The House of Lost Souls - F. G. Cottam [19]
Mason was seated at a corner table in the basement area of the pub where people came to eat from the menu proper. Even in the basement’s artfully limited light, Seaton knew him immediately. There were only seven or eight people in the basement. Four of those formed couples. He had studied the picture of Sarah Mason in the file given him the night before by Malcolm Covey. Nicholas Mason shared his sister’s high cheekbones and brown, deep-set eyes. His clothing and hair were nondescript enough. But he couldn’t do much to disguise the bone structure. He was slim, slight even, but he had taken off his coat and had his sleeves rolled to the elbow. His forearms were sinewy and strong, rising to the curve of solid biceps under his shirt. There was a packet of Rothmans on the table, Seaton saw, as he sat opposite Mason. Mason had one of them, unlit, between his fingers.
‘Mind if I smoke?’
‘Does it make the blindest bit of difference if I do?’
Mason smiled and lit his cigarette. ‘Jesus. A Paddy. I wasn’t told you’d be a Paddy.’
‘You’ve no liking for the Irish, then.’
‘Not much, no.’
Seaton sighed. He made to get up.
Mason blinked. ‘Sit down, mate. Please? I’m having a rough time of it right now. The manners aren’t what they should be. But I’m very grateful you’re here. I will be, anyway, if you can help my sister.’
Seaton sat down. He hadn’t meant to go. He was here to help if he could. Right now, he was resolved to help. He just didn’t have time for the sort of macho bollocks he thought a man with Mason’s background would probably consider a necessary preamble. The man had Belfast written all over him. Two, three tours of duty. But Seaton didn’t have the time or the inclination to listen to or tolerate that crap just now.
‘Does she remember anything about the visit?’
Mason shook his head. ‘She’s pretty heavily sedated.’
‘Before?’
‘She was extremely subdued. But I don’t think so. She wouldn’t be drawn, awake. And there were no nightmares I could discern when she slept. Then she went to the Beal funeral and thought she saw Rachel Beal at the graveside.’
‘They all did.’
‘After that, she seemed almost catatonic. And then she tried to take her own life.’ Mason pulled on his cigarette. ‘She walked into the sea, Mr Seaton.’
The two men were quiet for a moment. Outside, all around them, wind gathered and whooped and there was the heave of waves breaking on obdurate stone.
‘A night not dissimilar to this one, a week ago. I was playing patience by the bay window overlooking the shore. I saw her because she’d wrapped—’
Mason’s voice broke.
‘—she’d wrapped her modesty in a bed sheet.’
Her modesty. Seaton was pretty sure as soon as he’d sat down with him that Nicholas Mason had killed men. He was equally sure now that he would help this family, if he possessed the strength to do it.
‘Some of what I’m going to ask you to do, Mr Mason, you’re going to have to take on trust.’
Mason looked at him.
‘Faith, might be a better word.’
Mason said, ‘Might as well call me Nick.’
‘Paul,’ Seaton said. They shook hands over the table.
‘I know there’s something very odd going on, Paul. Something inexplicable in any terms I’m familiar with. And it’s frightening. I witnessed the Beal funeral. Against Sarah’s wishes and without her knowing. But I’m glad I did. I was there when she collapsed. But before she collapsed, I saw some very strange things.’
‘Anything since then? Anything here? This is important.’
Mason considered. ‘There were two occurences last night, actually. In the early hours. I’d checked on Sarah just before midnight. One of the nurses I’ve hired was watching her, of course. I reckoned on nicking two hours’ kip. But I was woken by the radio