‘I know. I can see you thinking: are we being complete idiots? Well, perhaps so. On the other hand remember the immortal words: If you can keep your head, when all about you are losing theirs, then it may be you just haven’t assessed the situation correctly, my son!’ And his gaze switched to Arnold Bourne. ‘If we get a peaceful night we can afford to laugh at ourselves tomorrow­.’

16

16 Inferno

In the lounge the fire sagged. A flame, blue-hot, rose phoenix-like from the glowing red heart of the partially consumed logs. The slight noise brought Paul’s head up and he glanced at his watch. Three-twelve. Almost time to make the next round. He looked across at Carol, huddled in a corner of the couch. He got up to position another log on the fire. When they had come downstairs she had sat beside him on his couch, his arms about her. But she had seemed uneasy and finally admitted she couldn’t stand having both their backs towards the battened doors of the billiards-room.

‘All right,’ he had said. ‘You sit opposite me. You watch my back and I’ll watch yours.’

When they had retired at eleven they had lain at first in each other’s arms, hesitant about making love, both of them conscious of the room along the corridor, of the two bodies lying under their white sheets. To love seemed quite irrationally improper in such circumstances; it seemed an affront to the dead somehow. But then necessity overtook them. On the previous night their love-making had been driven by a single-minded need for each other, tonight it had been an affirmation of life itself, a light and a warmth in the enclosing darkness of Ardvreck House. Afterwards, in the post-coital spell, he had searched her wide eyes, found them tear-filled.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I can’t help thinking of us and then thinking of them . . .’ He had stroked the back of her head, not knowing what to say.

Now in the lounge he straightened up from the fire. Crossing to Carol he bent and kissed her.

‘Time to move.’

She rose. Paul opened the lounge door. The icy cold atmosphere of the hall met him. And blackness. The oil-lamp burning there had gone out. Carol stood in the threshold watching while he crossed the mushy layer of snow, his torch beam searching the depth of the hall like a car headlamp. He removed the glass shade, turned up the wick, struck a match and relit the lamp. It burned brightly, steadying as he replaced the cover. A gust of wind or some heavier snowflakes must have put it out, he thought. The explanation did not quite convince him.

Carol closed the lounge door and joined him at the dining-room door. He opened it and they entered. He noticed that Ann and Joyce also sat on either side of the fire.