Deception is the Old Black

by V Clifford

  She snapped, ‘Oi! Get that off!’

  Frances immediately turned her head away and fiddled with the torch. ‘It’s supposed to have three settings, but it’s stuck. She ripped it off and tossed it over to Viv. ‘See if you can get it onto another setting.’

  Viv had her own torch, which she set on the windowsill, with its beam splaying up over the stark white surface. ‘No sign of any electricity coming back on, then?’

  ‘Nope. Candles all round downstairs. Looks romantic and they’ve lit the wood-burner. Apparently it’ll boil a kettle on the top. Dinner’s not far away. We drew straws. You either had to cook or tidy up. You got tidying up. The cooks didn’t have to do much.’

  Viv shrugged. ‘Fair enough. What time is it anyway?’

  ‘Seven. Well five to. Wish I’d had a shower. I can hardly stand to be in the same room as myself.’ She sniffed her armpit to make her point.

  Viv grinned. ‘I couldn’t stand the grime. I would’ve had to get it off even if there hadn’t been hot water.’

  ‘I’ve had enough water to last me a lifetime . . . Thanks, by the way.’

  Viv screwed up her eyebrows.

  ‘For saving me in the bay.’

  Viv nodded. ‘No worries.’

  ‘I’m actually a pretty good swimmer. But I was so cold. I could feel the cramp, ever so slight to begin with, but it was too late for me to go back. I had to keep going. Fucking agony. You ever had it?’

  ‘Sure. Strangely only ever when I’ve been in bed. Or maybe once when I was running in a relay race for the school. That made me really popular.’ She snorted.

  Frances went into the bathroom. ‘I’ll just get a wash – army bath at best.’ She shrugged.

  Viv said, ‘I’m going to join the others.’ A lie. Frances was already closing the door.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Did Mac have evidence that Frances was the mole? Was it just a hunch? It would be unlike him to go on hearsay, but not impossible if he’d heard enough. If Frances was sneaking about the office trying to hide her diabetes, getting tetchy when she needed insulin, Viv could see that she’d become an object of interest at the very least, but why so unpopular? Nobody likes a sneak, but what about the others? Who was most likely to have a grudge against the NTF? Viv glanced at Frances’ things lying on her bed. She hesitated, then lifted the head torch. Frances’ phone was on the bed. She nudged it and it sprang into life. ‘Shit.’ The sound of water running and splashing continued, so she decided it was safe to scroll through the messages. The splashing stopped. Viv flipped the phone over and tiptoed from the room.

  She stood outside the door and counted to ten before bursting back in as Frances came out of the toilet rubbing herself with a towel. ‘Managed to get that torch onto a different beam. Not brilliant but not quite as Gestapo-like.’

  ‘Great. Thanks.’

  When Viv entered the refectory the others were sitting at the long wooden table. Candles flickered in quirky ceramic holders in the middle. If she didn’t know better she could imagine they’d just ordered dinner and were waiting for their drinks and a basket of bread to arrive. The wood-burner was ablaze and the walls ran with condensation. A smell akin to sweaty socks hung in the air. The rain had more than dampened the environment. She glanced at Gordon and wondered why he was staring into space like a man doomed.

  Her face felt hot but her inner temperature was definitely lower. Davie waved her over and tapped the bench at his side. She stepped over it and sat down. Archie, Gordon and Davie’s usually pale faces were crimson from exposure to the sun. Gordon had white marks where his wraparound sunglasses had been. The others’ eyes were swollen and half closed. None of them looked as if they’d moved from the room since they got back, the skin on their faces still bearing traces of salt. Yet they were all wearing fleeces. A large empty Strathmore bottle stood in front of Archie and each of them had a glass with water in it.

  ‘We dry?’ she said.

  ‘Fucking temperance house this,’ Gordon said.

  She bristled. His defensive tone was irritating. She wondered if he was always like this. The one time she’d met him at Fettes he had been. What was really going on with him? Fear is our biggest drive but what was he so scared of? She’d have thought that after the climbing debacle he’d feel relieved that they were on the home straight.

  ‘Want a drink?’ Davie asked, tipping the dregs of the Strathmore into a spare glass and handing it to her. He shook the bottle to emphasise that it was absolutely empty.

  The gesture reminded her of a boy she’d been at primary school with. Jimmy Robinson used to do that same thing with the little bottle of milk they each got each day at playtime. He’d been unconvinced that he had finished it so quickly. Jimmy’s family were so hard up and he relied on the milk, every drop counted. She wished she’d realised that at the time, since he was constantly teased for not being a sharer. Whatever he had he scoffed the lot, not because he was particularly greedy, but because he was starving, under-nourished. She looked across at Davie and wondered what it was like for him to be a bursary boy at a school where most pupils had rich parents. He was a survivor.

  ‘Cheers!’ She raised her glass and chinked it with Davie. Archie joined in but Gordon didn’t move.

  ‘I’m not smelling great aromas from the kitchen. Does that mean we’re on bread and cheese?’

  ‘You’ll be fucking lucky.’ Gordon, obviously not in the mood for speculation, barked. ‘Cheese. Don’t make me laugh. Apparently we’re vegans for the night. Alfalfa and mung beans with . . .’ Whatever he had in mind he couldn’t remember what it was called. He snapped his fingers. Then he said. ‘Nut fucking roast.’

  ‘But that would have to be cooked and we’d have had a whiff of it by now.’

  Gordon didn’t want to hear this. ‘Christ.’ He thumbed in the direction that the member of staff had gone. ‘As he said, it’s not unusual.’

  Archie sighed. ‘You know what, Gordon. We’re here now and there’s not much we can do about it. So why don’t you . . .’

  Gordon interrupted him. ‘Why don’t I what?’ His glare made Archie smirk, which didn’t help matters.

  ‘What the fuck have you got to laugh about?’ Then he spat, ‘Pansy.’

  Viv snorted in disbelief. Was she in a boy’s public school? ‘Pansy? Who in God’s name says that these days?’

  ‘Who rattled your fucking cage, Miss Prefect?’

  ‘I think you’ve got the wrong gal. Prefect me? I don’t think so.’

  Davie said, ‘Okay, guys. We’ll all be happier once we’ve had some food. Vegan or otherwise.’

  Gordon stretched over the table and jabbed his finger at Davie’s chest, almost touching it. Then through gritted teeth said, ‘And you can shut the fuck up.’

  Davie leaned back out of reach of the offending finger, almost overbalancing onto the flagstone floor. Viv caught him and helped him back upright.

  Archie tried to push Gordon back onto his seat, but got an elbow in the face for his efforts. If only Viv could have filmed the whole scene. She watched wide-eyed as the situation escalated into a brawl. Archie leant over the top of Gordon with his arm pulled back, hand balled into a fist, ready to plant it on Gordon’s face, when the man who’d told them about the generator walked out of the kitchen carrying a tray laden with food. He grinned, ‘Bit early for show time. No?’

  Archie stalled with his arm in mid-air. Gordon was about to roll off the end of the bench but managed to grip onto the rough wall behind him.

  The staff man laughed. ‘You’ve done well. The hackles usually rise way before now. This nosh should help.’ He placed the tray at the end of the table and pushed it into the middle. ‘Help yourselves.’

  It occurred to her that withholding food might be intentional. People become total divas and dragons when they’re hungry. Being here was forcing them into detox. No red wine, no coffee that she could see, not even real tea. They were all in the deprivation zone. Including her. Clever move if i
t was part of the plan. Although there was no way they could have planned the storm. Nature’s revenge.

  There was enough food to feed a dozen people, but now they were hesitant to tuck in. Viv was the first to head over to a stack of shelves where crockery and cutlery were in orderly piles. ‘Anyone want a plate or cutlery?’

  Davie and Archie raised their hands. Davie said, ‘Me thanks.’

  Gordon remained sullen. But once Viv and the others started to eat he got up and helped himself to what he needed. Sharing food was an ally-building exercise, but she didn’t see Gordon thawing any time soon. If they hadn’t been told that the food was vegan, they’d never have known. Everything was delicious. Frances joined them, her hair still wet, and squeezed in next to Gordon, chivvying him to budge along the bench. He shifted silently and Frances gave Viv a questioning look across the table.

  Viv shook her head. ‘This food is so good. Who prepared it?’

  Frances raised her hand and elbowed Gordon at the same time. ‘We were supposed to but they let us off the hook because the electricity’s off. It wouldn’t have been this creative if we had.’

  There were different kinds of dense wholemeal and seeded breads, oatcakes, and other sorts of crackers. Hummus, tapenades and other bean-rich dips sat alongside a curd, which although not dairy you’d never have known had Gordon not told them. There were, as Gordon had predicted, mung beans and alfalfa, thick slices of beef tomatoes and cucumber, celery sticks and a dish of artichoke hearts. The rhythm of gratitude rose and fell, rose and fell as they each got a taste of something more delicious than the last. Viv watched them eat. It was telling. The tension in the room dropped with each mouthful consumed.

  A deep rumble of thunder ran directly overhead, then seconds later a stunning fork of lightning lit up the bay and the room. The windows streamed with water – no sign that the rain would let up. This torrent hadn’t been mentioned in the forecast. Scots were wired to anticipate changeable weather, so she was prepared for rain and wind, but this was something else.

  The man from the kitchen came through bearing another tray with large catering flasks on it. ‘Hot water? Teas, or infusions? Whatever floats your boat.’

  He must have seen all manner of behaviour in this place, and wasn’t in the slightest bit fazed by catching Archie about to throw a punch at Gordon’s head.

  Frances bottom-shuffled along the bench to Viv. ‘You get the feeling we interrupted something?’ She grinned.

  Viv sensed Frances beginning to relax as they neared the last leg of their weekend. ‘You okay after . . .?’ Not sure how to put it she left the blank for Frances to fill.

  ‘My insulin levels are influenced by all sorts of things including temperature. The hot journey in the bus followed by the cold water had me yo-yoing. Fine now, hopefully. I should have known better.’ Although she was smiling she didn’t sound entirely convinced.

  Viv stood to get herself a mug from the shelf. This time she raised it in a gesture to Frances, who shook her head. Viv didn’t offer the others – she’d done enough mothering for now. There were coffee substitutes on offer, but she wasn’t keen. She filled her mug with hot water and dunked in a peppermint tea-bag. Then, with hands wrapped round the mug, she tuned into the chatter around the table. Gordon was still nursing his wrath, his jaw set like a Bash Street Kid who hadn’t got his own way. Was he pissed off that he’d needed Viv’s help? A high achiever in the office was bound to feel humiliated needing help in the outdoors. What was this outing really about? Had Mac already made up his mind about who the mole was? How come he had gone off with Becky? Why not let one of her colleagues take her? Actually Viv didn’t know for sure that that was where he’d gone. Better stop crystal balling.

  The tension round the table began to rise again when Frances said, ‘So, Gordon, what’s wrong with your face? It’s been tripping you all day.’

  He glared at her. ‘What’s it to you? You’ve not exactly been the life and soul of the team. Almost getting yourself killed out there.’ He thrust his chin toward the windows.

  Frances sighed. ‘At least I was gracious in defeat. Have you even thanked Viv for rescuing you off that cliff?’

  Viv wasn’t looking for thanks, but was interested in how he’d react. She glanced at him.

  His jaw tightened and his eyes bore through her. ‘She didn’t need to interfere. She should have left well alone. But no, she goes sticking her nose in where she thinks she has expertise. She’s a fucking mole.’

  Interesting choice of description. Should she defend herself ?

  Just as she opened her mouth to respond, Archie beat her to it. ‘What an ungrateful bastard. What is your problem?’

  And there they went again. Gordon jumped up at the same time as Archie. Toppling the bench that they’d been sitting on. They began pushing each other back and forth until Gordon stumbled back onto the table with the crockery on it and the man from the kitchen came to the rescue. ‘Take it outside, guys. If you need to vent, here’s not the place.’ He pointed to the door and the torrential rain beyond. Neither seemed too keen to continue. Gordon stomped off towards the men’s quarters. His parting shot, ‘I’m not listening to this wankery.’

  Viv couldn’t contain herself and bursting out laughing, spilling her tea in the process. The others also managed to see the funny side, although Archie was peeved.

  ‘Wankery. What a terrific word. Never heard that before. Love it. I bet it’ll make it to the OED.’ She snorted, shook her head and went to get a cloth to clean up her spill.

  She scanned their faces, looking for anything that might give away a desire to taunt Gordon or to goad one of the others into doing it for them. But no, they all seemed passive, in the circumstances. Was that the nature of the cyber-beast? Were they at their most passionate discovering algorithms? She wouldn’t be in the hacking game if she wasn’t interested in people’s behaviour.

  She said, ‘Thanks for trying, Archie. But I wasn’t looking for gratitude. Just glad he didn’t go head over tit or we’d have been in real trouble. One body was enough to bring home pillion. We should all be thanking you. You did the work. How are your arms after canoeing for two?’

  Archie stretched his arms over his head. ‘Not bad so far. Tomorrow will be the test.’

  Those who had drinks raised their mugs. ‘Well done, Archie,’ they chimed in mock posh accents.

  He grinned as if he’d won the cup. No notion that he was being sent up. He was a loveable big laddie. Viv wondered about his romantic life. Not that it was any concern of hers. No sign of a girlfriend, seeing his folks every weekend, big praise for Mummy’s cooking, what did that add up to? Don’t make leaps, she thought she said to herself, but Davie said, ‘What was that, Viv?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud.’

  Archie intoned, ‘Succedere incipiet regnare.’

  They all turned to stare at him. Candlelight flickered over his large red face. His strong, square jaw made him look more like a medieval knight than a twenty-first century cyber analyst. Viv thought it must be the way his hair had flattened along his forehead, as if he’d just taken a helmet off.

  Davie said, ‘My Latin’s a bit rusty. You’ll have to help me out.’

  Archie grinned, clearly dying to inform them. ‘“To succeed is to reign”. Family motto.’

  Was he boasting or just informing, as if it was still a novelty to him? Viv suddenly saw him in a different light. How many families at her school had had mottos beyond “eat yer dinner, or there’s nae puddin”? And why was he telling them about it? He must have known he’d sound like a toff. Or did he want them to believe that he was? In Viv’s world real top-drawer didn’t need to boast, just oozed privilege from their core.

  Before she realised, she had said, ‘Now why would you say that? Are you referring to your tussle with Gordon or your success in bringing back a damsel in distress?’

  He missed a beat before regaining his composure, but not before it registered with Viv that that
had simply been a bubble of false bonhomie. He opened his mouth to continue, but his eyes flicked towards the door and he turned. They all turned.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mac stood in the doorway, dripping onto the flagstones. He scanned the room. ‘Too late for food, I expect?’

  Within seconds three of them were scrambling to their feet and moving toward the shelves to find crockery for him.

  Viv’s eyes widened. ‘I’m sure DI Marconi can get himself whatever he needs. No brownie points for sucking up to the leader.’

  Frances said, ‘No, but I might get rewarded in heaven.’

  Viv shook her head. ‘Planning ahead, Frances? Everyone likes a planner.’ She shifted along the bench to make space for Mac, who shrugged off his wet jacket and hung it by its hood on the top of the kitchen door. He gripped the window ledge and proceeded to tussle with his waterproof trousers.

  Viv said, ‘Need a hand getting those off? Sit here, since we’re all coming to the rescue.’

  He sat and Viv pulled his wet trousers off by their hems and laid them over the back of one of a pair of wooden chairs placed to face the plate glass window and the view of the bay. Binoculars lay on the sill. It struck her that they’d probably had a voyeur all day.

  ‘Cheers,’ Mac said. Rivulets of water ran down the sides of his face until he rubbed his hands up and over it into his hair. ‘Good day, then?’

  Davie spoke first. ‘Interesting. Not sure we’ve bonded in the way that we were expected to.’

  Mac picked up his wet kit and wandered into the kitchen. ‘Must get these into the drying room. Who said you were expected to bond?’ He disappeared for a few minutes, returning without his kit. Then he said to Davie, ‘Well?’

  Davie shook his head. ‘ I just thought . . .’

  Frances said, ‘I’ve had a better day today than yesterday. No complaints here.’

  Archie asked, ‘What’s happened to . . .?’