28

Standing under the shower Rowan washed the touch of David Lockyer from her body. Then, wrapping herself in a towel, she went next door into the bedroom, where she dried herself and put on her nightdress. She felt as though she were moving in a dream.

Sitting on the edge of the bed she looked dully at her reflection in the mirror. The sight of the long white gown with its intricate decoration of lace made her wonder why she’d bothered putting it on. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep. She never wanted to sleep here again. The house and the village—each had lost its magic for her. She got up, stepped into her slippers and pulled on her dressing gown.

She began to pace the room. Hal had gone. And there was no knowing when he would be back; if he ever did come back. But this last thought she tried to dismiss from her mind. He would come back. He had to. Maybe not for a while, but he would return in the end.

But then, she realized, she couldn’t wait. It might be days before he came back, and she couldn’t wait that long. . . .

Abruptly ceasing her pacing she got a suitcase from the cupboard, opened it up on the bed and began to pack it. Tomorrow, as soon as it was light, she would leave. She’d go to Exeter and get a train for London. She’d find him at his club. Everything would be all right then. It would have to be.

Behind her on the bed her suitcase lay packed and closed.

She sat at the window, looking out into the night.

The lights up by the Stone seemed to be growing in number. Something was happening up there. . . . She shivered and pulled her dressing gown more closely around her. Things were different tonight. She could sense something; something that was not—right. It was almost like the barely discernible vibration of some weird, unknowable under­current. It even pervaded the house. It was not due simply to her anxiety following Hal’s departure; it was something more.

Mesmerized, she continued to stare at the lights. She seemed unable to keep her eyes from the sight. What was it that was happening up there?

As she sat there, so still, she suddenly realized that she had become aware of the beating of her own heart. Putting her hand to her breast she found that her palm was wet with perspiration. The realization that she was afraid brought with it its own measure of fear.

But what was she afraid of? With an attempt to brush her unnamed fears aside she urged herself to be calm. But it was no good; the fear persisted and grew stronger. And then into her mind came a picture of herself sitting alone and exposed at the window of the lighted room. Immediately she got up and reached for the curtain cord.

Even after the curtains were drawn she remained standing there, eyes wide, as if still looking down towards the end of the drive. And her fear had grown even more—for now there was something to which it could be attached.

In the moment before the curtains had come together she had caught a fleeting glimpse of two figures. They had been standing side by side in the shadows by the gate. Her view of them had lasted only an instant, nevertheless she was sure she had recognized them . . .

She backed away from the window. Mrs Palfrey and Tom Freeman . . . what were they doing—waiting there, watching the house . . . ?