Tom Kelly was dead. It had been his anguish and not Ray’s that had subconsciously flashed me that urgent S.O.S. and now his help was beyond my reach. His death may, of course, have fused the currents running between Ray and myself, but it seemed more likely that it would simply remove the obstruction he’d imposed, leaving me still more vulnerable to Ray’s influence.
The meeting with the St Cyrs was arranged for Hugo’s free period that morning and there could hardly have been a less appropriate time to discuss my future. Hugo and Martha had been as shaken as I by the dramatic fulfilment of my premonition.
“I really think we should postpone this meeting,” Hugo began worriedly. “Instead of committing yourself to an indefinite stay it would be more sensible to go home while you still can.”
I shook my head. “Running away won’t solve anything. It never has, though it’s taken me a long time to realize it.”
“But I keep thinking of the dreams you told us about. Suppose they really were precognitive?”
“I wonder,” I said musingly, “how much the future can be changed by foreknowledge.”
“Not being a quantum physicist, I have no idea.”
“I know I can’t escape it altogether but I might be able to divert the danger like I did for John.” It was little comfort, but it was all I had.
So we kept our appointment at the Viking, the details of the partnership were agreed and it was decided I should start work in a week’s time. Hugo dropped me at the cottage on his way back to college and Martha was waiting for me at the door.
“Ray’s here,” she said briefly. “He insists on seeing you.”
He was standing at the sitting-room window and turned as I entered. I was shocked at the drawn look on his face. Perhaps, despite their estrangement, he had still cared for Tom Kelly.
“I’m sorry about your uncle.” I looked across at him warily, trying to test the atmosphere between us, but he brushed my condolences aside.
“You thought that lorry was meant for me, didn’t you? Why? It could as easily have been yourself, surely?”
“Yes, except that the shock waves it created were there, in the atmosphere, so I assumed it had already happened.”
“And when I came to the phone?”
“It seemed I’d been wrong. I never even thought of Tom Kelly.”
He lit a cigarette, not meeting my eyes. “In your place I doubt if I’d have bothered with the warning, after the way I behaved the other day.”
“And you didn’t believe me, anyway. Martha said you proclaimed to all and sundry it was just an excuse to contact you.”
“Yes, well I’m sorry about that, but it was such a smack in the eye for Neil Sheppard. Didn’t I tell you it was not for his benefit I brought you here?”
With an effort I unflexed my fingers. “And why are you here now?”
He smiled sourly. “To offer the olive branch, why else? There’s nothing to be gained by fighting each other and I want you with me this evening. I’m tired of the role of lone wolf.”
But this evening I had to make my peace with Neil.
“And tomorrow,” he added deliberately, “we have another sitting, remember.”
“Which,” I said heavily, “is the real reason you came. You knew you’d gone too far and you were afraid I’d refuse to sit for you.”
“Ah, come on now, would I be as devious as that?” But he was smiling.
“You would, and I can’t imagine why I let you get away with it. Except, perhaps, that I had no choice?”
“Don’t be hard on me, Chloe. You’re the only friend I have.”
“You’ve only yourself to blame for that. Why do you have to keep antagonizing people? It’s so unnecessary.” And so dangerous. Even though the lorry had not, after all, been meant for him, there was still a threat somewhere, something more deliberate and personal than a random traffic accident. I added urgently, “Ray, please make an effort to be nicer to people. I’m sure they’d meet you halfway.”
“Still bent on reforming me, are you? Sure, it’s too late for that.”
“You could try. Remember what Granny Clegg said, about evil coming home to roost.”
“Ah, she’s just a superstitious old woman. Why should I worry my head about her? But if you’re going to start preaching I’m off. I’ve skipped one class as it is, but I needed to see you. Till this evening, then.”
Only when he had gone did I realize the full extent of my foolishness in agreeing to be with him that evening but at the same time I was aware of a sense of the inevitable. Try as I might I could not desert Ray, and any chance to speak privately to Neil must be seized as and when it offered itself. I was not looking forward to the sherry party.
Having parked the car in the usual place, Hugo led Martha and myself across the brilliantly floodlit quadrangle to the Stanley Room where the gathering was being held. Just inside the door the headmaster and his wife awaited their guests. Harold Leadbetter B.Sc., Eton and Cambridge, was a rotund and jovial-looking man.
“Delighted, delighted!” he murmured over my hand as Hugo introduced me. His wife smiled vaguely at his side and at a discreet distance Frank Harrison and his wife carried out their duties of deputy headship. This was the man who, according to Vivian, had usurped Nicholas’s rightful place. Tall and bland-faced, with carefully smoothed hair and horn-rimmed spectacles, he appeared far better suited to the position than poor Nicholas. In all probability the headmaster was not as foolish as Vivian imagined.
One of the prefects approached with a tray of sherry glasses. “Sweet or dry, Miss Winter?” I looked at him in surprise and he added shyly, “You will come and sit for us again, won’t you?” It was one of my youthful portrait painters. My presence on the island was certainly being well documented, I thought with a touch of grim humour.
“Chloe, may I introduce you to Mrs Hibbard?” Carol Fenton was claiming my attention and as I smiled and exchanged pleasantries I caught sight of Neil across the room and my mouth went dry. With a murmured excuse I started to make my way towards him, but almost immediately Sally Davidson caught my arm and drew me into her group.
“Will you show me sometime how to make some of those gorgeous things you produced yesterday? Philip’s been glassy-eyed with admiration ever since!”
Her husband laughed. “Never mind the fancy things, just wean her away from macaroni cheese and you’ll be my friend for life! Do you know everyone, by the way? I don’t think you’ve met David?”
He was good-looking; tall and broad-shouldered, with thick black hair and regular features. More brawn than brain, Ray had said, and like a materialization of the memory he came up and took my arm.
“Meeting David, my sweet? As I told you, he’s an expert in all branches of sport, indoors and out. The rest of us are continually amazed by his – stamina!”
At my side Sheila Shoesmith started nervously and David’s handsome, rather solid face suffused with dark colour. I held my breath as his fist clenched into a ball but he regained control of himself and, turning on his heel, shouldered his way through the crowd leaving everyone avoiding each other’s eyes.
“Was it something I said?” Ray asked in mock dismay.
Philip said tightly, “Be thankful he didn’t close your mouth for you. It’s time someone did. I warn you, Ray, we’ve had just about as much as we can take.”
“Well, that was quite a speech! I hope such loyalty’s appreciated. It seems an underrated commodity these days.” His bantering gaze moved idly in Sheila’s direction, but as Philip took a menacing step forward he put up his hand with a laugh. “All right, just going! Dear me, how touchy everyone is this evening!”
With his arm firmly through mine he drew me perforce away with him. I looked over my shoulder with a helpless glance of apology, but the faces that met me were no longer friendly.
I said in a rush, “If that’s how you’re going to behave, I’m washing my hands of you here and now.”
“You may want to, my love, but you can’t. We’re stuck with each other, you and I, for better, for worse as the Good Book says – and it’ll probably be worse! Now, look who we have here!”
We had come face to face with Neil and Pam Beecham. Ray’s arm tightened fractionally on mine. Pam’s eyes were sullen and hostile and as I turned to Neil I saw at once how much ground had been lost. His face was politely formal.
“Good evening, Chloe. I hear your efforts at the bazaar were greatly appreciated.” And with a vague, dismissive smile he piloted Pam away.
I stood fighting back helpless tears and at my side Ray said softly, “Well, well! Quite a change from the passionate embrace, wasn’t it?”
I spun to face him and something in my expression jolted him into sudden awareness. “And it really matters, doesn’t it?” he added flatly. “Blast his eyes!”
I said rapidly, “Can you attach yourself to someone else for a while?” and, seeing a door across the room, quickly made my way towards it before he could reply.
A dimly lit corridor stretched away in the direction of some classrooms. On my left a small door was marked ‘Cloakroom’ and beneath it a temporary notice, presumably just for this evening, added ‘Ladies’. I hesitated, wondering if a splash of cold water would cool my burning cheeks, and as I stood there a door lower down opened and Neil came out, stopping abruptly as he caught sight of me.
“I didn’t follow you,” I said dully.
“My dear Chloe, it never occurred to me that –”
“But since you’re here, could you spare me a moment?”
“Certainly. Shall we go back inside?”
“No.” Firmly I stood my ground. “It’s easier to talk here, without interruptions.”
“Very well.”
“Neil, I’m sorry about that phone call.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yesterday, you mean? Why?”
“I didn’t mean to brush you aside like that, but I was in such a panic –”
He moved impatiently. “I think I’m the one who should apologize. I was so intent on ‘saving’ you from Ray that it never struck me you might not want saving.”
I shook my head. “Please try to understand. It was that horrible telepathy again.” I paused but he made no attempt to help me. “I had a kind of vision of a huge lorry rushing straight at me and I couldn’t get out of the way.” It sounded unconvincing, even to myself. “I passed out,” I added expressionlessly. He frowned but made no comment. “When I came round I was sure it was happening to Ray.”
I searched his face for a sign that there was still something left between us, but he was feeling in his pocket for cigarettes.
“Well, since he’s quite safe you can relax, can’t you? There was no need to explain; it’s none of my business, after all.”
“I’m sorry,” I said tightly, “I thought it was.” I braced myself to meet his eyes. “For the record,” I added in a rush, “it was Ray’s uncle who was run over yesterday morning.” And I turned blindly into the dubious haven of the ladies’ cloakroom. I think that as I closed the door I heard him say, “Chloe!” but I can’t be sure. I stood with my hands gripping the sides of the basin willing myself not to break down completely. Quite obviously I was more trouble than I was worth and Ray was welcome to me. My attempt at an apology had only made things worse.
After a minute or two I straightened and studied my reflection in the mirror. Apart from heightened colour, attributable anyway to the heat in the crowded room, I looked remarkably normal. Which was as well, for at that moment the door was pushed open and two girls came in, chattering gaily. I gave them a bright, unseeing smile and made my way back to the party.
Fortunately I found Martha almost at once. “Sherry, for the love of Allah!” I said in an undertone. Surprised, she handed me her own glass and I drained it at a gulp and helped us both to another from a passing tray.
“It’s Neil, isn’t it?” she said shrewdly. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I answered, “Nothing at all.”
She took my arm and led me firmly to the nearest group.
“I don’t think you know Claudine Bouchet ...”
The evening ground on. A buffet was served but my throat was closed and it was useless to try to eat. Ray reappeared. Faces swam in and out of focus, voices jabbered meaninglessly, but I kept my smile fixed and no-one suspected my disorientation. At last the ordeal was over. We said our good-byes – to Vivian and Nicholas, to the Fentons, to the headmaster and his deputy, and as I climbed with infinite weariness into the back of Hugo’s car I remembered the hopes with which I had left it. I had been so sure everything would be all right once I’d explained to Neil, and I had been so abysmally wrong.
That night I experienced another of my time-switches and this time there was one important difference: I was recognized.
It was Laa’ll Katrina, St Catherine’s Eve, at Colby Fair. This much I somehow knew, but even in this uncertain past my present-day troubles had followed me and I was miserable, confused and afraid. I stood on the outskirts of the crowd watching with no flicker of curiosity as a procession of boys marched round the fairground carrying what appeared to be a dead hen. After a while they sat down on the ground and embarked on a ritual plucking ceremony and everyone surged forward, seemingly intent on securing one of the black feathers. There was much good-humoured jostling and after a moment one or two young men broke away and ran off in the direction of the inn, waving feathers as though these were tokens enabling them to free drinks.
The girls, however, seemed to put a more romantic significance on acquiring a feather and my eyes were full of tears of self-pity as I watched them laughing and dodging about. Suddenly one of them spun round with a cry of triumph, holding aloft a handful of feathers, and, pursued by her companions, came running towards me. By this time I no longer expected anyone to notice me during my invasions of the past, and although the girl was running straight towards me I made no attempt to move. To my surprise, however, she skidded to a halt, gazing directly at me with widening eyes.
Her pursuing friends caught up and surrounded her. “What is it then, Bridie? What are you looking at? Give us some of your feathers, now! Isn’t one husband enough for you?”
But Bridie remained transfixed staring at me and I stared back, aware of a niggling pinprick of familiarity about the bright black eyes. Then with a jolt memory sickeningly asserted itself, etching wrinkles in the smooth olive skin, drying and fading the vibrant black hair, and I realized with a sense of disbelief that I was looking at the Granny Clegg of sixty years ago – and that she recognized me! For the first time in my visits to the half-world of the past I had been seen and known for myself.
“Bridie!” The girls were becoming impatient. “Are you after seeing a ghost, then? Ah, leave her be, Joaney, her wits are addled!” and they turned after more interesting game. I waited, motionless, and slowly, moving as though strings jerked at her limbs, she came towards me until only a few feet separated us. Then, with a singularly sweet smile in which I could read both sympathy and encouragement, she held out to me one of her precious black feathers.
Seconds later on my return to Hugo’s guest-room I searched for it diligently and was almost surprised not to find it.