Her prayer wove across the distances, drifting, seeking answer.
She was there. She could see. She could hear, but there was no answer. The bottle was not hers to take back. It had gone and she did not know where it was.
Pressing her palms together she lowered her head in acknowledgment of the goddess, crossed her arms across her breast, hands on shoulders in the time-old Egyptian pose, and opened her eyes. The room had grown dark while she was praying. Standing up with a groan at the stiffness in her knees she blew out the candles, extinguished her incense and went to switch on the light.
Outside the street was dark. It was still pouring with rain. Serena shivered and, drawing the curtains, bent to switch on the electric fire. The central heating had gone off for the night while she had been praying and now the house was chilly. Glancing at her watch she wondered if it was too late to ring Anna – to see if she had come home yet.
The phone rang on and on in Anna’s empty house in Notting Hill. Glancing at the notepad beside her on the kitchen worktop Serena saw the second number she had jotted down. Toby’s number – or rather Toby’s mother’s. Toby, who had pushed past her, his face a mask of anger, his head filled with the thoughts of an angry, vicious stranger. Serena hesitated, shivering.
Frances Hayward was awake. Unable to sleep, she was huddled in the kitchen over a cup of cocoa and the newspaper when Serena rang. ‘I have no idea where he is. Where they are. Toby went off after her several hours ago; he thought she would have gone to see her great-aunt Phyllis. Do you know where she lives? I don’t drive so I couldn’t follow him and I don’t know Phyllis’s phone number or address. I think it’s Suffolk somewhere. I never thought to ask. He went off in such a hurry.’ Frances was glad to have someone to talk to. ‘I am so worried about them. This whole thing seems to have blown up into something so strange.’
‘Lord Carstairs seems to have been a terrifying man.’ At home in her kitchen Serena shook her head. ‘Just the idea of him is frightening enough. If he has indeed established some sort of link with Toby then we should be worried. We had enough problems with the Egyptian bottle without Carstairs sticking his oar in.’ Her voice was dry. ‘We needed Toby on our side.’
‘He is on your side. He loves Anna.’
‘I know.’ Serena’s wistful smile was betrayed in her voice. ‘But unfortunately Carstairs doesn’t. He has no reason to. And he is strong. I don’t know if Toby could fight him. That first time, it took him by surprise. It took us all by surprise. I don’t know how Toby would cope if Carstairs tried to speak through him again.’
‘So you do believe all this?’ Frances sighed. ‘I was so hoping it was Toby’s imagination.’
‘It’s not his imagination, Mrs Hayward. I’m afraid Lord Carstairs is all too real. In his way.’ Serena shook her head.
There was a short pause. ‘He said you told him how to drown Carstairs out,’ Frances said hopefully.
‘But will he do it?’ Serena shivered. She was thinking that it was Carstairs, not Toby, who had pushed her out of his way.
Frances was silent for a moment. When she spoke again her voice was full of doubt. ‘I’m sure he will do his best, Serena. He loves Anna. He really does. He would never knowingly do anything to put her in danger. He would do anything to protect her.’
‘If he can.’ Serena sighed. ‘If you hear from them, will you tell me? I’ll give you my mobile number. Please, call me anytime. I mean it.’
There was nothing more she could do. Turning out the lights she climbed up to her bedroom and laid the mobile on her bedside table. Downstairs the smell of incense from her ceremony began to dissipate. Soon it would be gone.
Frances walked slowly through her house deep in thought. If she could find out Phyllis’s address she could ask Serena to go there. Serena had sounded sensible and caring; she was knowledgeable and she had somehow managed to cut through Toby’s torment, teaching him her nursery rhyme mantra.
Out of the blue the name came back to her.
Lavenham.
That was it. And surely it wasn’t a big place? She reached for the phone.
Phyllis Shelley’s number was listed.
Serena wasn’t asleep. She answered the phone on the second ring; she was in the car and on the road within half an hour.
10
Leaving London just as the rush hour was starting, it had taken Toby three hours to drive to Lavenham. Pulling up his car in the darkness of Phyllis’s deserted street in the picture-book small town he sat for a moment, his head resting on his hands on the rim of the steering wheel. Faint light showed through the tightly closed curtains of Phyllis’s oak-beamed cottage. Now he was there he was wondering why he had come. Supposing Anna wasn’t there? What would he say to the old lady? And if she was there, what was he going to do then? What was Lord Carstairs going to do? He shuddered. Suddenly he felt very sick.
A twitching curtain indicated Phyllis Shelley had heard the car draw up outside. With a deep sigh he reached down to release his seat belt and climbed out.
She showed him into her sitting room where an apple log fire smouldered reassuringly in the hearth, supervised by a large sleepy cat. It was apparent at once that Anna was not there. A quick phone call established she was not at home either – or if she was, she was not answering her phone.
Phyllis, smartly dressed in a blue cardigan and matching skirt, her grey wiry hair neatly cropped, looked far less than her eighty-eight years. After one glance at Toby’s pale face and drawn expression, she wouldn’t let him explain the reason for his visit until he had consumed a glass of whisky, some tomato soup and a cheese sandwich in the chair beside the fire. Only then was he allowed to speak, but by then he was fairly certain her calm scrutiny had winkled out most of his innermost secrets without him having had to utter a word. She asked him nevertheless. ‘So, what has gone wrong, Toby?’ She had a quiet voice with a thread of steel in it. ‘You love each other. Can you not work things out between you?’
He gazed down at the glowing ashes. ‘Not in this case.’ He bit his lip ruefully. ‘It appears Lord Carstairs has come between us.’
She raised a haughty eyebrow. ‘And how, pray, has he managed to do that?’
He gave a wry smile. ‘Just how unfair do you think it is possible for fate to be? It appears that I am his great- great grandson!’
He looked up in time to see a twitch of humour for a fleeting second in her eyes. ‘That doesn’t sound like fate, Toby. That is The Fates. Did you never believe in them?’
He shook his head morosely. ‘You don’t even seem surprised!’
She smiled – openly this time. ‘I won’t spout the cliche about how when you reach my age you cease to be surprised about anything. It does however happen to be true. There is obviously some deeper destiny working its way out here.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘What does surprise me is that Anna should have let it come between you.’
‘I told you why. It’s not destiny, Phyllis. It’s Carstairs.’ He told her what had happened.
It was several minutes before she said any more. Seeing her so deep in thought he was content to sit back in his chair staring at the flames, somehow purged of his fear by having told her. His moment of peace was short- lived.
‘How strong are you, Toby?’
He shrugged. ‘It depends.’
‘Let’s imagine the worst. Suppose Lord Carstairs is an unquiet spirit of some sort. Maybe he is a common or garden ghost.’ She gave a small snort of derision. ‘Or maybe he sold his soul to the devil or maybe he is one of the undead.’ She paused thoughtfully with a sideways glance at her guest. ‘Supposing he is still determined to own the ampulla. Supposing he believes he can use it for some sinister purpose. Supposing the fact that you are his great- great grandson has somehow allowed him to make a connection with you so that he thinks he can use you in some
