True Colours (34 page)

Her phone. He’d try her phone. Rooting for his own phone, Peter threw a glance behind him. A deep orange glow was already warming the night sky. Urgently he scrolled through his phone’s contacts and waited for the ring tone. It went straight to voicemail. Jesus, what had happened to her? His mind racing, he strode back to the Discovery. Sitting behind the wheel, he chewed his lip. What the hell was he going to do now? He could hardly drive off and leave her car sitting here. Anything could have happened to her. If it had been anyone else… Peter rubbed his face with his hands. Tonight of all nights…

In a village this size there was only one place to find out what had happened.

Peter pulled up outside Kilfenora’s tiny Garda station in a spray of gravel, pausing for a split second before he got out. Was this a good idea? He rolled the options rapidly around his head for a moment. There weren’t many. There was no way he could drive off and leave Caroline to God only knew what fate, that was for sure. He glanced at the distinctive blue door – on balance, arriving up to here could be the best thing he could do. After all, he’d been in the pub all evening, why would he walk straight into the cop shop if he had anything to hide?

FORTY ONE

The moment Alex put her foot outside the garden door and breathed in cold air she started coughing. Coughing like her lungs were going to explode, coughing, fighting for breath. Grasping her hand, Sebastian half-carried half-dragged her away from the house, along the brick-edged crazy paving path that led into the kitchen garden, lit now like it was daytime, scents from the sleeping beds of herbs bordering the path polluted with the bitter sting of smoke. Lifted by the easterly wind, it billowed above them, greedy fingers reaching for the lake, carrying debris still burning like macabre glowing butterflies, dancing, pirouetting in the thermals. Dodo lumbered around them, barking, urging them to hurry, her ears flapping like flags.

‘
Why’s it so bright?’ Alex stopped, bent double, coughing.

Sebastian’s reply was grim, the words rasping in his throat, ‘It’s the light from the fire. Jesus it’s like a film set.’

Ahead of them, a fountain bubbled, its shadow thrown eerily across the gravel paths criss-crossing the vegetable beds. A huge stone with a hole bored right through its heart, water cascaded carelessly over its smooth sides, slippery to touch. Falling to her knees beside it, Alex cupped her hands, pouring the icy water into her mouth, her throat burned and blistered. Sebastian joined her, splashing his face and chest, almost crying out with the shock. Hot to cold, dark to light. In moments he had recovered enough to help her up.

‘
We have to move, to get around to the front. See what’s happening. See how bad it is.’

Reaching the narrow cast iron gate in the east wall, its scrolls and flourishes like an engraving in the peculiar light, hinges protesting as he heaved it open, Sebastian was pulled up by the sight of a series of huge fire hoses running down the lawn, bright red, twenty or thirty of them, snaking from the front of the house to the lake. Rigid. Water passing through them at high pressure. Relief surged like flood water through a gorge. Thank God the fire brigade is here. Dodo pushed past him, disappearing around the corner of the house, heading for the drive. About to call her back, the words caught in Sebastian’s throat, the full implications hit him. With this many hoses, how many fire engines were here? How big was the fire?

Turning the corner of the house, Alex a step behind him, the full scene hit them, just like a movie set, only much, much worse: blue strobes pulsating through the dense smoke; the roar of the flames; the fire alarm screaming; engines running; men shouting, the whole place bathed in bright white light from the halogens sprouting vertically from a row of fire engines parked like dominoes ready to tumble, dominating the lawn. From the Palm House, billows of smoke obscured the night sky, flames clinging to its shirttails like a jealous lover.

The Palm House. Paxton’s grand design. Burning just like the Crystal Palace had.

Even as Alex and Sebastian watched, more panes cracked, the sound penetrating, setting their teeth on edge, making them take a step back. The arched ceiling had collapsed, the cast iron uprights supporting it now buckled and bent, pointing every which way like accusing fingers. And through it all they could hear Dodo barking. Angry. Frantic.

Sebastian pulled Alex to him, his arm protectively around her waist, holding her tight like he needed something real to hang on to in all the madness. The heat was intense, drying their skin, their lips. She glanced at him, her eyes gritty with dust, watering, stinging. The air was obviously having the same effect on him. Or maybe they were tears. Sebastian brushed one away, turned to her with a reassuring grin, a grin that was only skin deep.

‘
Christ did you come out of there?’

Beside them a fire fighter materialised through the smoke from the direction of the lake, his helmet and the reflective stripes on his jacket bright, glowing like the sky above them. Like Sebastian, his face was smeared with sweat and carbon, lines of worry etched deep.

Dazed, Sebastian nodded, his breath catching as he tried to speak. The fire fighter grabbed him around the shoulder, supporting him until the fit of coughing was over.

‘
Come on you need to see the doc. What’s your name?’

‘
Wingfield, Sebastian Wingfield. Do you know what happened?’

‘
Christ, this is your place isn’t it?’ Recoiling in surprise, the fire fighter’s tone was urgent, ‘Is there anyone else inside?’

‘
My grandfather? We saw his nurse on the lawn from the ballroom window, but is my grandfather okay?’

A shadow of fear flashed through the fire fighter’s eyes,

‘
Come and talk to the Incident Commander he’ll fill you in. Anyone else?’

Sebastian shook his head, thank goodness it was the staff’s half-day.

‘
Watch out! More coming down!’

From further up the lawn, struggling with one of the hoses, with the weight and power of the water pumping from its nozzle, two fire fighters shouted to them, waving as another section of the Palm House collapsed, the glass shattering, the few remaining walls shuddering with the impact.

‘
This way.’ Shouting now, the fire fighter grabbed Sebastian’s arm, pulling him out over the lawn, looping around to the back of the nearest fire tender.

The din was horrific, magnified by the darkness, cries and shouts and the wail of the alarm bouncing off the house’s noble façade. Alex felt a shiver run up her spine. After everything, after all the nights she had lain awake cursing Kilfenora, she had never prayed for this. But the great house was holding on to its dignity despite the flames, greedy, squabbling, reaching up the exterior walls for more.

More shouts. Looking up they saw a man on a hydraulic platform, another on a turntable ladder, both precariously close to the flames, their hoses focused, the powerful whoosh of water arcing high into the air, soaking the roof, keeping it wet to stop the flames spreading. Another fire fighter appeared beside them, but Sebastian wasn’t paying attention, had his eyes fixed on the house.

‘
Evening sir, I’m Station Officer John Reilly, Incident Commander. We’ve got eight appliances in attendance, we’re doing our best to contain the blaze to the conservatory. I’ve got men on the inside keeping it out of the main house. The smoke’s the problem. You said your grandfather might still be inside.’

Snapping out of his daze, Sebastian nodded, wiping the sweat from his forehead, leaving a filthy smear behind. ‘His rooms are on the ground floor in the west wing. Did Olga not show you?

Station Officer Reilly shook his head, ‘there’s a woman in the back of one of the ambulances, she’s hysterical, babbling in German. We’ve been trying to find an interpreter.’

‘
Jesus. He’s in his eighties, had a stroke. He’s in a wheelchair.’

Reilly nodded, the anguish in Sebastian’s voice raw, his own voice filled with urgency as he said, ‘I’ve a team ready to go in. Can you show us?’ Then, glancing at Alex, taking in the black smudges around her mouth and nose, ‘The young lady needs to see a medic.’ He waved his arm, summoning a paramedic from somewhere behind them. Alex squeezed Sebastian’s hand, coughing again. It was time for him to look after his family now.

Wrapped in a silver foil blanket, crinkling as she moved, Alex found herself being guided to the back of an ambulance, the paramedic’s arm around her shoulders. She coughed again. How could this be happening? She felt her knees wobble as he sat her down on the tail plate, the paramedic briskly fitting an oxygen mask over her face. Alex breathed deeply, rocking with the effort, her body beginning to shake uncontrollably.

‘
Were you inside?’

She nodded, the mask still in place. She didn’t really have the energy to speak. Her eyes began to well with tears.

‘
You’re in shock love, take another slug of the O2 there, that’ll sort you out.’

The paramedic picked up her hand, clipping something onto her finger, ‘We just need to check out the oxygen levels in your blood. It won’t hurt, it uses a laser strobe to test your blood through your fingernail.’

Alex hardly noticed, heard him say something else, but his voice was dim, like a distant light flickering far out at sea, vanishing as a wave of darkness washed over her.

On the far side of the drive, a tight knot of fire fighters had gathered, waiting for instructions from their senior officer. Someone had thrown a jacket around Sebastian’s shoulders. He wore it now, incongruous over his jeans.

‘
So we can gain access down this side – through the French windows?’ The Incident Commander was shouting, his voice hoarse. Sebastian could hardly hear him.

Sebastian nodded, his face thrown into shadow by the bright lights from the fire engines. ‘It’s this way.’

How could his grandfather survive this? There had been moments on that landing when he had felt like lying down, giving up, exhaustion making every limb heavy, the smoke just so hard to breath. But with Alex behind him, he’d pushed on, pushed to the limits of his endurance and beyond. And he was fit, worked out at least three times a week, was thirty-five years old, not almost ninety. Sebastian suddenly felt a pang of fear grasping at his gut.

Leading the men across the front of the house, past the high yew hedges bordering the Formal Gardens, Sebastian pushed open the narrow cast iron gate set between two staunch red brick pillars that replicated those at the opposite corner of the house, at the far end of the kitchen garden. To their right, the windows of what had been the drawing room, now Lord Kilfenora’s apartments, were dark, unseeing.

It was impossible to tell from outside if they were filled with smoke. The darkness was oily, the gardens shadowed by the bulk of the house. Sebastian prayed that Olga had been sensible enough to close the hall doors when she had put Guy Wingfield to bed. They were all solid oak, over two inches thick, panelled, carved like the staircase.

The staircase. Would the staircase survive? The wonderful staircase?

Sebastian prayed that the fire officer was right, that the fire was contained to the Palm House. Pushing away images of the heart of the house burning, Sebastian’s brain began to work with frightening logic; the hall doors might stop the fire if it did spread, but, as they all knew well, the house was plagued with draughts, and where cold air could flow, so could smoke.

‘
You can get in here.’ Before he could finish, the fire fighters were nodding, getting their instructions, three of them pulling on their breathing apparatus. One of them who had dragged a hose with him, stood back as he waited for it to charge, holding it high as the crisp lake water gushed from it. An axe came down on the paned door with a crash. Sebastian leapt backwards, the glass splintering as the axe head hit the lock. It was an unfair fight. In moments the wooden door gave way, exploding inwards, thick black smoke billowing out, escaping like it had been corked in a bottle.

‘
There’s a connecting door between this room and his bedroom, it’s in the middle of the north wall.’

The men nodded, gave Sebastian the thumbs up. The doors still swinging from the force of their blows, they pushed forwards into the smoke, enveloped in seconds in an impregnable darkness. Sebastian started to follow them, felt the station officer’s hand on his arm, pulling him back firmly. He struggled for a moment, then nodding, understanding, shook off his hand.

‘
They’ve thirty-five minutes of air max. They’ll do their best to find him.’

Pacing between the yew and box borders, the sound of his boots on the gravel drowned by the hubbub in the drive, his hands plunged in his jeans pockets, Sebastian kept his eyes fixed on the lake, visible occasionally through the drift of the smoke, its surface disturbed only by the action of the pumps, sucking the moonlight from the surface, sending it to the heart of the inferno. Then behind him, Sebastian heard the crunch of boots on glass, the unmistakable sound of radios crackling into life, turned to see the first of the fire fighters struggling backwards out through the broken door. As he emerged, Sebastian could see a second officer. They were carrying something between them. His grandfather? It had to be.

The station officer clapped the fire fighter on the shoulder, urging him forward with his burden, turned to wait anxiously for their back-up man carrying the hose.

‘
Is he okay? Is he breathing?’ Sebastian’s voice cracked.