The Macbeth Prophecy (17 page)

As she bent to retrieve her handbag the man in question finally made his move, confounding both of them by approaching Jason instead of Tania, who had difficulty in concealing her annoyance.

“For my wife, Mr Quinn,” the stranger murmured. “She always enjoys your programmes.”

“Long may she do so,” Jason said smoothly, scrawling his signature on the back of the proffered business card.

“The fool doesn't even know who I am!” Tania said under her breath.

“Never mind,
liebling.
It'll dawn on him one day, and then he'll regret the one that got away!”

But the incident had soured her mood and she prepared for bed in sulky silence which Jason, tired by the day's travelling, made no attempt to break down.

He was at the window in his dressing-gown when the morning tea arrived, and took the tray from the girl with his best smile.

“Tell me about the local school, Sharon. What age group does it cater for?”

“Only up to eleven, sir, then they go to Barrowick.”

“I see. That's very interesting. Thank you.”

“What's very interesting?” Tania enquired, levering herself up in bed as the girl left the room.

“The fact that there's no child over eleven there. Since I can't believe an eleven-year-old would have written that note, we're left with the interesting probability that it came from a member of staff. Which gives it added importance. I wonder how many there are.”

“Ask Sharon!” said Tania nastily.

After a leisurely breakfast they set off to walk up to the stone circle. The early morning sunshine had disappeared and a wind was whipping up the water of the lake. Tania pointedly turned up the collar of her jacket.

“Which way do we go?”

“Up the High Street initially.”

“It's not far, is it?”

“Not more than a couple of miles.”

“A couple of
miles
? Jason, I'm not walking that far!”

“We've little choice if we're to see the stones. Look at that staircase up the outside of the cottage – and there's a little cobbled square through the archway. It really is a most attractive village. It'd be interesting to learn something of its history. I wonder if there's a local guide.”

He turned into a stationer's shop, meeting the owner in the doorway. “We're just about to close, sir. Only open till eleven on Sundays.”

“I shan't keep you a moment. Have you any information about the village?”

“There's an illustrated guide, yes, sir, with a street plan.”

Jason emerged triumphant. “We might as well know what we're passing,” he commented, flicking through the pages. “It seems some of these buildings date from the fifteenth century, but the place is Norse in origin.”

“So are these pavements, by the look of them. I nearly twisted my ankle just now.”

“Are those what you consider walking shoes?”

“They're the flattest I have. I didn't know we were going hiking!”

The sound of an organ reached them from the squat stone church. “We'll have a look in there tomorrow, when it's empty. I didn't realize this was such a fascinating place – it's quite a bonus.”

Tania paused to get her breath, looking apprehensively up the steeply rising path ahead of her. “How long is this street?”

“According to the plan it goes up to the top of the village and loops round, turning itself into Upper Fell Lane and then Fell Lane on the way down the other side.”

“But how far up do we turn off for the stones?”

“At the top. We're here now, by the church. I should think we've come about half way.”

“And when we get to the top, how far do we have to walk to reach the Circle?”

“A spot of exercise will do you good!”

Since she was patently not interested, he made no further comments on the bow-fronted shops, the pillars and stone steps, the colour-washed houses with their grey slate roofs. She was obviously going to be a liability when it came to exploring the village, as he found himself increasingly eager to do. Damn the girl: if she was going to complain all the time, he'd be better without her. Pity he hadn't let her go straight to France.

This exasperated thought took him by surprise, implying as it did that her departure would cause him no heart-searchings. Nor, he realized with gratified surprise, would the knowledge that she was in the company of Derek Paterson. If he was prepared to put up with her sulks and silences, he was welcome to her.

At the top of the High Street and a few yards short of the Ancient Monument sign, the smell of fresh coffee stole out to greet them and Tania stopped thankfully outside a small café.

“Praise heaven!” she said devoutly. “If you're set on going on to the Circle, lover, you'll travel alone. I'll wait for you here over a cup of coffee.”

“Fair enough. Can't say how long I'll be, though.”

“If I'm sitting down, I shan't care! Leave me that guide to look at.”

A few spots of rain were falling as he turned into the steep alleyway leading up the hill. He glanced apprehensively at the sky, but it was clear over to the east and probably the rain wouldn't amount to anything. In any event, he had no intention of being diverted from his goal now that he was almost within sight of it.

A group of tourists was just ahead of him, anoraked against the uncertainties of the weather, and when he reached the Circle there were several other people moving round between the stones. Was it the monument that interested them, he wondered uncharitably, or the recent death?

Because of the tourists he did not immediately attach importance to the two boys squatting at the base of a stone. Only as he strolled towards them and they glanced up, did he register the two identical faces and with a jolt concluded that he had come upon Ted's twins. He stopped and they eyed him uncertainly, seemingly wondering whether to make a run for it.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly. They nodded acknowledgment.

“Is it going to rain, do you think?”

“Nobbut a little,” vouchsafed one.

“You live in Crowthorpe?”

“Aye.” Caution returned.

“If I were you, I shouldn't play around here, after what happened to Patsy Lennard.”

There was a flicker in the dark eyes but neither boy answered. Suddenly, one of them raised his head, frowning slightly, as though he were listening to something. When his eyes returned to Jason, they were frankly suspicious. There was obviously nothing to be gained here. With what he hoped was a casual nod, Jason moved away.

“He was quizzing the boys,” Philip said tightly.

“But only about the murder,” Eve protested. “Nothing unusual in that – all the visitors are talking about it. Let's not get paranoid. There's no reason to think he's interested in us. If you ask me, he's genuinely here on holiday. In two weeks he'll go home, and that will be that.”

But there she was wrong. As the days passed, Jason became progressively more interested in the village for its own sake. The good weather had returned, and each morning he left Tania sunbathing by the hotel pool and set off to wander in and out of the mews courtyards, down the twisting alleyways with their overhead arches, and into the dark recesses of the old churches. It was all so picturesque, so steeped in history. And how much easier it would be to settle down to write here, rather than in the hurlyburly of London, where friends and business contacts frequently interrupted him with their invitations and telephone calls.

By the middle of the second week he had made up his mind. There remained the task of informing Tania, and her reaction was much as he'd expected.

“
Stay
here? All summer? You don't imagine I'm going to bury myself up here indefinitely?”

“I'm not asking you to. You came for two weeks, as we agreed, and I shan't persuade you to stay if you don't want to. In any case I'm hoping to write, and as you know, I'm not much company then.”

“But at least in London there are things for me to do and people to see.”

“Well, go home, then. Françoise will look after you.”

“I'm not staying there by myself! You know how I hate being alone.”

“You'll be in France for at least some of the time,” he reminded her.

“Is that what this is all about? To punish me for going to France?” She sounded close to tears. “What's the attraction of this place, anyway? You must have examined every nook and cranny already, judging by the time I've spent by myself.”

“That was your choice. I'd have been happy to have you with me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You knew I wouldn't stay, didn't you? You don't want me to.”

“Let's not make an issue of it, Tania. It's not as though we're used to living in each other's pockets.”

She spun the wheel of her lighter, ignoring the flame he held out for her. “If I'm lonely, I might find someone else to keep me company.”

“That's up to you.”

She flung down her cigarette. “Damn it, you could at least pretend to mind!”

“Oh, I did at first – quite a lot, in fact, but I realized that I'd brought it on myself, by pressing you to marry me in the first place.”

“Which you now regret?”

He looked at her beautiful, flushed face and wide, angry eyes. “It hasn't been a resounding success, has it?”

“Damn you, Jason!” Her voice shook.

“Still, we don't need to go into all that now. For the moment I'm just staying up here to write. That's reasonable, surely, and an acceptable explanation for my absence, if that's what's worrying you. You can come for weekends whenever you like. I'll make sure I find somewhere with enough room to entertain you.”

“You won't be staying on here?”

“Hell, no. In any case, the room will be booked to the end of the season.”

“Where will you go?”

“I'll have to make some enquiries, but I wanted to discuss it with you first.”

“Discuss!” She gave a bitter laugh.

“Somewhere quiet, that's the main requirement.”

“So you're really only staying on to write? You're not going to bother any more about Ted's story or that letter you received?”

“On the contrary, indeed I am. They could well form the nucleus of the plot, but I'll have to move slowly and win people's confidence before they'll talk to me.” He stood up. “Now we're agreed on that, I'll see if the receptionist here has any suggestions.”

“What kind of accommodation are you looking for, sir?”

“Somewhere I can be alone, but have meals provided.

My wife won't be staying and I don't want to fend for myself.”

“I really don't know what to suggest. There are only three hotels here and I know they're all fully booked. So, I should think, are most of the boarding houses.”

“A boarding house isn't quite what I'm after.”

“Perhaps Barrowick might be easier? It's bigger, and –”

“No,” he said firmly, “it must be in Crowthorpe.”

“Well, Mrs Staveley lets out the bungalow at the bottom of her garden, but that's on a self-catering basis. I suppose you could try her.”

Mrs Staveley, when he called on her that afternoon, was plainly overwhelmed by his enquiry.

“Oh Mr Quinn, if only I'd known! It's let, I'm afraid, for the next fortnight. There's a gap then, though, because I had two cancellations, one after the other. Right in the middle of the season – it was quite a let-down.”

“Which might perhaps be to my advantage?”

“Well, yes, if you could wait that long. Would you like to see it? I'd have to ask –”

“It's not necessary. Just tell me what the accommodation is.”

“There's two bedrooms, a nice living-cum-dining-room, kitchen and bathroom. All electric and very comfortable, though I say it myself. We had it built ten years ago when my parents were too old to live at any distance from us, but they've both passed away now. It's well equipped, with a nice modern cooker –”

“Ah, I was just coming to that, Mrs Staveley. Would it be possible for you to provide an evening meal? I can just about manage breakfast, and if I'm writing I don't stop for lunch anyway, but one good meal a day is essential.”

“Surely, sir, your wife –”

“My wife won't be with me.” He gave her one of his most charming smiles.

“Well, sir, I don't know. The whole point of self-catering accommodation –”

“Yes, I do understand and obviously the terms would have to be adjusted accordingly, but if it's really out of the question, I'm afraid the cottage would be no use to me.”

“Well sir, if you put it like that –”

He waited hopefully.

“If it was just one meal a day, a single serving – yes, I don't see why not. And if you're alone, you'd need laundry services too – sheets and towels and the like. You don't want to be troubling yourself with launderettes.”

Jason drew a deep breath, aware of victory. “That's extremely kind of you,” he said.

When Jason left her to call on Mrs Staveley, Tania was unable to concentrate on her paperback. Their conversation replayed itself in her head, with ominous overtones, and she realized that some time during the course of it, their relationship had subtly altered. ‘
It hasn't been a resounding success
,' he had said.

She stared broodingly into the glinting water of the pool, its brilliant blue dimmed to browny yellow by her sunglasses. Until now, though she'd suspected he knew of her affairs, Jason had maintained a discreet silence. It seemed that all at once he had stopped pretending.

She gnawed on her lip, reviewing the situation. They had been together for nearly six years, and in the early days at least his contacts had been useful. Now, admittedly, she could stand on her own, but since succumbing to Jason's pressure to marry him, she'd come to regard an eminent husband as something of a status symbol and, to her annoyance, found she was reluctant to give him up. Also, on a practical level, she was by no means certain that Derek had marriage in mind.