One Hundred Days, page 21
“Okay,” he replied easily, went over to the hangar and opened the door.
Hangar Three was a little smaller than Hangar Two but still vast and as Jack had said, it was mostly empty. No smuggled people, no drugs, no gold bullion, no rum, no cigarettes…. So much for Mike’s bitchiness about how Ben and Jack really made their money. And whilst on the subject of things that could generate easy cash – no Jared.
Hangar Three was not, however, totally empty: there was a large pile of painted wood in the corner. Mary walked closer and saw a staircase and a cream and gold fireplace, both made of thin wood. There was also wallpaper, a mirror and a plywood door.
“Ben is storing it for a friend who builds stage sets,” explained Jack.
Mary remembered the trip to the theatre, the fragment she had found at Lower Meadow Hall and the expressions on the faces of Charles and Alistair when she had showed it to them. Ben’s friend must have stored his sets at the Hall before the Hall burned down and before Ben went into business with Jack. Strange they should react that way, though.
“I was thinking of storage as something you could offer,” said Mary. “Or maybe find a furniture maker or someone like that who could have a workshop and who would need a lot of cheap space to display what he had made.”
“Good idea,” replied Jack. “We shall have to get you on board.”
That seemed to exonerate Ben. No, wait, there was one possible hiding place left.
“Could I take a look in the old control tower?” asked Mary. “Is the equipment still in there? It must be fascinating.”
“The equipment is mostly gone. And you don’t want to go poking around there, it’s not safe. Anyway, time to go, I should have thought.”
He was right: it was time to set things out ready for their guests. Jack got the projector working while Mary put out a little buffet on the table at the end.
“Wow,” observed Jack, tongue– in-cheek. “Matching cups and everything.”
But really, he was nervous that today it must be him who gave the all-important talk. Sensibly, he put up Ben’s slides but did not try to be Ben. Instead, he told anecdotes about his trips and directed their guests’ attention to the handouts they had in front of them containing brochures about the company with photographs and testimonials and costs. It seemed to go down well. Jack and Mary chatted with them about their business over the nibbles and then they departed with cheery waves all round.
Jack, visibly relieved, went out to his precious plane. Mary cleared up and waited. Soon, she heard the engines roar into life and went outside to watch as it rose into the sky. Good. Now she could visit the control tower.
This turned out to be one occasion, however, when it would have been a good idea to listen to (Jack’s) advice. The control tower was semi-derelict and very dirty. Mary held a handkerchief over her nose, coughing as the stale dust clogged her lungs. She shone her torch around but could not see much from the doorway and had to clamber over all sorts of junk in order to get far enough inside for a proper look. And having done so there was nothing to see; well, no contraband or tiny kidnap victims at any rate. Mary returned to the office wiping cobwebs out of her hair and reminding herself that finding nothing was a good thing. The down-side was that she was running out of ideas about where Jared could be hidden.
Mary left early to visit Ben. He was looking much better and could even wiggle his fingers. “See. The signature might be wonky but I’ll sign that contract tomorrow, no trouble.”
friDAY
DAY 69
Mary waited what seemed like an age for the doctor to do his rounds and discharge Ben from hospital. She took him to his house to bathe and change then on to work to meet the new clients to sign the deal. Running on adrenaline, he livened up considerably for the duration of their visit but it was obvious to Mary he was still far from well.
Business concluded, she insisted him into Tiger and took him home.
“Could we stop at the garage?” he asked.
“No,” replied Mary. “Your car will be ready when it’s ready. You can’t drive it yet anyway.”
Mary bustled round cooking a meal – ‘the first decent food I’ve had in three days’ – and stayed until evening by which time Ben was growing sleepy.
“I don’t mind staying. I can make up a bed on the sofa,” she offered but accepted Ben’s protestations that it was not necessary. Now that Ben was on the mend, she had time to worry about what Mike was doing and she felt uneasy.
Mary checked that Ben had taken his pills and that the phone was beside the bed, kissed him tenderly and let herself out.
She should call her on mother. Or not. Alice would understand Mary was busy what with Ben’s accident. Mary went home.
Although Mike was so much in her thoughts, he did not appear. Deliberately, she called him but with no result. Unable to rest she turned on the television hoping for distraction and fell asleep in front of a gripping tale of…. something or other… still wondering about Mike.
Mary need not have worried; Mike had his own problems. He had been about to set off on one of his regular visits to the hospital when he felt himself being pulled in another direction. Not just pulled but tugged and hard. When Mary called him, for instance, there was a gentle feeling of wafting through the air and he could resist and ignore her if he wanted to. This, however, was like being propelled through treacle; he felt his features distorting and he was powerless to resist.
Then it was over. Mike counted his arms and legs and found he was intact and sitting in a comfortable armchair in a shabby room cluttered with furniture. A woman sat opposite.
“And how are you, young man?” she asked looking straight at Mike. He looked confused.
“Yes, you. I can see you…. the question is: what to do about you. Time for some answers, I think. What have you been up to?” It was Mme Delphine.
Silence.
“Now that will not help you at all,” she scolded. “You would be better to cooperate. I do not sense any real evil in you but there is something…. powerful emotion – but then you would not be here otherwise…. recklessness, yes recklessness and.… wait – grief.” She looked deep into his eyes and her gaze was almost painful. “Revenge.”
She stood up and went over to poke the fire. Mike sat rooted to the chair, unable to move. He was glad she was not staring at him anymore but he still felt peculiar. Mme Delphine pushed an old kettle onto the hotplate and prepared some herbal tea.
“Drink that,” she ordered. “You will feel better. And then I advise you to do some thinking. If you carry on like this it will not end well. A little repentance might be in order.”
Mike found his voice. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. You are skating on thin ice. You do not have sufficient control of your emotions. You desire to protect but your desire grows tentacles that reach outward to threaten and to possess.”
Her face took on a wistful expression. “I remember another such as you. He was handsome and clever. He, too, allowed himself to love…. and to hate.”
A young man with a shock of black, curly hair and black eyes hung in the air next to them but only for a moment.
Mike started. Cautiously, he inquired: “What happened to him?”
“He was cast out,” replied Mme Delphine.
“But I just saw him,” objected Mike.
“You saw a shadow,” said Mme Delphine sadly. She shook herself.
“You know the rules. Once you have passed you cannot return except as an observer. You may not change the future. Be careful your interpretation of this rule is not too creative.
“And a word of warning concerning another rule you seem to be having trouble with: No information about the Other Realm is to be communicated to mortals – including and especially you may not confirm its existence. If you draw Mary too far into your world she must stay there. You know this.”
“You know about the Other Realm. You’re still here.”
“I was born this way. It is my destiny.”
“It could be hers.”
“Perhaps, but it would be unwise to test that theory. What will be will be but only in its own good time.”
Mme Delphine gave the fire another poke.
“Already you have given Mary a glimpse of the other side. You risk her life.”
“She could see ghosts when she was a child. I didn’t do it.”
“She was persuaded it was imagination. You tell her otherwise. You help her in her quest by giving her information.”
“Fate might intervene to render it inaccurate or unhelpful. It isn’t proof. And what about you? You foretell the future.”
“And there are many who call me a charlatan.”
“So, how are we different?”
“You talk of registers. You talk of Raphael and of my daughter.”
Mike began to panic. “Then how come Mary hasn’t passed?”
“Clearly, she has not finished playing her part in the mortal world.”
Mike shuddered. “I shouldn’t have told Mary the things I did. I have to make it right.”
But there was a part of him that would prefer to say nothing and let events run their course.
Mme Delphine nodded knowingly.
That was it. All over. Mme Delphine had said what she wanted to say and now she was letting him go.
The journey back was not as bad as the outward one but Mike still felt vaguely odd and had to rest for a week.
saturDAY
DAY 70
Usually, Mary would get up late on a Saturday but today she had things to do. First, she sent Ben a message asking how he was and promising to call later but ‘Much better. No need to fuss’ came back straight away. That was a relief: having told Charles she had a friend who wanted a new kitchen that day when she had gone out spying on him and Alistair, Mary had arranged for them to come to her own flat to quote for the ‘work’ at their earliest opportunity and she was reluctant to cancel. Who knew when they would next be free?
However, knowing Charles and Alistair would recognise her, Mary needed someone else to play host. Mary had not seen Gemma since the wedding. Now that she was back from honeymoon, Mary could not wait to hear all about it and Gemma could not wait to tell her. Sun-drenched islands were not Mary’s cup of tea but when they had spoken on the phone, Gemma had described the scenery as ‘knock-out’ and the rainforest as ‘amazing,’ although she had, of course, found plenty of time to lie on the beach. Mary had seen films on the television and she wished that one day she might see the rainforest herself. If Gemma was impressed then that only made her wish harder; it must be worth it.
Mary’s plan was that shortly before Charles and Alistair were due, Mary would receive a call to say that her mother had had a minor fall. Unable to contact Charles, she would ask Gemma to let him in for her. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Gemma, Mary would lurk around outside the window and listen to the conversation in the hope of finding out more about Charles’ character and motivations, similarly Alistair.
“I’m surprised at the landlord leaving it all to you,” observed Gemma.
“The builders have a strict brief. There’s no need for him to be present whilst collecting initial quotes. He’ll short-list the favourites and take it from there himself,” explained Mary.
The plan started well. Charles measured up for new doors and worktops as instructed but sucked his teeth over the supporting frames. He would do what he was asked to do but he wouldn’t want the client wasting money and really, complete replacements would be better. They would build them from scratch, much cheaper than going to a kitchen shop and twice as good.
“Perhaps you could quote for both options,” suggested Gemma.
It was time for Alistair to play his part.
“Do you mind if I use your loo?” he asked.
“Go ahead,” replied Gemma, directing him to the bathroom. She hoped Mary would not mind.
Alistair soon returned. “If Miss could find a little more money, it would make a big difference if we were to put a slightly longer window in there,” he suggested. “Apart from making it brighter, you would be able to use the window sill for bottles of shampoo and so on. Think about it.”
Gemma began to say it was not up to her but interrupted by a crash from outside the window, she stopped. Charles looked outside: oops. Mary might have prevented Gemma from saying the wrong thing but she was not quite fast enough sprinting round the corner.
Her mind was racing. The best thing to do, she decided, was to turn up on the doorstep. After all, this was her friend’s flat, her friend that wanted a new kitchen so why shouldn’t she visit?
Gemma opened the door but before she had a chance to speak, Mary beat her to it.
“Hi, Gemma. I just fell over some kid’s ride-on tractor someone left outside the kitchen window. Ouch.” She hobbled inside rubbing her shin. “I need to sit down.”
Mary made for the living room leaving Gemma to show Charles and Alistair out, maintaining the impression it was she and not Mary who lived in the flat. On the way past, Charles glared at her; clearly, he had not forgotten her since their last meeting, had not forgotten about her producing the piece of wood from Lower Meadow Hall. Equally clearly, he was not the type to forgive and forget. Mary watched as he stamped off. She could not help thinking it was a rather strong reaction. Why did it matter that Ben’s friend had been storing his stage sets at the Hall?
Gemma returned bearing cups of tea.
“You were quick. Is your mother all right?”
“False alarm,” replied the now magically recovered Mary. She clicked her tongue. “Those two, I don’t know. Talk about maximising the job. There’s nothing wrong with the frames of the cupboards that I can see and as to the bathroom window….”
But it was the look that Charles had given her that really struck her. What had she ever done to him except show him a little piece of painted wood?
sunDAY
DAY 71
Did Jill work every weekend? Mary exhaled her frustration and drove back to her flat but she did not go in; instead, she sat drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. She could not confirm her theory about the ransom money like this but Charles was definitely freaked out about something. He had ruined a young life but what had he done? Was he a danger to Jared (assuming he knew where he was)?
And how much longer did Mary have to find the boy? It was two weeks since she had upset the orb; surely it must be safe by now to consult it again?
She took out the card Mme Delphine had given her and programmed the address into her satnav.
Mme Delphine’s house was easy to spot. The quaint old timber-framed cottage with a gypsy caravan in the garden could have come from a picture in a story book.
“Hello, my dear.” Mme Delphine ushered Mary into the front room.
Dark oak furniture and heavy velvet curtains made the room even dimmer than the low ceilings dictated whilst the lamps that were dotted around failed to dent the shadows and black cats weaved their way through books and ornaments on every surface.
“Do not mind my little ones.” Mme Delphine indicated a chair by the table in the middle of the room. “Come. Sit.”
She collected her crystal and placed it in the centre of the table.
“You want to know how much time you have.”
Mme Delphine took Mary’s hands and held them over the orb then she placed them on the table.
“Concentrate.”
Obediently, Mary stared into the crystal…. and saw nothing. Automatically, she leaned forward, willing something to appear.
“Do not touch,” Mme Delphine warned.
Then: “One hundred! I see the number one hundred!” exclaimed Mary excitedly.
She continued to gaze into the crystal ball. All of a sudden, a spider appeared. It grew bigger and bigger until it filled the whole orb. Its eyes shone with a brilliant red light and it clawed at the glass trying to get out, fangs outstretched.
“No!” screamed Mary and recoiled, shaking.
Mme Delphine waved her own hands over the orb and the vision faded.
As they shared a pot of Mme Delphine’s herbal tea, one of the cats came over and sat on Mary’s lap. She stroked it absent-mindedly.
“Until I broke the connection when I consulted Mme Delphine at the fete,” reasoned Mary to herself, “the orb was showing the pages of a calendar falling and there were a lot of them whirling round inside. Now it tells me ‘one hundred’. It must mean one hundred days, it must.”
“Does that help you, my dear?” inquired Mme Delphine.
“Oh yes. Thank you.”
She continued to stroke the cat.
“I have one hundred days to save Jared, presumably starting from the day he was snatched,” she whispered quietly in its ear. “I wonder why one hundred. Is it significant in some way?”
Mary nearly fell off her chair in surprise as the cat replied: “Only that as things stand there is space in the Spite Brigade’s diary. And it has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”
monDAY
DAY 72
Mary’s thoughts were far from work as she entered the site cabin the following day.
“One hundred,” she muttered under her breath. “That leaves twenty-eight.”
“Twenty-eight what?” asked Dan, moving aside so Mary could join them at the window.
“Oh, nothing.”
Mary peered out but could see nothing unusual.
“The groundworkers were getting behind so their boss has come to show them how it’s done,” Dan explained. Mary was no wiser.
Pete chimed in.
“See that one there, in the middle, slightly stooping? Notice anything?”
