Kingdom of Shadows. Barbara Erskine

      He smiled. ‘Good,’ he said.

      Casta was ecstatic. Yelping with excitement she leaped around Clare as her mistress climbed out of the car on Sunday morning. The fog was still thick and the fields around the house were dank and silent.

      Without a word Paul went to the rear of the car to find their cases.

      ‘Paul –’ Clare followed him.

      ‘No, Clare. I need you in London.’ He didn’t even bother to look at her. ‘It’s not convenient for you to go to Scotland at the moment. I’m sorry.’

      ‘It would only be for a few days.’ She could hear herself pleading and she despised herself for it. She felt trapped.

      ‘No!’ He slammed down the boot lid. ‘God knows, Clare, I’d have thought after last night’s fiasco you would have wanted to make amends. Sonja Beattie was scandalised by your behaviour.’

      Clare stooped to give the dog a hug, hiding a half smile in the golden fur. ‘I don’t think she was at all,’ she said defiantly. ‘I think she was amused. Anyway why call it a fiasco? They didn’t know what happened. And the food was good; the wine was good; there were no awkward silences. In fact,’ she straightened and looked at him, ‘I think it was a successful dinner party all round. You should be pleased.’ She turned and walked into the house.

      Paul’s eldest brother was waiting in the drawing room. Sarah Collins had lit the fire and the room smelled richly of the old dry apple boughs she had thrown into the inglenook fireplace. There were new bowls of chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies, beautiful amongst the silver frames of the photographs on the tables scattered around the room.

      Throwing her jacket down on the sofa Clare went straight to the fire and knelt before it, holding out her hands. ‘How are you, David? Where’s Gillian?’ She did not wait to kiss her brother-in-law or take his hand.

      Sir David Royland put down the business section of the Sunday Times and stood up. He was a tall man, like his brothers, his hair a uniform grey. He wore a dilapidated cashmere sweater over baggy cords, and his feet were clad only in socks. The Member of Parliament for the Stour Valley was off duty. He put his cup down on the low coffee table and then straightened again, looking at her closely. ‘I’m fine, my dear. And so is Gillian. She thought she’d take it easy this morning though, with the baby so imminent. Where is Paul?’

      She shrugged. ‘He’ll be here in a minute.’ She was staring into the flames.

      Sir David walked across to the silver tray on the grand piano. ‘Can I pour you some coffee? It’s still hot.’ He smiled at her. ‘The excellent Mrs Collins brought enough cups. She was expecting you.’ He handed her one, and stood looking down at her. ‘We were sorry not to see you at the party on Saturday.’ He paused. ‘I hope you’re feeling better. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in a chair, my dear?’

      Clare hunched closer to the fire, holding the porcelain cup and saucer against her chest. ‘I’m fine, thank you. For God’s sake, sit down, David. Don’t hover! You’ve come to see Paul, I suppose?’ She looked up at him suddenly.

      ‘I did, as a matter of fact.’ He studied her face, noticing the signs of strain, and he frowned.

      Clare always made him feel uneasy. He found her extremely attractive, he had to admit, and yet she irritated him and put him on the defensive, mocking him and all he stood for from behind those innocent grey eyes. He knew she found him pompous and she teased him openly, especially about his recent knighthood, and he wished he could dismiss her as a silly young woman of whom he could take no notice. But he couldn’t. Whenever she was in the room with him he found himself drawn towards her. Also he respected her brain – something his own wife appeared to be able to do without – and he found himself wondering, often, how she and Paul conducted their sex life. He had frequently suspected his brother of being totally uninterested in sex. For this vivacious, beautiful woman to see anything in Paul at all was a conundrum upon which he pondered with a frequency for which he despised himself.

      He sat down on a chair near her and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his chin cupped in his hands. Whatever he felt about Clare he had never before found himself feeling sorry for her, but now suddenly there was a wistfulness in her face which made him feel strangely protective.

      ‘Paul has asked me whether I would be prepared to break the children’s trust fund.’ He looked thoughtfully into the fire. ‘I take it that that was your idea?’

      ‘My idea?’ Clare sat back on her heels and looked up at him. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

      ‘Don’t you?’ He looked pained. ‘Paul feels that Father’s will, because it was so heavily weighted towards his grandchildren, actual and potential, is grossly unfair. My children, and Geoffrey’s and Em’s, will inherit the bulk of Father’s estate when they grow up.’ He glanced at her. ‘Paul feels we should split up the money so that he can take a quarter.’

      Clare put her cup and saucer down on the hearth and climbed to her feet. ‘And you think that is my idea?’

      David hesitated, scrutinising her face, then he shrugged.

      ‘I thought it might be. It seems strange that Paul should suddenly want the money.’

      ‘And you thought it must be the grasping wife?’ Clare bent to pick up a log from the basket and threw it into the fire, watching the flames lick round it. She swung round. ‘Well, it wasn’t, but I can guess why he’s done it.’ She was suddenly on the defensive. ‘He wants it because he knows he will never have any children to inherit anything, at least not as long as he’s married to me.’ She clenched her fists. ‘But no doubt he told you that. Perhaps he feels this is just compensation for having a barren wife. It is his share of the inheritance, I suppose, so why shouldn’t he have it?’

      ‘Exactly.’ Behind them Paul had appeared in the doorway. ‘So, is that why you’ve come, David? To give me your decision?’

      He strode into the room and leaned against the oak chest near the door, his folded arms concealing his agitation. ‘Have you and Geoff talked it over?’ His voice was heavy.

      ‘Geoffrey is away at some conference.’ David adopted a soothing tone which managed to sound patronising. ‘But I’m sure we’ll be able to agree about this when he gets back.’

      His tone visibly irritated his brother.

      ‘And how much do you suppose you will be able to spare me after your deliberations?’

      ‘That is rather up to the four of us, as trustees, and to the accountants, don’t you think?’ David said dryly. ‘If you feel you are entitled to a particular percentage, you’d better say so. The money you’re talking about is at the moment to be divided equally between the children as they reach the age of eighteen with a capital sum remaining to give each of them a small income and to cover any late arrivals.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘We four are supposed to have had our share when Father died, remember?’

      ‘Of course I remember.’ Paul turned away sharply. He went across to the window and stared out at the mist. The chestnut trees were dripping dankly on the lawn, their golden leaves mud-coloured without the sun.

      His brother was watching him closely through narrowed eyes. ‘Well, if you still want to go ahead with this, I suggest we call a meeting of the trustees to discuss it.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll ring Geoff tonight and see if he’s back. I think I should tell you, Paul, that Gillian and I are not very happy about this.’

      ‘I’m sure you’re not!’ Paul didn’t look round. ‘Your bloody kids get the lion’s share.’

      ‘They will get an equal amount each.’ David was tight-lipped as he strode towards the door. ‘I’m sorry Paul is putting you through all this, Clare –’ as he opened it he glanced back at her. She was still standing by the fire, her face set. ‘You deserve better, my dear.’

      Clare