had done. With a cry of despair he pitched forward onto his face. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.
XLI
Diana was stirring a pot of stew listlessly over the hotplate of the Aga. Made from leftovers from lunch to which she had added fried onions and dried herbs from the jars on the dresser, potatoes and mushrooms and carrots, it smelt delicious. The two cats were sitting side by side behind her, respectfully watching her every move, their admiration of her cooking technique obvious in every alert glance.
Patrick was sitting at the table behind her. His fingers drummed on the table top rhythmically and slowly, a drum roll for the march to the scaffold.
‘Stop that, Paddy!’ Diana’s voice was sharp.
He stared at her and then looked down at his hand as though he did not know he owned it. ‘Sorry.’
‘They should have been back by now.’ She clattered her pans together. ‘They should have found her.’
‘It’s pretty stormy out there, Ma. They might have got the Land Rover stuck. Or they might have decided to stay at the cottage.’
‘Or they might not have found her.’ Diana turned to face her husband as he walked through towards the kitchen. ‘Is the phone working?’
He shook his head. His face was lined with weariness and, as she watched, she saw his hand go surreptitiously to his chest under the flap of his jacket.
‘Roger, darling. Go and sit down.’ The displacement activity at the Aga forgotten she flew to him and threw her arms around him. ‘Come on. Rest. You’re wearing yourself out.’
‘I should be out there with them, looking.’ He shook his head crossly, but he allowed her to steer him towards the fire.
‘I’ll go.’ Patrick followed them. ‘I’ll take the bike and see where they are.’
‘No.’ Diana shook her head forbiddingly. ‘No, Paddy. You stay here with us.’
‘Let him go, Di.’ Roger threw himself down in a chair and leaned back, his eyes closed. ‘He can get to the cottage and check if they’re there.’
‘No.’ It was a wail of misery. ‘No. I want him to stay here. I don’t want all my children lost.’ Diana sat down abruptly, blinking hard, the strain only just contained.
‘I won’t get lost, Ma. I know the track like the back of my hand.’ Patrick put his hand on her shoulder.
Her fingers sought his and tightened over them. ‘But the storm…’
‘If something has happened – I mean if the Land Rover has broken down, or the track is blocked or something, they have no way of telling us with the phones down. If I go, I can be back in half an hour and I can put your mind at rest.’
‘He’s right, Di.’ Roger didn’t open his eyes. ‘Let him go.’
Her hand slid helplessly from her son’s. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and stepped towards the door.
‘Take no risks, Paddy.’ Roger opened his eyes. ‘No risks at all. If you see anything you can’t cope with, come back at once, do you hear?’
‘Sure, Dad.’
‘No heroics.’
Patrick grinned. ‘I’m not the superman type, Dad. Besides, what am I going to find? Mud. Trees. Snow. Cheer up. I won’t be long.’ He dived out into the hall and came back, dragging on his oilskin jacket. ‘Have we got a decent torch?’
‘I’ll get it.’ Diana went back into the kitchen. She rummaged in a drawer. Patrick followed her. ‘Don’t let Dad go out,’ he whispered. ‘He’s looking awfully pale.’
‘I won’t.’ Finding the torch she switched it on, testing the beam. ‘At least it’s got batteries. Paddy, I know it’s silly, but there have been some strange things going on at that cottage. You will be careful, darling, won’t you?’
Patrick nodded. ‘Promise.’ He kissed her on the cheek and rammed the torch down into his pocket. Minutes later he had let himself out into the sleet.
The cold took his breath away. The ice on the wind felt as though it were cutting his face as he pulled on his gloves and went over to the barn, dragging back the heavy door to find his bike.
The narrow beam of his headlight lit up first the trees arching across the track as the bike slid and bucked over the potholes, then the slushy track itself where the latest set of tyre marks were clearly visible, not yet obliterated by the wet. Patrick concentrated hard on riding the machine without getting thrown off into the undergrowth, his eyes narrowed against the weather, searching out the least hazardous route, peering into the distance for a glimpse of the Land Rover. He was not feeling nearly as brave now he was out here alone. His thoughts kept jumping back to Alison, with her crazy eyes, to Kate’s cottage – he thought of it as Kate’s cottage, not Greg’s – and the mess someone had made there. Was there someone out here in the woods? A maniac on the loose? Or was there really someone or something out there at the grave?
After a particularly bad skid in the thick mud he stopped, trying to catch his breath, bracing his foot against a tree root, aware that all his muscles were trembling with effort and shock. He stared round. The woods seemed awfully dark. The wind was howling between the trees, the sound sometimes rising to a banshee wail, sometimes falling to a moan. Leaning forward, he gripped the handlebars tightly and taking a deep breath, pushed off once more, forcing the pedals round with every ounce of strength he possessed. He would not think about the darkness where the light beam did not reach.
It was with enormous relief that he saw at last the squat outline of the Land Rover parked outside the cottage, silhouetted against the rectangle of a lighted window. Leaning the bike against the wall he hammered on the door. He waited, rubbing the back of his wrist against his nose, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, then he knocked again. He frowned. Splashing his way through the puddles, he made his way to the front window, but it was curtained and he could see nothing. He turned back to the door and knocked again, hammering this time with his fist. ‘Kate! Greg! Hey, let me in!’
At last he heard a sound. Somewhere inside a door banged.
‘Kate! Greg! Come on. It’s bloody freezing out here!’ He paused, sniffing, to listen again. The silence inside the cottage was absolute, in contrast to the roar and scream of the elements outside.
Suddenly he was frightened. ‘Kate! Greg! Why don’t you open the door?’ he shouted once more. He began pounding on it again with both fists. ‘Come on. Please.’ His voice cracked and slid up into the alto range, something which normally would have embarrassed him terribly. As it was he didn’t even notice. He could feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes. He ran back to the window and knocked, pressing his face against the glass, but the flowery curtains with their pale sun-stained linings obscured any view of the inside of the room. He turned back and ran past the door, making this time for the windows at the side of the cottage. The bathroom window was slightly open. He inserted his arm and jiggled the arm of the latch free, letting the window swing outwards a little. The wind caught it and slammed it back against the wall, but it didn’t matter. The gap was large enough for him to climb in. He tried to get his knee up onto the narrow sill but his oilskin caught. Swearing to himself he unzipped it and tore it off, feeling the rain and wind blast against his body as he bundled the unwieldy garment up and tossed it in in front of him. Then he levered himself up onto the windowsill, and, holding his breath, squeezed himself in, dropping awkwardly onto the floor. The bathroom was dark. He scrabbled around the wall until he found the door and beside it the pull cord for the light. Tugging at it, he switched it on and stared round. The bath had a scattering of dark wet earth in the bottom. The tap was dripping slightly and he could see the trail scoured by the water in the soil. He frowned. Kate struck him as the sort of person who would meticulously wash out a bath after her, but perhaps like Greg she was also the type to get easily distracted when she was being creative; he forgot to change his clothes and wash and even eat when he was painting.
Tiptoing across the floor again he opened the door a crack and peered out into the hall. It was dark out there, but he could see a thin line of light showing from the living room. Opening the door further he peered up the stairs. Everything there was dark and silent.
Suddenly he was shy of having broken in. It seemed a terrible intrusion to be in someone’s house without their
