Nemesis (29 page)

46

The man who had pretended to be Bryn regarded her stonily. “This isn’t the place for that conversation,” he said.

At least he hadn’t denied it.

“You’re looking pretty good for a dead guy,
Geraint.
”

His expression didn’t change. “Funny.”

“Tell me about the skeleton Alicia found down the well, seeing as it’s obviously not you
- ”

“It’s Bryn. He went into the castle with Sarah and I never saw him again.
Mrawd anwylyd
- he was like a brother to me and those fucking bastards killed him.”

Geraint … Had she honestly believed any different? The night she’d seen him standing in the shadows of the old chapel, watching the castle and smoking his cigarette, she’d known exactly who he was. It was why she had run.

She should run now, but she had to know, “Did you kill Sarah?”

“If I had, would I be going to so much trouble to help you find out who did? Would I even be standing here?”

He’d picked the wrong moment to be flippant. “Can you prove it?”

“Prove what?”

“Prove that you didn’t kill Sarah?”

“I thought you trusted me?”

Something inside snapped. “Don’t get cute with me. Of course I don’t bloody trust you.”

He flinched.

But he might have been putting that on too.

Sunlight streamed through the cathedral-like windows of the great hall, warming the back of her neck
There
was a dark mustiness emanating from the entrance corridor behind him and the sour scent of alcohol still lingered.

“If you want to stay here and fight,” he said carefully, “if you want to rouse the entire castle - then fine, let’s do it. But if you want to find out the truth I suggest you get a bloody move on - because whatever did happen to your sister has a lot to do with this castle and the people who live here.”

Damn, he was clever. Keep casting
doubt,
make her search elsewhere for culpability. But what if she was tired of searching?

I want it to be over, she realised bitterly. I don’t care who did it, I just want to know why, so Sarah can be at peace - so
I
can be at peace.

He took hold of her shoulders, dipping his head so that she had no choice but do look directly into those yellow-green eyes. “Am I making myself clear, Natalie? We need to get out of here - and it needs to happen
now
!”

She pushed him away. “Carry on,” she said tightly. “No need to wait for me.”

But he remained exactly where he was, frowning slightly, apparently reluctant to leave her.

Again her concentration wandered. The hall was so still and quiet. Clare Vyne employed dozens of staff to ensure everything ran smoothly. Where was everyone?

Something wasn’t right.

“Natalie?” His voice had softened. “Why won’t you come with me?”

Her attention snapped back. “You lied to me. You’ve lied practically every moment we’ve been together.”

“It was for a good reason. Remember when we met? What if I’d told you the truth? What would you have done?”

“Called the police,” she admitted.

“You see?”

She could tell he was about to reach out for her again so she stepped out of reach. “You’ve found Bryn. You’ve found out everything you wanted to know. Why are you still here? Go; leave now, before the police work out who you really are.”

Although, with hindsight, she thought maybe they already had.

“I’m not leaving without you,” he said.

“Now you’re being stupid.”

The hint of a smile.
“Probably.”

Pain had begun to throb behind her eyes. It was the beginning of a headache.

I just want to go home.

A frantic, high-pitched beeping caused them both to start.

“Have we set off the alarm?”

“No.” She knew that sound. She’d heard it before. “It’s a pager.”

Or to be more accurate, it was Kenzie’s pager - coming from somewhere above their heads.

“Christ!” Geraint wrapped his arm around her shoulder and attempted to drag her off down the corridor towards the main door, but she held back.

“Wait!”

By his exasperated expression he clearly thought she was bonkers, but now it was too late to argue. As they flattened themselves against the wall of the corridor, they heard footsteps echo throughout the hall. Slow, measured - it took a while to calculate which direction they originated from. They grew louder, more defined - and Kenzie himself came into view, moving unhurriedly through centre of the hall, towards the library, balancing a small tray on his arm. Without bothering to knock, he went straight inside. Natalie did not allow herself to relax until the heavy door had crashed shut behind him.

Beside her, Geraint was wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, leaving a distinct streak of clean skin. “
Christ, that
was close. Too close. Can we go now? Please?”

But when he turned in the direction of the main entrance, she grabbed his sweater and hauled him back.

“
Now
what’s the matter? I thought the exit was this way?”

She rolled her eyes. “So are the new security cameras.”

He winced. “I think I’d better follow you!”

She led him back though the great hall, taking care to keep close to the wall, so anyone remaining on the landing above would not see them. There were many passages and rooms leading from the hall but the last door on the right, just before the steps down to the kitchens, opened into the breakfast room. It was a small, square, quite informal room, hung with faded red silk, leading onto a terrace planted with pink roses. The table in the centre was not laid for any meal but was highly polished, with a large arrangement of the same blowsy pink roses that grew outside. The chairs were placed against the wall and the sideboard, where food was usually left for the family to help themselves, was also bare. Only the faintest aroma of bacon indicated that the room had been recently used.

Natalie stepped through the door and onto the terrace. A solitary patrol car remained on the drive, so presumably the police were somewhere in the grounds. Unwilling to risk another encounter with the sarcasm of DCI Bloom, she quickly crossed the drive and headed between the rhododendrons opposite, where there was a path of sorts, very overgrown, which emerged on the edge of a small orchard. The grass was long and yellow, and no one had bothered to pick the fruit from the old gnarled trees. They had rotted where they had fallen.

Geraint blundered out of the bushes behind her, cursing as usual, but she was already following the slight indentation that was the path, towards a hawthorn hedge bright with crimson berries, to where there was a small gate. She pushed it open.

And found
herself
staring at the tiny casement windows, the spindly chimneys and woolly thatched roof of the Lodge. The lawn had been neatly cut and the rusting wheelbarrow had gone, but curiously the old washing line was still there, although someone had given it a fresh coat of black paint.

Geraint walked down the path in front of her and stood outside the kitchen door, thrusting a hand into each of his pockets in turn, searching for his key. “Christ, I would kill for a cold beer,” he was saying, and then he saw her expression. “Is this the first time you’ve been back here?”

She shook her head, unable to formulate the words. Sarah had died and life had gone on. She’d left for university and, by the time she’d returned, Magda had divorced John and married Richard Vyne. Magda had not even bothered to tell her. Natalie had returned to an empty, dusty house. Her keys still fitted, her room was exactly as she had left it, but her mother had gone.
If it hadn’t been for Simon taking her in …

The kitchen door creaked open.

“Would you like to come in and see what’s been done to the old place?” asked Geraint.

The wind came from nowhere. It shook the oak trees above their heads, scattering the leaves like confetti and sending them scuttling along the path. The door was wrenched from Geraint’s hand and crashed back against the wall, knocking out a substantial lump of plaster - which was when she saw it.

The same table.
The same
bloody
kitchen table.

“I’ve got to go,” she said, attempting her best impression of normal. “I’m tired, I’ve had enough. I’m going
- ”

Where?
Home?
She almost laughed out loud. She had no real home - because she had no family. Now Simon had left her, there was no one to care about her except Alicia, leaving only the empty life she’d attempted to block out with her obsession in finding Sarah’s killer.

“Natalie?”

Geraint was doing ‘concerned’ again. She couldn’t bear it. It was harder to dislike him when he was being nice.

“Goodbye,” she said. Somehow she found the energy to follow the path around the side of the Lodge to the front, as the back door slammed shut behind her.

He’d gone, like everyone else. She was on her own again. So why did she still feel she was being watched?
Was
there something evil about the Lodge? Was it really haunted? Had all the unhappiness it had seen over the years, imprinted itself upon the bricks and mortar?

Why
couldn’t Clare Vyne have let the damned place fall down?

Oh hell … As she rounded the corner the first thing she saw was the gate onto the castle drive. The latch was closed. There’d be no kicking it open it with her foot this time. She’d have to physically touch it. Even though it had been recently repainted, even though it probably wasn’t the original gate at all, she could still see
that
gate inside her head as it had been that night.

Why didn’t I call out to her? One word from me and she would stayed home. She would have lived. Sarah died and it was
all my
fault. It’s always been my fault.

Something brushed against her shoulder and she almost screamed.

“Natalie? Are you all right?” It was Geraint. When she didn’t respond he added, “Please come inside. Have a coffee, or a bacon sandwich; you’ll feel better, I promise.”

She shook her head, huddling into her jacket. The sun was shining, so why was she so cold?

“OK … Why don’t I give you a lift home? My truck’s right here.” He was speaking deliberately slowly, trying to calm her, obviously thinking she was about to go into some kind of a meltdown.

He wouldn’t be far wrong.

“I have to see Alicia,” she said. “I have to tell her about the tunnel.”

“Don’t you think she already knows?”

Geraint was clearly baffled. He thought Alicia’s family had killed his cousin. It was understandable. Bryn had been found at the bottom of the castle well and Sarah had been found in one of the castle ponds. But what if someone wanted it to appear that way? What if someone knew Sir Henry’s dirty little secret, and wanted to set him up.

It ain’t about you and Sarah, it never was.

“What if the best way to hide a dead body is to leave it in plain sight?” she said.

Geraint smiled sadly. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me,
cariad
.”

Another gust of wind shook the surrounding trees, disgorging a shower of leaves, whipping them into a whirlwind and sending them dancing down the castle drive.

“Please, Natalie,” he said. “Let me take you home. I’m worried about you.”

Natalie found her attention drawn towards the leaves. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost see a girl being whirled around by the man she loved.
A tall man, with dark hair.

“I think you’re in shock.”

Why couldn’t she see his face?

“You’ve just lost your father
- ”

Perhaps she didn’t need to.

“ -
you’ve probably stirred up all kinds of traumatic memories - ”

“How long was Bryn’s hair?” she asked him.

“What?”

“The night Bryn died? How long was his hair? I’m assuming he was dark, like you?”

Geraint seemed to be struggling to keep up. “Some people thought we were alike, yes. His
dad
and mine were brothers, but my mother was part Spanish, so
- ”

“What did he look like?” She could hardly contain her impatience. Did Geraint not realise how important this was? “What was he wearing the night he died?”

“Jeans, black t-shirt, khaki military-style jacket - the same clothes they found him in, although mostly they’d rotted away.
Something to do with natural fibres.
If he’d been wearing polyester
- ”

“Describe him for me.”

“Six foot one or two, the same as me.
Brown hair, hazel eyes, he had pale, freckly skin - that was the only significant difference between us
- ”