Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2) (23 page)

At home in his eighteenth-century farmhouse in the Cotswolds, Crawford was relaxing in his conservatory when his mobile phone rang. He put his cup of tea down carefully on a mat to avoid marking the polished oak table, and checked the incoming number before he accepted the call. “Go ahead.”

He listened carefully. “You’re sure? He’s with them now?”

Crawford pinched the bridge of his nose. What the hell was Andrew playing at? “All right,” he said. “Stay with them. Perhaps he’s improvising, trying to get her on her own. If you get the chance, bring her in as quietly as possible.”

In Exeter, standing next to the gate into Northernhay Gardens, a middle-aged man mumbled into his mobile phone then slipped it into the zippered pocket on his fleece. In a moment, he’d relay Crawford’s orders to the team, then they’d just have to play it by ear. Business as usual. He sipped the last of his Starbucks cappuccino then picked up the other cup. It was still full. A shame to waste it but it had served its purpose. He’d definitely established the girl’s ID, and when he approached her again, she’d see him as harmless. He set off, and threw both cups into a bin as he passed. It was a shame he couldn’t take the coffee with him. It looked like it was going to be a long day.

Cally walked beside Andrew, trying not to stare, trying to put one foot in front of the other without tripping up or doing something stupid. She noticed the furrow in his brow, the frown lines at the corners of his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” Andrew blurted. “No. Why do you ask?”

“You just look—oh, I don’t know.” Cally looked away for a moment. “You know, you don’t have to be here if you don’t want.”

“I know,” Andrew said. “I’ve just, got a lot on my mind. You know, work and stuff.”

“Work?” Gemma said. “I thought you said were a student.”

“No,” Andrew replied. “I didn’t. You asked me what I did, and I said statistics and data analysis. That’s what I do. It’s pretty boring.”

“Oh, right,” Gemma said, though she didn’t sound convinced.

Andrew laughed nervously. “I’m a bit old to be a student, aren’t I?”

“No,” Gemma said. “There are lots of mature students these days.”

Andrew looked away for a moment. “Do you think it’ll do any good? The march, I mean.”

Gemma snorted. “Will it stop the cutbacks? No. Will it make a difference? Maybe not. Is it the right thing to do? Hell yes.”

Cally tried very hard not to roll her eyes. It was something she’d heard Gemma say once too often.
Please don’t go off on a rant
—
not now.

“So, Andrew,” Gemma said, “why did you come today?”

Andrew shrugged his shoulders. “I work for a government department. I don’t like to see people lose their jobs.”

Gemma nodded vigorously. “Good for you.”

They walked on in silence for a while. Gemma kept casting sideways glances at Andrew, so Cally flashed her a meaningful smile. She didn’t need to nudge her friend in the ribs. She didn’t even need to say anything. Her bright eyes told Gemma everything she needed to know.

Gemma made a show of studying the line of marchers up ahead. “Oh, I’ve just seen some friends. Do you mind if I…?”

Cally tried not to look too relieved. “No, of course not.”

Gemma hesitated. “Well, you could, you know, come with me if you like. I could introduce you to some real firebrands.”

Cally pretended to consider it. “Not right now. But don’t let me stop you. You go ahead.”

“All right,” Gemma said. “I’ll see you later.” She glanced at Andrew. “Any problems, give me a call.”

Cally nodded. “See you later.”

Gemma gave them a brief, tight smile, then turned and strode away into the throng.

Cally watched her leave, then breathed a sigh of relief.

Andrew smiled. “She’s very intense, your friend.”

Cally laughed. “Tell me about it. I live with her.”

“You, er, you didn’t want to meet the firebrands then?”

“I think I’ve seen and heard enough firebrands for one day.”

Andrew chuckled.

He has a nice laugh
, Cally thought. And when he laughed, there was a mischievous glint in his eye.
Even nicer
. “What exactly is a firebrand anyway?”

Andrew studied her expression. “Well if the speeches are anything to go by, it’s just someone who likes the sound of his own voice.”

“Oh god, the speeches,” Cally groaned. “They were just awful, weren’t they?”

“And that bloke with the sunglasses—who was he anyway?”

“Ah, the hero of the hour. The famous whistle-blower.”

“Right. I should’ve known that,” Andrew said, and he rubbed his forehead as though cursing his own stupidity.

Cally took in the change in his mood.
There he goes again
—
in a world of his own.
It was like a light going out.
Hidden depths
, she thought. Still, that wasn’t a bad thing. He was very different from the students she’d met at the university. Andrew seemed more mature, more real. And if it took a bit of effort to get to know him, then that was fine by her. “So, what exactly is it you do?”

Andrew looked her in the eye. “I could tell you, but then…” He smirked and raised his left eyebrow.

“You’d have to kill me?”

“No, but I’d have to fill in a form.” He paused. “And trust me, it’s a
very
long form.”

She laughed.

“And I’d probably have to buy you a coffee.”

Cally stopped laughing. She studied his expression. Was that a serious offer? Was he trying to ask her for a date? “Oh, why?”

Andrew cringed. “I just meant, you’d need a strong coffee to keep you awake,” he blurted. “It’s all very boring. Very dull. It sends me to sleep sometimes.”

“Not state secrets then?”

“No, but you know how it is,” he said. “It’s all confidential.”

“Oh, how disappointing,” she teased. “I thought you were going to turn out to be a spy or something glamorous.”

“No. Nothing glamorous. Sorry.” He looked away.

Cally winced. She hadn’t meant to make fun of him. “That’s all right. I’m a history student. It doesn’t get much less glamorous than that.”

Andrew shrugged. “I don’t know. It sounds interesting.”

Cally almost stopped dead in her tracks.
Oh my god
.
He sounds like he means it
. “Well, I could tell you about it if you like—over that cup of coffee.” He looked at her and she gave him her best smile. “If you want to.”

For a split second, Andrew gazed at her, his lips parted. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, that sounds…nice.”

“Good.” Cally looked away to hide her smile. As they passed a shop window, she noticed her reflection and she studied the scene. This was how she looked to the world: a young woman strolling through the city, her man striding along at her side. And it was good. They looked right together. They looked like a couple. But then, as she watched their reflections flit across the plate glass, she saw Andrew glance furtively over his shoulder—once, twice. Cally turned away from the shop window and gave Andrew an enquiring look, but he didn’t notice. He walked on, looking straight ahead, his expression unreadable. Cally frowned. What was she getting into here? Andrew seemed nice, but she didn’t know him. They’d only just met, but here she was, already arranging to go and have a coffee with him.
Anything could happen
. But that could be a good thing.

She took a breath. There was only one way to find out. And besides, it was only a coffee. If she chose the place, she could make sure it was somewhere she was comfortable, somewhere busy. What could go wrong?

“There’s a place I like,” she said. “A café. Well, a tea shop really. By the cathedral. It’s not far.”

“You mean we should go right now? What about the march?”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone will miss us. And we could be here in spirit, couldn’t we?” Cally grinned. “This place I know, they make the best coffee, and the pastries—just fantastic, they melt in your mouth. And with the scones you get homemade strawberry jam and clotted cream.”

Andrew held his hands up in mock surrender. “OK, OK. You had me at
coffee
.”

Cally smiled. “Come on, we can cut through that alley.” She pointed ahead, and Andrew looked carefully at the narrow entrance to the side street. As he watched, a steady stream of people came and went through the entrance to the alleyway. “Sure,” he said. But when Cally started to step away from the line of protesters, he reached out to touch her arm. “Hang on.”

She turned sharply and saw, straight away, the doubt in his eyes.
Oh no
,
he’s changed his mind
. What had she done wrong? Had she been too pushy? “What’s the matter?”

Andrew shook his head. “Nothing. It’s just, if we wait a minute, we’ll be level with the alley and we can just, you know, duck into it.”

Cally raised her eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Andrew leaned his head toward her and spoke quietly: “I just don’t think our comrades will approve if they notice us sloping off for a coffee.”

Cally glanced over her shoulder and considered the orderly line of marchers stretched out behind them. If anything, their ranks had grown more crowded since they’d left the gardens. Still, if everyone decided to slip away, there’d be no march, no protest. She sighed. An all too familiar sinking feeling stirred in the pit of her stomach. Really, she should stay on the march a little longer and then go home and do some work. Thanks to Doctor Seaton she was way behind schedule. But then she remembered the dressing-down she’d had in Seaton’s office, and something snapped.
Why should I always be the one who tries to do the right thing?
The cutbacks were going to happen anyway, and as for her dissertation—she worked so hard, she deserved a little treat. When had she last taken a little time off, just to enjoy herself?

She gave Andrew a sly smile. “All right. Give me a signal and we’ll make our dash for freedom.”

Andrew snorted. “I know what you’re going to say.”

Cally was all wide-eyed innocence. “Really?”

“Yes, really. And I told you before—I am
not
a spy, OK?”

“If you say so.” She looked ahead. They were almost level with the alleyway. She grinned. “So what should we say—
on my mark
or
on the count of three
?”

“Neither,” Andrew said. He put his hand on her arm. “Just run.”

They laughed as they dashed into the alley, arm in arm. They dodged through the bustling throng of heavily laden shoppers and bemused tourists, earning a few funny looks and one or two hostile glances. But Cally and Andrew didn’t notice, and they didn’t look back.

Behind them, a middle-aged man stopped at the entrance of the alley and leaned against the wall. He exchanged a look with a young woman as she passed him by on her way into the alley. She was casually dressed in jeans and a chain store sweater, and there was nothing remarkable about her at all. But then, she pulled out her phone and, glancing at the screen, she made a show of gasping as though realising she was late for an appointment. She slipped her phone into her shoulder bag and hurried through the crowd.

The middle-aged man smiled to himself, and then he turned and walked away. The alley led to the grassy area in front of the cathedral. There were several ways to get there, but he’d done his preparation. He knew them all.

Chapter 21

2014

TOM STOOD ON THE STEEP SLOPE that led down into the quarry and groaned as a jolt of pain shot through his left leg. His knee buckled and he grabbed the spindly trunk of a nearby tree for support. The tree was long dead and his fingers sank into the damp, mouldering wood, but it held him up. For now. He spat on the ground. The taste of blood in his mouth wasn’t so strong now, but perhaps he was just getting used to it.
Christ
,
what the hell am I going to do?
He closed his eyes for a moment, but it didn’t help. He didn’t have any answers. He didn’t even know where to start. How could he even think about making a plan? He hardly knew what he was doing.
But I’ve got to try
,
because, if I don’t
…

He couldn’t finish the thought. He opened his eyes and stared down at the straggly mass of bracken and brambles that covered the slope below, and listened to the man stumbling through the undergrowth, close behind him. The man was already breathing heavily, so perhaps there was some hope there. It had only taken them a few minutes to scramble down this far. If the man was out of breath already, then he must be seriously out of condition.
On a good day
,
I could be out of here in thirty seconds
, Tom thought. But this wasn’t a good day. Not by a long stretch. His legs were only just steady enough to keep him upright, his bruised ribs turned every breath into a torture, and his back burned with a dull ache that grew sharper with every staggering step he took. But as bad as those pains were, they were nothing compared to his head.
My head
—
it’s killing me
. And he knew that this was true—literally. Gently, he put his hand up to his forehead and winced as another bolt of agony stabbed across his skull. His stomach lurched and a wave of nausea surged though his body. He tried to take a deep breath, but his ribs had other ideas and he gasped in pain. He closed his eyes, and two words repeated themselves over and over in his mind:
head injury
. He was going to die.