She had to go now.
Waiting for someone to come and let her out could no longer be an option. For all she knew, Freda had no intention of coming back, and it didn’t seem as though Brenda and her husband were going to show up either.
One more day of sitting here, worrying about her mother and where Freda might be, or what she could be doing, would drive her mad.
She had no coat, only a thick sweater to protect her from the cold, but at least the wind had dropped and no music was playing. Her core and limbs were strong, thanks to regular yoga classes, and her jeans were two percent elastane, which would help her to move. She’d throw her trainers and socks down first so she’d have something for her feet in the hope she made it in one piece to join them; for the descent she’d decided, based on no knowledge at all, that it would be best to go barefoot. The cold would be horrible, crippling even, and might make her more likely to fall, but she had to risk it.
Her phone was already tucked into a back pocket, but she’d have to leave her laptop behind. Just in case she didn’t make it she’d finished the letters to Holly, her mother, and Callum.
Tense with fear, she kicked off her trainers and socks, took several deep breaths, and pulled up the window to climb over the sill onto the balcony. The air was so icy she almost drew straight back inside, but she kept her eyes fixed on the rail, counted to five, and after tossing her trainers and socks she grabbed the rail with both hands and hooked one leg over. She sat astride for a moment, catching her balance and struggling with the wisdom of going on. This was crazy, beyond insane; she was never going to make it.
She didn’t dare to look out or down, mustn’t allow herself a perspective on how small and vulnerable she was in this wild and wintry landscape, or how exposed and endangered she was going to be clinging to random branches on the outside of the tower.
She must stay focused on what was in front of her, try to remain oblivious to everything else.
Yoga breaths.
Tightening her grip, she swung her other leg over the rail, slotted her heels between the bars, pulled back her shoulders and stood facing the swollen might of the tor. Her hands were clinging so tightly to the bar at her back that she could almost feel the bones cracking. She didn’t look down at the boulders below, but was so aware of them that they seemed to generate a magnetic force all of their own.
Slowly, carefully she edged one foot into the next gap in the bars, following it with the other, and kept going until she was at the corner. The cold was so penetrating that already she could barely feel her hands or feet. She couldn’t allow them to become numb, but had no way of stopping it.
She needed to move faster, but if she did she’d be sure to make a mistake and any mistake here was going to cost her her life.
Whispering prayers under her breath, she bent her knees slowly and hand over hand lowered her grasp to come level with her eyes. She had no choice but to look down now for she needed to seek out the closest branch that might hold her. To her horror they all looked so flimsy that she knew it would be madness even to test them. But then she spotted one snaking its way around the corner of the tower to disappear beneath the balcony. It was no more than two inches in diameter, but maybe, just maybe, it was tough enough to act as a foothold.
Gingerly she stretched out her right leg, still clinging on for dear life with both hands, until she felt the rough bark beneath the arch of her foot. She pressed down gently. It didn’t move so she pressed harder, willing it not to snap or fall away from its mooring. When it held again she allowed more weight to sink into it, careful to keep the bulk of her balance attached to the balcony. Still it didn’t give, but how on earth was she going to fit both feet on such a slender stem with no space between it and the concrete wall?
She was doing this all wrong, but had no idea of what was right.
Maybe she should let her hands do the searching instead of her feet?
Or maybe she should try to climb back inside.
Gasping as a gust of wind stole her balance, she half-lunged, half-scrabbled for the nearest vine, grabbed it with both hands and cleaved herself to it as her left foot joined her right on the branch below.
She was now completely free of the balcony and no more than a meter from the corner of the tower. If she could get to it she was sure she’d find many more tentacles, strong and closely entwined on the front side of the building to help her descent.
The wind gusted again, harsh and bitter, either urging her on—or trying to tear her free. She felt sick with fear; hot tears were burning her eyes. She blinked them away, not daring to use a hand. She was crying out silently for Callum. Without meaning to, she glanced down and as she saw the rocks below, lurking like a final resting place, one of the vines snapped.
Freda was pacing, back and forth, back and forth, so agitated that Marianne’s own nerves were fraying. An eternity could have passed since she’d added her version of events to the memoir, but it was probably only a few minutes. She had no idea what was going through Freda’s mind now, though her anger was plain to see and Marianne could sense it building.
Suddenly Freda’s hands flew in the air as though she was trying to shake them from her wrists. “Why won’t you admit that you lied?” she cried in despair. “His name, he, deserves to be cleared and you know it. So why won’t you do it? You’re old now. I won’t let you die without—”
“I didn’t lie,” Marianne said quietly, “but if you want me to say I did—”
Freda’s head fell back, her eyes closed against a harsh paroxysm of pain.
Marianne said steadily, “You know this has nothing to do with Joely, so why . . .”
Freda spun around. “You destroyed my family,” she cried, “so why would I care about yours?” Her eyes were bright, angry, and tormented. “You are finding out what it’s like to feel helpless when someone you love is suffering. It’s what you did to us. My parents never performed again, do you know that? You broke them—”
“Where is she?” Marianne interrupted. She couldn’t deal with the guilt of what had happened to his parents, not now. “Answer me, Freda, or I’m calling the police.”
Freda’s face became pinched. “You’re already too late,” she informed her tartly.
Marianne’s heart contracted.
Freda pointed at the laptop. “Do it,” she commanded. “Confess to your lies.”
Accepting there was no reasoning with her, Marianne reached for the computer ready to do anything she was asked to help Joely, but at the last moment, still clutching her phone, she turned and ran to the door.
She didn’t see the laptop flying through the air after her, she only realized what had happened when it hit the wall close to her head and dropped to the floor at her feet.
She stared down at it in shock. If it had hit her . . .
She turned around to find Freda watching her, appearing as stunned by what she’d done as Marianne was. She seemed to twitch and started to speak, but then she stopped. Marianne got the impression she was trying to disconnect herself from the random act of violence, to work out how it had happened even—and yet, when she spoke, what she said confirmed her determination to get what she’d come for.
“Do it,” she repeated shakily. “Confess to your lies.”
Joely was clinging on with one hand, the other was flailing about wildly trying to find something to grab on to. The vines under her feet were starting to bow; they were going to give out at any moment . . .
In one swift, random move she flung out an arm and grabbed hold of a branch. It felt rough and slender in her palm, too slender; she panicked, but it held. She clung to it with all her might, holding her entire weight with her hands as she felt about with her feet for purchase. Her arms and shoulders were on fire, the cold was slicing through her skin; she had so little strength left. The agony and fear were unbearable.
Her right foot, sore and bloodied, found what felt like a sturdy tendril. She pressed down on it and experienced a moment’s relief in her arms as her weight was shared. She brought her other foot to the branch and sobbed when it held.
With every fiber of her being she wanted to go back, to end this now, but she’d reached the point where each way was as dangerous as the other.
Inch by inch she got herself to the corner of the tower. She snaked an arm around, scrabbling for another vine, even some wire that guided it, but her hand fell away as her head was slammed into the wall by another blast of wind. She gasped as a dizzying nausea swept through her. Her fingers and feet were so cold now that it wouldn’t be possible to hold on for much longer. She had to get herself around the corner and onto the thicker stems where at least if she fell the roof of the kitchen terrace would break the fall.
Blindly reaching out an arm again she fumbled for something that felt solid, closed a fist around it, and carefully moved a foot to follow. She sobbed and choked and whispered brokenly for her father. Was he watching her now? Could he save her? Were his invisible arms waiting to catch her? Her foot wasn’t finding any support, it was just moving around the wall brushing over spidery twigs and soggy leaves. She couldn’t find anything, so returned her foot to join the other.
She counted again, storing up strength with each beat, and with a quick, awkward twist she somehow hauled the lower half of her body around the corner of the tower and planted her feet on a branch beneath her hands. Her head spun and icy sweat poured from her skin as she tried to catch her breath.
Terrifying seconds passed as she clung on like a petrified animal, shuddering and shaking, crying and praying not to die.
You can do this, she tried telling herself. You’re going to make it down to safety and then you’re going to run into the Valley of Rocks to grab a phone from a tourist to call your mother.
Andee was already turning her car around as she instructed the phone to connect her with Joely again.
Still no reply.
She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid. If she hadn’t been so distracted with her own concerns she’d have realized right away what had been bothering her about Joely, and her visit to Dimmett House half an hour ago. As it was she’d got the best part of the way back to Kesterly before it had hit her.
If Joely wasn’t inside the house, then the likelihood of her being somewhere else with no signal seemed too implausible. And if she had a signal she’d answer the phone, or make a call.
Andee had no idea why Joely would be shut up in that house, or if she actually was, she only knew that her instincts were telling her to return there and as they’d rarely let her down before, she was on her way.
“You’re not writing anything,” Freda stated crossly.
Marianne simply stared at the laptop screen.
“Hard to face the truth, isn’t it?” Freda snapped scornfully.
“It’s much harder to lie,” Marianne said quietly.
Freda snorted and Marianne watched her turn away, her demeanor exuding impatience, irritation, and something more that Marianne couldn’t quite define. It was as though her taut, willowy frame was about to crack with the frustration she was holding inside.
What was she thinking? What was she really hoping to achieve with this madness?
Marianne’s eyes moved to her phone on the floor, and putting aside the laptop she reached for it.
Freda didn’t turn around, so Marianne connected to Callum’s number and as soon as he answered, she said, “Please come,” and then rang off again.
“Who was that?” Freda asked, her eyes still fixed on the window.
Seeing no reason to lie, Marianne said, “My son-in-law.”
Freda nodded and inhaled as she looked around the room as if he might already be there, and maybe hiding. “He cheated on your daughter,” she stated. “Did you know that?”
Marianne didn’t reply.
“Would you like me to dictate the rest of your story?” Freda offered.
Marianne simply stared at her.
Freda’s mouth puckered with displeasure. After a moment she said, “My husband used to cheat on me, you know. He’s dead now. He was going to leave me, but he died at the same time as my other brother.” Her eyes locked onto Marianne’s. “Don’t you want to know where he is?” she asked brokenly.
Marianne wasn’t sure if they were talking about David.
“You haven’t asked where he is,” Freda cried in frustration. “How can you not care about that?”
“I know where David is,” Marianne told her. “I don’t need to ask.”
As Andee turned into the drive of Dimmett House she searched the front windows for any change in the shutters but found none. Everything seemed exactly as it had before, until her eyes moved upward and she gave a gasp of horror as she saw Joely clinging to the upper storey of the building.
Leaping from the car she almost shouted Joely’s name, but realized any distraction could prove fatal.
How the hell was she going to get her down from there?
She needed a ladder, and someone to help. But with everything locked up and no phone signal she had little hope of either.
Moving swiftly across the grass, she assessed the patio roof knowing she’d have to climb up there to try and help her friend down. Whether she’d be able to reach her was debatable, but if Joely could manage to ease herself a little lower . . .
She cried out and broke into a run as Joely’s hold on the vine began to fail. Branches were tearing away from the wall, debris was floating, and with a single, helpless cry Joely plunged to the patio roof. She hit it hard, rolled, and as she came off the edge Andee threw herself forward to catch her. They hit the ground together, Andee grunting as the wind was knocked out of her, Joely a dead weight on top of her.
Long empty seconds passed as they lay in a heap on the grass, clouds drifting aimlessly overhead, birds flying past, the sound of waves rushing up from the sea. Eventually Andee took a breath, waited a moment, and when Joely didn’t move she said, “Joely, can you hear me?”
For a long moment, there was only silence . . . And then Andee heard a faint groan. Feeling a rush of relief, she carefully eased herself free and rolled Joely onto her back.
Tearing off her coat, she covered Joely with its warmth, saying, “Hold on, OK? You have to hold on while I go to get help.”
Joely looked up at her, eyes unfocused. Her face was deathly pale, and the blood running from her temple was filling Andee with fear.
She had no choice. She had to leave her.
Racing back to her car she pressed the SOS button over the mirror and thanked God as it connected to the Mercedes Emergency Response Centre. After giving all necessary details, she ran back to Joely, praying with all her might that it wasn’t already too late.
“This is Freda,” Marianne told Callum as he came into the room looking puzzled and concerned and slightly harried in a way that suggested he’d broken the speed limit to get here.
Marianne was sitting on one of the sofas; Freda was on the opposite one and didn’t look up as the introduction was made.
Callum looked from one woman to the other, his frown deepening. “Are you all right?” he asked Marianne, putting his keys on the sideboard. “What’s going on?”
“Freda is the author Joely’s been working with,” Marianne explained. “She’s here because she thought I could help with her story.”
More confused than ever, Callum said, “And where’s Joely?”
Marianne looked at Freda, but Freda seemed not to be listening.
Callum repeated more forcefully, “Where’s Joely?”
“She won’t tell me,” Marianne replied. “Andee’s been to the house but she isn’t there . . .” She checked her phone as it rang. “It’s Andee,” she told him and clicked on. As she listened her eyes widened with horror. “Oh God,” she murmured, trying to get up. “Where have they taken her?”
Callum caught her as she swayed and took the phone. “Andee, it’s Callum. What—”
“She’s had a fall,” Andee told him. “I’m not sure how serious it is yet, but I’m following the ambulance to Kesterly Infirmary.”
Callum’s face drained as he said, “What kind of a fall?”
“It was from quite a height. She’s conscious, but I can’t tell you what her injuries are yet.”
“OK. I’ll meet you there.” Handing the phone back to Marianne, he said, “She’s on her way to the hospital. Are you coming with me?”
Marianne looked at Freda and seeing the tears running down the older woman’s cheeks she felt her own eyes burn with pity in spite of the anger she felt. Freda was lost, desperate, and seemed to have no idea what her life meant anymore. “I don’t know what you did to Joely,” she said hoarsely, “but Callum and I are going to her now. You can stay here if you want to, or you can come with us.” She didn’t add, The police will want to speak to you, but it was what she was thinking as she ran to get her coat.
“You still haven’t asked where he is,” Freda mumbled as the door shut behind them. “Why won’t you ask?”
An hour later Freda was still sitting on the sofa, hands clenched in her lap, bloodshot eyes staring at nothing as if a single thought was jammed in her head, or perhaps there were no thoughts at all.
She heard the front door open and close and looked up as a young girl wandered into the room and let her heavy bag drop to the floor. She was strikingly lovely, with long, slender legs, silvery blond hair tumbling in waves to her waist, and features almost too perfectly sculpted.
“Hi,” the girl said, seeming unsurprised to see a stranger in the house, “where’s Grandma?”
“Who are you?” Freda asked, already certain she knew the answer.
“I’m Holly. Who are you?” She folded a hand around her hair to bring it around to flow over one shoulder.
“My name’s Freda. How old are you, Holly?”
“Fifteen. How old are you?”
Fifteen. “I’m seventy-one.”
Holly tilted her head with interest, then moved on as a text arrived on her phone.
Freda watched her exquisite features pull into a frown as she read the message. “Nightmare,” she muttered. To Freda she said, “I’m going to get something to eat. Would you like anything?”
Freda didn’t have to think. “Thank you,” she said. “That would be lovely. No meat, I’m vegetarian.”
“So are we.”
Returning to her phone as another text arrived, Holly fixed on it as she left the room to go into the kitchen.
After a few moments Freda followed and stood in the doorway watching as the girl texted with one hand and took cheese, spread, and tomatoes from the fridge with the other. She was so engrossed in her messages that she didn’t notice Freda was there until she had to put down her phone to begin making a sandwich.
Starting, she said, “Christ, you made me jump. Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” Freda assured her. She couldn’t stop staring at the girl. She was so like her grandmother at the same age that it felt as though time was playing tricks on her.
Holly pulled a curious face as she said, “We only have granary. Good for you?”
Freda nodded. “Very good. Thank you. And a cup of tea if it’s not too much trouble.”