Greyfriars House

by Emma Fraser

  ‘Of course. I hadn’t known they still existed until the Iranian siege.’

  Four years ago the Iranian Embassy in London had been taken over by dissidents and the occupants held hostage for six days. The BBC and ITV news had covered events as they unfolded and people had watched fascinated as the SAS, their faces concealed by masks, had stormed the embassy and overcome the hostage takers. The siege had brought the SAS to the public’s attention and the hitherto little-known army regiment had received almost universal approval. Some, however, had questioned whether their killing of four out of the five hostage takers had been necessary.

  ‘They’ve always worked under the radar. That was their raison d’être. Not many people know that they were formed during World War Two by a friend of my godfather – David Stirling. A Scot as it happens. And quite a legend in these parts. When I returned to Glasgow I asked Michael whether he’d known Findlay. Turns out he did. Pretty well, as it happened. It was Michael who recruited him to the SAS.’

  A cloud passed across the sun, the breeze picking up a little.

  ‘To understand Findlay you have to know a little about the SAS. Near the beginning of the war, David Stirling ended up having to have a spell in hospital. While he was flat on his back he got to thinking. He concluded that what was needed was a regiment that could be broken into small groups of men. This, he believed, would allow them to move with a lot more stealth and speed behind enemy lines. It took him a while to get agreement from Churchill but he did eventually. Then he started looking for men to join this company. He knew the kind of men he wanted – men who were used to acting on their own initiative as well as being fearless – and he set out to find them. Michael was one of Stirling’s first recruits. Michael had known Findlay for years, they were at Oxford together and he knew that he was exactly the kind of man Stirling wanted for his company.

  ‘Findlay was a rugby blue – Michael played on his team. Even then Findlay had a ruthless streak – nothing would do but a win. When he wasn’t playing rugby he was partying hard and lucky not to have been sent down. He gave his studies minimum attention. Not that Findlay wasn’t bright – he was – he simply preferred playing rugby and having a good time to getting a decent degree.

  ‘Findlay was popular. With men and women. There was a roughness about him – he didn’t particularly care about how he dressed or who he offended – but he could be charming too. He was a man who enjoyed life but no one really knew how he’d end up. People did think he had a good chance of playing rugby professionally – it would have suited his character, Michael thought.’

  I sat up. Jamie had the natural instinct of a story teller. ‘But he didn’t? ‘

  ‘No. I don’t think he had the discipline, or the desire. And then the war came and David Stirling’s unit. The trouble was that Findlay was in a military prison for striking a fellow officer after a prolonged drinking session in a pub, for some slight – real or imagined. But Stirling agreed with Michael that Armstrong was perfect for his new regiment. To cut a long story short, Stirling got Armstrong. It also turned out my godfather’s instincts were right. Findlay was one of the Originals as they came to be known and one of their most successful recruits.

  ‘Stirling had picked the right men. They were audacious and brave, to the point of recklessness. They taught themselves how to parachute, practised landing by throwing themselves from moving jeeps and trained by sneaking up on other units and stealing their tents and equipment,’ Jamie grinned, ‘even a piano.

  ‘Things didn’t go well to begin with. Their first mission was a disaster and they lost about two thirds of their already small detachment. For most people, not Stirling or Findlay however, that would have meant the end of the SAS. So they didn’t report back to base. If they had, they would almost certainly have been disbanded. As it was they weren’t and they went on to do great things.’

  Jamie scrambled to his feet. ‘Those clouds look nasty. Let’s get going.’

  I’d been so absorbed in what he’d been saying I hadn’t noticed that black clouds had come in from the west.

  He picked up his rucksack, took my hand and we ran helter-skelter down a different path, leaping over patches of scree, before skidding to a halt in front of a house. I was panting and out of breath, but exhilarated; all my earlier anxiety having sloughed off from being in Jamie’s company.

  ‘Do you still want to meet Findlay?’ Jamie asked.

  I nodded. ‘More than ever.’

  Jamie only let go of my hand when he knocked on the door of the detached house. I tried not to look at him, the nape of his neck, the way his dark hair curled just over his ears, and instead made a show of studying the house and surroundings, which were well maintained. There was a bench by the front door, alongside which were a pile of creels.

  When Findlay opened the door he looked far from pleased to see us.

  ‘I suppose you’d better come in,’ he muttered, turning on his heel.

  Jamie gave me a quick smile and a shrug of his shoulders, stepping aside to let me go in front of him.

  We followed Findlay through the hall and into the kitchen. It was bigger than Jamie’s but just as neat. There were no dishes on counters or in the sink, newspapers were stacked in a basket next to another basket of logs, and the kitchen table was covered in a plastic table cloth that had been wiped since anyone last ate there.

  ‘You know I don’t particularly care for visitors,’ Findlay said rudely. In contrast to the spartan tidiness of his living accommodation, his hair was mussed, his face unshaven, his eyes blood-shot. There was also the unmistakable smell of alcohol on his breath.

  ‘Charlotte, this is Findlay Armstrong, Findlay, this is Charlotte Friel. She wanted to thank you for rescuing her and her dog.’

  ‘Bloody stupid to go after a dog.’ He nodded in my direction. ‘She could have drowned.’

  Not exactly the reception I had been anticipating.

  But my attention had been drawn to a couple of photographs on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. I crossed over to get a better look. The first was an enlarged and framed version of the one Mum had shown me – the one taken outside Greyfriars with Mum and the sisters gathered on the lawn. He must have kept a copy for himself.

  There was no longer any doubt that he was the Findlay Armstrong Edith had loved. Was it possible he still held a torch for her, after all these years?

  The other photograph was of a group of men in an army jeep, all but one grinning at the camera. Although they were all in uniform, instead of hats they were wearing Arab head dress and were all unshaven. I recognised the unsmiling driver immediately: Findlay. Despite the stubble covering his face he was very good-looking. Except good-looking wasn’t the exact word – hunky, gorgeous, even compelling suited better.

  ‘Seen enough?’ I turned around to find Findlay, arms folded across his chest, glaring at me.

  It was difficult to see the man he once was – a war hero and the man Edith had hoped to spend the rest of her life with and the one Georgina tried to seduce. Yet, despite his dishevelled appearance, he was upright and tall, and still radiated the kind of masculine assurance most men appeared to long for, but few achieved. With the possible exception of Jamie.

  ‘So you are the Findlay Armstrong my aunts knew!’ I said.

  ‘Your aunts?’ Findlay frowned.

  ‘Charlotte is staying at Greyfriars for a few days,’ Jamie said. ‘With the Misses Guthrie.’

  Findlay started. ‘With Edith and Georgina?’

  Several emotions crossed his face in quick succession, too quick for me to pinpoint. Longing? Hope? Shame? Anger?

  I nodded towards the photo. ‘I gather you knew them once.’

  ‘They told you? What did they say?’ He sounded almost eager.

  ‘Only that you were the cause of a falling-out between them. I know you and Aunt Edith intended once to marry. My mother remembered meeting you in 1939 at Greyfriars. She was only a child then but you obviously made an impression on he
r.’

  ‘Did she send you ?’ His expression was still unreadable, but he was staring at me with glittering eyes.

  ‘My great-aunt? No, she didn’t.’

  The light in his eyes faded. ‘Then why are you here?’

  ‘Findlay,’ Jamie said warningly. ‘I explained. Charlotte wanted to thank you.’

  ‘I don’t need or want her thanks.’

  ‘You could at least be a little more civil.’ Jamie didn’t seem the least bit put out by Findlay’s rudeness.

  Findlay ignored him and spoke directly to me. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Edith? She’s frail.’

  ‘And Georgina?’

  ‘She seems the stronger of the two. No one who met her would take her for someone who’s almost seventy years old.’

  He set furious eyes on me. ‘God, the young can be so damn condescending. You think that just because a body gets old, that the person inside changes?’

  I flinched from the fury in his eyes and had to force myself not to take a step back.

  ‘Do my great-aunts know you live here?’ It was the first thing I thought to ask. I had so many questions I didn’t know where to start. Why was he here? Had he seen my aunts? Kept in touch? Had he fallen in love with someone else? In which case what had happened to her?

  If possible his expression darkened even further. ‘I think it’s none of your business. I’m sorry, Jamie, but you and your friend will have to excuse me. I have somewhere I need to be.’

  ‘That didn’t go too well,’ I said, when we were outside again.

  ‘I did try to warn you,’ Jamie replied as we headed downhill. ‘Some days he’s better than others.’

  ‘What happened to him?’ It was difficult to reconcile the bitter man I’d met with the charming one my mother had described.

  ‘During the war? He was decorated. Stirling’s unit practically destroyed the Luftwaffe in Africa single-handedly.’

  ‘And after?’

  ‘Findlay was one of those men who relished the excitement of combat. I think he became addicted to it. After the war was over he stayed with the SAS for a while, but I understand his behaviour became increasingly unpredictable. From what I can gather he became a professional gambler before ending up here.’ He gave me a sideways look. ‘When he’s not in the pub, or down at the shore, he fishes.’

  ‘Did he marry?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  Just then there was a low rumble followed by a flash of lightning. Jamie grabbed my hand again as the sky opened and we ran the rest of the way, stopping only when we reached the shelter of some trees at the start of the road to Greyfriars.

  We stood facing each other, both panting from our exertions – me more than him. My heart was beating painfully fast and it wasn’t just from running.

  He smiled down at me, before cupping my face in his hands and pulling me towards him. Then his mouth was on mine, his lips tasting of the sun. I returned his kiss with a need that shocked me, savouring the long, lean, length of him against my body. When we pulled away I was even more breathless than before.

  ‘I should get back.’ My voice was little more than a croak.

  ‘Now? Can’t you stay? Come home with me. I’ll make dinner. I can’t promise it will be edible, though.’

  I was tempted. Very tempted. It wasn’t dinner I was thinking of and I was certain, neither was he. But I hardly knew him. I remembered what Mum had said to me, about how I needed to let myself go. Grab at life. I was not sure this was what she had in mind.

  He was kissing my neck, making it difficult for me to think.

  I pressed my hands against his chest, leaning away from him until I could see his eyes. ‘I’m not on the pill.’ I swallowed, glad of the semi-darkness.

  He looked at me, his gaze full of hunger. ‘Nothing to worry about. Back at the cottage. In my wallet.’

  I pulled him back towards me. ‘Then what are we waiting for?’

  At his place he kissed me again, more thoroughly this time until my head was spinning, my body on fire. Sensing this he picked me up and set me down on the work top.

  ‘You sure?’ he asked, his fingers working on the buttons of my blouse.

  I nodded. I was never more sure of anything.

  He slipped my blouse off my shoulders where it fell to the ground. The old me would have stopped to pick it up, but this me didn’t give it a second thought. My bra straps were off my shoulders, his lips on the swell of my breasts, my hands tugging at his T-shirt. He stopped kissing me long enough for me to get it over his head, then my bra was off and my naked skin was next to his.

  ‘You are so beautiful,’ he groaned.

  My jeans followed my blouse in a flurry of hands, mine or his I couldn’t tell, and he stepped out of his, his underpants following in quick succession. He removed my panties and spread my legs. And then, I stopped thinking at all.

  Later, lying in his bed, his long fingers on my scalp, my head on his chest, the rain beating a tattoo on the roof, I felt more peaceful than I had for a very long time – as if the little splinters of me that had been flying in all directions were slowly coming together.

  ‘What are you thinking about? You have a little frown just here.’ He ran a fingertip between my brows. ‘Not regretting sleeping with the enemy?’

  I turned on my side to face him and propped my head on my hand. ‘No. You?’

  He laughed. ‘You kidding? Besides, I have a feeling that you’ll defect to the side of the angels.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath.’ I mulled over his words. What was the side of the angels? As a prosecutor I could win a guilty verdict on behalf of a victim as easily as I could defend someone who was innocent! The financial side of it wasn’t the issue. What had I done with the money I had accumulated in the years I had worked at Lambert and Lambert? Apart from buying a car and a flat, very little. I hadn’t even gone on holiday. I owned my flat outright, the car could go without too much pain and I could survive on very little. I could pick and choose the cases I wanted to – the cases where I believed in the innocence of my client. Supposing I was allowed to continue to practice. A knot formed in my stomach.

  ‘What time is it?’ I asked Jamie.

  ‘After seven. You’re not hungry, are you?’

  I kissed him quickly on the lips and before he could respond, threw the blankets back. ‘I need to get back to Greyfriars.’ I glanced around for my clothes, before I remembered they were in the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll take you. Later.’ He held out a hand to me and I stepped back. If I let him touch me, I would never make it out of here.

  ‘No. Better not. My aunts will be worried if I don’t return soon.’

  ‘We still on for tomorrow?’ He hitched himself up on his elbows.

  I nodded.

  ‘We’ll leave from the bay and call in at my mum’s on the way back. We don’t have to stay long.’ He reached for his glasses. ‘I promise it’s no big deal.’ I must have looked as anxious as I felt. He grinned. ‘If you do come it’ll stop the endless questions about why I don’t have a woman in my life.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Eight too early? I like to get out at first light.’

  I smiled back at him. ‘Do you want me to come here?’

  ‘I could pick you up at Kerista. There’s a jetty there, isn’t there?’ He flung back the bedcovers and followed me, naked, into the kitchen. Tiger greeted us with ecstatic wags of her tail. I reached for my clothes, hopping from one foot to the other as I put on my jeans.

  ‘Great.’ I kissed him, twisting away from his arms before he could pull me against him, otherwise I’d never be able to resist dragging him back to bed. ‘I’ll see you then.’

  I couldn’t help it; I smiled all the way as I rowed across to Greyfriars.

  Edith was waiting for me on the doorstep. ‘Supper’s been ready for a while. Where have you been?’

  There was something child-like about the plaintive note in her voice.

  �
��I’m sorry, I hadn’t intended to be out so long.’

  ‘We need to know where you are and when you are coming back. We are used to order in this house – schedules. You can’t just come and go as you please.’

  ‘Edith, it’s all right.’ Georgina appeared in the doorway. The two women exchanged a look and Georgina gave a small nod. ‘Everything’s all right. Why don’t you take a tray upstairs and leave Charlotte and me to talk?’