A Haunting Compulsion

Rachel laughed, returning the older woman’s hug enthusiastically, feeling her earlier misgivings melting slightly in the warmth of Liz’s greeting. ‘Actually, it is on time,’ she conceded humorously, glancing at her watch. ‘But so are you, so calm down. I’ve just walked off the platform.’

‘Have you? Have you really?’ Liz examined her face with a worried scrutiny, and then gave a little laugh. ‘Thank heavens for that! I can breathe freely again. Now, shall we get some assistance?’

Before Rachel could protest, Liz had summoned the very porter she had refused earlier, but fortunately he seemed not to notice. Picking up Rachel’s suitcase, and the leather travel bag containing the book and magazines she had brought for the journey, he led the way outside, and tucking her arm through Rachel’s, Liz urged them to follow him.

‘At least I had no difficulty in parking,’ she remarked, as they emerged into the damp misty air, and detecting a trace of irony in her voice, Rachel wondered why. Perhaps it had something to do with Robert’s not meeting her, she reflected, and hoped her visit was not a cause for contention between them.

‘Did you have a good journey?’ Liz asked, supervising the loading of Rachel’s belongings into the boot of the sleek grey Jaguar that was awaiting them in the station yard. ‘It’s such a filthy night. Not at all like the day before Christmas Eve! I wonder what’s happened to all our white Christmases.’

Rachel smiled, and made some suitable response, then coiled herself gratefully into the front seat of the car. It was good to feel warm again, and when Liz came to join her she said as much.

‘Yes, it is rather chilly,’ her hostess agreed with a grimace. ‘Never mind, we still have open fires at Clere Heights.’

‘I’m looking forward to that,’ Rachel admitted, settling more comfortably in her seat, and again sensed a certain tenseness as Liz started the engine.

‘So, how are you?’ As if to dispel any such suggestion, Liz changed the subject. ‘We were so sorry to hear about your father. It must have been a terrible shock.’

‘It was rather,’ Rachel agreed, with a sigh. ‘But it wasn’t so unexpected, you know. He’d had heart trouble for a number of years.’

‘Yes,’ Liz nodded. ‘I remember Jaime—that is—you spoke of it when you were here before.’

Rachel nodded, aware of how difficult it was going to be to avoid using Jaime’s name, and added: ‘It’s over now. It’s almost four months since Daddy died. And thank goodness, I have my work.’

‘Yes.’ Liz slowed to accommodate traffic lights, then went on: ‘You’re an assistant editor now, aren’t you? You must find that more exciting than secretarial work.’

‘Oh, I do.’ Rachel spoke with enthusiasm. ‘It means I can use my own initiative, instead of only portraying someone else’s. I find it very interesting.’

‘But not too hard, I hope.’ Liz gave her a swift glance. ‘You look—thinner. I hope they’re not working you too hard.’

Rachel smiled. ‘Thinner is hardly a flattering description,’ she commented teasingly. ‘You should say slimmer. Thinner implies skinny.’

Liz gave a reluctant laugh. ‘Well, you’re not that. But you’re not as—rounded as I remember.’

Rachel bent her head. That was true. But it wasn’t entirely due to her work, or to the shock of her father’s death. She had lost weight after the break-up with Jaime, and she had never really regained it.

‘That’s enough about me,’ she said now, refusing to become introspective. ‘How about you—and Robert? Are you both well?’

‘Rob and I?’ Liz spoke a little breathily. ‘Oh—why, yes. Yes, we’re fine, thank you, Rachel. Nothing seems to bother us. Except for the occasional cold, you know, and a twinge or two of rheumatics.’ She moved her shoulders dismissingly. ‘Old age, I suppose.’

‘You’re not old.’

Rachel was quick to dispute it, but Liz shook her head. ‘I’m fifty-seven this year, and Rob’s sixty,’ she declared flatly. ‘We’re not getting any younger.’

‘But that’s not old,’ Rachel argued affectionately. ‘Is Rob still working as hard as ever? Surely he doesn’t still go to the office every day?’

‘Not every day,’ Liz conceded, with a tight smile. ‘Since Robin joined the firm he’s taken a lot of work from his father’s shoulders, and I expect eventually he’ll take over.’

Robin was Jaime’s younger brother. At the time Rachel had known Jaime, he had been at university, and she had only met him once. He was married now, she knew, and in her last letter Liz had mentioned that they had become grandparents at last. Rachel guessed they wished Jaime had been like his brother, content with running the family steel business, but an ordered life had never appealed to him.

‘I suppose your granddaughter must be two months old now,’ Rachel commented, needing something to say now and not quite knowing what, and Liz nodded.

‘Lisa? Oh, yes.’ She smiled. ‘She’s quite adorable. Her grandfather and I see a lot of Robin and Nancy.’

Rachel acknowledged this, wondering how Jaime’s brother had reacted to the fact that she was to spend Christmas with his parents. Did that account for Liz’s occasionally taut countenance, the sudden air of enforced courtesy, so out of keeping with her normal uninhibited chatter? She was getting the distinct impression that all was not well at Clere Heights, and taking the bull by the horns she said:

‘Is something the matter, Liz? I want you to be honest with me.’ And as the older woman started to protest, she added: ‘I know you invited me here, and I am grateful, really, but if it’s causing any problems with the family—’

‘With the family?’ Liz interrupted her impatiently. ‘Rachel, what possible problem could your coming here create with the family?’

She shook her head vigorously, and taking the opportunity, Rachel plunged in again. ‘I’d just hate for you to feel that you’ve committed yourself, and you can’t change your mind,’ she said. ‘I mean, I can easily stay at a hotel—’

‘I wouldn’t hear of it.’ Liz sounded as if she meant it, and Rachel sighed.

‘But something’s wrong, isn’t it? It’s not Robert, is it? I must admit, I expected it would be he who came to meet me—’

‘Jaime’s home!’

Liz broke in on her attempted explanation, with flat deliberation, and Rachel felt all the blood drain out of her face.

‘What—what did you say?’ she echoed faintly, but she knew without Liz repeating it. She had said that Jaime was home, and the shock drove the strength from her body.

‘I’m sorry, darling, but it’s true.’ Liz was hastening on with her explanations now. ‘We didn’t know he was coming. How could we? It was totally unexpected. He only arrived the day before yesterday—’

‘You should have told me.’ Rachel only managed to articulate the words with difficulty. ‘You should have let me know. I would have made other arrange—’

‘He wouldn’t let us,’ Liz exclaimed helplessly. ‘And why should you, anyway? You were invited; he was not. And if he hadn’t been shot, he wouldn’t be here—’

‘Shot!’

Rachel hadn’t thought it was possible for her to feel more shocked, but she did. She turned in her seat, gazing in horrified fascination at Jaime’s mother, and Liz quickly told her what had happened.

‘He’s all right,’ she assured her urgently, while Rachel fought to control the overwhelming instinct she had to grasp Liz by the shoulders and shake the information out of her. ‘It’s a nasty wound, but he’ll survive. He’s fortunate not to have been injured before this, the places they send him! God knows, he was lucky to escape with his life.’

Rachel endeavoured to assimilate what Liz was saying, but her mouth was dry, and there was a beading of perspiration dewing her forehead. Jaime had been shot, she told herself incredulously. Someone had tried to kill him, but miraculously he had escaped serious injury. How had it happened? Where had he been shot? And how long would it take for him to recover?

‘I know it must be a shock to you, Rachel,’ Liz was going on sympathetically. ‘You can imagine how we felt when he turned up on Tuesday afternoon. They flew him home from Masota on Monday, and I think they would have preferred him to spend a few days in hospital in London, but you know what Jaime’s like. He flew to Newcastle on Tuesday morning, and arranged for a hire car to bring him home.’

Rachel expelled her breath heavily and forced down the sense of panic inside her. This was ridiculous, she chided herself angrily. She was behaving like an idiot. Why should it matter to her what happened to Jaime Shard? He meant nothing to her any longer, and of a certainty, she meant nothing to him. Why get upset, just because he was hurt? He deserved to suffer, for the way he had made her suffer; and Betsy, too, come to that. Perhaps fate was kinder than she thought. Perhaps retribution came to everyone in time.

‘You—you mentioned Masota,’ she said now, her brain working furiously as she tried to decide what she should do. Obviously she could not stay at Clere Heights now, whatever Liz said, but conversely, she could hardly demand that she turn the car round and take her back to the station tonight.

‘Yes, Masota,’ Liz agreed, accelerating as the outskirts of the city fell away behind them, and the fog enveloped them in its ghostly embrace. ‘You know where it is, don’t you? It’s one of those central African republics.’ She sighed, having to slow her speed again as visibility was reduced. ‘There was a coup. You may have read about it. That’s why Jaime was in Kamsuli.’ She shook her head. ‘It was one of those awful coincidences. The camera team were caught in an ambush, laid by the government forces, would you believe? He spent four days in a prison hospital before they would let him go.’

Rachel moistened her lips. ‘And—and how is he?’

‘All right, I suppose. Subdued.’ Liz grimaced. ‘Wouldn’t you be?’

Rachel managed to nod her head. ‘I’m sorry. For—for your sake, I mean. It must have been a terrible jolt, him just turning up like that.’