Geoffrey was watching her closely. He frowned. ‘Please let me help you, Clare,’ he said. His voice was uncharacteristically gentle. ‘Please. I can get rid of them for you.’
She stared at him. ‘Get rid of them?’
‘These people who are tormenting you.’
‘They are not tormenting me! And I don’t want to get rid of them!’ Her indignation flared again. ‘I care about them, Geoff. Isobel is like another me. I want to know all about her. I want to dream about her, or conjure up her shade or whatever it is I’m doing. She belongs at Duncairn. She’s part of my history; she’s part of me. She’s living again through me. And I intend to go on summoning her to me, even if it does put my soul in jeopardy!’ She took a deep breath. ‘What sort of life do you think I lead here, Geoff? What do you think I do all day?’ She sat down near him. ‘I’m young; I’m energetic; I’m intelligent. I can’t have children, so I’m not spending my time with my family. I have a housekeeper to look after the house. My husband doesn’t want me to work – and up to now I haven’t been able to face the hassle of fighting with him about it. He doesn’t want me with him all the time either. I spent a lot of time raising money for charity when we were first married – but he resented even that time I wasn’t with him. I have no friends around here. A lot of acquaintances, but no one I could call a friend. I wanted to go up to Scotland to see my mother and to go to Duncairn – but he wouldn’t even let me do that! So, what the hell am I supposed to do all day?’ Her voice had risen passionately. ‘I took up yoga, Geoffrey, to try to learn calmness, to reduce stress, to try to have a baby. That, it appears, is never going to happen, but I have grown to enjoy yoga and meditation, to rely on it, if you like. It makes me feel good and it gives me a prop when I need one. I am beginning to fight my way out of this morass of boredom and indecision. I am beginning to question what the point of it all is. And because of that, I am beginning to make sense of my life.’ She paused and smiled at him. ‘I’ve always had dreams, Geoff. I’ve always been haunted by the past. That is nothing new. What is new is that I’ve learned to call it up at will, and learn from it.’
‘I appreciate that you have problems with your marriage, Clare.’ Geoffrey rubbed his cheek with his hand. ‘But they can be faced in other ways.’ He hesitated. ‘You must see, my dear, that what we are talking about has gone beyond daydreaming. You are not some sort of female Walter Mitty. You are lighting candles and invoking the spirits of the dead. And they are, as you have found, only too eager to communicate. It is dangerous, Clare.’
In the long silence that followed as they stared at each other they both heard the scrunch of car tyres on the gravel outside the house.
Clare shivered again. She swallowed. ‘That will be Sarah coming back. I think you’d better go, Geoff.’
Slowly Geoffrey stood up. ‘Of course.’ He reached out and took her hands. ‘Please think about what I’ve said, Clare, I beg you. And feel you can ring me at any time. If you’re lonely, come and see us. Chloe is very fond of you. We both are. And I’ll have a chat with Paul. He must be made to realise that you need something to occupy you –’
‘Don’t you say a word to Paul!’ She was angry suddenly. ‘I am quite capable of talking to my own husband. Keep out of it, Geoffrey. I’m working things out my own way.’ In the distance the doorbell pealed. ‘Now, go. Please go. Sarah must have forgotten her key –’ She almost ran into the hall.
Outside there was a florist’s van. There was no sign of Sarah or her car. A young woman was standing on the gravel, staring up at the house front, a cellophane sheaf of flowers in her arms.
‘Mrs Royland?’
Clare carried the flowers back into the drawing room where Geoffrey was still standing awkwardly in front of the fire. He smiled as she laid the flowers down on the coffee table. ‘It looks as though someone loves you after all.’ He watched as she unpinned the note which came with them.
Tearing open the envelope Clare read the carefully written message and her face went white.
‘So sorry to hear you are unwell, but delighted you have reconsidered the sale of Duncairn. Look forward to meeting you when you are recovered. Very Best Wishes. Rex Cummin.’
The sea was churning restlessly over the rocks at the foot of the cliffs. Neil walked to the place where the wall had fallen and peered down into the dark. A gentle south wind touched his cheek with cold fingers. Above, the sky was ablaze with stars.
‘It’s very quiet, isn’t it?’ Behind him Kathleen glanced nervously down over his shoulder towards the white luminescence which was the sea curdling on the rocks far below. She turned and walked back towards the keep, feeling the chill of the dew soaking into her shoes. ‘What a spooky place. Where is the oil? Right under the castle?’
Neil hadn’t moved. Hands in pockets, he hunched his shoulders. ‘It’s very deep. It would cost a lot to drill here.’
‘But not a fraction as much as it costs to drill under the North Sea, presumably.’ She paused. ‘I like your Mr Grant at the hotel. You’ve got an ally there.’ Walking back to him, she took his arm. ‘We didn’t need to come up here, Neil.’
‘I needed to.’ He turned to go with her. ‘This place is special, Kath. Can’t you feel it? It represents everything that Scotland stands for. A castle high on a cliff; a castle which has stood here for eight hundred years; a place where they fought for Scotland’s independence. A place where men and women died to save Scotland’s resources for herself.’
Kathleen shivered. In spite of herself she glanced over her shoulder. Ever since they had walked out into the darkness after dinner she had had the feeling they were being watched. ‘Scotland didn’t have many resources. Not until the oil came,’ she said gently.
‘Scotland has always had resources. Her people; her learning; her pride and independence …’
Kathleen grinned ruefully. ‘So, do I gather that if it were a Scots’ oil company you wouldn’t feel so bad about their bid?’
‘No. Even then we would fight. The environmental threat is too great. Imagine it, Kath. A hundred-foot drilling rig here, on the cliffs. It would be sacrilege!’ He pushed his hands deep in his pockets. ‘But an American oil company – run by people who know nothing of Scotland – who have never even been here! That is scandalous.’
‘Jack Grant said they’d been up here at the weekend.’
‘Oh yes, another surveyor, no doubt. I don’t expect Cummin has ever been here, or his US directors. The people in charge of wrecking places invariably live thousands of miles away.’
High above them the tower rose black against the luminous sky, the broken walls jagged and irregular in front of the stars. Where was Clare Royland? Why wasn’t she here, fighting?
‘Neil –’ Kathleen was beside him again.
‘Go back to the hotel, Kath, please. I need to think.’ There was a long silence. He could feel her eyes on his face in the darkness. Then she shrugged. ‘OK. I’ll see you later. Don’t fall over the edge, now.’
He watched as her figure faded into the darkness, then he turned back towards the castle. How could Clare Royland even contemplate selling? How could she betray her roots, her heredity like this? Couldn’t she feel it when she came here? The pull? The tie which held the sons and daughters of Scotland to the land. He pictured her yet again with her expensive car and her rich, beautiful clothes and he frowned as somewhere a bird let out a long mournful cry. He and Clare Royland were going to have to meet …
‘So, how are you enjoying working in a man’s world, honey?’ Rex smiled at Diane Warboys as she sat opposite him in the pink alcove at Corney and Barrow. ‘As challenging as you hoped?’
‘It’s not strictly a man’s world any more, Rex. But it is challenging, yes, and I’m enjoying it