Heathen/Nemesis

The Volvo shot across the junction doing sixty.

The Audi followed.

Donna could feel perspiration soaking into her blouse and droplets beading on her forehead. When she turned her head her hair was matted to the nape of her neck. She gripped the wheel, looking alternately into the rear-view mirror and ahead, searching for a turn-off where she might be able to lose the chasing Audi.

The road forked about two hundred yards in front of her and Donna leant forward in her seat, willing the car to greater speed.

The Audi slammed into her again, the jolt almost causing the Volvo to skid, but she regained control and drove on. Her mind was blank. She was functioning on instinct alone. Self-preservation kept her going.

There was the renewed sound of breaking glass as the cars clashed again.

The fork was coming up.

Which way to go? Right or left?

She pulled hard on the wheel and took the left fork.

The Audi followed, spinning slightly on the wet road, the back end swinging round as the driver revved too hard. The momentary lapse gave Donna time to edge away and she pressed so hard on the accelerator she feared she might shove her foot through the very floor of the car.

The road was beginning to rise slightly, an incline that led to a gentle crest. Donna didn’t slow up as she roared up the slope. She was doing seventy when she reached the top.

The Volvo left the ground for precious seconds, flying through the air before finally crashing back down to earth with a sickening jolt that jarred every bone in her body. She winced in pain as she felt a shock across her back at the impact.

The Audi came hurtling over the rise, too, one hubcap spinning away from it as it landed.

Donna grabbed the gear stick, simultaneously pressing hard on the brake.

The Volvo skidded for about fifty yards, its speed gradually slowing.

Donna jammed it into reverse. ‘Come on you bastard,’ she shouted and pressed down hard on the gas. The Volvo hurtled backwards and Donna gripped the wheel tightly, knowing that this particular ploy was going to stop the Audi or kill them both. She didn’t know which.

The impact was massive.

The speeding Audi and the Volvo slammed into each other with sufficient force to buckle the Audi’s grille and shatter both headlights. The Volvo fared little better but Donna closed her eyes tightly as the impact hurled her forward again and sent her crashing against the steering column with enough force to knock the breath from her. But she forced the Volvo into first, the engine screaming as she drove fifteen or twenty yards down the road. There was a loud crunching of gears as she forced it into reverse again, then sent the car hurtling again into the now stationary Audi, shunting it several yards further back. More glass covered the road; she heard it crunching beneath the tyres. There was steam coming from beneath the bonnet of the stricken Audi, water gushing out like blood from a wound. When the black vehicle tried to move away she heard a horrible clanking sound and saw the bumper come free.

The driver reversed and the whole thing came away, dragged for a few feet by the car.

Donna sent the Volvo crashing into the Audi again, then shifted up through the gears and drove off.

The Audi tried to follow but it could not muster its previous speed. Donna saw it in the rear-view mirror, convinced and elated that she’d done it crippling damage. She shouted defiantly for a second, tears forming in her eyes, tears of terror and relief. Her body was drenched with sweat; it was glistening on her legs and she felt moisture beneath her on the seat. Donna wasn’t sure whether it was perspiration or if she’d wet herself in the hectic chase. For now, all she could think about was getting away. Getting back to the hotel. Calling the police.

She looked again at the rear-view mirror and saw that the Audi was turning into a side road, allowing her to go.

Her breath coming in short gasps, she drove on.

Forty-Six

The bathwater lapped gently up around her neck as she slid deeper.

Donna pulled the flannel from the water, wrung it out and placed it over her face. Her breathing was slow and steady, the only accompaniment being the slow dripping of one of the taps. Steam from the water had clouded the mirrors in the bathroom; condensation had formed a dewy veil over the tiles. It had run down in rivulets here and there like tears.

Donna pulled the flannel from her face and put it on the side of the bath. She felt drained.

How she had ever managed to get back to the Shelbourne, she didn’t know. It was as if her legs had turned to ice. She could barely feel the pedals beneath her feet. She’d left the smashed car outside and staggered inside, drawing disapproving glances from the other guests. Once inside her room she’d called reception and told them to get the police. She ordered herself a brandy and downed it a little too fast.

She’d been sitting on the edge of the bed when they’d arrived, two large uniformed men. One of them looked at her as if she were mad as she recounted the story. Donna smiled at the recollection. Why shouldn’t he think her mad? The story sounded crazy enough. The entire scenario had been insane. Who would want to run her off the road the way the Audi had done?

No, he wasn’t trying to run her off the road; he was trying to kill her. Don’t fuck about. Face it. Whoever was driving the car had been trying to kill her, it was as simple as that. But why?

First the business with Mahoney, then the Audi. What was going on?

The police had apologized for the incident as if they were personally to blame, their apologies becoming even more profuse as they told her that, without a number plate (which she had been unable to remember) to trace, there was little chance of them finding the car, let alone the driver. Donna had nodded understandingly, anxious only then that they should go.

Alone in the room she had stripped naked and run herself a bath, trying to wash away the sweat and relax after her ordeal.

She considered what she had discovered, her mind racing like a Roladex.

She was convinced now that her husband had been working on a book about The Hell Fire Club and ...

And what?

That was it. The only other things she had were guesses and suppositions.

He might have discovered a modern-day equivalent of the Club.

It’s possible they killed him (even though the police in England were convinced his death was an accident).

Gordon Mahoney had gone, overnight, from being helpful to being downright rude. Why?

Someone had tried to kill her that very morning.

Why?

Someone had broken into her house, apparently searching for something. Why?

Questions. But no answers.

Donna closed her eyes again.

Her husband had been having an affair with Suzanne Regan.

That was about the only other thing she knew for sure. She wondered how the other woman was involved in this chain of events. Had she been to these places with Chris? Had he shared information with her he wouldn’t share with his own wife?

Donna clenched her fists beneath the water. The knowledge of his affair still ate away at her, and it was knowing that she could never speak to him about the affair that hurt most.

No, not hurt, angered her.

He had escaped her wrath when he died. Both of them had. They’d been wiped off the face of the earth