Kingdom of Shadows. Barbara Erskine

now? ‘Clare is a very attractive woman,’ she went on, half thoughtfully. ‘I don’t see any reason why he couldn’t just have fallen in love with her. She was all right, was she, after her’ – she hesitated – ‘her trance?’

      ‘Right as rain. In fact she was more animated than I’ve ever seen her. She and Paul –’ Diane paused, choosing her words with care. ‘Do you think their marriage is over?’

      ‘No.’ Emma was suddenly resentful of the questions. ‘No, I’m sure it isn’t. They’ll be fine. All they need is a bit of time to get over their disappointment about not being able to have children.’

      ‘I didn’t know they couldn’t have children.’ Diane raised an eyebrow.

      ‘I’m sure they don’t broadcast the fact. And don’t you, either. I shouldn’t really have told you.’

      ‘Oh come on. I’m a family friend.’ Diane sat back in her chair and crossed her long legs uncomfortably under the small table. ‘Besides, who am I going to tell? I don’t know anyone who would be interested.’

      ‘Would you like me to get anything for you when I’m in Ipswich this afternoon, Mrs Royland?’ Sarah appeared in the doorway of the drawing room so suddenly that Clare jumped.

      She pushed back the pile of unopened letters on her writing desk – the invitations to charity events, the pleas for money, at least two demands that she join fund-raising committees; she didn’t have to open them to know what they were. She glanced out of the window at the hazy garden and sighed. The sun was just breaking through the mist, shimmering on the copper and russet leaves of the chestnuts in the drive. Clare sighed. She stretched her arms up above her head. ‘You know, it’s so beautiful today, I think I might come with you. I could do with a change of scene.’

      Sarah frowned. ‘It wouldn’t really be very easy, Mrs Royland. I …’ she hesitated. ‘I’ve so many different things to do. But I’d be happy to pick anything up for you.’

      Clare bit her lip, trying not to feel rejected, trying to fight down the feeling of desolation which threatened to overwhelm her. Paul had left for London that morning, before it was light. He had slept in her bed, but he hadn’t touched her. If Sarah went out and left her in the house alone, the loneliness would return, and with it the need to fill the emptiness with daydreams. She stood up. She would go too. She must. Suddenly she was afraid, terrified of the silent rooms. She turned to follow Sarah into the hall, but as she reached the door, the phone rang. With a pleading glance at Sarah’s departing form she turned back and picked it up.

      ‘Clare? It’s Chloe. My dear, I had to ring you. What on earth have you been getting up to?’ Her sister-in-law sounded breathless with excitement.

      Clare sat down again, making a determined effort to steady herself, her fingers once more, automatically, idly, turning over the letters on the desk. Even without the sound of car tyres on the gravel outside she had known Sarah would take the chance to go without her. Her heart sank. Another afternoon alone in the house; and probably a whole evening after it, and then the night, all to be got through somehow. She sighed, fighting back the fear.

      ‘Clare, are you there?’ Chloe sounded indignant. ‘I shouldn’t tell you, but Geoffrey is praying for you!’

      ‘Praying for me?’ Clare’s attention snapped back to the phone.

      ‘He’s desperately worried about you and I thought I’d better warn you, he’s going to come up and see you.’

      ‘What on earth for?’ Indignantly Clare stood up. She shuffled all the envelopes into the waste bin, and stood staring out at the grass where a blackbird was standing, head cocked to one side, intently watching a patch of daisies. ‘If it’s to do with my inability to have a baby, it’s a bit late for prayers.’ She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. ‘Unless one believes in miracles.’

      ‘Oh, Clare.’ For a moment Chloe was silent. ‘My dear, I was so sorry to hear about that, and it’s never too late to pray about something so important, but that wasn’t what I meant.’ She sounded deflated.

      ‘What then?’ Clare picked up the phone and walked to the french windows. She pushed them open and stepped out on to the terrace. The sun was warm on her head, the garden still.

      ‘Emma came to see us last weekend, just before Geoff went off to his conference. She came to talk about her and Pete. You know they’re having problems with their marriage because Peter is away so much. Well, Geoff took her off into his study and’ – Chloe’s voice took on a hollow ring supposed to denote awe – ‘they talked for ages.’

      ‘So?’

      ‘They talked about you.’

      ‘Me?’

      ‘It took me hours to wangle it out of him later. Clare, you must be doing something truly dreadful! Emma only mentioned it casually at first. Geoff said she didn’t seem worried. He said she didn’t realise what you were up to. So, what are you doing? Are you sticking pins in wax figures, by any chance?’ There was a breathless pause.

      ‘I see.’ Clare smiled wryly. ‘Oh, it’s far worse than that.’ It was hard to resist the temptation to tease her credulous sister-in-law. ‘In fact I doubt if you should even risk talking to me! The telephone wires might go white hot and burn you.’ She walked restlessly back into the house, the phone in one hand and the receiver in the other, trailing the long flex behind her. Damn Emma. Who else had she told? ‘Tell Geoff not to bother coming, Chloe. I’m beyond redemption. I’m unrepentant and probably dangerous.’ She meant it to come out jokingly, but her voice sounded too serious. Behind her the door opened a crack and a golden nose pushed through it enquiringly. Clare ignored it.

      ‘You must talk to Geoffrey, Clare.’ Chloe’s voice had lost its lightness. In the rectory she shivered suddenly. ‘Please. He genuinely wants to help you.’

      ‘I told you, tell him not to come. Tell him to mind his own business.’ Clare took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that there are too many people breathing down my neck at the moment, Chloe, and I don’t need it. Whatever problems I’ve got I have to sort them out myself. Look, I’ve got to go.’ Suddenly she couldn’t bear to talk any more. ‘I’ll see you in London soon. We’ll have lunch. OK?’

      She put the phone down, not sure whether to be angry or amused. First Emma; now the pompous pontiff; Chloe; Henry; Zak!

      Was it really so dangerous to daydream about the past?

      Thoughtfully she walked upstairs, past the flowers in the hall and on the landing, smelling the polish and the roses, seeing the curtains blowing gently in the breeze. The afternoon was hot and still and her bedroom was very silent, shadowed by the half-drawn curtains. She stood in front of her dressing-table mirror and studied her eyes critically. They were large, a clear transparent grey, with a slightly darker ring around the iris, fringed with long dark lashes, set attractively far apart beneath a broad brow. Her fair skin was tanned to an even gold. She stared at herself, unblinkingly critical, then she began to pull off her clothes. Naked, she wrapped a towel around herself and ran downstairs.

      The heavy cover was over the pool but she dragged it off, feeling the wind cold now it was touching her skin, negating any warmth there might be in the hazy sunshine. Throwing down the towel she dived in, feeling her breath caught and dragged from her body by the chill of the water.

      Twenty minutes’ swim and an hour’s gentle, meticulous yoga left her body toned and relaxed, receptive. Automatically she drew her legs into the cross-legged position, resting her hands, forefinger and thumb circled, on her knees. Slowly she emptied her mind. Around her the crisped autumn leaves drifted down onto the pool and settled in the still, clear water. She did not see them. She was repeating to herself, as Zak had taught her, the mantra which would dispel all outside thoughts.

      Om Nama Shivaya; Om Nama Shivaya; Om Nama Shivaya …

      Don’t let the mind stray; don’t let any pictures come;