Sara Craven - King Of Swords

She parked her car and walked through the copse. The shining trailers were parked neatly enough, but there seemed to be no one around except, for a tethered dog who barked aggressively at her as she passed.

She said, ‘Shut up, Ben you idiot,’ and knocked on the door of the largest and glossiest trailer.

It opened immediately, revealing a small, white-haired woman in a stridently floral overall. Blackberry-dark eyes surveyed the visitor gravely.

‘Well, Miss Julia,’ she said. ‘It came to me that you’d be here today.’

Julia gave her a level look. Grandma Pascoe was reputed to have the second sight, and made a good income from telling fortunes at local fêtes and fairgrounds, but Julia had never believed the old woman had any special powers, just a good nose for gossip, and a phenomenal memory. And everyone in the county would know that no matter how long she’d been away, she would be back for tonight’s party. No ESP required for that! she thought with a trace of cynicism.

She said, ‘Hello, Grandma. Is Loy about?’

The white head moved in negation. ‘He’s seeing a man on business. Come in, Miss Julia. The kettle’s boiled, and I’ve been spreading the cards for you.’

Julia hesitated. The tea would be welcome, but the last thing she wanted was Grandma brooding over the tarot cards on her behalf.

She began, ‘I really don’t think …’ but Grandma stopped her with an imperative gesture.

‘You may not believe, missy, but there’s a message for you just the same. I’ve been sitting waiting for you to come and hear it.’

And no doubt cross her palm with silver, the old crook, Julia thought, torn between amusement and annoyance, as she followed Grandma into the trailer and sat down opposite her at the table. The tea was scalding and almost black, and she sipped carefully, as Grandma began to turn over the cards in front of her.

‘‘Tes all change for you, maiden, and a journey across water.’

‘I’ve just done that,’ Julia said wearily, Usually Grandma made at least a pretence of seeing the future.

‘This is ‘nother one.’ Grandma gave her a gimlet look.

‘I don’t think so.’ Julia shook her head. ‘This time I’m here to stay.’

‘See what covers you?’ Grandma turned over another card, and gasped. ‘The King of Swords! He’s come to cut you off from all you know. He’s terrible powerful, the King of Swords. You can’t fight him, though you may try.’

‘You can count on that,’ Julia said drily. ‘Can you tell me what he looks like, so I can be sure to avoid him?’

‘He’s close enough to touch.’ Grandma’s voice lowered to a whisper, and in spite of herself Julia felt a faint frisson of uneasiness chill her spine. ‘And you can’t avoid your fate, maiden.’ She turned over the final card, and gasped again. ‘See—the Tower struck by lightning. Your world turned upside down, and no mistake.’

Julia stared down at the card, her brows drawing together. She found herself wishing, ridiculously, that she’d bypassed the camp and let her father deal with the interloper. Then she pulled herself together. She had never been taken in by Grandma’s nonsense before, and she certainly wasn’t going to start now.

She drank the rest of her tea in one wincing gulp, and stood up. ‘Well, the weather forecast says nothing about storms,’ she remarked briskly. ‘I’ll take my chance.’ She reached for her bag, but Grandma Pascoe shook her head.

‘There’s no need for money beween us, Miss Julia. I’ve given you the warning. I can do no more.’ She paused. ‘You’re a proud girl, and no mistake, with a mind of your own. But that pride of yours will be brought low. It’s all here.’ She tapped the cards with a bony forefinger. ‘Now run away home, and dance at your party while you can.’

Julia almost stumbled down the steps of the trailer, and paused, her heart thumping. There should be a law, she thought angrily, against Grandma Pascoe and her kind spreading forecasts of doom. It was all very different from the handsome husbands and football pools wins that the old lady generally predicted.

She sat in the car, letting her pulses slow to a more normal rate, castigating herself for being an idiot. And she hadn’t even left a message for Loy about the trespasser, she realised vexedly, as she started her engine. Well, that would have to wait, because she certainly wasn’t going back.

The yard at the back of the house which housed the former stables and the garages was crowded with vehicles, florists’ and caterers’ vans among them. There was the usual atmosphere of bustle and subdued panic that Julia always associated with the Midsummer party. Although heaven knows why, she told herself wryly, as she slid her car into its usual corner. Everything’s always perfect, and this year even the weather’s going to oblige us.

She found her mother in the large drawing-room, surrounded by lists. Lady Kendrick looked up as Julia walked towards her, her face breaking into a strained smile. ‘Darling—at last!’ She embraced her warmly. ‘But you’re very late. I was beginning to get anxious.’

‘I took a slight detour,’ Julia said with deliberate lightness. ‘And I really wish I hadn’t. She gave her mother a searching look. Had those worry lines round her mouth and eyes, the tension along her cheekbones, been there unnoticed before Julia went away? If so, perhaps these few weeks of separation had been a good thing if they’d taught her to be more perceptive. Lydia Kendrick had always been a highly strung, nervous woman, and the vagaries of life with her charming, feckless but much-loved husband had done little to ease the wear and tear on her nervous system.

‘Is everything all right?’ asked Julia anxiously.

‘Everything’s fine—and wonderful now that you’re here. I can’t wait to hear all the news about Miriam—and everyone. But there’s so much to do.’ Lydria Kendrick gestured helplessly about her, and Julia kissed her cheek.

‘I’ll go and unpack, then I’ll pitch in and lend a hand with it all,’ she promised reassuringly. ‘Where’s Daddy?’

‘He’s rather busy. Mr Poulton came down first thing this morning. They’ve been shut up in the study for most of the day.’

Julia’s brows lifted. ‘Rather inconsiderate of Polly,’ she remarked, using her father’s joking name for their staid family solicitor. ‘He doesn’t usually bother Daddy with business meetings on Midsummer Day.’ She paused. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?’

‘Of course not.’ Her mother was smiling, but her glance slid away evasively. ‘It’s just—routine. Probably Polly underestimated the time it would take.’

There is something the matter, Julia thought as she unlocked her cases in her sunny bedroom and began to restore the contents to drawers and wardrobe. It wasn’t just the uproar of preparing for the party either. It was like some dark and disturbing undercurrent beneath Ambermere’s familiar and tranquil surface. From the moment she’d seen that man—that intruder in the lower paddock, her day had seemed disjointed, her homecoming oddly clouded.

‘Jools, you’re going crazy,’ she adjured herself, as she unwrapped the dress she planned to wear that evening from its protective folds of tissue. Aunt Miriam had helped her choose it, and it relied for its chic on its stark and simple cut. She rarely wore that shade of midnight blue, but she had to admit Aunt Miriam was right when she said it darkened her eyes to sapphire. In the past, she’d chosen floating fabrics and pastels—débutante dresses, she thought with a slight grimace. This elegant, sophisticated model was going to open a few eyes—make it clear that Julia Kendrick was no longer a girl, but a woman ready and prepared to embark on her chosen course in life.

She sat down on her dressing stool and lifted her hair on top of her head in a casual swirl, studying herself, experimenting. The brief knock on her door made her start, and she looked up guiltily to see her mother had joined her.

‘Are you waiting for me?’ Julia jumped up. ‘I’ll only be a few minutes.’

‘No—no. Everything’s running like clockwork really—as it should after all these years.’ Lydia Kendrick’s voice was pitched higher than usual, and she dabbed at her mouth with a lace-edged handkerchief. ‘Jools darling, I shouldn’t be here talking to you like this. Your father told me to wait until after the party—not to spoil things for you on your first night—but I can’t …’

Julia put a protective arm round the slender shoulders, helping her to the window seat and sitting beside her.

‘What is it, love? Has Daddy been backing losers again? Is that why Polly’s here, to give him the usual rap over the knuckles?’

Lydia gave a strangled sob. ‘It’s worse than that,’ she said hoarsely. ‘So much worse. I don’t know how to tell you…’ There was a pause while she obviously fought for control. Then she said brokenly, ‘Jools—your father is having to sell this house.’

Julia had the oddest sensation that everything in the room had receded to a great distance. Her voice sounded very clear, however, and very cold.

‘Is this some awful joke? Because I’m afraid I don’t find it very funny …’

‘Would I—could I joke about something like this?’ Her mother’s tone was piteous. ‘Ambermere has to go. That’s why Mr Poulton’s here. He’s been here every day almost for the past two weeks. Your—your father’s had a lot of financial setbacks. The Mullion Corporation takeover—there was talk of insider trading—he had to resign from the board, although he swears he had nothing to do with it. And that’s not all. Some time ago, Daddy changed a lot of our investments, because he felt we needed more return from our money. Some of the new investments were—high-risk, but he thought it was worth the gamble.’ She swallowed nervously. ‘We lost a great deal—too much. It’s been a disaster. We have to sell Ambermere, Jools, because we can’t afford to go on living here. The party tonight will be the last we’ll ever give.’ She began to cry, her throat wrenched by small gusty sobs.

Julia sat holding her, feeling frozen.

Worth the gamble, she thought. Those words had a hollow ring. All her life, her father had been a gambler, preferring to live his life on a knife-edge of insecurity. There were years when his betting and baccarat losses had been phenomenal. Julia could remember tearful scenes, and an atmosphere of gloomy repentance which she had only partly understood at the time.

Later, it had been explained to her that their income was adequate as long as they lived quietly and without undue extravagance. But that wasn’t Philip Kendrick’s way. Country life bored him, except in small doses. He was always looking out for some scheme which would restore the family fortunes to some fabled pre-war level. He’d been like some small boy, looking for adventure, she thought. But now the adventure had gone hideously wrong.

She said, ‘Why—did Polly let him?’

‘He didn’t tell him anything about it until it was too late. You see, Daddy had been taking advice from some American he’d met in Monte Carlo—some financial wizard.’ Lydia’s lips tightened. ‘Apparently this man’s just been indicted for fraud in New York.’

Julia felt sick, ‘Oh, God—Daddy’s not involved in that?’

‘Oh, no.’ Lydia’s fingers tore nervously at her handkerchief, but her voice was decisively reassuring. ‘Darling, I know how you must feel—but Daddy did this for the best. The costs of running a house like this, an estate like Ambermere, are punitively high. He wanted you to have—a proper inheritance, not to have to scrimp and save all your life.’