The Moon Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good, then hopefully we can take out your intravenous line later on. Now, you have another visitor to see you. Are you up tae it?’

  ‘It depends who it is,’ I said, my heart giving another one of its jumps as my imagination conjured up Zed lurking beyond the curtain.

  ‘Her name is Zara and she says she’s a close friend o’ yours.’

  ‘I’d love to see her, yes.’

  Zara’s bright face appeared around the curtain a few seconds later.

  ‘Tiggy, you poor, poor thing. And Pegasus . . . oh my God! Why didn’t you tell me about him?’

  ‘Sorry, Zara, but he was meant to be a secret.’

  ‘Well, he isn’t now. The shooting was on the local radio station in the car. How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m okay, I just can’t wait to get home.’

  ‘Who do you think did it?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know, Zara. I just saw a shadow,’ I said, reluctant to go over the whole episode again. ‘And how are you? Your dad said you were back at school.’

  ‘I am, but we have a weekend exeat. Mum came to collect me – and I asked to come straight here to see you.’

  ‘Is everything okay at school?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s okay . . . Johnnie texted me asking if we could meet up – that he was really sorry and stuff. I told him where to stick it,’ she giggled.

  ‘Good girl.’ I put my palm out and gave her a weak high five.

  ‘So are you really going to get better, Tiggy?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be fine. I should be out tomorrow,’ I reassured her, failing to add that her dad was the one keeping me in here. ‘How are things at home?’

  ‘Pretty awful. I prefer school to being at home with Mum. Dad’s either at the hospital, or shut in his study talking to his lawyer.’

  ‘His lawyer?’

  ‘Something to do with the estate. I dunno.’ Zara scratched her nose. ‘Whatever, he looks like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. Anyway, I’d better go. Mum’s waiting for me. We’re going up to Kinnaird for the weekend, which will be nice. Mind you, Zed Eszu’s really weird – I hope he leaves soon. Bye Tiggy.’ She reached towards me and gave me a big hug. ‘Thanks for everything, you’ve been amazing.’ She stood up and breezed out.

  I lay back and felt the soreness of my side now that the painkillers had worn off. I closed my eyes again as the events of the past two days began to take their toll.

  ‘Hello, Tiggy, how are you feeling?’

  I opened my eyes a few minutes later and looked up to see Ulrika drawing up a chair towards the bed.

  ‘I’m okay, thanks for asking.’

  I watched as she sat down and leant towards me.

  ‘Good. I’m sorry about the gunman. I hope he’s caught soon.’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘Now, forgive my bad timing, but I wanted a word with you.’

  My heart did another trapeze act as I sensed the anger pulsing beneath Ulrika’s calm exterior.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Your influence over my daughter, for one thing. She hangs on every word you say. Please remember I am her mother.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I—’

  ‘Then there’s my husband. It’s been obvious from the start that you’re out to get your claws into him. Like many others before you . . .’

  ‘That’s just not true!’ I said, horrified. ‘Charlie and I are work colleagues – he’s my boss!’

  ‘Don’t think I don’t know about those early morning walks the two of you took together, your little tête-à-têtes outside over Christmas. Let me tell you now, you’re on a road to nowhere. Charlie will never leave me, never.’

  ‘No, Ulrika.’ I shook my head, distraught. ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’

  ‘I don’t think so. It’s obvious to everyone that you’re smitten.’

  ‘I’m really not—’

  ‘What I’m asking, Tiggy, is that you leave my family alone. You can think what you like about my marriage and my relationship with my daughter, but you can do it well away from all of us.’

  It took a few seconds to grasp what she was suggesting. ‘You want me to leave my job? And Kinnaird?’

  ‘Yes. I think it’s best all round, don’t you?’

  Her steely blue eyes bored into me and I lowered my own.

  ‘I’ll leave you to think about it. I’m sure you’ll see it’s the best thing for everyone. Get better soon,’ she added tersely, before she stood up and disappeared behind the curtain.

  I slumped back on my pillow, feeling another shock ricochet through me. No wonder I had palpitations at the moment, I thought miserably. Too exhausted to even begin to think what I should do, I closed my eyes, willing myself to go back to sleep, because my heart really was racing now. I dozed fitfully, woken periodically by nurses coming to check on me. I was just nodding off for the umpteenth time when I heard a familiar male voice.

  ‘Tiggy? It’s Charlie.’

  There was just no way I could face him now, so I feigned sleep.

  ‘She’s obviously out cold and sleep’s the best thing for her,’ I heard Charlie whispering to the nurse. ‘Tell her I came to see her and that I’ll visit her as soon as I can tomorrow morning. Her numbers are okay at the moment but any problems overnight, bleep me. The Adenosine I’ve prescribed should keep things calm. Give it to her when you do the next set of obs.’

  ‘Yes, Dr Kinnaird. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her,’ the nurse replied as the curtain closed behind them before their footsteps faded away.

  Why has he prescribed more medication? I thought. Perhaps it was for the muscle that had taken the brunt of the bullet as it had passed through my jacket. It hurt a little to breathe, but that was probably just the bruising . . .

  I dozed off, woken later by the nurse appearing to do my last obs.

  ‘Good job we didn’t remove your cannula, because the consultant’s prescribed something for you,’ she said as she squirted liquid through a syringe she’d attached to it. ‘Now, I’ll leave yae to rest. Press the call bell if you need anything.’

  ‘I will. Thank you.’

  *

  I was woken from a broken sleep by the morning nurse, who wanted to do yet another round of obs.

  ‘You’ll be pleased to know everythin’s looking much more like it this morning,’ she said as she recorded the details. ‘A tea trolley will be round shortly,’ she added as she left.

  I sat up, thinking that I did feel better this morning. My heart had stopped jumping around and I felt clear-headed enough to process the conversation with Ulrika last night.

  How could she claim that I was after her husband? How dare she say that I’d tried to influence Zara! I tried to help her! What right has she got to fire me . . . !

  Then I contemplated my options: the first was to tell Charlie what had happened, but I knew I’d be far too embarrassed to recount Ulrika’s accusations that I was ‘smitten’ with him.

  Is this because she might be right . . . ? my inner voice asked me.

  It was no secret to my soul that I had been drawn to Charlie from the first moment I’d met him. I’d loved spending time with him, and yes, I was definitely attracted to him . . .

  The simple truth was that Ulrika’s radar had spotted it.

  ‘She’s right,’ I groaned. The tea trolley arrived and as I sipped the tepid, watery substance I was given, I wondered what to do.

  I thought about Zed, still up at Kinnaird, and the fact that someone had taken a potshot at me. On top of which, from what both Zed and Zara had told me, the future of the Kinnaird estate was just about as unsteady as my heartbeat . . .

  ‘There may be no job in a week’s time anyway,’ I muttered to myself. ‘Best to get out whilst the going’s good.’

  ‘You is goin’ . . .’ Chilly had said . . .

  That capped it.

  By the time I had drained the cup, I knew I only had one option available.
And that was to do as Ulrika had asked and remove myself from Kinnaird. Whilst I waited for Cal to arrive, I laid my plans. When the nurse returned, to unhook the intravenous drips and remove my cannula, I asked her for some paper. I wrote a note to Cal, and penned my official resignation for Charlie. Without an envelope, I folded both notes together and wrote Cal’s name on the front in capitals. For now, I hid it under my pillow.

  Cal arrived at nine o’clock, looking far fresher. He dumped my rucksack in a corner.

  ‘Morning, Tig. Hope I got everythin’ yae asked for. You’ll understand I felt a bit funny going through your drawers, tae find your . . . drawers!’ he cackled. ‘Anyway, how are yae feeling?’

  ‘Heaps better, thanks,’ I said brightly. ‘I’m sure they’ll let me out today. The nurse said my obs were looking good.’

  ‘That’s the best news o’ all, and, boy, do I need it. Kinnaird’s swarming with journalists desperate to get a photo o’ our precious Pegasus.’

  ‘Oh God, is he still lying where he . . . fell?’

  ‘No – and here’s the odd thing; after the police had removed the bullet from his side, Lochie an’ Ben helped the forensics erect a tent over him tae protect the evidence. The lads kept watch all night, but what do yae know? When they went into the tent this morning, the body had disappeared. Gone.’ Cal clicked his fingers. ‘Like that.’

  ‘Please don’t tell me someone has stolen him to make a trophy out of him!’ I moaned.

  ‘Unless both the laddies were slipped somethin’ in their flask o’ coffee and fell asleep so deeply that they didn’t hear a large vehicle turning up and a massive stag being dragged out o’ the tent, I’d doubt it. And –’ Cal waggled a finger at me – ‘another strange thing that you’d appreciate: where he’d lain, there’d been blood around him. As the police said this mornin’ when they looked inside the tent, not only had the stag disappeared, but the snow where he’d been was pure white.’

  ‘As if he’d never existed . . .’ I whispered.

  ‘That’s what I thought too. Weird, eh?’

  ‘Everything is weird at the moment,’ I said. ‘You absolutely swear that you’re not just telling me a story to make me feel better, are you?’

  ‘As if I’d do that, Tig. You can ask them when you get back to Kinnaird if yae don’t believe me. Beryl sent these by the way.’ Cal handed me a Tupperware box full of Millionaire’s Shortbread. ‘She says you have a likin’ for them. She sends her love o’ course, as does everyone.’

  ‘Including Zed?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him so I cannae say.’ Cal shrugged. ‘I dropped the keys tae his Range Rover in with Beryl an’ made a hasty exit.’

  ‘Everything’s gone wrong at Kinnaird since he arrived,’ I sighed. ‘I just hope he takes the hint and leaves. Cal, would you mind awfully if I sent you off for half an hour to get a cuppa whilst I have a wash and get changed into my clothes? It might make me feel more human.’

  ‘O’ course, an’ I’ll help myself tae a bit o’ breakfast at the café too. One way an’ another, I didn’t get time tae eat before I left.’

  ‘Take your time,’ I said as I climbed out of bed. ‘Cal?’

  ‘Yes, Tig?’

  ‘Thank you for everything. And . . . I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be a dafty,’ he smiled back at me. ‘I’ll see you in a bit.’

  Feeling horribly guilty that I was about to give Cal another shock, but knowing it couldn’t be helped, swiftly, I went into action. I pulled the sticky pads attaching me to the ECG machine from my front torso, then I picked up my rucksack and dumped it on the bed to check the contents. Happily, I saw my passport and wallet were present, but my mobile phone was missing. Never mind, I thought, I’ll just have to buy a new one when I arrive . . .

  Leaving the note for Cal on the pillow, I carried my rucksack to the nearest loo and shut the door. I dressed hastily in the jeans and hoodie Cal had brought me, swept my hair up and twirled it into a topknot.

  Peering round the loo door, I knew I still had to run the gauntlet of the nurses’ station a few metres along the corridor. I was relieved to see that at present it was unoccupied. Opening the door wide, I strode out blatantly and exited the ward. I then remembered what the detective had said about the media hanging around and hunted for a side exit from the hospital, which I eventually found.

  Once outside, I got into one of the waiting taxis.

  ‘Inverness airport, please,’ I told the driver.

  ‘No problem, miss.’ He started the engine and we drove off.

  At the tiny airport’s ticket desk, the attendant asked me where I wanted to go.

  ‘Geneva,’ I said, deciding there was nothing I needed more than Ma taking care of me and Claudia cooking my favourite bean stew. Yet, as the woman tapped away on her computer, in my mind’s eye I saw the white ceiling of a cave . . .

  Tell Angelina it was me who guided you home . . .

  ‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘Forgive me for my bad English,’ I lied to cover up the fact I was about to look like a complete idiot. ‘It’s not Geneva I want, I meant Granada . . . in Spain!’

  ‘Right,’ sighed the woman. ‘Now that’s a bit more complicated . . .’

  *

  An hour and three-quarters later, the plane bound for London Gatwick accelerated down the runway and I felt a huge pressure release from my chest. As we were about to disappear into the clouds, I looked down below me at the grey city and the snowy landscape beyond it, and blew a small kiss.

  ‘You were right, darling Chilly. And I promise I’ll tell them it was you who sent me home.’

  21

  Many hours later, my plane touched down on the runway at Granada airport. Thankfully, I’d slept the whole leg from Gatwick, so I’d had a good three-hour snooze. As I took the steps to the tarmac, the sweetest scent of warmth, citrus, and fertile land assailed my nostrils. Although it was only the beginning of February, I saw the temperature was ten degrees even this late at night, which, after my winter in sub-zero temperatures, felt positively tropical. Once through passport control and baggage, I enquired about a hotel in Sacromonte at the tourist information desk. The woman handed me a card.

  ‘Gracias. Er, could you give them a call to see if they have a room?’

  ‘No telephone at hotel, señorita. They will have room. You not worry.’

  ‘Right, thanks.’

  I walked to the airport forecourt and headed for a cash machine to extract some euros. That done, I went outside to find a taxi rank.

  ‘Where going, señorita?’ the driver asked me.

  ‘Sacromonte, por favor, señor,’ I said, dredging up the remnants of my schoolgirl Spanish.

  ‘You go to flamenco show?’

  ‘No, to a hotel – Cuevas el Abanico.’ I handed him the card the woman at the information desk had given me.

  ‘Ah, sí, comprendo!’

  We raced off at breakneck speed and I was sad that it was dark and I couldn’t see where I was. There was no snow on the ground, that was for sure, I thought as I removed my hoodie in the humid air. It took twenty minutes to get into the city, which seemed to have a thriving centre, judging by the number of people out on the streets, even though it was eleven o’clock at night. Then the taxi took a left along what resembled a narrow alleyway rather than a road, and we began to drive upwards.

  ‘We stop here, you walk, señorita. Go straight.’ My driver pointed towards an open gate set into a thick wall. ‘Five minutes to hotel.’

  ‘Muchas gracias, señor.’ I paid him, hoisted my rucksack on my back, and looked at the twisting path ahead of me, lit only by occasional old-fashioned lamps, with a low stone wall hugging one side of it. I listened to the taxi reversing, then disappearing down the hill. With the wound on my side throbbing, I began to walk.

  I rounded a corner and there, up above me, on the other side of the valley, soft lighting illuminating its ancient beauty, was the Alhambra.

  The sight brought tears to my eyes a
nd I knew, just knew that I’d been here before. I stood mesmerised by the ethereal vision – everything else around it was so dark that the palace looked almost as though it was suspended in mid-air.

  ‘Lucía danced there . . .’ I muttered, astounded that I was actually seeing what up to now, had only existed in my imagination.

  I carried on along the narrow path, which curved around the mountain. Whitewashed stone dwellings fashioned out of the rock behind them lined one side of it, their colourful shutters closed to the night. Very few lights were on in any of them and I only prayed that the lady at the tourist office hadn’t made a mistake and that the hotel wasn’t closed for the winter.

  ‘If that’s the case, I just have to sleep where I fall,’ I panted, feeling my heart begin to protest.

  Thankfully, just around the next corner, I saw some lights and a small sign proclaiming that it was the hotel I was looking for. I opened the wrought-iron gates and walked through them.

  ‘Le puedo ayudar?’

  I turned to my left to see a woman sitting at one of the tables on the small terrace, smoking a cigarette and looking at me askance.

  ‘Er, do you have a room?’

  ‘Sí, señorita.’ She stood up and beckoned me towards the door. ‘You are British?’ she asked me in English.

  ‘I’m actually Swiss, so I speak French as well.’

  ‘We stick to English, yes? I am Marcella, owner of this hotel.’ She smiled at me, the wrinkles on her face deepening further. As she led me into the reception I realised the hotel was built out of a series of whitewashed caves. She drew out a set of keys, and led me through to a room with a number of sofas covered in colourful patterned throws. At the back, Marcella opened the door to another cave, with a sweet little wooden bed set in the centre of it.

  ‘The bathroom.’ My hostess pointed to a narrow doorway, protected by a curtain that led to a toilet and a tiny shower.

  ‘This is perfect,’ I smiled at her. ‘Gracias.’

  I followed her back to the small reception and gave her my passport details in return for the key.