Kingdom of Shadows (54 page)

Freed at last, as the crowd surged after him, Isobel turned back into the palace, blind with tears. She groped her way along passage after passage, crossing rooms and courts she had never seen before, completely lost, trying desperately not to imagine the horrors which lay ahead for the man on the hurdle. Once she bumped into someone and she stopped, turning blindly away, not even seeing the surprised look on the face of the tall handsome man who stood back to let her pass. He turned thoughtfully to watch her as she fled and Isobel never knew that the hands that had steadied her for a fraction of a second were those of Edward of Caernarvon.

The Earl of Buchan was sitting at a table in their rooms. He stared at her coldly as she came in and then rose to his feet. ‘So, you could not resist going to see.’

The eyes she raised to his were still full of tears. ‘I didn’t mean to. I saw him. I saw him being dragged away.’

‘God rest his soul.’ Buchan crossed himself perfunctorily. ‘You would do well to remember what happens to those who cross the King of England.’ He threw himself back into the carved chair once more and reached for another of the letters piled before him, more moved himself than he was prepared to admit by the happenings of the morning.

He flicked open the seal with the point of his dagger and unfolded the letter. As he began slowly to read Isobel turned away. She had her hand on the ring handle of the door when the exclamation of fury from behind her made her turn back to him. Lord Buchan had risen to his feet, his face white, the letter still clutched in his fist.

He looked up at her slowly and the expression in his eyes made her blood run cold.

‘What is it? What has happened?’ she stammered.

He stepped forward, the parchment still in his hand, and held it out to her. ‘Is this true?’ He shook it under her nose. ‘Is this true? That you went from Duncairn to Kildrummy and that you saw Lord Carrick there?’ Throwing down the letter he seized her wrist. ‘Well? Is it true, madam?’ He dragged her away from the door. ‘Why should I receive a letter here, telling me this if it isn’t true?’ He was still holding her tightly. ‘Do you know what this kind, informative, anonymous person says? No, of course you don’t. You haven’t read the letter. Then I shall tell you. He says that you slept with the Earl of Carrick. He says you slept with Robert the Bruce and that fifty men and women at Kildrummy Castle can bear witness to the fact.’ He dropped her hand abruptly. ‘If this is true, Isobel, before God and the Holy Virgin, I will see that you pay with your life for the dishonour of my name!’

Stephen Caroway had been on the phone to Paul every day. ‘Christ, Paul! Why didn’t you wait until you knew about those shares for sure? Of all the crazy, ill informed, bungling –’ Words had failed him. ‘There has got to be some price support from somewhere, surely? There must be someone else coming in!’ He had lost a small fortune before he had managed to sell his own shares. He had not managed to find a market for any of Paul’s.

Nobody else had come in. The shares had continued to slide and there was no evidence of any buying interest in the market.

It was Thursday morning when Paul called him back – the day before settlement day – and the shares had already fallen a further ten per cent. ‘You’re going to have to give me more time, Steve. The money is on its way, but I can’t find it for tomorrow. You’ll have to carry my settlement over into the next account.’

Stephen ran his fingers through his hair, a feeling of deep unease building within him as he began to consider the implications of a major default. He hesitated before posing the next question, his throat growing increasingly dry. ‘Can you give me any indication as to how you intend raising the money if we can’t find a buyer?’

‘No!’ Paul snapped. ‘I’ll have the money by the end of the next account on the 21st. That is all you need to know. You’ve got to give me until then.’

That gave him fourteen more days.

‘You know, I was really pleased when they cancelled the gig.’ Kathleen sat back in Neil’s Land Rover and stared out of the window as they drove north out of Aberdeen. ‘The club was damaged by fire, so their insurance will pay me anyway. It was nice you could meet me at the station. I didn’t fancy paying a taxi to take me up to Duncairn.’

Neil was staring through the windscreen wipers. He said nothing.

‘You didn’t mind me coming up to be with you?’ She was babbling and she knew it. She groped in the bag at her feet for her cigarettes.

‘Of course not.’ For the first time Neil glanced at her. He smiled. ‘Things are going well up here. We’re trying to get a date organised for the public enquiry, so we’ve been busy. We’re going to have to bring in a lot of people from outside.’

‘You mean the poor bastards who actually live at Duncairn would love to see oil there?’ She struck a match, defiantly aware of his disapproving glance, and lit her cigarette, inhaling deeply. Winding down the window a quarter of an inch she pushed out the dead match. ‘Oh Christ! That’s me, littering the road! Sorry.’ She took another drag at the cigarette.

‘You look tired.’ Neil changed gear as they approached a roundabout. His expression softened slightly. ‘Has it been a tough week?’

‘Three one-nighters. I hate them. What I want is a good long engagement to set me up. In London or Newcastle or somewhere. I read my cards before I left,’ she went on suddenly.

Neil shook his head. ‘I wish you wouldn’t do that. You know there are periods when I think you are probably quite normal, then you slip back again. So, what did they say? Are we going to win?’

She pushed a strand of black hair back from her eyes and blew smoke at the roof of the Land Rover. She hadn’t asked the cards about the campaign at Duncairn. She had asked them about her future with Neil, and she had not liked what they said. There had been a predominance of swords in the spread and there was no sign of the Queen of Pentacles, her own special card. Instead there was another woman.

‘I can stay up here with you for a few days if you like.’ She turned sideways on the bench to face him, easing the seatbelt on her shoulder.

‘Good.’ He was concentrating on the road. The shower was becoming heavier; hailstones rattled on the glass. ‘It looks as if winter is on its way at last. We’ll have to get our first meeting in before the snows start.’

‘They haven’t definitely got the licence to test drill yet, have they?’ she asked, throwing out the stub of the cigarette.

Neil frowned. ‘Not yet.’ He forced himself to smile across at her. ‘Jack Grant will be glad of some female company at the hotel. In fact perhaps we can use you to bring in some customers. Are you ready to sing for your supper?’

‘If I must.’ She gave a thin smile. ‘I hoped you’d be glad of some female company too.’

‘Of course.’ He patted her knee briefly. ‘Look over there, at the sea. It’s getting pretty rough. You are sure you wouldn’t rather have flown south with the swallows for the weekend?’

Across the fields to their right they could see the thin line of the beach. The sea beyond it was grey and angry, whipped into white, the clouds so low and heavy that they seemed to be part of it.

It took half an hour to cover the twenty or so miles to Duncairn and by then Kathleen had smoked four cigarettes. As he parked in front of the hotel Neil gave an inward sigh. She was taut, defensive, suspicious and he wasn’t looking forward to a weekend with her, almost alone at the hotel. Kathleen belonged to the city. She needed people to make her sparkle. As he watched her climb out of the car, her hair torn back by the strength of the wind, he found himself thinking, not for the first time, how ill she fitted into this wild rugged place.

He picked up her case and carried it in, closing the door behind her, leaning all his weight against it to shut out the wind. ‘Come on. I’ll show you our room.’

They climbed the broad oak staircase to the first floor, aware the whole time of the drumming of the wind around the huge old house. Neil’s room was the last one on the left of the corridor. It faced the castle and beyond it, the sea.

He put Kathleen’s case down beside the huge Edwardian wardrobe. ‘The bathroom is through there. If you want to settle in, I’ll meet you in the bar, later.’

In the corridor outside he paused and took a deep breath. Poor Kath. By Sunday evening she would be out of her mind with boredom.

Jack was somewhere in the kitchens. In the bar Neil helped himself to a large malt whisky then he walked over to the windows and stared out gloomily. The sunny intervals of the morning had gone. The sky was deep lowering grey and the rain as the wind swung inexorably round to the north had turned first to hail and now to sleet. The stand of trees which bordered the small rough lawn bent before the wind; behind it he could see the grey stone of the castle keep dark with rain.

‘So, where is the glamorous lady?’ Jack Grant walked into the bar and stared round. ‘Don’t tell me she didn’t come?’

Neil turned from the window. ‘She’s just settling in. She’ll be down in a minute. What is the weather forecast?’

‘Winter.’ Grant brought the whisky bottle over and topped up Neil’s measure before pouring one for himself. ‘The temperature is going to drop over the next couple of days.’ He looked gloomily out of the window. ‘The glass is falling fast. I doubt we’ll get many people to a meeting.’

Neil grimaced. ‘It’s a pity it’s this time of year, but we’ll get people in if I have to bus them up from Edinburgh.’

‘You might have to.’ Grant threw himself into a worn arm chair. ‘The locals are beginning to think on-shore oil might be a hell of a better way to earn a living than fishing the North Sea holes.’

Neil shook his head. ‘Jobs for the locals is a blind, Jack. You know that. And you’ve got to help me convince them. Sigma will bring in heavy labour from down south to build the pipe line and they’ll bring in their own employees to run things.’

‘And meanwhile your birds and flowers are more important than oil anyway.’ There was no irony in Grant’s voice, only mild resignation.

‘We’ve got to use every argument we can, Jack. People, environment, conservation. The lot.’

‘Aye.’ Grant leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes wearily. ‘You’ll not do it, you know. They always win.’

‘Never!’ Neil punched him on the shoulder. ‘Here. Let me give you another drink, then you can start preparing a gourmet meal to put the lady in a good mood!’

‘If she ever puts in an appearance.’ Grant stood up slowly. Just as Neil had done he went to the window and stood staring out towards the castle. ‘What is she up to up there, anyway?’

In the silent bedroom Kathleen was sitting cross-legged on the floor. She stared up suddenly as a particularly strong gust of wind vibrated the window frames and hurled a barrage of hailstones against the glass; then she looked down again at the spread of cards before her on the old Indian carpet. There she was again: the witch woman; the papess; the high priestess and with her the Ace of Cups.

Both men were late for their appointment. Paul arrived first and ordered himself a large whisky. He was already sweating.

Rex stood for a moment in the doorway of the smoking room at the club, staring at him as he waited to hand over his immaculate camelhair coat. Paul did not look up.

They did not make small talk. Ordering himself a Perrier with lemon and ice Rex stared pointedly at Paul’s glass, already nearly empty, and waited for him to speak first.

Paul took a deep breath. ‘How much time do I have to complete the deal?’

‘None.’ Rex’s voice was flat. ‘Sigma have withdrawn their offer.’

Paul went white. His fingers closed convulsively around the glass. ‘You can’t do that!’ He shut his eyes, not wanting to see the handsome cold face opposite him. ‘You’ve made a legal offer.’

‘Which your wife turned down.’

‘Well, she’s changed her mind, and I have her power of attorney.’ Paul looked him straight in the eye.

‘Indeed.’ Rex met his gaze evenly. ‘Well, it may be that we can do business if you still want to sell.’ He paused. He had recognised Paul’s panic, seen the desperation, and he knew enough about his man now to gauge the situation to a tee. Paul Royland was sweating, in every sense of the word.

He smiled coldly. ‘Only this time the price has come down. If you can deal within two weeks, I’ll take the land myself, at agricultural value, which is all it’s worth. There will be no drilling now. Oil prices have dropped too far to make even on-shore exploration viable.’

‘That’s not true.’ Paul stood up. ‘The OPEC agreement –’

‘Means nothing, Mr Royland. Sit down, man. The whole goddam room is looking at you.’ Rex pushed his own chair back from the low table uncomfortably. He reached into his inside pocket as Paul sat down again. ‘I have the valuation of the Duncairn estates here which Mitchison had drawn up for me. Now, I am prepared to offer more than that – to cover the value of the hotel and the ruin –’ he paused, trying to conceal his excitement. ‘It is less than Sigma were prepared to offer, but I am willing to split the difference. That is my figure.’ He pushed the piece of paper over towards Paul. ‘And that is final. It will cover your debts.’ His hands had begun to shake. Firmly he picked up his glass of Perrier and raised it to his lips.

Paul was staring down at the document. Abruptly he looked up. ‘What do you know about my debts?’ His face was white with anger. It wouldn’t cover them, not by a long way. But it would help.

‘Enough. Shall we say I know enough about them and your business methods to spoil your cosy reputation in the City.’ Rex met his gaze coldly. ‘If you accept my offer there would of course be no need for me to say a word to a soul.’ He smiled. ‘So, do we have a deal?’

Paul’s hands were shaking visibly. ‘That is blackmail,’ he said furiously.

Rex smiled. He said nothing, waiting.

There was a long silence. ‘All right,’ Paul whispered at last. ‘I agree.’

Rex nodded slowly, trying to hide his elation. ‘Good. I’ll get my solicitors to contact yours.’

Paul nodded, trying to recover his composure. ‘I’ll have the power of attorney by the time they are ready.’