assets with this little lot. I have had contracts drawn up to ensure that I get my commission from any works sold...’

                ‘Sold?’ snapped Veva. ‘What’s to be sold?’

                ‘Why, the paintings, of course!’ said Cassandra. ‘Mr Worthing only has a few on display. The rest are here, I presume. That’s what we are here to see, darling. You might recognise the artist...or the subject.’

Veva glared at Cassandra. ‘Truthfully?’ she said.

Cassandra looked at her innocently. ‘Yes. Truthfully.’ She turned to Mr Worthing. ‘I think it’s time to see the pictures now, before we move onto anything else?’ There was a promise in her voice.

                ‘This way, my dear,’ said Mr Worthing. ‘I have them in this room, just through here.’ He pushed open another door and stood back. ‘Enjoy. My particular favourite is...’ he stumbled as Veva rushed past him. ‘Steady on girl! No need to move so fast. There’s a fortune in there! Be careful, won’t you?’

Veva pulled up short in the middle of the room and stood, rooted to the spot. ‘
Will
,’ she said. ‘My work...’ She turned around and looked at Cassandra who had followed her in. ‘It’s Will.’ The madness and desperation were there, just behind the perfect features.

                ‘Oh?’ said Cassandra. She looked around, forcing herself to meet his eyes on the paintings. They were skilfully done; each stroke conveyed passion and desire. Will stared out at the viewer, inviting them into his life. How she wished she could eradicate him forever! How she had dwelt on him over the years and how she hated him. ‘So it is,’ Cassandra said. ‘Oh look. I remember that one very well.’ She took Veva firmly by the shoulders and turned her around. Facing her was a huge canvas of Will lying on the drawing room floor. Veva had done something to the picture which made him appear to be lying there, just waiting for a woman to discover him
in flagrante
, rather than make him look as if he had just been murdered. ‘Actually, that one’s quite good as well.’ She pulled Veva around and made her look at another one; a smaller canvas, again of his face, clearly after he had been shot and killed. But again, unless you had been there, he simply looked sensual. ‘I say, there are quite a few like this, aren’t there? He looks rather...dead. Who could have done that to him? Oh yes. You did, didn’t you?’

                That was enough to make her snap. Veva threw Cassandra’s hands off her shoulders and flew at her. The two men, terrified, turned and tried to run out of the room. Veva caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and she whipped around. It only took an instant and they both lay dead. She turned back to Cassandra and went for her again. Cassandra laughed and side-stepped her, the way Veva had avoided Cassandra’s attack so long ago. ‘Yes, darling. It was all your own work, wasn’t it? All of this. Wasn’t it? Veva.’

Veva faltered and the shutters went down completely. Cassandra smiled to herself. She had created a perfect storm; she had forced Veva to face a reality she had long since rejected and placed her, quite deliberately, in that room full of memories. The icing on the cake, as they said, was the simple addition of her name.
Et, voila
.

‘My work?’ Veva said. She stared at Cassandra as if suddenly she didn’t know who she was or anything about what had just happened. ‘I did it? What did I do?’ She shook her head. ‘No. That was Veva. That was an awfully long time ago.’ That, Cassandra realised, was the moment it had happened; the moment Veva’s mind finally shattered. Veva sat down in the middle of the floor, facing the huge canvas depicting Will’s death. She automatically reached up and pulled the rose out of her hair, shredding it to pieces on the floor. Cassandra waited for a moment, and sat down carefully next to her. They both surveyed the painting. Veva had disappeared into a world even darker than the one she had existed in for almost twenty years.

‘Please stop that annoying humming, darling,’ said Cassandra eventually. ‘I’m sorry. Actually. No, I’m not sorry. I’m sorry that I met you. And I’m sorry that I met Will. I’m sorry that my life choices were taken away from me; although I don’t exactly dislike my life.’ She paused, thoughtfully. She turned to Veva and put her arm around her unresisting shoulders. ‘It’s the only way I could destroy you, darling,’ said Cassandra, as if they were having a perfectly normal conversation. ‘I couldn’t get you any other way. This way, we can be stronger. And maybe I’ll be able to make some decisions now, hmm?’ She sighed, studying Veva’s perfect face and dark eyes. ‘I can’t stop men preferring you, though can I?’ she leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. Veva continued shredding the rose until there was nothing left of it. Then she moved on to the ruffles on her skirts. Cassandra took hold of her hand and stilled it. She looked across at the bodies of the two men who had inadvertently helped her. It was a shame. That was a kill she would have enjoyed. ‘We will be able to make this work to our advantage,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Oh, I suppose you’ll come out of this eventually. When you do, I’ll call you Jenny. I promise.’

To the untutored eye, the dark-haired girl could easily have passed for a beautiful, slightly unbalanced young lady. It would be harder, though, to ignore the smears of blood all over her white dress and all around her perfect mouth. Cassandra knew, however, that there were certain dangers beneath the surface. It would take her a little while to work out how to manage the situation, but she had all the time in the world.

Present Day

Christine, the landlady, had been right. There was definitely a storm brewing. The clouds were low and glowering over the outline of the Priory. Even from here, Lucas was convinced he could hear the swell of the North Sea as it broke over the sandbanks and covered the beach. He’d ventured onto the rocks near the castle earlier and almost fell flat on his face as he stepped on the slimy, green seaweed that covered everything. Now, he could feel drops of rain starting to fall, hitting him on the face as the wind carried them off the coast. He swore under his breath. Bloody Godforsaken place that it was...then he quickly corrected himself. How could it be Godforsaken when there was that huge Priory here? Still. It wasn’t pleasant and he wouldn’t have fancied being a monk all those centuries ago. He was sure that on a sunny, dry day it was stunning. He’d been amazed at the upturned fishing boats along the shore; all brightly coloured with piles of orange lobster pots jumbled around them. He’d spoken to a couple of the locals as they sat mending nets, and visited the castle along with most of the tourists on the Island. He’d had his lunch in the scrubby little square that was the Gertrude Jekyll Garden and wished there were a few more flowers in bloom. He was sure it was a little oasis on the Island for the nature lovers. Drew had eventually found him there and they’d worked companionably all afternoon. He’d deflected Drew’s probing questions about the girls; he had the distinct impression that Drew quite liked Jenny. If he was honest, he liked her too. He shook the thought away. It was Cass he had arranged to meet tonight. He felt a bit disloyal, thinking about her sister like that. And to be fair, Jenny would probably be quite high maintenance.

                He walked on towards the lime kilns and shivered as the wind blew harder. Definitely a storm coming. He could see the stone arches across the bay and a figure standing on top of them. It lifted its arms up and waved at him, then turned and ran down the grassy track between the rocks. He increased his pace and put his head down into the wind, pushing onwards. Those kilns were enormous. If he stood still long enough, he was sure he could imagine the noise of the fires and the smell of the burning lime, coupled with the shouts of the workers. It must have been a very different picture a century and a half ago.

                ‘Lucas! Oh thank
goodness
you’re here!’ The figure bore down on him and he started. It was Jenny. She looked terrified; her eyes were huge in her white face, her hair even more dishevelled than before. She had somehow pulled it around into a side ponytail, caught with an elastic band beside her chin and tendrils escaped everywhere. She flung herself into his arms and he stood, feeling the coldness of her body. She must have been there ages. She was wearing a short sleeved lacy top and a little pleated skirt above thick black tights. She wasn’t wearing any shoes.

                ‘You’re freezing!’ he said. ‘What’s up?’

                ‘It’s Cass,’ she said. ‘She didn’t come home. She went over onto the mainland earlier. She walked, I told her not to. She rang me from the other side – there’s a phone box, did you see it?’ Lucas shook his head – he couldn’t recall seeing one, but then he wasn’t looking for one when they had crossed the causeway. ‘She rang and said she was heading over the causeway. She thought she had plenty of time. I think she’s drowned, Lucas! I think she’s dead!’

                ‘Hold on, hold on!’ he said. His heart started pounding. This was all he needed. ‘She’s not dead. She won’t be dead. She’s sensible.’

Jenny began to sob. ‘I’m worried, Lucas. I’m so worried. I knew she was meeting you here. I hurried over. I thought if she was running late, she’d have come straight here. She hates letting people down...’

                Lucas didn’t speak. He held Jenny close and stroked her hair. ‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ he whispered.