The House on the Cliff (17 page)

Nevertheless, I felt I should go back to my papers on the subject, because now I’d had a client, Gwydion Morgan, with an apparently bona fide recovered memory. My first, actually. Of course, I’d had clients come to me before with tales of abuse—some of them with the ring of truth, others quite obviously false. And I’d heard my fair share of stories from my clients, past and present, about traumatic episodes of horrific violence they’d witnessed, or experienced, as children. But I’d never come across an actual death before. Particularly one that had been remembered via a dream. It was a double whammy. And, I must admit, I couldn’t help feeling rather excited about it—if, indeed, the story turned out to be true.

As I went along, I tried to relate what I was reading to Gwydion and his recovered memory. And what I read seemed to support what he’d told me. At the age of six he’d have been able to remember what happened on the boat, and report it accurately afterward; it was also quite possible that he could have repressed the memory of a traumatic episode; and that it could, years later, have been triggered by a dream. What was more, in his case, the facts surrounding the revelation backed up his story.

I began to wonder whether I should go to the police, ask them to look into the matter again, perhaps check the postmortem record. But I decided to wait until I had more evidence; they were hardly going to be in a rush to help—all I had to go on so far was Gwydion’s account of the dream.

As I was on the last page of the paper, the phone rang. I listened as the answerphone came on. Then a voice came through. I recognized it immediately: it was Arianrhod Morgan.

“Dr. Mayhew? Are you there?” Pause. She was on a mobile. I could hear the sound of traffic in the street. “Please, could you pick up? I really need to talk to you. It’s an emergency.”

It didn’t sound like an emergency, so I didn’t pick up.

“I’m outside your office.” Long pause. “Can you come down and meet me, please. As soon as you can. I’ll wait out here.” Then the phone clicked off.

Damn, I thought. For a moment I felt a little panicky. I wondered if there were going to be any more startling revelations about the death of Elsa Lindberg, and, if there were, how I was going to deal with them. And, more trivially, I wondered whether Gwydion had told her of my misdemeanor, that silly kiss on the jetty. He and Arianrhod seemed very close—overly close, perhaps. If he had, it would be embarrassing all round.

And then I thought, come on, Jessica, tough it out. You may be on the trail of a murder here, and if you’ve got any decency you should stay on it until the whole truth emerges. And this business about the kiss is trivial. Gwydion’s not your client anymore. You’ve done nothing terribly wrong. Besides, there’s something much more important at stake: the death of a young girl, the necessity, for her grieving mother if no one else, of finding out exactly what happened to her all those years ago; and perhaps, if you’re lucky, helping to bring the culprit to justice.

I took my time about going downstairs to meet Arianrhod. As it happened, one of my clients had canceled that morning, so there was no rush. But I wanted to make a point. I wasn’t in the habit of being summoned out of my office to meet people on the street at a moment’s notice, and I didn’t like it. So before I left I finished the paper I was reading, jotted down a few notes, and made sure my desk was neat and tidy. I went over to the hat stand in the corner, put on my coat, and hung my bag over my shoulder. Then I stood in front of the mirror for a while, powdered my nose, and applied some lipstick. I wanted to look calm and self-possessed for this encounter. Unruffled. But to tell the truth, I was feeling ruffled—very ruffled—and as I walked down the stairs to the front door I could feel my heart thumping in my chest.

When I got to the front door I let myself out. Outside, Arianrhod was waiting for me, sitting on the low wall of the courtyard in front of the building. She got up as I approached, a tense smile on her face.

“Thank you,” she said. She reached forward and clutched my arm, rather dramatically. I noticed she looked pale, drawn. There were dark circles under her eyes.

I drew away as politely as I could. “I’m afraid I haven’t got long.” I glanced back at the building, hoping that no one would see us.

“That’s OK. It won’t take long. Shall we get a coffee somewhere?” Arianrhod peered vaguely at the buildings lining Cathedral Road. It’s one of the main thoroughfares of the city. Where I am, it’s mostly private consulting rooms, doctors, dentists, that kind of thing, until you get further down, nearer the center of town. I realized she hardly knew Cardiff, despite it being the capital of the principality she inhabited.

“No.” There were a few coffee bars we could have gone to in Pontcanna Street nearby, but Cardiff is a small place, and I was bound to bump into someone I knew. “I haven’t really got time. Let’s go for a quick walk down by the river, shall we? It’s not far.”

It was a bright autumn day, the trees turning to gold beneath a tender blue sky, but there was a sharp nip in the air. We turned into Llandaff Fields and walked down the side of the sports pavilion onto the high bank that runs alongside the river. There were few people to be seen there at that time of the morning, except for dog walkers and cyclists, none of whom took any notice of us.

Clearly, Arianrhod had something important to say. Otherwise there would have been a bit of small talk as we walked along. Instead, there was silence. I got the impression it was up to me to break it.

“So, how are things?” I tried to sound sympathetic, encouraging, but it was a bit of a struggle. I was still feeling resentful about being called out on this supposed emergency.

She sensed my impatience and immediately looked crushed. “I’m sorry to disturb you in the middle of your day. . . .”

“Never mind about that.” My resentment began to evaporate. “Just tell me. What’s the problem?”

“It’s Gwydion.” She put up her hand to brush a wisp of hair away from her face. I could see that her hand was shaking. I suddenly felt sorry for her and wished that I hadn’t been quite so brusque.

We passed a bench on the path. It’s one of my favorite spots, high up on the bank, a sheltered place, where you can sit and watch the river run; and, if you’re lucky, you’ll see herons, and cormorants, and kingfishers darting up and down on the water; and if you’re not, you can study the ducks and moorhens in the shallows, and the wind bending the willows, a busy other world of birds and fish and trees, right there in the heart of the city.

“Let’s sit down.” I indicated the bench and we went over. It was a good place to be. The metal seat of the bench was warm from the sun. I scanned the river for herons, but I could see none.

Arianrhod sighed. It was a deep, exhausted sigh. Then she began. “Well, Gwydion’s remembered more about the trip on the boat that day. He’s told me everything. He didn’t just hear what happened. He saw it all, too.” She paused, registering my surprise. “He says that, when he heard the shouting, he crept up on deck. He put his head out of the hatch for a moment, to see what was going on. Evan and Elsa didn’t notice him. They had their backs to him, and they were struggling with each other. Elsa was fighting, screaming, but he wouldn’t let go. So she kicked him, hard, in the balls. He was furious, so he came at her. She was sitting on the edge of the boat. She tried to hold on, but he pushed her over the side into the sea.”

Her voice trembled and she came to a halt. I looked down and saw that she was picking at her sleeve, anxiously rubbing and twisting the fabric between her fingers.

“Go on,” I said.

“Just before she fell in, she caught Gwydion’s eye and screamed at him for help. Evan looked round, but Gwydion ducked his head down into the hatch again and went straight back to his bunk. He lay down and waited there, his eyes tight shut, until Evan righted the boat and they sailed on.”

“And he didn’t tell you anything about it when he got home?”

“No. Not a word. But I noticed . . .” She paused. “He was never the same with Evan after that. They’d never been close, but from then on he seemed to be terrified of him.”

I was puzzled. I wondered why Gwydion hadn’t told me all this himself.

“So this has all come out in the last few days, has it? Since I saw you at Creigfa House?”

Arianrhod nodded. “It’s just been such a shock.” She shivered, hugging herself against the cold. “I can’t believe my own husband would . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence, but let it hang there, miserably, in midair.

“Of course, I’d never have covered up for him if I’d known,” she went on. ‘He told me that he’d taken her out there, and they’d been sailing along, and then she’d just decided, on an impulse, to dive into the water and swim home.”

There was a silence. Eventually I broke it, as tactfully as I could.

“Well, you knew that Evan had taken Elsa out on the boat to seduce her, didn’t you? That he’d probably provoked the situation?”

Arianrhod stared out at the river. “You must understand . . . if you live with that kind of thing, day after day, you learn to ignore it. You have to.”

She put her hand up to her face and covered her eyes. Her gesture reminded me of Gwydion.

“And you knew he was a drunk. And had a foul temper.” I tried to sound as gentle as I could, but facts are facts, and Arianrhod had done her best, for years apparently, to avoid them.

“Of course.” She lowered her head. “I was on the receiving end of it most of the time. That’s another thing you learn to put up with.” She paused. “But I didn’t think he was capable of . . .”

She stopped short of saying “murder,” but the silence between us spoke volumes.

“Even so, even before you knew, it was wrong to cover up for him, wasn’t it? You shouldn’t have lied to the police. To the girl’s mother.”

She began to sob quietly. I opened my bag, took out a tissue, and handed it over. I do it without thinking these days. Every other person I meet seems to burst into tears when they talk to me.

“I know.” Arianrhod’s voice was muffled by the tissue. “I feel terrible about it. But now . . . now it’s all going to come out.”

“Come out? How d’you mean?”

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Then she turned to face me. “Gwydion’s decided to go to the police. He wants to press charges. He’s going to tell them that Evan killed Elsa Lindberg.”

It took me a moment to register what she’d said. I knew Gwydion was angry with his father, but I was surprised that he’d decided to take it this far. Surprised, and . . . rather proud of him. Gwydion was facing his demons, at last. And he’d done it under his own steam, without any prompting from anyone, as far as I could see.

“Well, good for him,” I said.

Arianrhod didn’t seem to be listening. “It’ll completely ruin Evan, of course. When all this gets out. Ruin . . . us.” She paused.

I nodded slowly, taking in for the first time what it would mean to her if Gwydion decided to take Evan to court: quite simply, the total destruction of her family, of everything she’d spent her entire adult life protecting. Her husband and only son were about to go to war, in public, over a sordid crime that, whatever the outcome, would rake up a ton of muck and end up humiliating her almost as deeply as it would Evan. How much easier it would be for her, I thought, to kick over the traces, persuade Gwydion not to act.

“But still, it’s the right thing to do.” She seemed resigned to her fate. “And I must support my son.”

“That’s very brave of you.”

“The thing is, I’m not sure the police are going to believe him.” Arianrhod lifted her head and gazed out at the river. “It all happened so long ago. And he’s the only witness.”

I followed her gaze.

“He was only six years old at the time,” she went on. “Then there’s the fact that he’d forgotten it all for so long. And only remembered it now.

“Of course . . .” She hesitated for a moment. “It would help if you could . . .” She stopped.

“Could what?” I turned to her, puzzled.

She took a deep breath. Then her words came out in a rush. “Dr. Mayhew, I’ve come to ask if you could act as a witness when it comes to trial. An expert witness.”

I was taken aback. “Me? But . . .”

“We’ll need you to explain how he came to remember what happened. Through the dream. Under therapy. How you led him to discover . . .”

“I didn’t lead him, he did it for himself.” I thought back. “We had very few sessions together, in fact.”

“Yes. But you’ve helped him so much. Been so kind to us. Coming down to visit when he was so . . . unwell.”

I was touched at how grateful she seemed. I realized how isolated she must have felt, trying to cope with her errant husband and fragile son.

“Well, I’ll do what I can, of course.” I paused. “I’m happy to report on our sessions, if that’s what you want.” I shifted uncomfortably. The metal seat on the bench was beginning to feel hard and cold. “But I’m not sure it’ll be a great help. There really isn’t a lot to tell.”

“Thank you.” Arianrhod smiled at me in relief. “I don’t know whether it’ll carry any weight, either. It’s going to be tough. But it’s good to know someone’s on our side.”

I smiled back somewhat guardedly. Then I looked at my watch. “I’m going to have to get back to the office now, I’m afraid.”

“Of course. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“Not at all.”

We got up to leave.

“But next time, Arianrhod,” I said, as we walked off back down the path. “Do me a favor. Ring up and make an appointment in advance, would you?”

“This doesn’t ring true to me, Jess.”

Bob and I were talking over dinner. The children had got up and gone off to watch television, leaving us at the dining table.

I hadn’t told him everything about my conversation with Arianrhod. And I’d given him an edited version of the events leading up to it. I hadn’t told him about my visits to the Morgan place, or—obviously—what had happened on the beach with Gwydion last time I was there. And I hadn’t told him about my meeting with Solveig Lindberg in Stockholm either, though I had a feeling that, sooner or later, I was going to have to. I’d just outlined the bare bones of the story, told him that an ex-client of mine, Gwydion Morgan, was planning to take his father, Evan, to court for a suspected murder that he’d seen him commit as a child, and that he’d begun to remember under therapy with me. I’d also explained that Arianrhod, Gwydion’s mother, had visited me that morning and asked me to be an expert witness in the trial when it came to court, and that I wasn’t sure what to do.