Dangerous Deception (19 page)

She came towards me, her bright eyes intent on my face. Her pursed little mouth made gentle, clucking sounds of sympathy, and her face beneath the pale powder was soft and wrinkled like white velvet. She smelled of lavender.

“Poor child,” she murmured softly, and moved me gently away from the door. I half leant against her, my breath tearing at my lungs, and almost in slow motion saw her hand move out to the lock. Before I could adjust to what was happening, the door was open and Morgan stood facing me.

“Thanks, Miss Olwen,” he said briefly.

My disbelieving eyes slid to the little old face, smiling at me reproachfully. “We must all do as Bryn asks, Carol dear,” she said. Then, to Morgan, “It's Hettie, dear – the younger one.”

He took my arm, his fingers pinching my flesh, and marched me back to his room, where Philip and Carol stood waiting in silence. The door closed once more behind us and this time I knew there'd be no escape.

“They're Bryn's aunts,” Carol said shortly, seeing my incomprehension.
Carol dear
– one of them had called me that my first evening.

Morgan said, “What the hell do we do now? Whatever you say, she
must
know what's happening – I gave her the plan, for God's sake. How could she not know?”

“She told Philip about it,” Carol put in, perching on the dressing-table. “She thought someone was playing tricks, and consigned everything to the bin. That's where Philip found the brochure.”

In his frustration, Morgan turned on her. “And what in the name of God happened to you?”

“I was in a car crash and carted off to hospital; they kept me in for two nights. My mobile was switched off, so when Bryn couldn't reach me, he tried phoning the Plas Dinas. That seems to be where the confusion started.

“But I sent a message to Philip, and naturally thought he'd pass it on to you. When he told me last night he didn't know who ‘Sinbad' was, I couldn't
believe
it! It's all Bryn's fault – he's like a kid with his bloody code names.”

“But why didn't you
tell
me?” Morgan demanded furiously.

“What chance have we had? We were going to, first thing this morning, but there was no sign of you and we couldn't hang around – we had to set off for the castle. Our next opportunity was now, after dinner, but you beat us to it.”

Morgan said reflectively, “So that's why he dropped Clare when you came on the scene. But what in heaven's name do we do with her now?”

They were talking about me as though I wasn't there, but it seemed wisest not to protest. My safest course was to keep as quiet as I could and appear to offer no threat.

“Never mind her,” Carol said impatiently, “we'll think of something. What I want to know is, why this unscheduled meeting?”

“Bryn's deviousness again,” Morgan answered heavily. “On the principle of trusting no one, everything's been brought forward a day. Beanstalk takes place tonight, and the orders are that from the moment I tell you, we all stay together.”

Behind the curtain the window shook in a frenzy of wind and rain.

“Quite a night for it!” Carol said. “Thank God I've at least seen the castle by daylight.”

“But what do we do about Clare?” Morgan demanded again.

“Leave her here for now,” Carol said carelessly. “Bryn'll think of something.”

“But she'd have the entire Welsh police force on to us!”

“Obviously she'd have to be tied and gagged.”

“No way!” Philip spoke violently. “It wasn't her fault we embroiled her in all this. Personally,” he added more calmly, “I don't see why either of the girls need go. We both know the layout, Morgan; why can't we do it?”

Morgan shook his head. “Bryn was against that all along, hence the man/girl set up; if two men were spotted out in the dark, it would arouse suspicion. But we'll have to get Clare out of here; even if she was gagged, she could attract attention.”

“But I wouldn't!” I interrupted, galvanised into speech. “I swear I wouldn't! Philip's father is my uncle – I wouldn't do anything to hurt him.”

Morgan said shortly, “Sorry, can't risk it.” He turned back to the others. “We'll have to revise our plans; originally, as you know, I was to stay here, but as things stand our best course is just to double up – two couples instead of one. Clare and I'll come with you.”

He paused, but although both Philip and Carol looked uneasy, neither of them protested further, or suggested an alternative. Morgan looked at his watch. “It's nine now, and completely dark. You girls go and change into something more suitable, then come back here. Carol, stay with her all the time.”

He nodded his dismissal and Carol pushed me out of the door on to the landing.

“I haven't got my key,” I said. “I'll have to go down for it.”

“I'll come with you.”

In silence and side by side, we went downstairs. In the lounge I could see the school-teachers and the Mortimers drinking coffee. I still hadn't had the chance to apologise.

“What number is it?” Carol asked.

I told her and she reached over, took down the key, and accompanied me back upstairs. Thank heaven I hadn't left the letters out, I thought fervently, as I opened my door.

Her cool eyes watched me impersonally as I exchanged my dress for jeans and my warmest sweater. Finally I put on walking shoes, took the waterproof jacket from the wardrobe and turned to face her.

“Ready,” I said, with as much lightness as I could muster.

She examined the hood on the jacket and nodded, satisfied. “You'll need that to cover your hair; it'll show up in the dark. Right, my turn.”

Silently I went with her past the stairhead to the room which had been Dick Harvey's. There, having swiftly changed into a black sweater, trousers and anorak, she looked lovelier than ever, face and hair glowing radiantly and her eyes alight with excitement. Tonight was the culmination of months of planning and risk-taking, and if I did anything to hinder her, she would, I knew, be totally ruthless.

Morgan and Philip must have been been listening for our return, and came out as we approached the door.

“Turn left, and through the door at the end,” Morgan directed in a low voice. “It leads to the service stairs.”

As we passed the Mortimer children's room, I could hear Emma murmuring in her sleep. Then we were on the back staircase. From below came the sound of voices and a sudden laugh.

Philip's voice said in my ear, “Steady!” He gripped my hand, and I felt something scrape against my palm – something small and brittle, with sharp edges. A ball of paper. My fingers closed on it, and in the same moment I saw two doors immediately opposite the foot of the stairs – the staff lavatories.

“Shan't be a minute,” I said quickly, and shot inside the ladies'. I heard Morgan swear, and Carol say placatingly, “She hasn't got a mobile – I checked.”

Tremblingly I unwrapped the hard little paper ball. Scribbled on it were the words:
Make a run for it and phone police. They won't waste time looking for you. Good luck!

Philip
wanted
me to contact the police?

There was a soft, impatient knock at the door and I hastily flushed the paper away. He didn't look at me when I emerged. Morgan took my arm and hurried me out of the back door into the wind-tossed garden and round the corner of the house to the car park. The full force of the wind ripped at my jacket and I pulled it close, walking blindly, head down, through the spattering rain.

“Into the front,” Morgan ordered, opening his car door. “And you in the back, Carol. Philip, get the crate for the pictures, will you? My boot is open.”

We waited in silence while the transfer was completed, Morgan standing guard outside my door.

My brain had slipped into over-drive as I turned it to planning my escape. Even if he moved away, it was useless to attempt a break here. They were still very much on their guard, and after my shock with the old ladies, I wasn't sure even of the Davieses. It would have to be when we reached the castle. Somehow, I'd have to hide till they gave up looking for me and started up the hill, then knock at the cottage for help.

The two men got in the car and we were off, driving in silence through the wet, windy darkness. Again and again, I went through the scene in Morgan's bedroom, in case there was anything I'd overlooked.
On the principle of trusting no one
, he had said.

But perhaps, I thought suddenly, it was Philip Bryn was unsure of? Perhaps he
had
tipped the police to stand by tomorrow? Tonight, though, there'd be no one to stop them.

I didn't attempt to work out the details, just accepted, thankfully, that Philip and I were somehow at last on the same side, and that he had appealed for my help. It was up to me not to let him down.

With my back rigid and my eyes on the rhythmic wipers, I sat immobile as the car sped through the night, taking us ever nearer to Cefn Fawr Castle.

‘Thou sure and firm-set earth,

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear

The very stones prate of my whereabout …'

Shakespeare:
Macbeth

IT WAS not a night one would choose to be out in. Philip and Carol sat silently behind me; beside me, Morgan's hands were confident on the wheel.

“Did you see old Gwilym up at the castle?” he asked suddenly.

“If it was he who gave us the tickets,” Philip answered.

“It would have been. He won't be a problem – he lives a couple of miles away. It's the people in the cottage we have to watch out for, and they're not likely to be about on a night like this.”

“Have they any connection with the castle?” Carol asked.

“A franchise to sell postcards, but nothing more.”

I was only half listening. I'd just realised I had no money with me. I shouldn't need it for a 999 call, but I'd no idea how I'd find my way back to the hotel.

Click, clack, click, clack. The windscreen wipers moved rhymically and my eyes followed them. Beyond their reach, the blinding raindrops streamed down the glass and a little wall of water built up on the edge of the arc, creeping forward as the wipers swung away, pushed back on the return sweep.

I wished that Philip was making the run with me, but they didn't know yet where his loyalties lay and of course he must stay near the paintings.

On and on the car scuttled, a small black beetle in the vastness of the night. Already the journey seemed endless, as though we were doomed for eternity to climb laboriously up one hill after another until the end of time, the whole world confined in the golden glow of our headlights. Every now and then we sped through the villages where, yesterday, Philip and I had seen children and puppies playing in the dust. Yesterday, in the sunshine, safe with Philip.

My mouth and throat were parched, painful when I tried to swallow. A little pulse jerked distractingly in my cheek and my hands, clenched on my lap, were sticky with sweat.

Carol spoke suddenly from the back seat, making me jump.

“I'm a bit nervous about the aunts, Morgan. Bryn often spoke of them, but I didn't realise they were so old; can they be trusted not to let something slip?”

“Don't worry, they're not told any details, they just supply information. His ears and eyes, Bryn calls them. They're invaluable – they look so innocent, yet they don't miss a thing.

“Personally,” he added, “I'm more concerned about Harry; I had to grease his palm to pinch Mair's key and leave the note in Clare's room. I fed him some cock-and-bull story at the time – I just hope he swallowed it.”

“And Evan?” I asked. “How much does he know?”

Morgan glanced at me in surprise. It was the first time I'd spoken since leaving the hotel.

“Nothing, that I'm aware of, unless Harry said something. Why?”

“I found him in my room.”

He shrugged dismissively. “Looking for something to pinch, I don't doubt.”

Carol said, “So what about our final briefing?”

“The original plan still holds good: you and Philip retrieve the pictures. The only difference is that Clare and I will be keeping a look-out at the foot of the hill. It should be easy to stay out of sight in this weather.”

I devoutly hoped he was right.

“And if anyone does come along,” he added, “they'd only take us for a courting couple.”

They wouldn't waste time looking for me, Philip had said. But he was wrong: Morgan would have ample opportunity to search. For the first time, I faced the fact that I mightn't be able to escape. If I knew where the car would be left I could form some kind of plan, but I dared not ask. Oh God, I prayed desperately, let me get away! Let it be all right!

Carol lit a cigarette. The match flared in the confined space, lighting the outline of Morgan's jaw like a turnip-head on Hallowe'en. The sulphur filled my nostrils, titillating them. I wanted to sneeze, but it dried up in the desert of my mouth.

“Not much farther,” Morgan said after a while. His voice had a jerky, breathless quality, as though anticipation was already quickening his heartbeat. The painful thumping of my own heart threatened to crack my ribs. I was hot in the thick sweater and jacket, but my legs and feet, despite the jeans, were icy, as though I was in the grip of fever. I hoped uneasily that they wouldn't blame Philip for my escape.

We turned on to the road leading to the castle, and Morgan asked, “Where did you decide to leave the car?”

At last! I tensed, waiting for Philip's reply.

“It was quite tricky.” I could hear the strain in his voice. “The official park's too far away, but round the far side there's a track that extends for about twenty feet before ending in solid rock. You'll need to take care, though, because it's very narrow and there's only about six feet between the rock face on one side and the edge of the cliff on the other. It looked bad enough in daylight.