True Colours Part 17

In the back seat of the patrol car Caroline was delighted to find Sean climbing in beside her. He had moved her car off the road, left the hazard lights flas.h.i.+ng for as long as they lasted before the tow truck came to collect it.

'Don't you need to use your handcuffs? Or lock the doors? I might try to escape.' She flicked her hair over her shoulder and pouted, pus.h.i.+ng her shoulders back trying to increase her cleavage.

Maybe her day was about to improve.

THIRTY EIGHT.

Her mind flying down a hundred blind alleyways, all dark and cold and terrifying, Alex could feel Sebastian's fear, arcing like an electric current, as raw and real as her own. But instead of lying there, waiting for the next explosion, he was on his feet, buckling his belt, heading for the open door.

And moments later he was back. Eyes streaming, coughing hard, slamming the door behind him.

'It's a fire, somewhere downstairs. The hall's full of smoke.'

'Oh my G.o.d, but...'

Sebastian didn't wait for her to form the sentence, to ask the questions. Instead grabbed her trousers from the chair and threw them at her, his jaw clenched like he didn't trust himself to speak. Then he was in the bathroom and she could hear the taps running full blast over the scream of the alarm, fast, furious and urgent.

Dazed, Alex struggled to pull herself together. It took her a second or two. A second in which she marvelled at how fast life could throw you a total screwball, at how fast your whole value system could be turned on its head. In the same time it took for a cork to be pulled from a bottle, or for a bullet to leave the barrel of a gun.

But this wasn't a time for introspection or philosophy.

Sliding off the bed, Alex pulled on her trousers, boots, reached for her s.h.i.+rt, was doing up a b.u.t.ton somewhere in the middle as Sebastian came out of the bathroom, a pile of towels, wringing wet, in his hand.

'Here, you might need this. Keep low if the smoke gets too thick.' Calm, controlled, in charge. 'There's no way we can get down the main staircase, we'll have to use the backstairs from the ballroom...' Sebastian paused, avoiding her eyes, his voice strong but his face drained white. 'They're stone, I'm sure they'll be okay. ' Who was he rea.s.suring, her or himself?

Alex nodded silently, the bitter taste of fear rising from her stomach. He was hiding the anguish he had to be feeling, trying to be strong for her. This was his ancestral home; there had been Wingfields here for almost four hundred years. She swallowed hard, she wasn't going to fall apart now.

Focusing on the practical, grasping for facts to stop her imagination going into overdrive, Alex ran through the route in her mind. This room was above the ballroom at the far corner of the east wing, which meant they had to go half way across the house to reach the landing, then on down the broad carpeted stairs that led to the mezzanine landing where the Grand Staircase met the double doors of the ballroom. Then they would have to cross the ballroom to get to the backstairs. It was a long way in brilliant suns.h.i.+ne on a summer's day. In the dark, in smoke-filled corridors, it was a lifetime away. Years ago, flights of rough stone steps had criss-crossed the house, running from the kitchens to the fourth floor bedrooms and on up to the attic. But the insurance company had insisted they were blocked up, reckoned they provided a perfect funnel for fire if the building ever caught alight...

If Alex thought her heart was beating hard before, it was nothing compared to now.

'Come on, we'll have to try it. There's no other way out.' Seeing the blank look of fear in Alex's eyes, Sebastian rubbed the tops of her arms like she was a small child on her first day of school. 'We'll be fine. Hold onto my belt and for G.o.d's sake don't let go. It's not too bad here but gets thicker near the stairs. When we get down to the kitchen, grab Dodo and get out.'

'But we need to call the fire brigade...' Alex's voice sounded wrong, a pale imitation of itself.

'The alarm goes straight through to a monitoring station. If we don't ring to cancel it they send the cavalry. We need to get out.' Sebastian paused, took a short sharp shaky breath, tried to sound rea.s.suring, 'I'm sure they're already on the way.' Did he believe that?

'What about your grandfather?' Alex was fighting to keep the panic out of her voice, to keep focused like he was, to be useful, positive.

'Olga may already have him outside but we can get to his rooms through the French windows from the Formal Garden.' Alex hardly recognised his voice. It was focused, practical, hard-edged. He was holding it together for them both. 'Ready?'

She nodded silently.

His fingers gentle, Sebastian spun her around, grabbing a wet towel from the bed where he had dropped them, tying it over her mouth and nose, knotting it behind her head like a scarf.

'That okay?'

Alex nodded and felt his hands linger on her shoulders as he drew a breath. She reached for them, grasping his fingers for a second, a second during which they connected, everything between them forgotten.

But there was no time to waste.

Grabbing a second towel, Sebastian tied it around his own face, then wrapped another around his forearm. Even in the few minutes he had been back in the room, the smoke had crept along the landing, was seeping in under the door, catching in Alex's throat, making her eyes sting as it insinuated itself into the room.

'Right. Let's roll.'

Outside the corridor was pitch-dark, the sound of the alarm bouncing off the walls, reverberating inside her head. The doors along its length were closed to any hint of moonlight that might have penetrated the thickening smoke. Alex held on tight to Sebastian's belt, the thick leather, worn rough, solid in her hand, her knuckles chaffing against his bare skin, damp with sweat. How could this be happening? Her head down, one hand holding the towel over her nose, her eyes screwed shut, lungs heaving, Alex followed Sebastian's lead, could hear his smothered coughs ahead of her, the sound lost in the death cries of the building as it burnt.

They had often talked about fire, her and Sebastian, and her dad. They'd talked about sprinklers, but back then they hadn't been an option. It might have been privately owned, but Kilfenora was a listed building and the Wingfields couldn't even change the colour of the front door without an army of councillors and historians getting involved. Alex knew that most of the house had been built in the early 1800s, but the central castle dated back to the 1600s. And now, with a shock that jolted her physically, Alex remembered her dad telling her that it was constructed in stone over a timber frame. A timber frame that had had a whole four hundred years to dry out.

Blinded, her eyes shut tight, Alex stumbled, jerking Sebastian back hard. She felt rather than saw him twist to check she was okay, the belt in her hand moving with the pull of his hips. Recovering, totally disorientated, she pushed him on. They didn't have time for niceties now.

The smoke was getting thicker, coating the back of her throat, drying her mouth until it felt like her tongue was swelling; she could smell the unmistakable scent of burning wood interwoven with something sharper, more acrid, something that stung and caught and made her retch. Alex felt Sebastian bob down in front of her, looking for the clear air nearer the floor, looking for a way out.

Following him down, on her knees now, Alex's thoughts were jumbled, the realization that it was the lack of oxygen that was making her dizzy, coming with agonizing slowness. Despite her confusion, one thing was crystal clear without Sebastian guiding her, leading her along, she would be lying in the corridor now, unconscious, breathing in the noxious fumes.

They had only travelled twenty or thirty yards, in probably a matter of minutes, but it already felt like an hour, her back locked from bending, knotted with tension, with fear. Ahead of her, Alex felt Sebastian stop abruptly, reach for her hand, his fingers strong and sure, pulling her to him. They were at the top of the first flight of stairs. The darkness was complete, oily, acidic like black coffee on an empty stomach. Below them she could hear the fire taking control, licking and spitting. Gla.s.s shattering. Even two floors up it was deafening, a roar like a jet engine, like h.e.l.l itself. Alex felt Sebastian hesitate, moved closer to him, putting one arm around his waist, disorientated, the fingers of her free hand reaching out for the wall.

But the wall was hot. Alex pulled her hand back like she'd been bitten.

Then Sebastian was moving again. His hand firm on hers, he uncurled her arm, deftly hooking her fingers back through his belt. Alex could feel him pulling away from her as he crept down the staircase, crouching, testing each step, the belt dragging down in front of her, down towards the fire. Alex wanted to scream, to pull him back, to stop him. Surely they would be better heading for the roof? At least they would be able to breathe up there.

Panic began to overtake her and for a second Alex lost her grip. But there was no way she was letting go that easily. Fumbling for his belt, Alex knew she was clawing Sebastian's back, didn't care, just needed to be connected with him again, to hold on. He must have felt the pull on his jeans disappear, he stopped, flailing behind him for her hand. Then he caught it, held her wrist so tight she thought it would break, guided her hand back to the belt. She wanted to hold his hand, feel his pulse, connect physically. Then she realised he needed his hands free to balance, to measure the s.p.a.ce ahead of them so they didn't walk straight into the banisters. This time Alex locked on, her thumb meeting her fingers in a death grip.

And seconds later she felt her foot reach level ground. They'd made it to the bottom of the stairs. A few more steps, crawling, and Alex was sure she heard a door slam behind her.

'This way, help me with the window. We've got to get some air in here.'

It took a moment for Alex to register, to react to Sebastian's voice. Her knees wobbled, almost failing...but they had made it to the ballroom. Still clutching his belt, stiff, her limbs screaming, Alex stumbled behind him across the huge room, towards the long sash windows that overlooked the Formal Gardens. Grabbing the catches, Sebastian flicked them back, grunting with the effort of hauling them up. They hadn't been opened for years, the swollen wood protesting. He gave an almighty heave and the window flew up, the cords and weights rattling in surprise.

'Phew. Get some air. For G.o.d's sake don't fall out.'

Alex had collapsed on the floor at his feet, but pulling her to him, his arm strong around her waist, Sebastian dragged her to the windowsill, pulling the towel from her face, turning her head towards the night sky. Blinded by the smoke, by the tears in her eyes she could hardly see but gasped in the sweet fresh air.

'This will create a chimney, drag the flames up faster. We can't stay here for long.' Sebastian's voice was little more than a croak. She nodded, still unable to speak. Then, beginning to recover, the vital oxygen filling her lungs, she pulled at the towel, using it to rub her face. It was dry, black with s.m.u.ts.

'Jesus. I can't believe this is happening.'

Sebastian didn't get any further, was interrupted by a cry from below. It was Olga, Guy Wingfield's nurse, waving frantically, gesticulating towards the front door, then crossing her arms above her head like she was guiding a helicopter in to land. Which was exactly what they needed now a Chinook twin-blade with twelve burly Marines on board.

Sebastian stuck his head out the window, waved, then cupped his hand around his ear. He couldn't hear her clearly, but they could both see she was frantic. Pointing towards the front of the house.

'I think she means the fire's at the front.' Sebastian stared hard into the darkness of the garden, 'And I can't see Grandfather.' Then half to himself, 'He must be out on the drive.' Turning to Alex, he rubbed her knee, 'Ready? We'll have to get moving or we'll never get out.'

'Can't we wait for the fire brigade?' Alex's voice was little more than a whisper. Thoughts of plunging back into the narrow smoke-filled corridor of the back stairs filling her with terror.

Sebastian pulled her close, kissing her hair. 'It took two hours for Windsor Castle to burn. The alarm goes right through, but the nearest fire station is ten miles away and it's part-time, so they're not sitting there at the station waiting for a call, they have to get there before they can get to us. I don't think we have time to hang around.' Alex nodded. There was nothing she could say. She buried her face in his neck.

Across the ballroom there was an explosion like a car bomb. They spun around. The floor was covered in gla.s.s, more smoke billowing in, thick, acrid like burning tyres.

'Jesus, that was the Palm House. There are a load of Calor gas canisters in there, and petrol for the generator,' Sebastian paused, his mind trying to grasp the implications, 'and fertiliser and paint. Christ I knew I should have move them. We need to get going. If the oil tank goes we'll be toast.'

Grabbing Alex by the wrist, dragging her to her feet, Sebastian pulled her towards the door hidden in the wainscot, tucked in beside the chimney breast. More smoke as he yanked the door open, its handle disguised as a plaster flourish.

The smoke had penetrated this corner of the west wing, but wasn't nearly as bad as upstairs on the east side of the house. Was Sebastian right, was the fire in the Palm House? Alex's mind fought to rationalise this as she heard the door swing closed behind her. But they were already running down the stone steps, the fumes swirling and dancing around them, spreading upwards like a virus. It was pitch-black, but with her hands on each wall, Sebastian's boots loud on the treads below her, Alex felt sure of the way. How many times had she run up here from the den, laughing so much she couldn't see? The treads were even, curving in a slow spiral, splitting on a narrow landing, one flight reaching for the kitchen and the servants' quarters in the bas.e.m.e.nt, the other for the blue parlour. Thank G.o.d they were stone. Narrow and worn, the walls rough, pitted with alcoves for candles or lanterns. Beneath her fingertips, the walls were cool, rough but cool.

'Come on.' Jettisoning through the pine door at the bottom of the staircase, stumbling into the kitchen, Sebastian fell against the kitchen table, hands apart, chest heaving. Alex followed, slamming the door closed behind her, her back to it as if holding it closed would keep the smoke at bay. Then Alex bent double, coughing, retching, gasping for air, and something warm and wet hit her in the face.

'Dodo!' she could hardly get the words out, fell with her arms around the old dog, burying her face in its coat.

Sebastian's eyes met hers. His face and chest were smeared with carbon. He reached for her hand and pulled her towards the garden door.

THIRTY NINE.

'Here they are at last.' Derek O'Hanlon, the sergeant in charge of Kilfenora's small but efficient Garda station jumped out of the one battered armchair in the public office and nodded to the two lads who had been waiting since ten for The Griff to bring the patrol car back to base. 'You two get up to the house and a.s.sist Bravo One, let me know what's happening.'

Both in their thirties, well over six feet tall and solidly built, the two men greeted Joe with a grin, giving Caroline a swift appraisal before heading straight out to the yard. She was a looker but their interest ended there. Things were moving fast up at Kilfenora, radio messages flas.h.i.+ng out to all the emergency services and they were both itching to get the inside track from the fire brigade.

The sergeant put his mug of coffee down on a desk covered in a sea of well-thumbed newsprint and did his own appraisal of the woman who had just stumbled in through the door, relying heavily on Joe Griffin's supporting hand at her elbow. She didn't look their usual sort despite the fake tan and broken heelwas dressed like some sort of Greek G.o.ddess. In the harsh and uncompromising fluorescent light he couldn't see any track marks on her bare arms, and her sleek black hair and flashy dress and jewellery certainly looked like the real thing...

Over her shoulder The Griff rolled his eyes theatrically and inclined his head towards their resident Romeo, young Sean, who had slipped in behind them, was now busying himself checking the incident reports churned out by the fax machine, trying hard to look invisible. The sergeant followed Joe's eye, amused. There was obviously a story in this one...and from the disgruntled look on Sean's face, and the smear of lipstick on his jaw, it was a good one.

'Name?' Moving over to a desk with a computer terminal and keyboard resting on it, O'Hanlon looked expectantly at Caroline. But she obviously wasn't listening, was looking around the faded grandeur of the public office with unconcealed interest, like she'd just arrived in Disneyland.

It had been someone's front room about a hundred years before; part.i.tion walls thrown up when it was taken over by the State slicing the cornicing and dado rails between the interview room and the pa.s.sage to the cells, like icing on a cake. Stuffy, the storage heaters never quite on the right setting, the plastered walls scarred and battered and painted in Corporation cream, it had definitely seen better days. Even the desk the sergeant was leaning on, new in 1975, was ringed with coffee stains, a large chip in its Formica top where a prisoner had tried to make a break for it through the wired gla.s.s of the public hatch, taking the guard he was handcuffed to with him. Curiosity getting the better of him, O'Hanlon followed Caroline's eye line to see what was so interesting. The row of dented filing cabinets leaning against one wall was typical, office grey, nothing remarkable there; a row of box files stood to attention along the top, punctuated by a scattering of peaked hats and a bullet-proof vest... maybe it was the footie she was interested in; the station's portable TV was on behind him, the sound turned down.

Before he had a chance to repeat his question, Caroline's eyes widened, 'Gosh it's just like The Bill or CSI or something isn't it?' O'Hanlon did a double take. He hadn't expected a posh accent, albeit slurred, the glimpse of France like a high kick in the Moulin Rouge. She interrupted his thoughts with a giggle, 'Where do you lock them up?'

Behind her the door from the cells opened, Garda Maria Fennelly appearing, a set of huge Victorian keys jangling in her hand. Dressed exactly like her male colleagues, her blonde bob pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, face devoid of makeup she was younger than Caroline but a whole lot more with it. She caught Caroline's last comment, stood back expressionless, watching the proceedings, her arms folded, taking in the sunray-pleated white wrap evening dress, her peep-toe suede shoe-boots, the missing four-inch heel. O'Hanlon stifled the chuckle that was welling up inside him if they could get her booked in, she'd be getting a guided tour of the inside of the cells soon enough.

'Could you tell me your full name please?' He could have added it's almost 10.30 p.m. and these boys want to get home, and Man United are playing Chelsea and half the village is trying to put out a blaze like the Towering Inferno, but he managed to resist the temptation. Caroline got the point though, looked at him like he'd asked her for her bra size.

'Caroline Audiguet-O'Reilly.' From her tone, she obviously thought he should have known. O'Hanlon's fingers hovered over the keys, 'That's AUDIGUET, like the wine?'

'Right,' he paused, then, 'date of birth?'

'Well really I don't...'

'Date of birth?'

'5th November...1973,' O'Hanlon tapped it in to the computer, 'I'm Scorpio. Intense and pa.s.sionate...' That figured. His ex-wife was Scorpio, he could have added jealous, obsessive and obstinate before you even got to the sting in the tail.

'Address?'

'The Four Seasons, b.a.l.l.sbridge.'

'The hotel?'

'In the apartments. Top floor.' Nice.

'Nationality?'

'French.' Now they were getting somewhere.

'Do you have any medical problems?'

'Do cheating fiances count?'

O'Hanlon almost groaned. This was a simple procedure, it shouldn't take all night, 'No, I was thinking more of diabetes, drug dependence that sort of thing.'

Caroline screwed up her face for a moment, apparently thinking hard, 'No, none that I know of. I'm pretty much perfect.'

Over her shoulder O'Hanlon caught Joe rolling his eyes again. 'Do you want to contact a solicitor?'

There was a pause. A long pause.

'Why would I need to do that?' Caroline's voice was sweet, slurred but sweet and completely innocent. Joe shook his head in disbelief, running his hand across his eyes. He'd seen some good ones over the years, but she really took the biscuit. How many had she had? He exchanged a look over Caroline's shoulder with Maria.

'You've been arrested. Do you know why you were arrested?'

'Me? I think you must be mixing me up with someone else. I had a bit of a b.u.mp in my car and these lovely guards brought me here. And I'd love a cup of coffee.'

'Caroline Audiguet-O'Reilly you've been arrested under Section 49 of the Road Traffic Act 2006. You were seen driving erratically and when stopped, you smelled strongly of alcohol and were unable to walk along a straight line between your vehicle and the Garda patrol vehicle. You are required to provide a breath sample.'

'I'm sure after a cup of coffee I'd be able to walk anywhere with that other chap...'

'We won't be giving you anything that could interfere with the result of the sample.'

Caroline looked at O'Hanlon aghast, then, sounding like a small child arguing over a toy, said, 'Well I'm not going to give you a sample then.'

O'Hanlon had seen this one coming, 'In that case you will be charged with refusing to give a breath sample, which automatically carries the maximum penalty.' He nodded to Maria. They needed a female guard for the next bit in the early days when there were fewer women in the job this whole procedure could have been held up for hours while they sent to Dublin for a woman to deal with a woman prisoner. Thank G.o.d things had changed. 'You will be held here for your own safety until you sober up. Please remove any valuables, belts, jewellery etc and hand them to Garda Fennelly.'

'And why exactly do I need to do that?' Caroline narrowed her eyes, flicking them from Maria to the sergeant. It was the first time she'd noticed that there was another woman in the room and it seemed to throw her off her stride, 'How do I know they'll be safe?'

'This is a Garda station,' he spelled it out, 'safer than the Bank of Ireland. Now, if you don't mind?' O'Hanlon gestured for her to take off her jewellery.

Glaring at him, Caroline reached up to undo the impressive ruby and emerald necklace around her neck. Maria held open a large brown paper envelope. The necklace landed inside with a bang like a fire cracker.

'And the ring please.' Maria gestured with the envelope.

Arching her eyebrows, Caroline slipped the Wingfield Sapphire off her finger, hesitating for a moment before she dropped it into the bag. 'I won't need that back.'

The sergeant ran his hand through his hair, 'And why exactly would that be?'

Caroline pouted, 'It's not mine.'

He almost sighed; had she been out robbing the crown jewels as well as trying to kill herself on the road? 'And how exactly did you come by it if it's not yours?'

Focusing on her bracelet watch which was slithering away from her whenever she got her nail under the fastening, Caroline didn't pick up on his implication.