Isabella's Heiress (5 page)

With a final glass of Malibu, Emma brushed herself down, put on a set of wedges and grabbed her purse. As she left her room, she heard the click of Lisa's radio as it was turned off. She knocked on her bedroom door and waited for a response.

Lisa opened it and Emma was pleasantly surprised to see that she had made a passable effort and was quite presentable.

“You ready?”

Her question was met with an eager nod and Emma grimaced inwardly at Lisa's wide-eyed innocence.

Lisa followed her sister down the stairs and out to the car but not before she felt the warmth of her mum's arms as she was subjected to an involuntary hug.

“Have a good night tonight, dear.”

The words were accompanied by a twenty pound note that was thrust into her right hand.

“Thanks mum.”

Lisa returned the hug and gave her mum one last smile before heading out to the waiting car and an impatient Emma.

Emma woke with a start. As sleep gave way to reality, all the events of the previous day came flooding back. She sank into the bed, not wanting to face the world and would have stayed there all day had it not been for the knock on the door.

Emma tried to ignore it but the knock came again. She forced herself up and walked towards the door, willing it to open.

A man stood at the threshold, the shadow of the torch flame flickering off his smooth head.

“Miss Elliott?”

“Yes.”

“Father Eamon asked me to check if you were awake. He said to say that he would be downstairs if you would care to join him.”

“Father Eamon?” Emma looked quizzically at the man but he had already turned away and was walking back down the corridor.

As she stepped back in the room, the door closed behind her.

Emma opened the wardrobe to find everything that had been in her closet at her flat. She picked out a pair of jeans and a pullover.

Fully awake now, Emma left her room. When she reached the stairs Emma hesitated, remembering the previous day's events. She gripped the handrail, her hands white at the knuckles.

“Just got here, dear?” The voice came from nowhere, making her jump.

Emma turned to see a woman standing behind her. She was short, with white hair, and wore a floral-patterned dress. Her eyes were a soft grey; wrinkles ran from them to her hairline.

“Don't worry, you'll get used to it.”

“Used to what?”

“Getting up every morning and facing your trial.”

Emma froze. “What trial? “

The woman gasped. “Oh dear, I've spoken out of turn.”

“No please, I need to know”

“I've said too much already.” The woman hurried past her and down the stairs, avoiding Emma's gaze.

Emma chased after her, clearing the stairs two at a time. She passed through the door at the bottom and was just about to call to the woman when she saw Eamon, sitting on a bench over on the other side of the room. The woman also saw him and broke into a half-run. Eamon stood as she approached. People around stopped what they were doing and watched as the woman rushed over.

“Father Eamon, forgive me, I have made a terrible mistake.” Her voice trembled. “I…I told someone about the trials. I said too much. I have broken the rule!” She was shaking and seemed on the verge of collapse.

Emma saw Eamon take the woman's hands in his.

“Edith, I'm sure you haven't broken any rules. If you had, we would have known by now, wouldn't we?”

“I suppose so.” The woman's breathing slowed a little, her voice becoming more composed.

“Why don't you sit down? Father McAvoy will be along soon.”

Eamon motioned for Emma to come over “How did you sleep, Emma?”

“Okay” she replied hesitantly. She looked at the man standing in front of her, not sure what to make of him after what she had just seen. “Father Eamon? You're a priest?”

“I am.”

“Why didn't you tell me that yesterday?”

“Would it have been relevant?”

Emma looked down at her feet before answering, “Probably not.”

“To answer your question fully, I was a priest when I was alive and that role has continued into this world. I was selected as your guide because your family were the same denomination as I.”

Emma had never been particularly religious and what she saw around her didn't look like anything she could remember from Sunday school. “So, is this heaven?”

“Heaven? No. As I said yesterday, this is a halfway house. One you have reached because of your untimely death. For you to ascend, you will need to spend some time here.”

Emma felt a sense of anti-climax as she listened to Father Eamon's words. All those hours at Sunday school and at worship and she finds herself here?

Father Eamon motioned to her to sit down and Emma lowered herself onto the nearest bench where he sat next to her.

“What did she mean trials?”

He breathed out. “Do you remember what I said yesterday about you not completing your lifespan?”

Emma's recollection of the previous day was a blur of images, none of them particularly pleasant. “Vaguely,” she muttered, avoiding his eyes.

“Well, it's time you and I talked about what has happened to you and what is to come.”

Emma waited for him to continue.

“I understand that yesterday's events have come as a shock to you, but you must get past this if you are going to cope with what is ahead.” Father Eamon paused, waiting to see if she would respond. When she did not, he continued: “You asked about the trial. Trial is probably the wrong word. It is a task, which is set for you. This task allows you to deal with any unresolved issues you may have had in life.”

Emma had been content to let Father Eamon carry on, lost in her thoughts about the events of the day before but now a thought crept in to her head. “What happens if I fail?”

“You need not worry yourself. The trial has not yet been set. This is a new world and it will take time to adjust.”

“I don't understand. What am I expected to do?”

“This is a world where the rules you are used to do not apply. Both in here, and out there.” Father Eamon nodded towards the door through which Emma had entered the previous evening. She tried not to think about what lay beyond it. “You will need to learn how it works as well as what you are capable of. That is something I will teach you.”

“Teach me what? What do you mean what I am capable of?”

Father Eamon's measured tones were starting to grate.

“All will become clear in time. This is not something to be rushed. There are things in the plane that are not to be taken lightly.”

As Emma struggled to interpret his words, she kept coming back to the same thing, something that had been
troubling her since she had overheard Father Eamon's conversation the previous night.

“Those things yesterday. Those…those…”

“Gentle Men.”

“Yes…them. They knew my name. How? What did they want with me?”

“I don't know. Their behaviour yesterday was highly unusual. I wish I could tell you why they came after you in the way they did but I have no idea. I can assure you, though, that it is something that will not go unchallenged.”

“Who's going to challenge it?”

“Powers far greater than you or I, Emma. I would ask that you not concern yourself with such matters.”

She considered pressing him further and bringing up the snatches of conversation she had overheard, but Emma did not want to have to admit to eaves dropping. She decided to change the tack of the conversation.

“Who was that woman earlier?”

“Edith? She is here as you are.”

“What happened to her?”

“That is not something to concern yourself with. Everybody here has a story. The only one that should be of interest to you is yours and how it ends.”

“How will it end?”

“That is up to you. Over time you will learn to cope with life here. You will learn to move between planes on your own, manipulate the living to do your will…”

“I'm sorry?” Emma's eyebrows arched at Father Eamon's words.

Father Eamon smiled. “You heard correctly. These things seem strange and outlandish now but I can assure you that it won't stay that way for long.”

“Why was that woman panicking? What did she mean,
she might have broken the rule?”

“Ah, yes, the Rule.” Father Eamon's voice became more serious and he straightened up. “At some point, as I said, you will be given a trial to prove your worth. You must never disclose that trial to anyone. If you do, you will fail. I cannot stress the importance of this enough.”

“What's so bad about failing? I still don't understand what is going on? Why am I here?”

“I was wondering when you would ask that. Your actions here will dictate whether you ascend or become a permanent resident in this realm. Make no mistake, Emma, what you do here will dictate your eternal path.”

Emma's eyes widened at Father Eamon's words and she stood up as her pulse started to quicken. An eternity in this place was not something Emma wanted to face.

“Calm yourself, Emma. I said this was not certain. It is just one possibility. It is no different now than when you were alive.”

Father Eamon's attempt to placate Emma were doing nothing for her fraying sanity and she started to run her hands nervously through her hair, “Except that, when I was alive, I didn't believe in all that rubbish! And I don't believe in it now!”

“Well, now would be a good time to start. Please, sit down.”

“No. I'm leaving. Why me? What did I do to deserve this?”

Father Eamon's eyes locked onto Emma's “I think you know.”

His voice stopped her in her tracks.

“In most cases when people die prematurely, a decision can be made on the spot. They can move on with ease. But for some their conscience weighs on them and
they cannot break the connection with their previous life. Hence the existence of the sanctuary.”

Emma sat down, utterly desolate.

“Many people have passed through here successfully,” Father Eamon continued “Many have ascended and found peace. There is no reason that you cannot be one of them.”

“This is because of Lisa, isn't it?” Emma's voice was miserable, an old pain returning to stab her in the chest, guilt rising up to remind her of her past.

“Yes, this is because of Lisa.”

She slumped down gulping back tears, a cloak of pity and self-loathing descending on her. A terrible wrenching tore at her stomach “Oh, please God, tell me she didn't have to come here.”

“No, she ascended immediately. She was just a child.”

For a second, relief swept over her. Then the shame returned.

A smile crossed Father Eamon's face “Remember, you will not tread this path alone.”

“I know: you're there to guide me. You'll forgive me if I don't find that too comforting.”

“Well, perhaps you will be comforted by a familiar voice.”

Father Eamon looked over Emma's shoulder, who turned as a woman's voice piped up behind her.

“Hi, Em.”

The voice was small and uncertain, but Emma recognised it instantly, a chill running down her back. She dared not turn around, terrified that what she saw would pull down the walls of her fragile world but slowly she twisted round, looking up at the woman standing behind her.

She was beautiful, her blonde hair hanging loosely off her shoulders, framing a face that, in a previous lifetime, had gained her an army of male admirers. She hadn't changed much in six years. Looking at her now, Emma understood that everything Father Eamon had told her was true. There could be no denying it as the woman now standing before her had been dead for eighteen months.

Emma got up and staggered back, tripping as her foot caught under the bench she had been sitting on. An arm came out and grabbed her. It came from the woman standing in front of her. She steadied herself and tried to marshal her thoughts.

“T-Taryn?” She was lost for words, stunned. The last time Emma had uttered Taryn's name had been a year and a half earlier at a graveside in South London.

An uneasy silence settled on the two women. Emma didn't know what to say or do next. Any lingering doubts she might have had about Father Eamon and the sanctuary had been swept away. For her part Taryn wasn't saying anything, choosing instead to keep a nervous distance between the two of them

Thoughts of her childhood and teenage years flashed in and out of Emma's mind, a patchwork whose only link was that each memory contained the woman now sitting two rows away from her.

They were kneeling in the shadow of an apple tree on a glorious, hot summer's day, dolls clothes strewn around them as the aroma of freshly cut grass hung in the air. Now she was at school, third-year seniors. She was in a dip at the bottom of the playing field, kissing a sandy-haired boy two years above her; the name escaped her after all these years, but she remembered the dizziness and the short sharp intakes of breathe. Looking over his shoulder, she saw Taryn kissing another boy, the sandy-haired boy's
friend? Her hands were all over him, Taryn being far more experienced and braver at this than she ever was. Then it was another hot and sunny day but in another country. The trees and hills wore vibrant colours and olive groves delivered up a sweet scent which filled their noses. They were in Umbria: a school trip in the fifth form. On their laps were books on Brunelleschi and the Medici's but their attention was taken by a group of boys sitting on scooters just down the road. They stole glances and looked at each other giggling when they were returned. One of the boys called over, “Ciao bella, andiamo!” They giggled some more before Emma called back “No, grazie.” and they headed back to their school party.

As this image left, another one fought its way in, one she had done her utmost to banish. It was dark, raining; she was sitting in a car, soaking wet; the rain was dripping from her hair, and there was screaming.

Emma pushed the memory down and brought herself back to the present.

“How long have you been here?” She didn't move, preferring instead to keep a distance between herself and her one-time friend.

“Since it happened.”

Emma shuddered. She remembered getting the call at her office. Her mum telling her there had been a tragic accident and that Taryn was dead. Officially, Taryn had fallen down the stairs at home. The coroner had concluded that she was drunk and lost her footing, plunging headlong to the bottom, before breaking her neck and dying instantly when she landed. It had seemed a particularly ignominious end but Emma had not spoken to Taryn in years after drifting apart and it wasn't until she was standing at the graveside that the full impact hit her and she dissolved into tears. She had felt pangs of guilt ever since but
lately these had gone, replaced by a kind of fleeting regret. Now, confronted with her long-lost friend, she struggled to remember all the things she'd regretted not saying to Taryn before she died but nothing seemed appropriate. What do you say on meeting your dead ex-friend?