A Symphony of Echoes (The Chronicles of St Mary's, #2)

‘Perhaps you should consider who sent you here.’


I felt the ground fall away beneath my feet. Surely, Dr Bairstow wouldn’t … If I trusted anyone in this world … Everything I’d ever known … Everything I’d built my life around … Old insecurities never go away. They just lurk in the background ready to jump out when you least expect them … And when you least need them …

We stared at each other for a while. The bee staggered groggily past.

And then, having goaded me into unwise speech and undermined the foundations of my entire world, he switched again, and the smiling charmer was back.

‘Well, you do give as good as you get, don’t you? I wouldn’t want to cross your path on a dark night,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Don’t worry. All done.’

Slowly, I let myself relax, leaning back in my seat. I could feel sweat in the small of my back. I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my face. It was all very peaceful.

‘Does he know you’re a cold-blooded, murdering bitch?’

My eyes flew open. I lurched forwards. He was scribbling in a file, a small smile on his face. He looked up. ‘What?’

‘What …? What did you say?’

‘I said, “Don’t worry. All done.”’ His eyes slid past me. ‘Ah, Mr Farrell, you’re with us again.’

Shit, shit, shit …

My innards turned to ice. I stood up. He was standing just inside the French windows. He looked shocked and disoriented. I hoped to God that it was only because he’d woken up suddenly in a strange place.

I needed to get away. Averting my face, I said, ‘Will you be OK here, on your own?’

He didn’t speak, but nodded.

‘I’ll see you later, then.’

He made no reply and I made a huge mistake. I turned and walked away. I should have stayed and toughed it out, but everyone’s wise with hindsight.

I nodded to Dr Knox, who was looking at me in a way I didn’t much care for, and left as quickly as I could. I spent about twenty minutes wandering around the gardens until I felt a little calmer and returned to the main building.

Back in my luxurious room, and mindful of Dr Bairstow’s instructions, I decided to try out the bathroom facilities. I had a long, hot shower, anointing myself liberally with all the expensive unguents I could find, a few of which I subsequently discovered to have been mouthwash. I took my time, basking in the unexpected luxury of it all, and pushing the events of the afternoon to the back of my mind.

Relaxed and tranquil once more, I wafted back into the bedroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, let down my hair, and brushed it out with long, slow strokes. I took my time, remembering some things, anticipating others, thinking thoughts. Occasionally, I grinned to myself.

I caught one last glimpse in the mirror. Even I had to admit I didn’t look too bad – flushed cheeks (from the shower, obviously), bright-eyed and ready to go.

I heard movements in the next room. He was back. Carefully arranging the towel so it would easily fall away, I took a deep breath, lifted my chin and stepped through the connecting door.

He was on the bed reading, propped up on pillows. We looked at each other.

I let the towel fall.

The silence went on for far too long.

After a while, it dawned on me that I wasn’t being fallen upon. Doubt and uncertainty crashed down upon me. He didn’t move at all. I felt a cold that had nothing to do with being naked. What had he heard? Or worse, what was he seeing?

Suddenly, I saw myself through his eyes. Not young any more. Not old, but definitely not young. Scars everywhere, thickening waist and hips, cellulite, stretch marks.

For God’s sake. What had I been thinking?

He spoke.

He said, ‘I don’t think so, Dr Maxwell, do you?’ and returned to his book.

I was still standing like a pillar of salt. I hadn’t moved. I couldn’t move. I had to move. Move, you stupid pillock, Maxwell. Are you waiting for him to change his mind? Move!

No power on earth could have made me bend and pick up that towel. Holding tight to the doorknob, I stepped back and closed the door behind me. After a moment, I locked it. After another moment, I remembered to breathe in.

Hanging off the back of the door was a towelling dressing-gown. Soft and fluffy, like the towels. I put it on and buried myself in its warm depths. There was water in a small chiller and with shaking hands I poured myself a glass. I sat on the bed and leaned back against the headboard. Somewhere in the building, something chimed. Two o’clock. Nap time for the kiddies! I started to think again, but before I could do anything, I heard Dr Knox’s voice in the corridor. I grabbed a paperback and lay back.

He knocked. I didn’t answer. He knocked again. I called sleepily, ‘Come in.’

He stuck his head round the door. ‘I’m sorry. Did I wake you?’

There’s something inside me that responds to an emotional crisis. I smiled guilelessly. ‘No, just dropping off.’ My voice was perfectly calm and my hands quite steady.