Sara Craven - Tower Of Shadows

She opened the car door and got out, stretching. It was cool under the trees, and she could hear birds singing. The wood seemed to be beckoning to her, but she resisted the temptation. The last thing she needed was to be found trespassing in the Baron’s private grounds.

She was just about to get back in the car, when she heard another vehicle coming up the hill fast. Sabine had an ignominious impulse to run and hide somewhere. Then she took a deep breath, telling herself not to be such a fool, and stand her ground. If this was one of the family, she might have some explaining to do quite soon, but they couldn’t eat her, for heaven’s sake. She leaned against the bonnet of the car and waited.

With a snarl, a small Peugeot rounded the corner and headed towards her. Sabine pinned on a polite smile, and aimed it straight at the oncoming vehicle’s windscreen. Then, just as if the world had frozen and stopped for a moment, she saw the woman in the driving seat, face white, eyes glassy with shock, the mouth stretched in a grimace which looked like terror.

Sabine cried out in horror as the Peugeot swerved crazily, and plunged off the road. There was the sound of crunching metal as it hit one of the trees a glancing blow and came to a rocking halt.

For a moment Sabine couldn’t move. It had all been so fast, she could hardly believe what had happened. All she could think of was the panic on the other woman’s face when she’d seen her.

I was just standing there, she thought dazedly. I did nothing to cause that. Nothing.

But there was the Peugeot, its wing crumpled beyond recognition, and still inside was the driver, slumped over the wheel.

‘Oh, my God.’ Power returned to Sabine’s limbs and she dashed frantically across the road, and tugged at the driver’s door. It came open at once, and she leaned in, trying to disentangle the unconscious woman from her seatbelt. She’d obviously hit her head during the impact because there was a small trickle of blood on her forehead.

Sabine got the seatbelt off at last, and heaved and dragged the woman, arms and legs trailing, clear of the car. Fortunately, she was petite and thin, almost to the point of emaciation, but all the same Sabine needed all her strength to struggle with her to the grass on the opposite side of the road.

She wasn’t a young woman, either. Her hair, drawn back from her face into a chignon, was iron-grey, and there were deep lines around her nose and mouth.

She had the most ghastly pallor, Sabine thought, racing to fetch her jacket from the car and put it under the older woman’s head as a pillow. As she did so, the colourless lips moved in a faint moan.

At least she’s not dead, Sabine thought, relief flooding through her. She leaned close to the woman’s ear and said urgently, ‘Don’t move, madame . I’m going to get help.’

She jumped into her own car, hands fumbling with the ignition key. It started finally at the third attempt, and Sabine was almost weeping as she threw it at the hill. After the next corner, the road divided, and Sabine took the right-hand fork. Almost at once, the road levelled out, and she beat her fist on the steering-wheel in frustration.

‘The château’s at the very top of the hill,’ she wailed to herself. ‘This can’t be the way.’

She was looking for somewhere to turn when she suddenly realised there were buildings ahead of her. Not a house, but barns or storage areas of some kind. Oh, let there be someone around, she prayed silently, as she made the car fly the last few metres.

Directly ahead of her, three men stood in a group talking. At the sound of her approach, their heads swivelled towards her as if pulled by strings, their expressions transfixed by astonishment and alarm. If she hadn’t been so upset, it would almost have been funny.

Sabine tried to brake, stalled instead, and tumbled out of the car. ‘Please,’ she said between sobbing breaths. ‘Please come with me. There’s been an accident. A lady has been hurt.’

One of the men strode over to her. Sabine had a confused impression of height and strength, and an anger so powerful that she felt scorched by it.

His hand closed on her arm, bruising her, and she cried out in pain.

‘Who are you?’ A voice like steel and ice. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘That doesn’t matter now. You’ve got to help me. Someone’s injured.’

He swore violently under his breath, and Sabine found herself being propelled without gentleness into her own passenger-seat. He slotted himself in behind the steering-wheel, and started the car first time. Bastard, she thought. Know-all.

‘Show me.’

‘It was just before the fork.’ In spite of the heat of the day, her teeth had begun to chatter. ‘I was standing on the grass—just standing there. She—saw me, and—and—ran into a tree. I—I didn’t believe it.’

‘No?’ There was a kind of savage irony in his voice, and the dark eyes seared her. ‘I do.’

The damage to the Peugeot looked even worse as they approached, and Sabine groaned under her breath. The driver was sitting up, holding a hand groggily to her head.

‘How did she get there?’ Sabine was asked with a curtness that threatened to remove a layer of skin.

‘I put her there. I suppose I shouldn’t have moved her, but I was worried about the petrol tank—the car exploding.’

But he was already out of the car, ignoring her faltering explanation. He went down on one knee beside the older woman. ‘Tante Héloise.’ His voice had gentled quite magically. ‘Keep still, and try to be calm. Jacques has gone to call an ambulance.’

‘No.’ A thin hand gestured in agitation. ‘It isn’t necessary. I bumped my head, that’s all. I don’t wish to go to the hospital. Just take me to the house.’

‘You should have treatment. There may be some concussion.’

‘No, Gaston must not be worried.’ Her voice was stronger, more forceful, and she was struggling to get up. ‘Take me home, and send for Dr Arnaud if you must.’

As he helped her up, her gaze went past to him to Sabine, who was just getting out of the car to offer her assistance. The returning colour drained out of her face again, and she looked on the point of collapse.

‘Mon Dieu!’ she said, her voice hoarse and strained. ‘Isabelle.’

Sabine flinched, but she kept her tone low, controlled. ‘You are mistaken, madame . My mother is dead.’

The woman cried out, and sagged against the man holding her, pressing her face against his arm. He turned his head and glared at Sabine. It was a look she recognised instantly, although it was the first time she’d seen it in the flesh. He was the young boy in the photograph, but over six feet now, with broad shoulders and lean hips. The scowl too had gained at least another twenty years of maturity. It had a lethal edge now which cut her to the bone. She knew she didn’t deserve such scorn, but she felt herself shrink back, just the same.

‘Get in the car, mademoiselle .’ Contempt scored every word. ‘Haven’t you done enough harm today? You’re not wanted here. Go, and don’t come back.’

She was trembling all over, holding on to the car door for support, despising herself for her own weakness. Dry-mouthed, she said, ‘I would—only I don’t think I can drive just yet.’ She lifted her chin, glaring back, refusing to allow herself to be bested completely. ‘Or do you want to sacrifice another tree?’

For a long moment their glances clashed like swords, then there was a shout behind her, and she turned to see the two men he’d been talking to and a short stout woman in a dark overall running towards them.

‘Jacques.’ One of the men was singled out with an imperative finger, which was then stabbed at Sabine. ‘Take her wherever she wants to go. Only get her off this estate now, you understand? Before more damage is done,’ he added in an undertone.