Hiding From the Light. Barbara Erskine
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Название: Hiding From the Light
Автор: Barbara Erskine
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Ужасы и Мистика
isbn: 9780007320974
isbn:
‘Probably.’ She stared after him as he went to lean on the parapet. ‘I had to do it, Piers. Don’t go on asking me why. I don’t understand myself. I know it doesn’t make sense. I know I’m mad. It’s just –’ She paused. ‘I knew the house. It was as though I knew every inch inside and out.’
‘And you decide to buy every house you’ve ever visited?’
‘No, of course not!’
‘Then why this one?’
Emma shook her head ‘Because it was home. It was as though I had been there before. Not just in my childhood. I only ever saw the outside then, from the road. I knew every tree, Piers. Every beam in the walls. I can’t explain it.’ She was trying not to cry. Leaning back in the chair, she stared up at the sky. The silence lengthened.
‘I’m going to bed, Em.’
She hadn’t realised that Piers had moved away from the wall. He was standing in front of her, looking down at her face. His own was deep in shadow, hiding his anger. ‘Where would you get the money from, Em? Have you thought about that?’
‘The money is not the problem, Piers. I have my father’s trust fund and I will use my own investments. I can afford it. I’m not asking you to contribute.’
‘I’m glad to hear it!’ He took a deep breath. Several seconds of silence stretched out between them. ‘Don’t forget that your ma and Dan are coming to lunch tomorrow. Perhaps they can talk some sense into that silly little head, eh?’ He stooped and kissed her hair. ‘See you in the morning.’
She didn’t move. Blinking back tears, she stared up at the sky again. For all the affectionate words she had heard the steely undertone. There would be no compromise over this one. Why had she ever hoped there would?
Sniffing miserably, she staggered to her feet and reached for the wine bottle. The wooden boarding under her bare feet was still warm. She could smell the luminous white flowers of the jasmine growing in the tub near the French doors. A dark shape flitted out of the shadows near her and she heard a loud purr. One of the cats had woken up. Bending, she picked him up and lifted him up onto her shoulder. Her eyes had filled with tears again. Wine glass in hand, she climbed into the swing seat and lay back. In seconds Max was joined on her knees by his sister, Min, cuddled up into the crook of Emma’s arm. In ten minutes, Emma was asleep.
As she began to dream first one cat, then the other, slid out of her arms and fled through the scented shadows, in through the French doors and out of sight.
If the old lady’s hiding place were discovered, she would die. There would be no escape. She pushed herself further back against the old brick wall and held her breath, aware of her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
‘We know you’re there, Liza.’ The voices were closer now. Women’s voices. Soft. Insinuating. ‘Come out and talk to us. You know it is what you have to do. It is the will of Christ.’
She put her hands over her ears and pressed hard, fighting to escape their words. If she didn’t make a sound. If she stopped breathing. If her heart ceased its infernal din, she would be safe. They would never find her here. Never.
‘Liza!’ They were closer now. At the gate. ‘Liza, why make it harder for yourself? Surrender to us, make your confession before Almighty God. He will be merciful. Come, Liza. We know you’re here!’ The voices were growing louder, echoing in her head, coming from every side now.
Liza!
Liza!
Liza!
Almighty God will be merciful, Liza …
All you have to do is repent Liza …
She could feel the sweat, ice cold between her shoulder blades and under her breasts. Her stiff, swollen hands were clenched into tight, white-knuckled balls, her nails cutting deep into her palms.
Come out, Liza!
They were laughing.
Pray, Liza …
It’s your turn, Liza …
With a start Emma sat up, feeling the perspiration cold on her body. She was shaking with fear. It took several seconds before she realised she was still outside on the roof terrace. She staggered to her feet and went to lean on the parapet, staring down towards the patch of darkness which was the garden square, trying to steady herself, aware of the noise of her heartbeat thundering in her ears. It was only a nightmare, for God’s sake, sparked off by her row with Piers. Stupid bad dream!
She glanced down at her hands gripping the rail they had added on top of the wall when they moved into the flat. They were shaking. She could actually see them trembling as her fingers clung to the cold metal. With a frown she forced herself to let go and turned towards the French doors.
She stood for a long time under the shower, her face upturned to the sharp drumming of the water, letting it drive out the fear. Then she wrapped herself in a huge towel and went into the kitchen.
‘Emma?’ Piers found her there an hour later. He turned on the light. ‘Come to bed, sweetheart. We’ll discuss the cottage in the morning.’
‘There’s nothing to discuss.’ She rubbed her face wearily. ‘It’s done. The offer is made.’
‘And can be withdrawn. You haven’t signed anything.’
‘No, but –’
‘We’ll talk about it in the morning, Em. Come on.’ He reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Maybe we can compromise. A cottage might be fun. One day. We could drive around a bit. Get some ideas.’
She sensed a softening of his attitude and glanced at him quickly. ‘Do you mean that? You’ll think about it?’
‘I’ll think about it.’ Turning off the light, he led her towards the bedroom.
Peggy and Dan were late for lunch. When they followed Emma out onto the roof, Piers was ensconced on the swing seat with a pile of newspapers, the wine already opened, and a half-empty glass beside him on the table.
‘Sorry, darling, we couldn’t find anywhere to park.’ Peggy kissed Emma on the cheek and threw herself down on one of the cushioned chairs. Dan picked up the bottle, checked the ice-cold, clouded glass to see how much was left and began to pour. He was a stout, fresh-faced man with white short-cropped hair and vivid blue eyes. Having retired at fifty from the City, he had spent the last ten years in a new career as a wine importer, specialising in small, select vineyards known only to a very exclusive group of connoisseurs.
‘Not bad stuff.’ He topped up Piers’s glass after he had done the others. ‘Good year.’
‘I thought so.’ Piers folded his paper and put it aside. ‘So, how are you both?’
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