The Dark Shore by Susan Howatch Read Free Book Online

but he still could not see him properly. The man had not moved at all, and the odd half-light was such that Jon could not see the expression in his eyes. He was aware of a sharp pang of uneasiness, a violent twist of memory which was so vivid that it hurt, and then an inexplicable wave of compassion.
    “I’m sorry things didn’t work out,” he said suddenly. “It must have been hard.”
    The fingers on the latch slowly loosened their grip; Rivers turned away from the door and paused by the table to examine the second post which lay waiting there for the occupants of the house.
    “I’m afraid I can’t tell you where she is.”
    “But you must,” said Jon. “I have to see her. You must.”
    The man’s back was to him, his figure still and implacable.
    “Please,” said Jon, who loathed having to beg from anyone. “It’s very important. Please tell me.”
    The man picked up an envelope and started to open it.
    “Is she in London?”
    It was a bill. He put it back neatly in the envelope and turned towards the stairs.
    “Look, Michael—”
    “Go to hell.”
    “Where is she?”
    “Get out of my—”
    “You’ve got to tell me. Don’t be so bloody stupid! This is urgent. You must tell me.”
    The man wrenched himself free of Jon’s grip and started up the stairs. When Jon moved swiftly after him he swung round and for the first time Jon saw the expression in his eyes.
    “You’ve caused too much trouble in your life, Jon Towers, and you’ve caused more than enough trouble for Marijohn. If you think I’m fool enough to tell you where she is, you’re crazy. You’ve come to the very last person on Earth who would ever tell you, and it so happens—fortunately for Marijohn—that I’m the only person who knows where she is. Now get the hell out of here before I lose my temper and call the police.”
    The words were still and soft, the voice almost a whisper in the silent hall. Jon stepped back and paused.
    “So it was you who called me this evening.”
    Rivers stared at him. “Called you?”
    “Called me on the phone. I had an anonymous phone call welcoming me back to England and the welcome wasn’t particularly warm. I thought it might be you.”
    Rivers still stared. Then he turned away as if in disgust. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jon heard him say as he started to mount the stairs again. “I’m a solicitor, not a crank who makes anonymous phone calls.”
    The stairs creaked; he turned the corner and Jon was alone suddenly with his thoughts in the dim silent hall.
    He went out, finding his way to Parliament Square and walking past Big Ben to the Embankment. Traffic roared in his ears, lights blazed, diesel oil choked his lungs. He walked rapidly, trying to expel all the fury and frustration and fear from his body by a burst of physical energy, and then suddenly he knew no physical movement was going to soothe the turmoil in his mind and he stopped in exhaustion, leaning against the parapet to stare down into the dark waters of the Thames.
    Marijohn, said his brain over and over again, each thought pattern harsh with anxiety and jagged with distress. Marijohn, Marijohn, Marijohn ...
    If only he could find out who had made the phone call. Even though he had for a moment suspected his mother he was certain she wasn’t responsible. The person who had made that call must have been at Clougy during that last terrible weekend, and although his mother might have guessed what had happened with the help of her own special knowledge she would never think that he ...
    Better not to put it into words. Words were irrevocable forms of expression, terrible in their finality.
    So it wasn’t his mother. And he was almost certain it wasn’t Michael Rivers. Almost ... And of course it wasn’t Marijohn. So that left Max and the girl Max had brought down from London that weekend, the tall, rather disdainful blonde called Eve. Poor Max, getting himself in such a muddle, trying to fool himself