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‘Not anyone,’ he echoed. ‘Meaning not even a monster like me.’
‘Look—’
‘Don’t give it another thought. The chance of my ever needing to rely on you is non-existent—as you’ll discover.’
‘Oh, really!’ she said, cross again. ‘Let’s hope you’re right. You never know what life has in store next, do you? Let’s make sure.’
Grabbing him, she yanked him under a street lamp and studied his face, frowning.
‘You look different from last time,’ she said. ‘It must be the darkness. OK, I’ve got you fixed. Hey, what are you doing?’
‘The same to you as you did to me,’ he said, holding her with one hand while the other lifted her chin to give him the best view of her face.
Harriet resisted the temptation to fight him off, suspecting that he would enjoy that too much. Plus she guessed he wouldn’t be easy to fight. There was an unyielding strength in his grasp that could reduce her to nothing. So she stayed completely still, outwardly calm but inwardly smouldering.
If only he would stop smiling like that, as though something about her both amused and pleased him. There was a gleam in his eyes that almost made her want to respond. Almost. If she was that foolish. She drew a long breath, trying not to tremble.
At last he nodded, saying in a thoughtful voice, ‘Hmm. Yes, I think I’ll remember you—if I try really hard.’
‘Cheek!’ she exploded.
He released her. ‘All right, you can go now.’
Darius walked away without looking back. He didn’t need to. He knew she was looking daggers at him.
At home in Giant’s Beacon, he sat in darkness at the window of his room with a drink, trying to understand what had so disturbed him that night. It wasn’t the hostility, something he was used to. Nor was it really the laughter, which had annoyed him, but only briefly. It was something about Harriet—something…
He exhaled a long breath as the answer came to him. She’d spoken of seeing him on the beach, ‘standing there like a king come into his birthright.’
That hadn’t been her first reaction. She’d even said she’d liked him, but only briefly, until she’d discovered who he was. Then she’d seen only arrogance and harshness, a conqueror taking possession.
But wasn’t that partly his own choice? For years he’d assumed various masks—cool, unperturbed, cunning, superior or charming when the occasion warranted it. Some had been passed on to him by a father whose skill in manipulation was second to none. Others he’d created for himself.
Only one person had seen a different side of him—loving, passionate. For twelve years he’d enjoyed what he’d thought of as a happy marriage, until his wife had left him for another man. Since then he’d tried to keep the vulnerable face well hidden, but evidently he should try harder.
He snatched up the phone and dialled his ex-wife’s number in London.
‘Mary?’
‘Do you have to ring me at this hour? I was just going to bed.’
‘I suppose he’s with you?’
‘That’s no longer any concern of yours, since we’re divorced.’
‘Are Mark and Frankie there?’
‘Yes, but they’re asleep and I’m not waking them. Why don’t you call during the day, if you can make time? I never liked having to wait until you’d finished everything else, and they don’t like it either.’
‘Tell them I’ll call tomorrow.’
‘Not during the day. It’s a family outing.’
‘When you say “family” I take it you mean—’
‘Ken, too. You shouldn’t be surprised. We’ll be married soon, and he’ll be their father.’
‘The hell he will! I’ll call tomorrow evening. Tell them to expect me.’ He slammed down the phone.
Darius had a fight on his hands there, he knew it. Mary had been a good wife and mother, but she’d never really understood the heavy demands of his work. And now, if he wasn’t careful, she would cut his children off from him.
How his enemies would rejoice at his troubles. Enemies. In the good times they had been called opponents, rivals, competitors. But the bad times had changed all that, bringing out much bile and bitterness that had previously been hidden for tactical reasons.
As so often, Harriet was hovering on the edge of his mind, an enemy who was at least open about her hostility. Tonight he’d had the satisfaction of confronting her head-on, a rare pleasure in his world. He could see her now, cheeky and challenging, but not beautiful, except for her eyes, and with skin that was as soft as rose petals; something that he’d discovered when he’d held her face prisoner between his fingers.
This was how he’d always fought the battles, gaining information denied to others. But now it was different. Instead of triumph, he felt only confusion.
After watching the darkness for a long time he went to bed.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_76f24235-75cc-5727-9fc2-ca6df6d05a68)
HARRIET prided herself on her common sense. She needed to. There had been times in her recent past when it had been all that saved her from despair. Even now, the dark depths sometimes beckoned and she clung fiercely to her ‘boring side’ as she called it, because nothing else helped. And even that didn’t make the sadness go away. It simply made it possible to cling on until her courage returned.
She knew that people had always envied her. Married at eighteen to an astonishingly handsome young man, living in apparently perfect harmony until his death eight years later. As far as the world knew, the only thing that blighted their happiness was the need for him to be away so often. His work in the tourist industry had necessitated many absences from home, but when he returned their reunions were legendary.
‘A perfect couple,’ people said. But they didn’t know.
Brad had been a philanderer who had spent his trips away sleeping around, and expected her not to mind. It only happened while he was out of sight, so what was she complaining about? It was the unkindness of his attitude that hurt her as much as his infidelity.
She’d clung on, deluding herself with the hope that in time he would change, presenting a bright face to the world so that her island neighbours never suspected. Finally Brad had left her, dying in a car crash in America before the divorce could come through, and the last of her hope was destroyed.
To the outside world the myth of her perfect marriage persisted. Nobody knew the truth, and nobody ever would, she was determined on that.
All she had left was Phantom, who had been Brad’s dog and who’d comforted her night after night when he was away. Phantom alone knew the truth; that behind the cheerful, sturdy exterior was a woman who had lost faith in men and life. His warmth brought joy to what would otherwise have been a desert.
It was the thought of her beloved dog that made her set out one morning in the direction of Giant’s Beacon. There was still a chance to improve relations with Darius Falcon, and for Phantom’s sake she must take it.
‘I suppose I’m getting paranoid about this,’ she told herself. ‘I don’t think he’d really do anything against Phantom, but he’s the most powerful man on the island and I can’t take chances.’
She recalled that at their last meeting he’d actually spoken to him in a kindly tone, calling him ‘You daft mutt’ and ‘a good fellow’, thus proving he wasn’t really a monster. He probably had a nicer side if she could only find it. She would apologise, engage him in a friendly chat and all would be well.
The road to Giant’s Beacon led around the side of the house, and over the garden hedge she could see that the French windows were open. From inside came the sound of a man’s voice.
‘All right. Call me again when you know. Goodbye.’
Excellent, she would slip inside quickly while he was free. But as she approached the open door she heard him again, ‘There you are. I know you’ve been avoiding my calls—did you really think I’d let you go that easily?—I know what you’ve been doing and I’m telling you it’s got to stop.’
Harriet stood deadly still, stunned by his cold, bullying tone. She must leave at once. Slowly, she flattened herself back against the wall and began to edge away.
‘It’s too late for that,’ Darius continued. ‘I’ve set things in motion and it’s too late to change it, even if I wanted to. The deal’s done, and you can tell your friend with the suspicious credentials that if he crosses me again he’ll be sorry—what? Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. There’ll be no mercy.’
No mercy, she thought, moving slowly along the wall. That just about said it all. And she’d kidded herself that he had a nicer side.
No mercy.
Quietly, she vanished.
‘There’ll be no mercy.’
Darius repeated the line once more. He knew that these days he said it too often, too obsessively. So many foes had shown him no mercy that now it was the mantra he clung to in self-defence.
At last he slammed down the phone and threw himself back in his chair, hoping he’d said enough to have the desired impact. Possibly. Or then again, maybe not. Once he wouldn’t have doubted it, but since his fortunes had begun to collapse he had a permanent fear that the person on the other end immediately turned to a companion and jeered, ‘He fell for it.’
As he himself had often done in what now felt like another life.
That was one of the hardest things to cope with—the suspicion of being laughed at behind his back; the knowledge that people who’d once scuttled to please him now shrugged.
The other thing, even harder, was the end of his family life, the distance that seemed to stretch between himself and his children. It was easy to say that he’d given too much of himself to business and not enough to being a father, but at the time he’d felt he was working for them.
Mary, his wife, had been scathing at the idea.
‘That’s just your excuse for putting them second. You say making money is all for them, but they don’t want a great fortune, they want you there, taking an interest.’
He’d sacrificed so much for financial success, and now that too was fading. Lying awake at night, he often tried to look ahead to decide which path to take, but in truth there was no choice. Only one path stretched forward, leading either to greater failure or success at too great a cost. They seemed much the same.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the mood, and turned on the radio to hear the local news. One item made him suddenly alert.
‘Much concern is being expressed at the suggestion of problems with the Herringdean Wind Farm. Work has only recently started, yet—’
‘Kate,’ he said, coming downstairs, ‘what do you know about a wind farm?’
‘Not much,’ she said, speaking as she would have done about an alien planet. ‘It’s been on and off for ages and we thought it was all forgotten but they finally started work. It’ll be some way out in the channel where we don’t have to look at the horrid great thing.’
‘Show me,’ he said, pulling out a map of the island.
The site was located about eight miles out at sea, within England’s territorial waters. As these were owned by the Crown, he would gain nothing. He could even lose, since the island might be less appealing to potential buyers.
‘They’ve actually started putting up the turbines?’ he said.
‘A few, I believe, but it’ll be some time before it’s finished.’
He groaned. If he’d bought this place in the normal way, there would have been inspections, he would have discovered the disadvantages and negotiated a lower price. Instead, it had been dumped on him, and he was beginning to realise that he’d walked into a trap.
Fool! Fool!
At all costs that must remain his secret. Kate was too naïve for him to worry about, and nobody else would be allowed near.
‘Shall I start supper?’ Kate asked.
‘No, thank you. There’s something I’ve got to see.’
Darius had just enough time to get out there before the light faded. When he’d inspected the turbines he could decide if they were a problem.
For this he would need the motorboat that was also now his property, and that was lodged in a boating shed at the end of a small creek that ran in from the shore. He found it without trouble, opened the door of the shed and started up the engine.
He was expecting problems. The engine might not work, or would at least be complicated to operate. But it sprang to life at once, everything was easy to operate, and since the fuel gauge registered ‘full’ he reckoned that luck was on his side, just for once.
Briefly he glanced around for a life jacket but, not seeing one, shrugged and forgot about it. A breeze was getting up as he emerged from the creek and set out across the channel. Glancing back, he could see the beach where he’d had his first ill-fated meeting with Harriet. Then he turned determinedly away and headed for the horizon.
At last he saw it—a dozen turbines rearing out of the water, seventy metres high, and, nearby, the cargo ships bearing the loads that would become more turbines. He got as close as he could, trying to think only of the benefit to the island of this source of electricity. But the new self, who’d come to life on the beach, whispered that they spoiled the beauty of the sea.
Functional and efficient, that was what mattered. Concentrate on that.
Now the light was fading fast and the wind was mounting, making the water rough, and it was time to go. He turned the boat, realising that he’d been unwise to come out here. He wasn’t an experienced sailor, but the need to know had been compelling. Now he had just enough time to get to shore before matters became unpleasant.
Almost at once he discovered his mistake. The waves mounted fast, tossing his little boat from side to side. Rain began to fall more heavily every moment, lashing the angry water, lashing himself, soaking through his clothes, which weren’t waterproof. The sooner he drove on the better.
But without warning the engine died. Nothing he could do would start it again. Frantically, he peered at the fuel gauge and saw, with horror, that it still showed ‘Full’.
But that was impossible after the distance he’d already travelled. The reading was wrong, and must have been wrong from the start. He’d set out without enough fuel, and now he was trapped out here in the storm.
He groaned. It went against the grain to admit that he needed help, but there was no alternative. He would have to call Kate and ask her to notify the rescue service. Then it would be all over the island. He could almost hear the laughter. Especially hers. But it couldn’t be helped.
Taking out his cellphone, he began to dial, trying to steady himself with his feet as he needed both hands for the phone. That was when the biggest wave came, rearing up at the side of the boat, forcing him to cling on with both hands. With despair, he saw the phone go flying into the water. He made a dive for it but another swell hoisted the boat high, twisting it so that he went overboard into the sea.
Floundering madly, he tried to reach the boat, but the waves had already carried it away. Farther and farther away it went, beyond his strength to pursue, until it was out of sight.
Now his own body seemed to be turning against him. The shock of being plunged into cold water had caused his heart to race dangerously, making him gasp and inhale water. His limbs froze, and he could barely move them. He wondered whether he would die of cold before he drowned.
Time passed, tormenting him, then vanishing into eternity until time itself no longer existed. Perhaps it had never existed. There was only darkness on earth and the moon and stars high above.
His wretchedness was increased by the thought of his children, waiting in vain for his call tonight. They would think he’d forgotten them, and only the news of his death would tell them otherwise. Then it would no longer matter.
Darius wanted to cry aloud to them, saying he loved them and they must believe that, for he would never be able to tell them again. But the distance stretched into infinity, and then another infinity that he feared because so much was left undone in his life—so many wrongs not righted, so many chances not taken, so many words not spoken…and now…never…never…
Why was he even bothering to tread water? Why not just let go and accept the inevitable?
But giving in had never been his way. He must fight to the end, no matter how much harder it was.
In his dizzy state he seemed to lose consciousness. Or was he going mad? That might make it easier. But doing things the easy way wasn’t his style either.
Yet the madness was already creeping over him, giving him the illusion of lights in the distance. It was impossible but he saw them, streaming out over the water, turning this way and that as though searching. Then the beam fell on him, blinding him, and a cry split the darkness.
‘There he is!’
The universe seemed to whirl. Vaguely, he sensed the boat approaching, ploughing through the waves. Another few seconds—
But it seemed that a malign fate was intent on destroying him even now. A wave, bigger than the others, reared up, sweeping him with it, up—then down back into the abyss—up—down—then away from the boat to a place where he would never be found. A yell of fear and rage broke from him at being defeated at the last moment.
