No Heaven, No Hell

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  1

  ‘For God’s sake, Katherine, are you out of your mind? Aren’t you afraid of what might happen?’ He visibly shuddered, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘You surely can’t have forgotten why he went away?’

  The old woman’s eyes flickered to a smile. ‘No, Cyrus,’ she murmured, ‘I could never forget.’

  In spite of the horror that had driven away her only son, and even through the long lonely years that followed, Katherine Louis had never lost hope that, one day, she and the child she adored would be reunited. She had never apportioned blame, nor did she pretend to understand the awful sequence of shocking events that had aged her before her time.

  ‘I want Jack to come home,’ she said simply. ‘The parting has been too long, too painful.’

  Roaring like a lion in agony, he raised his two fists and slammed them one into the other. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying,’ he cried. ‘It’s been over twenty years. He’s probably imprisoned in an asylum somewhere. He might even be dead.’ His blue eyes stared at her with intense love – or hatred. ‘I can’t… won’t let you do it.’

  ‘Listen to me, Cyrus.’ She regarded him with patience, this tall well-built man who, even in middle age, still bore the stamp of youth, and whose bright blue eyes and curly fair hair camouflaged a deep and serious nature. ‘You must know I’ve thought long and hard before coming to this decision.’ She saw that he wasn’t listening; incensed, she demanded, ‘Look at me, Cyrus, damn you!’

  At first he deliberately looked away, but there was something so compelling about his sister’s voice that he was forced to return her gaze. For a long moment he looked into her eyes, soft brown eyes that had seen so much tragedy, eyes that had laughed and wept, and at times closed in unbearable anguish. Katherine Louis had survived seventy years. She was a handsome woman, with a wonderful smile and quiet charm. Her small features were strong and sharp; her long silver hair, which had once been vibrant with the flaming auburn of her Irish ancestors, was swept into a coil, like a sleeping snake nestling in the nape of her pale slim neck.

  Her brother devoured her with his eyes. All their lives he had admired and loved this creature with a passion that had never died. Katherine was always a tower of strength. It was she who had carried them through the nightmare that had threatened to engulf all of them; she who had kept their sanity intact; she who had suffered most, yet shouldered the burden with immense courage.

  In her countenance there was no sign of the awful things she had endured. Her aged face maintained its mesmerising beauty. Her sense of honour rose from within; her generous heart endearing her to all who knew her. She was clever, and shrewd, and possessed of a remarkable perception. Yet still she blamed herself for not seeing the tragedy unfold. She had not seen the madness that came into their lives – only when it was too late; only when there was no stopping it.

  Now, while they regarded each other, Katherine grew impatient. Tall and serene, in the high-backed red-leather chair, with her pale hands folded like gossamer on her lap, she seemed impossibly exquisite. She wore a black dress, and at her throat a large blue cameo brooch – the only beautiful thing her mother had left her. Katherine cherished the brooch, and, in spite of everything, held fast to the memory of the woman who had worn it close. Even so, there were times when her own skin would cringe at its touch.

  As she continued to stare at him with those all-seeing eyes, he respected the proud dignity that raised her above other mortals. ‘I love him as much as you do,’ he insisted, ‘but I have a real bad feeling about this. Bringing him home would be like raising the past.’

  ‘Don’t fight me on this,’ she warned. ‘I understand your fears and I too am a little apprehensive. But my mind is made up. I have to find him.’

  There were times like now, when he would have given his life for her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘It’s just that I’ve never been able to put the horror out of my mind. I’m afraid…’ His voice trembled and he could not go on. Instead he shook his head and hung it low, his heart turning with fear. ‘If you mean to search him out, there’s little I can do.’

  ‘Do I have your blessing then?’

  Raising his head, he gave her a stony look. ‘I’m sorry, Katherine. I can only pray you never find him.’

  She put out her hand, and he clasped it in his, warming to her touch. Wishing he could hold her hand for ever. She nodded her head with a certain grace, acknowledging his dilemma. ‘It wasn’t Jack who did those terrible things.’

  ‘Can you ever be sure of that?’

  Gently shaking his hand, she said, ‘In my heart I have to be sure. For too many years I’ve been uncertain, made myself bitter against him for running away… leaving me alone when I needed him most. In all that time I never really thought of him, of how he might have felt, or of how much he might need me. I’m older now, and wiser. I long to see him.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be better to let sleeping dogs lie?’

  ‘Sleeping dogs can be dangerous too.’ She sighed from deep within. ‘I asked you to look at me, Cyrus, but you don’t, not really. You see what you want to see, you always have.’ She was loath to hurt him, but he had to face the truth. ‘I’m seventy years old. Every breath I take brings me closer to the maker.’

  He would have protested, but one kind glance silenced him. ‘Soon it will be too late. I don’t mind that. In many ways it will be a relief to leave the cares of this world behind, but I have to see him, just once more.’

  ‘Why now? Why didn’t you decide this long ago?’ He couldn’t understand women. Above all, he could never understand Katherine.

  ‘Lately I’ve begun to think about how he might feel… lonely like me… afraid… wanting to come home. I still love him. I always will.’

  ‘I’m here. Don’t you love me?’ He felt like a child again. When he was a child, and stranded in the apple tree, Katherine had rescued him. She was young then. Now she was seventy and her heart was young and brave as ever. He envied her that. All his life he had wanted to be like her. He had never married. Now he never would.

  ‘That’s emotional blackmail, Cyrus.’ She stood up and her presence filled the room. ‘Of course I love you. You’re my brother.’

  As she moved away, his dogged gaze followed her. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘I want you to stop questioning every decision I make.’ At the door she paused but didn’t turn. Suddenly she felt old. Her head was heavy on her shoulders and her bones ached with the weight of many years. ‘When Maureen comes in from the kitchen, ask her to bring the tray to my room… and to remember the plasters for my foot.’ Stepping forward, she winced slightly.

  ‘No better?’

  ‘Worse if anything.’

  ‘Maureen will take care of it. I have to go soon. Remember I have an appointment with the accountant at nine.’ He felt irritated. Normally Katherine would see to that side of their affairs, but lately she had her head too full of finding Jack.

  She turned to observe him, amused at his surly expression. ‘I know you’d rather be playing golf, but business has to come first. You’d best make a start. You know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’

  He walked across the room, smiling at her now with affection. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve said anything to offend you. Jack did the best he could in the circumstances, and I know he took it badly, as we all did. It’s only natural you want to find him. I have no right to interfere. It’s just that… well, how can you hope to trace him after all this time?’


  She returned his smile. ‘Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me.’

  He nodded. She was right, of course. She had always been one step ahead of him, always knowing what he thought, what he planned, how his mind worked. He smiled secretly. She always read his mind. Except for that one time all those years ago. He was sweating, inexplicably afraid. ‘I have to go. We’ll talk later.’

  ‘We’ve talked enough, I think.’ Her features stiffened. ‘Don’t keep him waiting, and while you’re there, make another appointment for the two of us. I’m still not satisfied with the terms offered on that proposed investment. I know we can do better. In fact, I’ve been giving it some serious thought. Maybe we should make a bid for that fast food company after all?’

  He shook his head with wonder. ‘I won’t argue,’ he said. ‘I’m happy to go along with whatever you decide. You’re never wrong.’

  ‘Exactly!’ She gave him the strangest look. It unnerved him.

  With that she took her leave, shaking her head and softly chuckling as she walked towards her private rooms. ‘Oh Cyrus! Cyrus! Why can’t you find a decent woman and make a home for yourself?’ But he wouldn’t. She knew that. It was another source of anxiety to her.

  Her footsteps were muffled by the deep, luscious pile of the carpet and, as always, her appreciative gaze rested lightly on each painting as she swept by: there was a beautiful Parisian scene by Monet; a study of still life by an artist she had taken to when he was barely making enough to live, and who now commanded astronomical sums for his work. There was a splendid portrait of an old man with the most mesmerising, weathered face, and a small gallery of paintings depicting generations of Katherine’s family; one in particular which she could never pass without pausing awhile.

  She paused now, her eyes raised upwards to meet the stare of the woman in the painting. ‘I don’t know if I can ever forgive you,’ she whispered harshly.

  For the briefest moment she half expected those red-painted lips to part and say how sorry she was, how she never meant for any of it to happen. But the face remained immobile, half smiling, its beautiful features set like stone on the canvas, the unexpected mass of Titian hair and the dark eyes spellbinding in their beauty. This was the face of Virginia Louis: Katherine’s late mother.

  The portrait had been painted many years earlier. There had been another portrait of her, showing an older woman, still beautiful, but the eyes were already changing, darker somehow, glittering with a kind of madness. After the trial, Katherine had burned the painting on a pyre in the garden. She might have burned this one also. But it was too magnificent, too filled with youth and life, betraying nothing of the wickedness beneath.

  As she gazed into the eyes of her late mother, Katherine was haunted by the memories: of sunny days in Central Park, of her mother setting out the picnic while she and her father played a very bad game of baseball. She smiled at the memory. It did her old heart good to remember. She recalled how very much in love her parents had been, how they would walk back home hand in hand, watching her while she skipped along in front and occasionally glanced back to make sure they were still there. Such warmth. Such a passion for life! Where did it go? How could it have ended the way it did?

  Other memories assailed her then. Memories of what they had found. Unbelievable carnage. Crimson on white… etched on her mind for all time.

  Bending her head she gave out a deep, withering sigh. ‘Help me, Lord,’ she pleaded. ‘Help me to find him.’

  Raising her eyes she stared at the portrait. It was more than she could bear. Reaching up, she took hold of the frame and swung the picture over. In all these years this was the first time she had turned the face of her mother to the wall. Yet it gave her no pleasure. Instead, it made her feel uneasy.

  Katherine was resting in the chair when she heard the familiar tap on the door. Her face broke into a ready smile. ‘How many times have I told you, there’s no need to knock!’

  The door inched open and a woman’s face appeared: a round, surprisingly unlined face, with a mischievous grin and twinkling blue eyes. ‘And haven’t I told ye I was brought up not to barge in unannounced?’ She came into the room and closed the door.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here, Maureen.’ Katherine’s voice was tired. ‘I’m feeling sorry for myself this morning.’ She let her old eyes rest on the homely figure, and it gave her a warm feeling.

  Maureen Delaney was a tonic. She had never married, and Katherine thought that was a great pity, because she was convinced Maureen would have made a wonderful wife and mother. She was a little absentminded at times, bless her, yet, in spite of her dumpy figure and old values, she was young for her age. This morning she had a certain gleam in her eye. Her brown permed hair was thick and bouncy, and she wore a pretty Laura Ashley dress which wiped the years away. It made her look like a young country lass, fresh from the green fields of old Galway.

  ‘You’re looking bright and perky this morning,’ Katherine told her. ‘What mischief have you been up to?’

  ‘Huh!’ Maureen came to stand before her. ‘I’m thinkin’ it’s you who’s been up to mischief.’

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’

  Maureen would not be drawn into a meaningless conversation. It was obvious Katherine had guessed what she was about to say, and was trying to avoid the confrontation. ‘Sure, I saw ye turn that portrait to the wall.’

  Katherine looked down. ‘You shouldn’t spy on me.’

  ‘Why did ye do it?’ This time her voice was kinder.

  ‘I don’t have to answer to you. I don’t have to answer to anyone.’

  ‘I didn’t say ye did. I only want to know what ye think it will solve by turning the portrait to the wall.’

  ‘I felt like it.’

  ‘Has it made ye feel any better?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you want me to burn it?’

  Katherine sat up straight in the chair. ‘Don’t you touch it!’

  ‘Ye still love her, don’t ye?’ Gentler now, sensing the pain beneath.

  Katherine’s eyes grew moist. ‘She was my mother.’

  A long, agonising pause. Maureen knew her every thought. ‘I took the liberty of turning the portrait back again.’

  Katherine’s slim fingers reached out, grasping the other woman’s hand in friendship. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, her eyes raised in a smile.

  The mood had passed. Outside the sun began to shine. It flooded into the house, into that room, bathing the expensive furniture, lightening the dark corners. Fear and terror had subsided – for the moment.

  Dipping into her skirt pocket, Maureen took out the most amazing number of items; a small pair of scissors, a bag of cotton wool swabs, a packet of plasters, a tube of ointment and a small bottle of red liquid, all of which she laid on the footstool directly in front of Katherine’s chair. ‘Been giving you some gyp has it, me darling?’ Planting a kiss on Katherine’s forehead, she stood a moment, hands on hips, her wise blue eyes watching the old woman’s face. ‘An’ don’t be telling me no lies.’

  Katherine’s face lit with a beautiful smile. ‘Would I do that?’ she teased.

  ‘I know very well ye would! Sure ye’ve led me a merry dance these past forty years, and God willing, ye’ll lead me a merry dance for the next forty.’

  ‘I don’t know if I want to live that long.’

  ‘I’m insisting on it.’ Her chuckle was like a ripple of water tumbling down the mountainside. ‘If ye should decide to pop off, who’s gonna pay me wages, that’s what I’d like to know?’

  ‘So it’s my money you’re after, is it?’ Katherine loved these little games. ‘Shame on you, Maureen Delaney.’

  Maureen’s eyes opened wide with feigned surprise. ‘Well now, it’s you should be ashamed, so it is! After yer money indeed! How could ye think that of a poor old thing like meself?’

  ‘Poor old thing be blowed. You’re as sharp as a wagon-load of monkeys, and anyway, what are you… fifty-one? Fifty-two?’<
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  ‘Is yer brain addled, or what? I’ll be fifty-nine years old next month, and well ye know it.’

  ‘That’s no age at all, and anyway, you look disgustingly healthy to me.’ She scrutinised the other woman affectionately. ‘Look at you,’ she murmured, ‘your skin’s as clear as milk, and your cheeks rosy as the summer’s day when you stopped me on Fifth Avenue, looking for work, you said… run away from home to seek your fortune, you said.’ She couldn’t help smiling.

  ‘Sure I did an’ all! And haven’t I found me fortune with ye? Aren’t we the best of friends? Didn’t ye give this poor little wretch a home, and aren’t I forever grateful?’ She screwed her face up in the way Katherine had come to know so well. ‘Ah, but yer a grand old lady, Katherine Louis, an’ I’ll strangle anyone wit’ me bare hands if they say different.’

  Katherine studied her a while longer, until in a voice heavy with regret she said, ‘I don’t know if I did you any favours by taking you home with me.’

  ‘Sure ye had no choice. Big as an elephant ye were. Be Jaysus, I thought, the poor lamb’s gonna drop the young ’un on the blessed pavement, so she is. What! If I hadn’t got yer in the taxi an’ raced it all the way home, ye’d have been a right spectacle for all an’ sundry, sure ye would. As it was, ye’d only been inside the door half an hour before yer waters broke.’ She raised her face and laughed out loud.

  The conversation had taken a turn which led Katherine straight back to the bad things. ‘You’d best look at my toe, and then get back to your work,’ she said icily. ‘I’m sure there are a thousand and one other things you could be doing.’

  Maureen was smitten with guilt. How could she have been so stupid as to raise the issue of the other place? And whatever possessed her to mention Katherine’s late husband? ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, positioning herself on the other footstool. ‘I never did know when to keep my mouth closed.’

  Katherine wanted to say it was all right, but it wasn’t. So she kept quiet, though she felt sorry to have spoken in such a cold voice. Maureen had been with her right from the start. She had been with her on the day Jack was born, and every day since. It was right what Maureen had said just now: she wasn’t just her companion and housekeeper, nor was she a mere servant. She was a friend, and that was a very precious thing.