A Passionate Spirit Read online

  A

  PASSIONATE

  SPIRIT

  S C SKILLMAN

  Copyright © 2015 S C Skillman

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Matador®

  9 Priory Business Park,

  Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,

  Leicestershire. LE8 0RX

  Tel: 0116 279 2299

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

  Twitter: @matadorbooks

  ISBN 978 1785893 988

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  For David,

  for Abigail and for Jamie

  Excerpt from The Guardian Stage News Macbeth review – stunning discovery in Nazari

  “This controversial and stylised production of ‘Macbeth’ by the theatre world’s most iconoclastic director relies on bizarre effects to portray the darkness of the play. Dressed in black, for these are the spirits of the night, the Weird Sisters are more subhuman than supernatural. And a number of the younger actors disappoint. But there is one glorious exception to the indifferent acting. Alice Nazari, though herself fresh from drama school, is magnificent as Lady Macbeth. The decision to cast an actress of African-Iranian heritage as Lady M. defied convention. And yet Alice Nazari commands the stage as Shakespeare’s most dauntless and strong-willed female character; decidedly malevolent and convincingly paranoid, she truly embodies the spirit of the play, and takes on a heart of darkness. Remember the name, for, if her talent is properly managed, she has a glittering future ahead of her.”

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chaptre Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Ninteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Six Months Later

  Two Months Later

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s Note

  About The Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Zoe ran through the wood in gathering dusk, her heart racing. She clutched the child’s hand, which kept slipping out of hers.

  Sweat drenched her blouse, sticking it to her jacket, despite the dank chill in the air. They pounded along a narrow bramble-choked path. Zoe winced and the child sobbed, as spiky stems tore at their clothes and flesh, drawing blood.

  Their breathing came fast and jagged. They had miles ahead of them with no prospect of rest, running for their lives.

  They came out into a field. Her chest burning, and tears stinging her eyes, Zoe paused to wipe sweat and hair away, both from her face and from the child’s. Before them was a ditch, filled with mud, half-hidden by low-hanging field maples. She twisted round and saw their pursuer burst out from among the trees on the opposite side of the field. Zoe seized the child in her arms, and plunged into the ditch, fighting her way through the twigs and branches of the trees beyond it. The child screamed and clung to her, soaked in mud, scratched and bruised…

  Zoe sat up in bed with a shriek. Theo woke, rolled over and held her close.

  “Zoe, Zoe,” he moaned, “not another nightmare, surely?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “The child… we were running through a wood… someone was trying to kill us.”

  Theo’s heart beat fast against hers. He looked at her, perplexed, stroking her hair and face.

  “Calmer now?” he said after a couple of minutes.

  She nodded.

  “You’re safe. I love you,” he said.

  They both lay down and Theo went back to sleep. But Zoe lay awake for a long while, thinking about the dream.

  It was still only three in the morning.

  “What’s the matter, Alice?” asked Zoe in the reception office later, gazing at her colleague, seated diagonally across from her.

  Alice’s milk-chocolate-coloured skin gleamed in the light from the window, as did her thick black hair, tied in a high ponytail. Her forehead creased into a look of concern.

  “Sorry,” she said, “that dream of yours gives me the creeps. I don’t mean to scare you any more, Zoe, but… well, I’ve had a few weird things happen to me lately…” She stopped as the reception door opened, and two guests came in carrying their luggage.

  Zoe jumped up.

  “Brian and Jasper,” she cried, “ready to leave? It’s been so good getting to know you both this week.”

  “Thanks, Zoe,” said Brian. “It’s been an amazing week.”

  “We’ve both found so much here,” said Jasper.

  “Even though I made a mess of my marbling technique,” remarked Brian, “and Jasper’s pot broke in the kiln.”

  “We got something far more important out of it though,” added Jasper. “Peace, tranquility, soul…”

  Zoe smiled warmly at them both.

  “I’m so pleased,” she said.

  “Before we go,” said Brian, “we need to tell you something. As we crossed the courtyard we saw a seriously scruffy guy stumbling along the path, past the barn.”

  “Didn’t look like a guest,” added Jasper.

  Brian laughed.

  Zoe pursed her lips.“Scruffy, you say?”

  “Yeah, looked a bit like a tramp.”

  Zoe glanced at Alice, who’d raised her eyebrows.

  “Which direction was he heading?” she asked.

  “Away from us, towards the lawn, as if he’d already crossed the courtyard. But you’d have seen him if he’d gone past your office window.”

  “Ok,” said Zoe. “Thanks for telling us. I’ll go and check him out.”

  She saw him as soon as she walked out of reception. He’d now reached the lawn. That day they had three guests on the property; those who’d chosen to stay on from the previous week. Apart from them, there should only be staff around. The n
ew guests for next week’s creative arts course were not due to arrive until the following day.

  And he looked nothing like any of their three remaining guests.

  A twig cracked beneath his feet as he trod on it. She hurried after him, calling out, “Excuse me.”

  He turned and glared at her.

  In the past, Zoe had preferred to keep her experience of vagrants safely behind the doors of a drop-in centre. She’d helped out in one during her university vacation, five years before, in south London.

  But here in this beautiful Gloucestershire valley he seemed strangely out of place. Zoe guessed he’d made his way along the lane from the nearest village, a mile away, where perhaps he’d have been hoping for a food handout. She imagined he was now trying his luck here too.

  He wore a long, filthy raincoat. Bloodshot eyes held her in scrutiny; thick beard and matted hair; half-full bottle of wine in his hand.

  She was determined to be kind and helpful.

  “Hello,” she said. “Can I help you?”

  He grunted. A stench of sweat came to her nostrils.

  “What do you want?” she asked softly.

  The tramp moved close, and opened his mouth as if to speak. She smelt his foul breath. Then he spat on the ground, in front of her feet. She recoiled.

  “Don’t do that,” she said. “I just want to help you.”

  He threw her a look of contempt, and slunk away, this time towards the south, disappearing along the path which led past the converted goose house, in the direction of the car park. She drew in her breath. If he’d been less aggressive she’d have been only too happy to give him some food. And now she was worried that he might be tempted to break into one of the cars.

  She’d need to find Bernie, their veteran house manager, and ask for help. She turned quickly towards the courtyard. She’d seen Bernie earlier, going to do some work in one of the cabins.

  Then she saw a child in front of her. She stopped dead. A little girl: long fair hair, wearing a green dress. She seemed to be four or five years old, and Zoe saw no adult with her. As centre administrator Zoe knew the name of each guest. There was no child among them.

  “Hello,” said Zoe. She smiled. “Are you lost?”

  “Where’s my daddy?” asked the little girl.

  “Your daddy?” repeated Zoe. “I don’t know. What’s his name? What does he look like?”

  The child made no reply. Instead, she looked through Zoe.

  Confused, Zoe swung round, expecting to see the child’s father. But there was no one. Then Vito barked. Distracted, Zoe glanced away towards the east. Perhaps their golden labrador had found the tramp. But no, he bounded alone amongst the lower branches of the conifer trees.

  Zoe turned back again to the little girl. She’d gone. Zoe’s mouth went dry. She rubbed her eyes, but when she put her hands down again, there was still no sign of the child. Zoe hadn’t expected her to move so fast.

  She looked around her, perplexed. Then her stomach tightened.

  “Oh my God! Where’s she gone? Suppose she went in the same direction as the tramp?”

  Terrified the child might meet up with the vagrant and get into some kind of trouble, she was about to run up the path to the car park when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

  “Hi there, Zoe.”

  She whirled. A silver-haired man appraised her, with an amused light in his eye.

  “Bernie,” she said. “Thank God.” She always felt safe with Bernie around – he had already spent three decades working as a house manager with a much bigger conference centre in Yorkshire, before he took this job down in the Cotswolds. For Zoe, he was almost like a grandfather-figure. “I’ve just seen a little girl who was asking for her father. I looked away for one moment and when I turned back she’d gone.”

  “I’ve not seen anyone here with a child,” he said.

  “That’s not all. Just a few moments before, I saw this foul-looking tramp with a bottle. He went up the path to the car park. I thought he might break into one of the cars. But what worries me now is what’s happened to that child. Suppose she’s still wandering around lost and she gets tangled up with him.”

  “Ok, Zoe. Calm down. I’ll deal with it,” Bernie said. “I’ll go myself right now, and look for them.”

  He whistled, and their golden labrador bounded up to him.

  “Good boy, Vito. Come on. We’re on a hunt,” he said. Man and dog then hurried up the path.

  “Thanks, Bernie,” she called. Zoe returned to the office, nervous and jittery. She felt a certain sense of relief that Bernie was on the track of the tramp and child, but she still wouldn’t be settled in her mind till he’d reported back. Meanwhile, hopefully she could have a chat with Alice about those ‘weird’ experiences she’d mentioned earlier, and find out why she’d reacted like that to Zoe’s account of her dream.

  But as she entered, the phone rang. Alice took the call.

  “Good morning. Celtic Knot Creative Arts Centre.” She listened then looked up at Zoe. “Zoe, do you know anyone called James Willoughby?”

  “James Willoughby?” Zoe said. “Well, if it’s the one I’m thinking of, yes, I do know him, from a few years back. Why?”

  Alice tucked the phone under her chin and typed another few words on her keyboard. “Yes, Zoe remembers you. No, that’s fine. You’ll see a marked route round the front of the building to the reception at the back. There’s a notice on the door. Come straight in.”

  She put the phone down.

  “So, you knew him before. Ex-lover?”

  “No way – not him!” said Zoe. Then she became reflective. “James Willoughby,” she mused, drumming her fingers on the desk. “Wonder why he’s turned up? You’ll find something in common with him, Alice. He’s an actor.”

  “Is he?” said Alice. “Ought I to have heard of him?”

  Zoe laughed. “Do I detect some professional rivalry there?”

  “Not at all,” protested Alice. “Go on, jog my memory.”

  “Journey to the Scaffold. Seen it? 18 certificate; he played the priest.”

  “Oh God, I do know it, yes. The critics slated it, didn’t they?”

  Zoe smiled. “He may not like to be reminded.”

  “I promise to be the soul of tact,” said Alice. She turned back to her computer and continued clattering at the keyboard. Zoe remained standing, ready to greet the new arrival.

  A few minutes later, the office door opened, and two people stepped in: a man and a woman.

  The man scrutinised Zoe, his expression keen and intelligent, while his companion fell back behind him. He wore a classic charcoal slim-fit suit with a blue check shirt. A wave of cologne assaulted her senses. Armani Code, she guessed, pleased at the sharpness of her own recall. She’d sniffed some in House of Fraser on the Promenade in Cheltenham just the Saturday before. He radiated style and confidence.

  Then he strode forward and grasped Zoe’s hand.

  “Zoe,” he said. “What a delight to catch up with old friends; and to find you as gorgeous as ever.” His tone was clear-cut. “How could anyone forget your red-gold hair and those wild green eyes?”

  “Thank you, James,” she said, freeing her hand as quickly as she could, and taking two or three steps backwards. When she’d known James before she’d preferred to keep her distance. If he came too close, she felt smothered. “Not so wild these days, I hope. Well, this is a… nice surprise to see you here.”

  “I should have called in on you much sooner. I’ve been planning to, ever since I first came across your website. What a lot of changes in only three years. I expect the Reverend Theo is the moving force behind that. Is he around?”

  “No, he’s at a meeting in Birmingham. And you need only call him Theo.”

  “Of course. I look forward to seeing him when he gets back, and catching up with him again. I must admit it came as rather a shock when I first discovered you two had got married. I simply hadn’t picked you out as at all likely to marry a
priest. And that would have been not long after you and I last saw each other.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Just a few months later, in fact,” he remarked. “I found out from your homepage.”

  Zoe nodded. She turned to indicate Alice, who sat with elbow on desk, chin resting on her thumb, index finger pointing up towards her face. “And here’s our bookings secretary, Alice Nazari.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Alice, removing her elbow from the desk.

  James gave a small bow. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

  Then he indicated his companion, who’d just moved to stand beside him, drawing Zoe’s eye as she did so.

  “Natasha – let me introduce you to these two ladies.” Natasha nodded, a sweet, solemn expression on her face.

  Zoe caught her breath.

  “Natasha Morrigan,” said James.

  Natasha stood a few centimetres higher than James; and Zoe knew him to be well above average height himself, being six-feet tall. Natasha’s pale skin seemed translucent. Her eyes were a startling sapphire blue, and her ash-blonde hair fell loose to her waist, with several braids plaited into it. The soft folds of her long white silk dress floated around her with every movement. She was the loveliest woman Zoe had ever met; though she did think Natasha’s silk dress a strange choice for cool autumn weather in the countryside.

  Regarding Zoe with a calm expression, Natasha gave Zoe her hand. Natasha’s hold was firm, but not too much so, and she released it at just the right moment, before she turned her attention to Alice, and shook her hand too.

  James’s gaze had been fixed on Natasha all this while, his lips slightly parted, eyes wide open.

  Then, seeming to recollect himself, he swung to face Zoe once more. “You may have noticed me on the big screen since we last met.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “What did you think?” he asked.

  “Strong story,” she said, “but your fate was a bit too graphic for me.”

  James sighed. “Yes. And I went largely unnoticed by the critics.”

  Zoe cleared her throat, ready to say something appropriate, but Alice broke in.

  “I was offered work as an extra on that film,” she said, “but I passed on it.”