he knew was that he was shaking violently and he wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. Obviously Anna was not there, otherwise Carstairs would have stayed with him. Why else had Carstairs brought him here? He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands, trying to get a grip on himself. What was happening to him? What was he to do? Where should he go?
It took him a while to thread his way back to the main entrance. Once outside he too searched for a cab, quickly feeling better in the damp cold air.
In less than an hour he was sitting across the table from his mother, shaking his head. ‘It was my imagination. It must have been. But the voice was so loud. So real. And Serena and Anna heard it too.’ He rounded on her. ‘Why in God’s name did you have to tell me we were related to Lord Carstairs?’
‘I thought that you would be interested, Toby.’ Frances sighed. She was a tall handsome woman with wild grey hair. The resemblance between mother and son was obvious. ‘Personally, I thought it was rather glamorous. I never mentioned it in the past because you weren’t interested in family stuff, but once Anna had showed me that diary -’ She paused. ‘I do see it is awkward for you as far as Anna is concerned. I am so sorry. He does seem to have given her ancestor a very hard time.’
Toby groaned. This whole sorry mess was all his mother’s fault.
Here he was, independent, if not entirely back on an even keel after the succession of best-forgotten traumas that had rocked his life, and Frances had managed to bowl him a killer ball – in Anna’s presence – which had slipped under his guard without his even seeing it coming. He smiled tiredly at the explosion of mixed metaphors and cliches running through his brain. He knew he was being unfair but just at the moment it was hard to be anything else.
And perhaps Anna was right. She usually was. She was a good judge of character. After all, she had not cared for him much at the beginning of their relationship. If it was a relationship. It certainly wouldn’t be now. He sighed. She was so beautiful, Anna. So vulnerable. Her ex-husband had somehow isolated her, kept her prisoner in a glass palace so that when she finally broke free of the marriage she was like an exquisite butterfly, unspoiled, naive. But not nearly so naive as he was!
He groaned again. ‘It is the understatement of the year to say he gave Louisa a hard time!’ He scowled. ‘And this morning, for a few minutes -’ He shuddered. ‘He seemed to be giving me one as well. Do you believe in possession? In life after death? Is it even remotely possible that what I’ve told you really happened, or have I gone stark staring mad?’
Frances raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think you’re mad. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what I believe. I confess I did go and see a medium once – hasn’t everyone? And what she told me was convincing – not guesswork at all. But in this case, I think maybe you’re right. I don’t mean I think you are mad, but I think it may be a hefty dose of over-imagination. Egypt seems to have had a pretty powerful effect on you all.’ She paused. Toby’s anguish was obvious. She bit her lip. ‘It’s hardly surprising when you consider the potent mix of Louisa’s diary, and the legends and myths and ghosts, and on top of all that the death of that poor young man you were travelling with. All that with the magic of the Nile itself.’ Climbing to her feet she put a hand on his shoulder, then went over to switch on the kettle. ‘I’m sure Anna is fine. She’s no fool. She’ll look after herself.’ She paused. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have come down to London. Perhaps after all it would do no harm for you two to be apart for a bit while you both take stock. What did Serena think about all this? Where did she go after Anna left?’
‘Home, I presume.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea what she thinks, though I can guess. Oh God, I wish I knew where Anna went. And what she intended doing with that damn bottle.’
‘You don’t care what she does with the bottle, Toby,’ his mother said firmly as she made a pot of tea. ‘Do you?’ She glanced up and scrutinised his face sharply.
He shook his head. ‘Not a fig. No.’
‘Good. Then leave it at that. She knows where we are. She knows she can always contact you here, and I am sure she will when she is ready.’
‘But I frightened her – ’
‘No, from what you have told me you all frightened each other. Don’t go convincing yourself you are a channel of some kind or a spirit medium or even, heaven forbid, the reincarnation of Lord Carstairs! You had never heard of the man a few weeks ago. You have not suddenly turned into a villainous Victorian occultist with swirling black moustaches and a silk lined cloak.’
‘He didn’t have moustaches!’ Toby grimaced wryly.
‘Well, whatever! From the diary he appears to have been extremely handsome.’ She smacked the cup of tea down in front of him, spilling a little into the saucer. ‘He did seem to have some strange habits, but then a lot of those Victorians were extremely odd. Keep focusing on the solid clergymen in our family, Toby. None of them kept pet cobras which obeyed their every whim like he did. Much more healthy to have a labrador! Don’t let him become an obsession.’ She frowned. ‘Did you go to Carstairs Castle?’
‘Of course I did. You gave me the guidebook, remember!’ The guidebook which had spelt out the enigma of Lord Carstairs’ final disappearance.
They stared at each other. Toby felt a strange chill strike between his shoulder blades. The hairs on his arms were standing on end. ‘It happened there. He was waiting for someone to come along. A patsy. A descendant!’
‘No. No, Toby. That’s fantasy!’
‘Is it?’ He stared down at his cup without touching it. ‘I’ve painted a portrait of him. That’s how I know he didn’t have moustaches. I know exactly what he looked like. It’s the best thing I’ve ever painted.’ He glanced up at her with a grimace. ‘That’s when it happened. Oh God, what have I done?’
‘Toby. This is nonsense.’
‘No. It isn’t. It’s happened.’ He stood up. ‘Christ! It’s like being told I might have got cancer! There might be something hiding inside me. Lying in wait. Something I can’t control.’
‘Toby! Stop it!’ Frances was terrified.
‘What am I going to do?’
‘You’re going to pull yourself together. Look at all the problems you’ve come through before, Toby. You’re going to remember that you are a strong, determined fighter. Roger Carstairs is dead. He has to be. Any other idea is a complete nonsense. I doubt if he is even a ghost. Even if he had some kind of weird pseudo consciousness it would be no more than that of a wraith; nothing you couldn’t override. I doubt if he even has that. I don’t think he exists at all in any form.’ She was trying to convince herself. ‘I don’t think he’s anything more than a waking nightmare. Your nightmare.’ She stood up, agitated. ‘For goodness’ sake, Toby. Don’t lose this chance. Anna trusts you – ’
‘Not any more she doesn’t.’ The interruption was very bitter.
‘She will, Toby. She knows you. She knows you are strong. Look how you took care of her in Egypt. When she was so ill at the end you brought her home. You looked after her. You brought her here.’
‘I did, didn’t I?’ He sighed. ‘If only I could guess where she was. Where she would have gone.’
And suddenly he knew.
She would have gone back to her Aunt Phyllis in Suffolk. Of course. It was so obvious. It was Phyllis who had given her the bottle when she was a child, Phyllis who had given her the diary, Phyllis who had suggested she go to Egypt, and it was to Phyllis’s house that they had driven – both of them, together – to talk about the horrors and adventures of the trip they had just shared. Phyllis was her mentor and her home was Anna’s natural sanctuary. The first place she would head for.
9
Serena was once again sitting cross-legged in front of the small altar in her front room, deep in meditation. Reaching out into the darkness, questing back into Egypt, towards the scented misty distances, she was seeking answers; advice; help for her friends. She could see the still, deep waters of the Nile, she entered the temple, walking across the sand blown courtyard, she could smell the
