The Rain-Soaked Bride Page 8

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Shining. ‘As usual.’

  She waved at him and wandered off into the kitchen with a trill of hearty hellos into the phone.

  Shining quietly clicked through a few more files, bringing up the plans for Lufford Hall and vaguely familiarising himself with its layout. By the time she came back in, he was reading up on the South Korean delegates.

  ‘All sorted,’ she announced with a happy sigh. ‘I shall be coming with you.’

  Shining stared at her. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’

  ‘I am not being ridiculous, I think you forget what a terribly important person I am within Whitehall.’

  ‘You’re a menace. An old ghost who persists in rattling around its corridors.’

  ‘Dangsin-ui eongdeong-i wilo.’

  ‘Are you having a stroke?’

  ‘I’m speaking Korean, another distinct advantage I have over you.’

  ‘Since when did you learn Korean?’

  ‘Since I dated a restaurant owner in Brighton, hunting for the perfect gejang. I shall be there as an attachment to Her Majesty’s Diplomatic Service. And you’re bloody lucky to have me.’

  Shining sighed and stared at his coffee in misery. ‘Now I have to contend with two threats to international relations, wonderful.’

  c) Section 37, Wood Green, London

  Toby was doing his level best not to scream down the phone at their landlord.

  ‘I don’t care what the problem is,’ he said for what must have been the fifth time. ‘You’re breaking the law and need to get the water back on.’

  There was another round of complaints from the landlord, involving his brother’s forthcoming gastric bypass operation and the currently poor exchange rate for Australian dollars. Toby had no idea how either was relevant.

  ‘Look, it’s perfectly simple, either the water is back on by this evening or we’ll be taking legal action.’ He cut the call.

  Turning round he noticed Tamar had followed him out into the stairwell. ‘Oh,’ he said, feeling immediately awkward, ‘hello. Should be back on in a bit.’

  ‘Is good,’ she said, ‘but next time I speak to him. I do not need you fighting my battles.’

  ‘I know,’ Toby replied, feeling even more awkward now that what he had intended as a kindness had been construed as patronising. ‘It’s just that we’re the tenants, really, so it’s better if one of us deals with him.’

  She shrugged. ‘I do not like this,’ she said. ‘You are very kind but it is like I am still owned.’

  Toby didn’t really know how to respond to that. ‘Of course it isn’t … I mean, we’re just subletting to you, that’s all.’

  ‘For subletting you would need a payment of rent.’

  ‘You do pay. You help out with section business and we keep a roof over your head. Purely business.’

  ‘That is what the Russians say.’

  It was partly embarrassment and partly pride that had Toby finally lose a temper that had been fragile from the moment April Shining had entered the building. ‘For Christ’s sake, Tamar! That’s not fair! I risked my bloody life getting you away from the Bratva. To say that you’re just as badly off now …’

  ‘I do not say that. I just say that I am still owned. I do not want to be owned. Either by them and their threat or you and your kindness. I not ask for rescue.’

  ‘Oh, so you’d rather I’d left you there, then?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. But it is a debt. And one I do not know how to make gone.’

  ‘You don’t owe me anything.’

  ‘You say that, and I think you mean it, but inside I think you believe something else. You do this thing for me, yes. But you do it for yourself too. You do it to make you feel strong. And to make me feel owned.’

  ‘No.’ Toby shook his head and wondered how to get out of this conversation that was tying him in knots.

  ‘She’s a remarkably perceptive one, isn’t she?’

  Toby felt a chill settle over him as he stared at Tamar. The voice had come from her but he knew it wasn’t hers.

  ‘It’s been a while,’ she said, her face taking on a gleeful air that made it seem like it was the face of someone else entirely. ‘When did we last have one of our little chats? Oh yes, of course, just after your blundering in the Krishnin matter ended up costing this poor girl several years of her life. We talked of consequences, did we not?’

  Toby had first met this person, this presence, on his first day after being transferred to Section 37. He had no idea how to define it, though his recent conversation with Shining now came to mind – could it be that this was one of those ‘higher powers’ he had talked about? Toby had a feeling it could.

  It had tried to put him off joining the section – as if he’d had any choice. When it first talked to him, it had met him outside Euston station, using the body of a woman and then, much to his confusion, it found him again not a stone’s throw from the office. That second time it had occupied the body of an old man. Whoever – whatever – this was, it seemed to have no body of its own, it preferred to borrow others. That it now chose to borrow Tamar’s, a woman who had suffered enough at having herself ill-used by others, made his fists clench. It was pointless though: the only person he could hit was the victim.

  ‘I seem to remember,’ the voice continued, ‘that I promised you a bleak future. That you would see the full fruits of your interference in the fullness of time. Don’t worry, that time has not yet come. Not quite.’ ‘Tamar’ sat down on the stairs, leaning against the wall and crossing her legs, the very epitome of nonchalance. ‘Good for you, though! Rescuing this silly thing from the life you sent her back to. I’m proud of you. I do love a man who refuses to yield.’ She smiled. ‘They’re a challenge.’

  Toby moved towards the door to the office, deciding that the only thing to do was to drag Shining out here. He had told him before about this intruder. It was about time they ‘met’.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ it said. ‘If you bring the old man out here, I’ll just vanish and where’s the advantage in that? Remember your training. Knowledge is everything. The more you talk to me, the closer you’ll be to understanding what I am. And then … well, then we may be able to play a different game.’

  ‘I know who you are,’ Toby said. ‘You’re a “higher power”, a force that wants to manipulate us.’

  ‘A “higher power”?’ she laughed. ‘Is that what the old man calls us? He never did like to use the old words. Demons. Gods. The words scare him so he hides them behind meaningless rationalisation. It would be sweet were it not so insulting. Has he told you about me, then? I’m surprised. That’s against the rules …’

  ‘He didn’t tell me about you specifically,’ said Toby, suddenly worried he might have caused trouble for Shining. ‘We talked about your kind in general.’

  ‘Oh, I see. And the little spy put two and two together, did he? You’re so sharp. You’ve taken to all this terribly quickly. To think how you questioned everything when you first arrived. How quickly you dropped your scepticism.’

  ‘Scepticism is different from naivety. I believe what I experience. To do otherwise would be stupid. You exist. You are. Why waste time arguing the obvious?’

  ‘Ah yes, time, such a precious commodity to you people. I forget how you run around, trying to fill your days. I could help with that, you know? All you have to do is ask. The powers I have … Are you familiar with the Doppelgänger Contract? I could make copies of you, utterly alike in body and mind. Just think of the things you could achieve then! That was a terribly popular request in the old days; I once had a man split into a whole army. Of course there’s a price, isn’t there always? For every day your double lives, you lose one against your natural lifespan. Still, what’s a natural lifespan to you? You’ll probably be dead from an assassin’s bullet in a couple of years, or blown into pieces on a foreign field. You can afford to gamble the odd day here or there.’

  ‘No thank
you.’

  ‘How about something even simpler? I could make the girl love you? Would that be nice?’ She laughed again. ‘Of course it would! Walk in the park for me, that, just a little nudge here and there and she’d be yours. Any interest?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Liar. You’re tempted and I know it.’ She stood up and moved over to him, putting her arms around him. ‘How about a quick fumble on the stairs, just to try her out?’

  Toby pushed her back. ‘Get the fuck out of her!’ he shouted. ‘Right this minute.’

  ‘Or what? Empty threats, boy, nothing but empty threats. I come and go as I please.’ She sat back down. ‘And if you anger me, I’ll make you regret it. It wouldn’t take much.’ She held up her hand and reached for her little finger. ‘I could just start snapping these dainty little things one at a time and there’s nothing you could do to stop me.’

  ‘Fine, you’ve proven your point. So what do you want?’

  ‘Ah … I thought that would bring out a little contrition. You want to be careful. It’s no good for a man in your position to have such an obvious weakness. It puts both of you in danger.’

  ‘I asked you what you wanted.’

  ‘For now? Nothing, just thought it would be nice to catch up. To remind you that I’m still here. One day, though – and, oh, how I look forward to it – you will need me. And then we will come to an arrangement. One day. Ta-ta for now.’

  Tamar slumped on the stairs, her head falling against her chest. Toby ran over to her, taking her hands, only to have them snatched away.

  ‘What you doing?’ Tamar asked, staring at him in suspicion. She got to her feet. ‘What happen?’

  Toby didn’t know how to answer that question truthfully so he decided not to. ‘I think you fainted.’

  She scowled at him. ‘Never fainted in my whole life. Not starting now. You keep away.’ She stormed off up the stairs leaving Toby feeling beaten and alone.

  CHAPTER SIX: THE SPIRIT

  a) Flat 3, Palmer Court, Euston

  There was always something miserable about waking in darkness, Toby decided, shuffling around his flat and trying to wake up. It was as if humans still possessed a race memory that insisted you were doing it all wrong. The sun isn’t up, so why are you?

  The clock on his oven said it was half past four. A ridiculous, unhelpful time that he tried to ignore by putting on some coffee. August would pick him up in forty-five minutes, by which time he would be doing his level best to at least feign consciousness.

  While the kettle boiled, Toby showered and tried to stop thinking about the business with Tamar the day before. The thought of it had kept him awake and returned the minute his eyes had opened.

  He’d told Shining about it, of course – waiting until after April had left, he couldn’t quite bring himself to discuss it in front of her. As before, when he had passed on previous meetings with the enigmatic presence that so liked to hop between hosts, his superior did his best to brush the matter away.

  ‘Think of it as an enemy agent,’ he had said in the end, ‘from a foreign power that is more foreign than most. It wants to unsettle. It wants to erode. Working in the field we do, we’re bound to attract the attention of certain forces, there’s nothing they’d like more than to disrupt our work. I know it’s difficult but you just have to ignore it.’

  Which was easily said. Toby trusted Shining. Still, he knew there was more to this business than he was letting on. One day he would find out what it was. Until then, he supposed he didn’t have a choice but to follow the old man’s advice. He should concentrate on the operation in hand. And stop thinking about Tamar. And about how she had looked at him before storming off up the stairs. And how much she clearly hated him.

  He realised he was just stood under the shower, being rained on, his mind so occupied he had stopped moving.

  He scrubbed at himself in irritation and tried to think about other things.

  He felt the shower water pouring on his head and tried to imagine what it might be that had claimed the lives of three people. Something that brought rain and death. A spirit of the curse. An agent of death. Given the right mission, he thought, aren’t we all?

  He got out of the shower and slowly drank coffee while putting a few clothes in a small suitcase. He stared at the food cupboards for a couple of minutes and then gave up on them; eating seemed like too much effort for that time of the day.

  By the time August rang the doorbell, Toby was ready to go.

  And still thinking about Tamar.

  b) M40, Northbound, Beaconsfield

  April had spent most of the journey out of London sleeping on the back seat. Her fellow passengers were left in little doubt of this due to her snoring and occasional, unconscious utterances.

  ‘There’s no earthly point putting it there!’ she had assured them at one point. ‘It’s tantamount to treason.’

  Toby dreaded to think what went through her dreaming head.

  ‘Are you quite sure we can’t dump her off at a service station and do a runner?’ he asked. ‘I’m not sure South Korea is quite ready for your sister.’

  ‘Tempting,’ Shining admitted. ‘I am, once again, agog at her ability to worm her way into any situation.’

  ‘She’s a force of nature,’ Toby agreed.

  ‘So is a tsunami. You don’t want to share a country house with one.’

  Just outside High Wycombe, Shining pulled off the motorway. ‘We can at least find breakfast,’ he suggested, ‘with a bit of luck, she’ll get confused in the shop and we can make a break for it.’

  ‘Whose confused?’ asked April from the back seat, her sleepy mind coming around at the promise of a fry-up.

  They parked up and made their way inside, queuing for food with a selection of bleary-eyed travellers and sullen, commercial drivers.

  ‘You take me to the nicest places, boys,’ said April poking at an overcooked egg with a knife Toby was fairly sure would snap were you to try and stab anything with it.

  ‘I take it you’ve not heard from Cassandra?’ Toby asked, trying to butter some burned toast without it shattering into crumbs.

  ‘Not yet,’ Shining said, ‘and without my phone she couldn’t get in touch now even if she wanted to. I’ll check in with her later. She’s a little high maintenance but always pulls through in the end.’

  ‘You just described all the best women,’ said his sister.

  Toby gave up on his toast. ‘Back in a sec,’ he said, getting up and wandering off towards the toilets.

  As a kid he had loved service stations, welcome islands on the long road of boredom. Now they just seemed like irritating, enclosed worlds of tile and glass filled with bleeping vending machines and arcade games. Everyone you saw looked miserable and lost, stuck between home and the place they had to be.

  The toilets were empty, a cavernous hall of chipboard cubicles, piped music and the overpowering smell of bleach.

  ‘These facilities were last cleaned by …’ assured a sign on the wall with a list of scribbled names following after. ‘If they fail to meet your expectations then please contact BriteWite Hygiene with full details.’ There then followed a phone number and email address. Toby imagined an empty office at the receiving end of both. Immaculately clean but for the skeleton sat at the desk still waiting for someone who cared so much about a public toilet they felt they should get in touch.

  ‘They meet my expectations entirely,’ he said, looking at a vending machine of ‘chewable toothbrushes’ and another for condoms.

  He urinated, glazing over at the sound of a twenty-year-old pop tune being piped in through the speakers, then went to the long row of sinks to wash his hands.

  He was trying to make the automatic sensor for the tap engage, his cupped hands filled with bubbling foam soap, when the music stopped. It took him a moment to realise what was wrong. The sound had been aural wallpaper, almost beneath his notice; it was only once it was gone that he became aware that something was amiss.
<
br />   The lights flickered.

  ‘Don’t make me call BriteWite,’ he muttered, staring up at the concealed neon lamps boxed away beneath clear Perspex ceiling tiles.

  They flickered again and, just for a second, Toby thought he caught a glimpse of someone stood behind him.

  He shook the soap from his hands, grabbing a couple of paper towels and rubbing his palms dry. Then he walked along the row of toilet cubicles.

  He couldn’t have said what it was that had triggered his nerves, all he knew was that he was on edge and, in his line of work, that was a feeling it was best not to ignore.

  There was a crackle from the speakers. A burst of static.

  He stepped from one toilet cubicle to the next, checking each one was empty.

  The speakers crackled again. Then offered a new noise: the sound of rain. It was distant, gentle, an autumnal sound, water hitting leaves.

  Then the whispering began.

  The lights flickered once more and then turned off entirely.

  The room was now completely dark. Toby reached into his trouser pockets for his house keys. He kept a small pencil torch on the key ring, useful for when the light was on the fritz at the outside gate to his flat building. He turned it on, the bluish-white light of the halogen bulb washing across the open doors of the toilet cubicles and reflecting back at him from the mirrored wall behind the sinks.

  The whispering continued through the speakers, the sound so quiet he couldn’t pick out any words. It was like the distant sound of prayer, promises to God being uttered under a penitent’s breath.

  He continued to move along the row of cubicles, pushing each door open wide.

  Part of him knew he should leave, but that would reveal nothing and information is what an intelligence officer is for.

  Something moved out of the corner of his eye and he turned around, sweeping the light across the room but seeing only his own reflection staring back at him.

  Then his reflection began to change. In the mirror, rain began to fall. Even in the low light of his torch he could see it pour down on the head of the Toby Greene that lived behind the glass. The shoulder pads of his suit darkened as they soaked it up. It poured in rivulets across his static, empty face.