The pain of the loss did not lessen but as time passed it grew more bearable. No one ever questioned Phil’s skid on the ice and Liza had no proof – and never would have – that a beautiful young woman from a distant age had appeared on the road in front of him, just as she had in front of the car that carried Julie and Calum – the arbitrary, vicious act of an obsessed and violent spirit lost somehow in the corridors of time.
Those first years after Phil’s death were unbelievably busy. She had to start work almost at once – neither of them had had the temperament or the inclination to save. Phil had been the one earning the money while she brought up Beth. That had been the agreement, and she had been surprised at how easily she had been able to put her career on hold. She was equally surprised at how relieved she was to have to start painting again – it helped to distract her from her loss – and how easily the commissions began to pour in. It was difficult to balance the needs of a lively youngster with the peace and space she needed to work, but she had managed it with the help of kind neighbours and tolerant sitters.
Beth’s beauty as a small child and her sunny temperament had helped. As had the ease with which she had fitted into the way of life which evolved round them, the startling peace and silence of the Welsh countryside alternating with glamorous and bustling visits around Europe as Liza’s already brilliant reputation flourished.
It had been a lonely life, though. At first Liza did not know how she would survive without Phil. Every corner of the house seemed empty without him, every action she performed seemed meaningless. Without the small girl to look after she would have lost the will to live. But Beth was there for her all the time, the small arms creeping round her neck, the comforting kisses, the first lisped words which, Liza guiltily remembered seemed to have been, ‘Don’t cry, Granny Liza,’ as the little fingers wiped away her tears.
Meryn had been there too. For the first time ever he came down the hill and she found him one day sitting in her kitchen. His philosophy was simple. Phil had gone nowhere. He was still there with them, watching over them, expecting them to show him they could cope. He taught Liza how to talk to Phil, how to ask his advice and listen deep inside herself for his answers. He taught her that Phil would not want her to waste her life in tears, or let Beth’s childhood be full of unhappy memories. And he taught her at last to let Phil go, to allow him to move on so that his memory no longer filled the house, to visit the grave next to those of their daughter and her husband on the sun-warmed hillside with joy, not sadness, not every week but occasionally when there was a special memory she wanted to share. He also taught her to ring-fence their lives against Brid. There would be no more visitations at the farm from wildcats or from vengeful, jealous spirits. Then when he felt she was strong enough again to stand on her own he came less and less to the farm and, one day, when she turned off the lane to his cottage, she found him gone, the chimney cold, and realised that once more he had left her to manage alone.
There were even, in the end, other men over the years. Not many and not seriously, except for one, an Italian count, an author, who lived in an ancient, half-ruined castle in the hills behind Fiesole whose portrait she had painted one glorious, never-to-be-forgotten summer. She had come near to marrying him but even with him, something held her back. It was not that her feelings were not strong enough. Without any sense of disloyalty to Phil she had allowed herself to adore him and would happily have spent the rest of her days at his side, but some inner sense of preservation stopped her. She did not want, now, to belong to someone as Michele would want her to belong to him. She was her own person. And she was her art. They were too independent and too precious and he had not understood. It was a long time now since she had been to the beautiful castello amongst the olive trees.
From the very beginning Beth went with her on her painting trips, staying in hotel rooms, lying by swimming pools, whilst Liza sat in front of her easel with her latest celebrity sitter. If they stayed in the sitter’s house, as they had with Michele, that was better. It was more fun and the child had more freedom to wander around. From very young she had got into the habit of taking her own sketch pad and her colouring chalks. Later she had graduated to paints, but she never did portraits. That was Liza’s department. Instead she had concentrated on landscape, studying the differences of the places they went: the South of France, Italy, Switzerland. As the years went by, book after book of neat, meticulous sketches piled up at home in her small bedroom at the farm. She did O Level art, then A Level, then went to St Martin’s, and once or twice a year she and Liza met up with Granny Jane, who seemed twenty years older than Liza who was technically her granny too, although she always thought of her now just as Liza, and sometimes, secretly, in her innermost fantasies, as her mother.
She knew she had a grandfather who was a doctor in St Albans, but he was never mentioned by either woman when they were together, and when she asked Liza about him she was greeted with a shrug and a look of intense sadness which put her off any further enquiries. She sort of knew there was Another Woman. It sounded Victorian and romantic and very sad, and it accounted for Granny Jane’s white hair and wrinkled, sunken face, but Liza never talked about her, which was strange because in every other department Liza was very modern and broad-minded and you could talk to her about anything. And considering there were so many vital gaps in Beth’s life – her parents, Grandfather Phil whom she didn’t really remember apart from a pair of huge huggy arms – she didn’t think one could afford to waste a perfectly serviceable grandfather. She was intrigued.
The last time the three women had met was at Christmas, when Liza had delivered a painting to a flat in Eaton Terrace. She and Beth had arranged to meet Jane at Harvey Nichols and the three of them ensconced themselves at a table near the window in the restaurant. Liza stared at Jane for a moment, unable to hide her shock at how the other woman had aged. She said nothing until Beth had disappeared to find the loo, then she reached across the table and touched Jane’s hand.
‘Why do you stay after all this time?’
Jane shrugged. ‘Someone has to look after him. He drinks, you know.’
Horrified, Liza stared at her. ‘Adam?’
‘Who else? She has sucked him dry. There is nothing left. He works one day a week, and that is only because Robert can’t think of a way of getting rid of him. He’s only got to make one more mistake and he’s out. They’ve got another partner now, so he wouldn’t be missed.’
‘Oh, Jane. What a mess.’ Liza’s eyes filled with tears. ‘When I look back he had so much promise. So much enthusiasm.’
Jane nodded. ‘I’m winning, you know. Just by being there.’ She gave a strange smile. ‘She can’t stand me being in the house. I still have the rowan cross, that’s probably why I’m still alive! She can’t understand why I am still there. She tried to kill me again the other day.’
Liza stared at her in horror. ‘What happened?’ she breathed.
Jane shrugged almost nonchalantly. ‘I’m always careful. I know what she’s like. I don’t turn my back. Usually she’s not there when Adam’s out. The day he goes to the surgery I can go upstairs. I clean their room. It’s pitiful. An old man’s room. I was carrying the Hoover downstairs and she pushed me. I saw her out of the corner of my eye. She hasn’t changed, you know. Still all that long hair which keeps him so besotted. I can’t think what she sees in him. He’s like a raddled old man!’ Her voice took on a tone of extreme disgust. ‘If I wasn’t there he wouldn’t eat or have clean clothes, or someone to throw away his bottles. As it is he knows I won’t let him go to the surgery if he’s drunk. He did it once. It was nearly the end. That was when Robert said there had to be a new partner. No one stays in the same practice for forty years any more, you know, they all move around. When Robert retires, Adam will have to as well.’ She reached for the gin and tonic she had ordered as soon as they sat down at the table. ‘Beth is looking very pretty,’ she added abruptly.
‘She is.’ Liza nodded, glad to change the subject. She was watching Jane’s hand, which was shaking as it gripped the glass. ‘Don’t say anything in front of her. She has this romantic image of Adam – I don’t know where it’s come from!’
‘From you.’ Jane fixed her with a disconcertingly steady eye. ‘You always were besotted with him. But you had the sense to stay out of reach once you knew you couldn’t win.’ They were both silent for a moment, thinking of Phil. Jane snapped out of her reverie and smiled as she saw Beth making her way between the tables towards them. She had indeed grown up to be very pretty, with her father’s dark hair and her mother’s delicate features. She was a little plump perhaps, but she turned heads. Her vivacity and charm ensured that.
For the rest of the lunch Liza and Beth regaled Jane with stories of their latest trip which had been to New York, where Liza had painted the wife of a Wall Street tycoon and then amused herself by agreeing to paint a portrait of his favourite dog.
‘And now,’ Liza went on, ‘Beth has a commission to illustrate a book about our mountains. So, when I go to Italy next month, she is staying behind at the farm to start her first serious job. You’ve heard of Giles Campbell, the travel writer?’
Jane smiled and shook her head. ‘My dears, I’ve heard of nobody. Tell me.’ She looked at Beth expectantly.
Liza noticed that she had hardly touched her food and frowned, but she said nothing. She turned to Beth. ‘Go on, you’d better confess.’
Beth blushed. ‘All right. So I fancy him desperately! So what? He’s married, but everyone knows his wife is a terrible flirt. In fact they say she’s had several affairs. Poor Giles! I don’t know why he puts up with it! Don’t listen to Liza, Granny Jane. She teases me about him like mad and it’s not fair. She introduced us, after all. She practically threw me at him.’
‘Rubbish.’ Liza smiled comfortably. ‘When Hibberds published a book about my painting I used to go up to their London office sometimes. Bob Cassie introduced me to Giles at a party and he and I talked because he was writing a history of the Black Mountains. What was more natural than that I should ask him to come and stay?’
‘She fancied him herself, Granny,’ Beth put in pertly.
‘I did not!’ Liza laughed. ‘Or at least not in any serious way. He’s thirty years younger than me –’
‘Which makes him perfect for me! And while the cat’s away, the mouse shall play, with a bit of luck.’
‘You be careful, dear.’ Jane gave a gentle smile. ‘You don’t want to get hurt.’
‘I won’t!’
When at last they stood up to go, Liza put her arm round Jane’s thin shoulders. ‘One day will you come to the farm to see us? Please. Surely Adam can spare you for a few days?’
‘He wouldn’t notice if I wasn’t there at all.’ Jane met her gaze steadily. ‘I don’t think I’ll come, Liza. You and Beth are happy. And safe. Let’s leave it that way.’
‘What did she mean, safe?’ Beth asked the moment they had waved Jane off in her taxi to St Pancras Station.
Liza shrugged. ‘I don’t think she wants us to know how bad Adam is. It’s terrible when someone drinks.’
‘But he wouldn’t come. He hates me.’
‘He does not hate you, sweetheart.’ Liza frowned crossly. ‘I don’t know where you’ve got this idea from. He is a very unhappy man, that’s all. You would remind him of Calum.’
‘And your mother.’ She nodded with a little sad smile.
‘So.’ Beth took a deep breath. ‘He’s not violent, is he? He doesn’t beat up Granny Jane or anything like that?’
‘No, sweetheart, he doesn’t do anything like that.’ Liza sighed. She had never mentioned Brid to Beth and had no intention of doing so now. After all, what was there to mention? An old man’s obsession? A ghost story going back fifty years? She did not let herself think about a murder on a mountain road on a frosty winter’s night.
As Adam drank, so his life force diminished, sucked dry by Brid’s insatiable demands. He grew weaker and as he did so, so did she.
‘I did warn him.’ Robert was standing in the sitting room, his back to the fire, looking down at Jane who was seated on the sofa. Adam had not yet come back to the house and as far as she knew they had the place to themselves. Today was one of the days she had gone upstairs to the spare room, changed the sheets, put flowers on the small dressing table, opened the window wide to let in the cold damp afternoon air and defiantly made the sign of the cross above the bed.
‘He wasn’t exactly drunk, but I could smell the drink on his breath ten feet away. God knows what his patients thought. I’m sorry, Jane, but it reflects on the practice.’
She nodded wearily. ‘I will speak to him, Robert.’
‘You have to, because there won’t be another chance. If it happens again, that’s it. We’ll have to ask him to resign.’ He looked round the room and lowered his voice. ‘How are you coping, my dear?’
She smiled. ‘All the better for knowing you are there, Robert. I don’t think I could do it on my own.’ She wasn’t sure how much he knew; how much anyone, except Liza, knew. After all, Brid was never seen outside the house. To outward appearances they were just an ordinary, rather worn-out couple who had perhaps seen too much of each other over the years and grown bored with their marriage. No one knew they slept apart. Quite a few people, she suspected, must know that Adam drank.
She was sitting on her own in front of the Six o’Clock News when Adam came home at last. She heard the door bang and waited to hear him run up the stairs. For once he didn’t. He walked slowly into the sitting room and stood looking down at her. His face was grey with fatigue. ‘Did Robert come to see you?’
‘He told you what happened?’
‘He gave me a rough idea. What possessed you to go to work like that? You are a fool, Adam.’ She spoke without any particular rancour. It was merely a statement.
‘Have you any idea of the strain I’m under?’ He sat down abruptly on the edge of a chair and brought his hands up to his face, rubbing wearily against the rasp of an unshaven chin. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
She stared at him. ‘If you’re tired perhaps we could go away on holiday somewhere. We haven’t had a break for years. I know Robert would give you the time off.’ Only too gladly, she suspected. She did not expect him to agree. He never had in the past.
‘It would be nice.’ He threw himself back against the cushions with a sigh. ‘I don’t know how to get rid of her, Janie.’ His voice broke. ‘I’m so tired! I just want her to go away.’
Jane stared at him in amazement. ‘How long have you felt like this?’ she whispered at last.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Months. Years. When she’s here I can’t think. I can’t eat. I can’t do anything. I know how much I’ve hurt you. I just don’t seem to be able to function as a normal human being. I can see myself throwing away my career, what’s left of it, my reputation, my home – you. I’ve hurt you so much.’ There were tears in his eyes. ‘Help me, Janie.’
Jane stood up. ‘Do you mean it?’ She felt suddenly strong again. Walking over to him she leaned down towards him and put her hands on his shoulders. Kissing him on the top of his head she smiled. ‘Leave it to me.’
‘Jane –’ As she walked resolutely towards the door he called to her in sudden panic. ‘Be careful. What are you going to do?’
‘Just have a word upstairs. You wait here. Then, my darling, you and I are going out for a meal!’ She ran up the stairs two at a time, her heart singing with joy and relief. At last! She had waited for so long for this moment! She couldn’t believe that he had seen sense; that he had come back to her. She wasn’t afraid. Adam’s love was all she needed. She remembered Liza’s warnings over the years and her instructions on how to protect herself, and, round her neck she wore the little cross that Liza had made for her. She wasn’t sure why she had kept it all these years, together with the crushed fragments of the amulet tree; she didn’t believe that Liza had some particular hotline to a guardian angel somewhere up there in the sky, but the thought of having the crumpled pieces in her pocket gave her just that little bit of strength she needed to walk into the spare room, flinging the door back against the wall, to confront Brid.
The room was empty.
She looked round, feeling cheated. There was no sign of her. The room was just as she had left it earlier that afternoon, with the bed still made, the window slightly open onto the damp cold darkness, the curtains drawn right back against the wall. It felt empty and … spare.
She hesitated in the doorway for a moment, not quite believing what she saw, then she turned and closing the door behind her she ran back down the stairs. ‘She’s not there.’
‘No.’
‘You knew?’ Suddenly she was furious. ‘You mean she’s gone. That’s why you’ve decided to come back to reality.’
‘No. But she doesn’t come unless I’m here, does she? Otherwise, what would be the point? By the time I got upstairs she would be there.’
Jane stared at him. ‘All right then. Come on. You come up with me. Call her and tell her it’s over.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can. Here. This will give you the strength.’ She held the small wooden cross with its red thread out to him. He took it and stared at it, then suddenly he burst into laughter. ‘Why do I have a feeling that I know who gave you this?’
‘Yes, it was Liza. It will keep you safe.’
‘You think so?’ He threw the cross towards the hearth. Too light to go any distance, it fell at his feet. ‘Nothing can keep me safe, Jane. Nothing. Brid is stronger than any of us. There is no fighting her.’
‘Rubbish!’ She leaned forward and caught his hand. ‘Come on, let’s go upstairs and finish this.’
‘No, Jane. Let’s just go out for the evening.’ He drew her to him. ‘Please, my darling. I want to get out of this house.’
‘So do I, but I don’t want to be afraid to come back, Adam.’ Tugging his hand, she dragged him to the door. ‘Come on. It will only take a minute. Then you’ll be free.’
Pausing, she released his hand for a second and ran back to pick up the cross. The slim gold chain had become tangled in it and as she pulled at it gently to free the catch, the cross, brittle with age, broke and crumbled in her hand. She stared at it in shock. ‘My cross!’ Tiny fragments of red silk clung to her fingers. ‘Adam, my cross!’
He looked down at it and shook his head. ‘You don’t really think that has kept you safe from her, Jane? If she had wanted to hurt you she would have done it by now.’ He sighed.
She looked down at the small fragments of twig in her hand then, reluctantly, she let them fall to the carpet and dusted her palms together. ‘Come on then. Let’s go up.’
Slowly he followed her up the stairs. She paused on the landing. She had left the spare room door open, she was sure of it. Open to let the cool damp draught sweep through the house. Now it was closed, and she could smell the hot feral smell that always seemed to follow Brid whenever she was there. She saw Adam hesitate and she took his arm and gave it a squeeze. ‘You can do it. Just tell her it’s over. Tell her to go.’
‘She won’t go, Janie.’
‘She will if you’re strong enough.’ She reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘Between us we can do it. Then we’ll go out and celebrate!’
He looked down at her doubtfully. She had let go of his arm, and he was conscious of the place where her fingers had been. It felt cold.
‘Go on,’ she whispered. She felt naked without the cross. Firmly she pushed the feeling away. All she had to do was be there for Adam. He would deal with Brid.
Reluctantly he stepped forward and put his hand on the door knob. ‘Are you sure about this?’ he said over his shoulder.
‘Yes.’ She gave him a little push. ‘Go on.’
Slowly he turned the handle and pushed open the door. Brid was standing just inside the room. She was wearing a long green dress, and her hair was clipped back in a silver filigree pin carved in the shape of a leaping salmon. She was looking straight at him and yet he had the feeling that she did not see him at all.
A-dam …
The words appeared to come to him from a great distance.
A-dam, why are you cross with me?
‘It’s time for you to go.’ Jane’s voice seemed suddenly very loud beside him. ‘Adam doesn’t want you any more. We want you to leave our house.’
Brid was still looking towards Adam and he had the strong impression that she hadn’t heard Jane’s words. She took a step forwards, and Jane, in spite of herself stepped back.
A-dam, I love you. Where are you, A-dam?
She moved closer and Jane moved back once again. She was out on the landing again now. She should have kept the fragments of the cross. In her pocket they would have given her strength. ‘Go away, Brid!’ Her voice was still strong. ‘Adam, say something! Make her go away.’
‘I’m sorry, Brid.’ Adam had turned to look at his wife. He smiled, then he looked at Brid again. ‘You must go. I’m tired.’
Brid looked towards him and she seemed to focus on his face for the first time. Tired? She spoke at him, and Jane realised suddenly that her words seemed to come from somewhere far away, inside her own head, not from the woman’s lips at all.
Poor A-dam. Brid will make you better. She moved towards Adam, her hands outstretched.
‘No!’ Jane cried. ‘Don’t touch him. Go away!’
Brid spun round, seeming to see her for the first time, and she frowned. ‘You are not good for him,’ she said almost gently. ‘You must go. Not me.’ Her eyes widened suddenly as she saw that the cross had gone; the small cross with its vibrating pulses of protective light was no longer at Jane’s throat.
She stepped forward past Adam and out onto the landing.
‘Adam!’ Jane’s voice became shrill with fear. ‘Tell her!’
Go away. A-dam does not want you.
The hand Brid stretched out towards Jane barely seemed to move, but it made contact violently with Jane’s chest. One moment Jane was standing on the landing, the next she had stepped backwards into space and was falling down the stairs.
There was a small sharp cry as she fell, the thud of her body as she landed, and then complete silence.
‘Jane!’ Adam screamed. ‘Jane, are you all right?’
She has gone. Brid smiled at him. Come, my love. She reached out to take his hand.
Adam pushed past her and ran to the top of the stairs. ‘Jane? Jane! Oh my God, Jane, are you all right?’ He leaped down two steps at a time.
Without touching her he could see that she was dead. Her neck was twisted, her head at a strange angle against the wall.
‘Jane?’ It was a whisper. He knelt beside her and felt under her ear. But he knew it was no use. She was dead. Jane was dead.
For a moment he stayed where he was, staring down at her in disbelief, then he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. Brid had followed him downstairs.
A-dam, come upstairs. I love you, A-dam.
He stood up. He was shaking violently. Turning he stared at Brid for several seconds, unable even to speak. ‘Do you realise what you have done?’ he said at last, his voice strangled. ‘You stupid, vicious, despicable little cow!’
Brid looked down and shrugged. ‘Come to bed, A-dam,’ she said without emotion. ‘Do not worry about her. She was not good for you. You love me.’
‘Not any more.’ His voice had gone suddenly very quiet. ‘Get out of my house!’
‘A-dam, I love you. I want to make love.’ She came to him and rested her head against his shoulder. A new strength enveloped her, an energy snatched from the dying woman. It felt good. ‘Please, A-dam. It will be good now she is not there. We will have the house all by ourselves.’
Adam pulled away from her violently. ‘Get out,’ he hissed. ‘Get out, get out, get out!’ His voice had risen to a shout. ‘You bitch! You murdering little whore! You Jezebel! Hellcat! Get out. I never want to see you again!’
‘A-dam.’ She stepped away from him, puzzled. ‘A-dam, why are you cross?’
‘Because you have killed one of the only people I ever really loved, that is why I am cross.’ Suddenly his anger had gone. Tears began to run down his face. Throwing himself down on his knees again he cradled Jane’s head against his chest. A small trickle of blood had found its way from the corner of her mouth and as he turned her face towards him it smeared his shirt. ‘Jane!’ He sobbed her name out loud. ‘Jane, my darling, I’m so sorry. Oh my God, how am I going to live with this?’
Brid stepped away from him, staring down, a puzzled frown on her face. ‘I will come back again,’ she said in a small hurt voice. ‘A-dam is cross with Brid.’
He ignored her. He had taken one of Jane’s hands and was chafing it desperately as though trying to bring some warmth back into her body.
A-dam, I love you.
The words were only faint now in his head. He did not look up.
Beth found Liza sitting by the telephone in the dark. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ She switched on the light. ‘Liza, what’s happened? It’s freezing in here.’
‘What?’ Liza looked up and stared at her.
‘Liza?’ Beth stooped and put her arms around Liza’s shoulders. ‘Come on. You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?’
‘It’s your Granny Jane.’ Liza groped in her jeans pocket for a tissue and wiped her eyes with it. ‘She’s dead.’
Beth stepped back in shock. ‘Granny Jane? But she’s not old!’ It was a cry of protest. ‘What happened?’
Liza shrugged. ‘That was Robert Harding, your grandfather’s partner, on the phone. It appears she fell downstairs and broke her neck.’ She broke into sobs again.
‘And how is Grandfather?’ Beth was stunned.
Liza shrugged. ‘Not good. Drunk.’ She shook her head miserably. ‘Robert doesn’t know what to do. He’s seen to the police and everything, but he wants me to go. There is no one else.’
‘You can’t go.’ Beth caught her hand. ‘Liza, I need you here.’ She was not sure why, but she was suddenly afraid.
Liza shrugged. ‘I have no choice, Beth. Adam has no one left now.’
Except Brid.
She did not say the words out loud, but they seemed to hang in the air around her.
As she had done so often over the years, Liza sat in her car in front of the house looking up at the first floor windows for a while before climbing out. She shivered. The house looked strangely blank, as though the heart had gone out of it. The front garden was untidy. Someone had chucked a Coke can over the hedge and no one had bothered to remove it. It was already rusting as it lay on the grass in full view of the path. With a sigh she walked up to the front and rang the bell. There was no reply.
When eventually she walked around to the back and peered into the windows she could see Adam sitting at his desk. His head was buried in his arms and he appeared to be asleep. She banged on the window.
‘Adam!’
He did not stir.
‘Adam! Let me in.’
The kitchen door was unlocked and she walked in. Pausing to glance round she went on through into the study.
‘Adam!’
He was snoring.
‘Adam, for goodness’ sake, wake up.’ She shook his shoulder hard. He groaned and shrugged her off and went back to sleep.
While he slept she rounded up the empty bottles. He must have moved back into the bedroom he had shared with Jane and slept in her bed the night before. Wrinkling her nose, Liza extricated the small flat whisky bottle from beneath the pillow, threw it into the corner with the others and stripped the sheets. At least when he woke up he would find the room clean and ordered and the rest of the house hoovered and neat as Jane would have kept it. She left the spare room – the room Adam had shared with Brid – till last. Taking a deep breath she flung open the door and looked inside. The room was a wreck. The bedclothes and curtains had been shredded, the wallpaper was hanging off in strips and one of the panes in the window had been broken. Staring round, she shook her head in despair.
‘So, what do you think?’ Adam, awake at last, had come upstairs behind her and was standing looking over her shoulder. He smelled stale and unwashed.
‘I don’t know what to think.’ She turned and looked at him. ‘Beyond the fact that you need a bath and a change of clothes and then probably a square meal. Drinking like this doesn’t help, Adam, you know that.’
‘Don’t you want to know what happened?’ His eyes were red and swollen.
‘If you want to tell me.’
He walked past her and stood in the doorway looking round. ‘I told her to go.’
‘Brid?’
‘Who else?’
‘And has she?’
He shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’
‘After she wrecked this room?’
‘As you see.’ He went over and sat on the bed with a groan. ‘She killed her.’ Tears were pouring down his face. He made no attempt to stem them.
Liza walked across and sat down beside him. ‘Brid killed Jane?’
He nodded. ‘I wanted to finish it. I wanted to give Janie some happiness at last. She deserved it. She still loved me, Liza, after all I had done to her. She still loved me. She stuck by me.’ He paused.
Liza waited for him to go on. He struggled for a moment with his words then, taking a deep breath he continued: ‘She wouldn’t listen. She – she – just sort of pushed Janie down the stairs!’ He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater. ‘She landed so awkwardly. I knew she couldn’t be alive, but I talked to her. I begged her to stay with me. I begged …’ He hauled the torn pillow into his arms and stifled his tears in it. ‘The cross. The little cross you gave her. It had kept her safe. She gave it to me and I threw it back at her. It fell to pieces. She gave it to me to keep me safe and I destroyed it!’
Liza gripped his shoulder.
He sniffed. ‘I told Brid to go back to whatever hell she came from. She’s mad. She’s got no feelings. She’s some kind of fiend!’
‘What did you tell the police?’
‘What could I say? That I had been sleeping with a woman who had escaped from a mental home and who knifed people all over the place and who I had allowed to kill my wife?’ He hurled the pillow across the room suddenly. ‘What could I say? That I was as mad as she was? That she had bewitched me so that I couldn’t break free of her? That she still looked as if she were eighteen even though I had known her most of my life? That every time I set eyes on her I couldn’t stop myself from wanting her so much?’
He turned and looked at Liza through bleary eyes. ‘Jane stood by me through all that. When I think how much I hurt her. When I think what I did to her! I can’t live with myself, Liza. I can’t!’
‘You have to, Adam.’ Liza’s voice was very gentle. ‘That, I’m afraid will be your hell.’ She sighed, then she repeated her question. ‘What did you tell the police?’
‘That she fell. It was true. Robert sorted it all out.’
‘And has Brid gone for good?’
He shrugged.
She bit her lip thoughtfully. ‘Come on, Adam. Please, go and have a bath. You’ll feel better. I’ll go and rustle something up for supper. Then when you’ve had something to eat we’d better decide what to do.’ She put her hand on his shoulder again. ‘What about the funeral?’ she asked gently.
He shrugged. ‘There has to be an inquest. Robert is looking after it all.’
‘Robert?’
‘There isn’t anyone else, Liza.’ He turned his back on her and walked out of the room. ‘I have no family. I have no friends. And now I have no wife.’
Adam bathed and put on clean clothes as she heated some soup from the freezer, then he came down to the kitchen and made himself some instant coffee while she cut up the bread. He looked at her sheepishly. ‘I don’t deserve your kindness, Liza.’
‘Of course you do. We’re old friends, remember?’ She put the plate on the table and, walking over, gave him a hug. He smelled a great deal better. ‘Some soup will make you feel stronger, then we’ll decide what to do. I think after the funeral you should come home with me to Wales for a bit. You do have family, Adam. Beth and I are your family.’
On the way to the house she had stopped off and bought a bunch of freesias in a small shop on the corner. She lifted them from the counter and going over to the sink, ran some water into a glass. Putting the flowers into it she set it on the middle of the kitchen table; their scent seemed to fill the room.
‘You can get through this, Adam,’ she said slowly as she began to stir the soup again. ‘It will take courage, but you’ve got plenty of that.’
‘Have I?’ He sat down, nursing the mug of coffee between his hands.
‘We both know you have.’
‘I don’t want to come to Wales.’ He looked up at her suddenly. ‘I don’t want to know Beth. She’s better off without me in her life, and so are you.’
‘Don’t be silly, Adam.’
‘No. I’ve thought about this, Liza, in my more sane moments.’ He gave a sheepish half-grin. ‘I should like very much for you to stay for the funeral, then I want you to go back to Wales and forget I ever existed. Brid is a vicious, murderous, amoral parasite. She hasn’t gone; she’s biding her time. I have a feeling that she will follow me wherever I go for the rest of my days. I shall fight her, if I have the strength, but I don’t want to think, ever, that I have brought her with me, to hunt you or that child down. Let me do this last thing for you, Liza. Keep Beth safe. Forget me.’
‘I will never forget you, Adam.’
He smiled sadly. ‘Perhaps not, but you can damp down the memories.’ He looked up again. ‘Did Brid kill Phil?’ It was the first time he had ever asked her about the accident.
She hesitated. ‘I will never know for sure. He skidded off the mountain road.’
There was a long silence.
‘Don’t put Beth at risk too, Liza. You’ve seen what the bitch can do.’
Liza sighed. ‘We’ll see. Perhaps she’ll never come back.’
‘Perhaps.’
He drank some soup and ate a piece of bread, then he went back into his study. When Liza glanced in later he was sitting, staring at the wall.
Twice in the night she looked in on him, asleep in Jane’s bed. He seemed peaceful enough, though she found herself wondering if, in his dreams, he was somewhere far away on the Scottish mountainside.
Liza begged Adam to allow Jane to be buried in Wales beside Calum and Julie and Phil, but he was adamant. There would be no burial. There would be no country grave. And Beth was not to come. The funeral was pitiful. Although there were quite a lot of people there for the church service, only Robert Harding, Adam and Liza went with the coffin to the crematorium. Patricia, in the Surrey old people’s home where she had spent the last year, was too frail and too confused to take in what had happened. She sent flowers, and then only days later rang up and asked to speak to Jane.
Once the coffin had disappeared, with the full inexorable horror, behind the curtain in the crematorium chapel, Adam turned away and walked steadfastly out of the door. He stood for a moment in the rain looking up at the sky, his face set, then he headed towards the car. They had travelled together in Robert Harding’s Volvo and he stopped beside it, his expression closed, looking neither to left nor right as the other two, with exchanged glances, hurried after him.
‘I hope you are going to come home with me for tea,’ Robert said firmly. ‘I know you said there was to be no official get together, and everyone else has respected that and gone, but you can’t go back to an empty house on your own. I want you and Liza to come back at least for a while.’
Adam did not answer. He seemed to have withdrawn within himself as he climbed into the front seat beside Robert, his collar pulled up around his ears, the cold rain still dripping from his hair.
‘Thank you.’ Liza answered for him. ‘We should like that very much.’ She glanced at Adam’s profile and was not reassured. His expression was shuttered and bleak.
That night he drank a whole bottle of whisky and sank into oblivion on the sofa in front of the blank television screen. Liza covered him with a rug, threw away the empty bottle which had fallen from his hand onto the carpet, and turned off the light. Slowly, with a heavy heart, she made her way up the stairs.
The thought which was haunting her was that she had to stay, at least another few days.
Before supper she had rung Beth. It was like a breath of fresh air to speak to her, and to imagine her in the untidy kitchen at home, the house smelling of newly made bread – Beth’s latest craze – and spicy woodsmoke from the fire in the living room. Another of the old apple trees had fallen in the autumn gales and they were burning it slowly, branch by branch, savouring the wonderful rich smell which lingered in the old stone of the hearth.
‘You’re not lonely, darling?’ Liza had asked.
‘Of course not. I’m working on my sketches.’ Beth was bubbling with excitement. She had taken over Phil’s studio when she got the commission to illustrate Giles’s book and tactfully and with as little upset as possible she had gone about changing it so much Liza would never have recognised it. She was delighted. It kept the place alive and vibrant. There was no need to retain Phil’s studio as a mausoleum to keep him in her heart. He would always be there somewhere.
‘How are they going?’
‘Well.’ There was a small hesitation the other end of the line. ‘Actually Giles is coming up for a few days. We thought it might be easier to visit places together and discuss it all up here.’
‘I see.’ Liza took a deep breath. ‘Is his wife coming too?’
‘No.’ It was almost too pat. ‘You know very well she’s a town girl. She’s much too busy with her own affairs, according to Giles,’ there was a suppressed giggle the other end of the line, ‘and she hates the mountains. He says she would die if she moved more than a few hundred yards from Chelsea.’
‘And she doesn’t mind if her husband spends time in the mountains with a very attractive young lady like you?’
There was another giggle. ‘Actually, she was far more worried about my attractive sexy grandmother being here. She was relieved when she heard you were away! No, that’s not true. I don’t honestly think they get on. Truly. Oh, Liza!’ There was a quick horrified pause. ‘How awful of me to be laughing and everything. How was it? Was it grim? How is poor Grandfather coping?’
‘He’s okay.’ Liza did not elaborate. ‘I think I ought to stay a bit longer though, just to be here while he finds his feet. Can you manage on your own? Can I trust you with the beautiful Giles?’
There was a snort the other end of the line. ‘He and I have a working relationship, that’s all. And I would do nothing to jeopardise that, believe me!’
Later, in the bedroom which had been Calum’s, Liza took off her skirt with a sigh. She stood for a moment, staring at herself in the mirror. Attractive, sexy grandmother, eh! She had to admit she rather liked the description. She smoothed down her petticoat across her flat stomach and neat hips and smiled.
The sound behind her was so faint she hardly heard it. She tensed and turned, staring at the closed door. There it was again, a quiet scratching on the woodwork. She frowned. It sounded like a mouse. Reaching for her dressing gown she pulled it on and knotted it around her waist defensively then she tiptoed to the door and put her hand on the knob. Pulling the door open she peered out.
There was no one there. The landing was dark and the house silent. She listened for a second, then slowly she closed the door. Momentarily she stood there frowning, then she turned away to continue getting undressed.
When she went downstairs next morning she found the sofa empty. The French doors were open and the room was full of the scent of wet garden. She walked over to the doors and stood looking out. Adam was standing in the middle of the lawn in the rain, soaked to the skin. He caught sight of her and raised a hand in greeting. His face was pale and drawn and he looked a hundred years old, she thought with a sudden pang of compassion.
‘I thought the rain might cure my hangover.’ He walked towards her, and she realised his feet were bare, squelching on the wet grass.
She smiled. ‘And did it?’
‘It helped. I’ll go up and bath and shave, then I’ll feel better. I’m sorry about the whisky.’ He looked like a sheepish, small boy.
‘So am I.’ She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Go on, then, get dressed and I’ll make us some coffee.’
In her explorations of St Albans she had found a wonderful coffee shop in the centre of the town and had them grind her some specially. The scent of it filled the house, and she hoped made it feel a little more welcoming. That and the flowers were really all she could do. The gap Jane had left was too big, too empty and too raw.
‘Liza!’ Adam was standing in the doorway. His face was ashen and there was a small object in his hand. ‘Did you put this on my bed?’
She felt her heart sink even before she stepped forward to see what he was holding. ‘No, Adam, I didn’t put anything on your bed,’ she said gently as she took it from him.
It was a small, exquisitely carved figure of a naked woman.
‘Is it ivory?’ She turned it over. It was ice cold.
He nodded. ‘I suppose so.’ He walked over to the window and stared out into the garden. A robin was standing on the brick parapet which bounded the small terrace.
‘I know what I would do with it,’ she said softly.
‘I’m going to burn it.’ He was decisive. ‘Is that what you think I should do?’
‘I was going to tell you to bury it,’ Liza said. She smiled. ‘Perhaps that is less final. But you are right. Burn it. That will show her.’
Their eyes met. ‘You always did think she was a witch, didn’t you?’ He took the figure from her and headed for the back door.
She followed him. ‘Something like that.’
She watched as he gathered some twigs and leaves which had blown into the garage where they had stayed dry. He managed to start a blaze with his cigarette lighter. For a while they watched it flare and spark, then when the fire was really hot he dropped the little figure on it. For a while she thought it wasn’t going to burn, then at last it blackened and disappeared.
She glanced up at his face, which was tight with pain. ‘I wondered if it was going to scream.’
He nodded. ‘I don’t suppose it will be the last message I get.’
‘Where do you suppose she is now?’
He shrugged. ‘Who knows? And who cares, as long as she stays there and doesn’t come near this house ever again.’