“Prestigious meeting of the drinks’ clan,” he said. “Ragland’s the local MP. He relies on their patronage.”
“I spent most of the evening with Tom Kelly,” I said. “I was rather taken by him.”
“Uh – huh,” Ross said, guardedly.
“Not at all like his father,” I continued, looking for a response from him.
“Uh.– huh” he said, again.
“He seemed fun, like a breath of fresh air.”
“Is that what you thought, Julia?”
“Do you know him?”
“A bit.”
“What do you think?”
“I think only a fool would take Tom Kelly at face value.”
No love loss there then.
“He says he owns a night club.” I continued. “Is it respectable?”
“I don’t go to nightclubs, another question for your inspector.”
We had passed several restaurants by this point, but neither of us suggested going inside. They looked full, anyway, with long queues forming outside. I was enjoying the walk, the fresh air, and, if I was honest, the opportunity to be alone. Not that we were alone. The South Bank was buzzing with entertainers.
“What do you make of this Sherlock business?” I asked, as he stopped to give a few pounds to a beggar, who had approached us.
“Story is they’ve all left the country,” he said, as we walked on.
“How can they get away with that?”
“It’s Glasgow,” he shrugged. “How was the wife, by the way?”
“Distraught.”
“Does she have any ideas…”
“No. As far as she’s concerned, her husband was a respectable professional. They are living a quiet, ordinary life, and then one day he disappears. A fortnight later he’s fished out the Clyde.”
Ross sighed a deep sigh. “Do you want to stop here?” he pointed to a spaghetti house, which looked a bit quieter.
“No, let’s keep walking for a bit.” The air was cool, but not cold, the river shrouded in the coloured mist, which fireworks leave in their wake.
“It’s all so depressing,” I said.
He nodded slowly, before adding, “Shall we change the subject?”
“Good idea. Why don’t you tell me about yourself,” I said, looking at him tentatively, nervous he might resent this new line of questioning. He began to open up, slowly at first. He talked of the time he spent training with a big firm, then ran through the other companies he worked for, before becoming an independent trustee.
“I was bored. This work is more challenging. I like sorting out muddles,” he had started to relax.
“Not a million miles from journalism,” I suggested.
“I sincerely hope so,” he said, raising his eyebrows with a smile.
He asked about my career. I told him about how it had all seemed pretty easy, like I had my own lucky star, until I stupidly threw it all away.
“Kane but not able,” he smirked.
I blushed. “How did you know?”
“We actuaries have our contacts too.”
We laughed, our eyes meeting. He looked away first. We were approaching Southwark Cathedral now. My flat was on the other side.
“When are you going back?” I asked.
“I’ll have to get off first thing in the morning...the children.” I nodded understandingly
“How long is it?”
“Three years.”
“It must be hard.”
“I’m told it gets easier,” his jaw set hard for a moment. “We had always been the perfect family. I had no idea she was unhappy.”
“She probably wasn’t,” I attempted to reassure him. “People rewrite history to suit themselves. Had you been together a long time?”
“It seemed like forever. We met at school. We were kids together, grew-up together. Then one day she announced she was moving out, leaving me for one of our oldest friends.”
“Ouch, that must have hurt.”
“She said we had drifted apart and I’d been too busy to notice.”
“The children?”
“They chose to stay with me. I wouldn’t have stopped them, if they had wanted …” he paused. “The other couple had children too. It was all such a muddle. It seemed best for mine to stay with me, at least until things settled down.”
I could see the attraction of sorting out number muddles, when real life was such a tangled mess.
“You had a son?” his own frankness had earned him the right to ask.
“Philip, yes,” I spoke hesitantly.
“And?” he pressed me further.
“Oh, you might as well know, my marriage was a disaster, an aberration. Not at first…”
“You don’t have to tell me,” he interrupted.
“No, it’s OK. Marsha says I should talk about it. Open up more.”
We were approaching a dark tunnel, under a deep railway arch. All light disappeared as we entered it. I could barely see him anymore, only his silhouette, beside me.
“I loved my husband, really loved him. He was a fellow journalist, a war reporter. We met on a job, can you believe that? It was a story about a scandal at an armaments company. Romantic, huh?”
“Nearly as good as pensions,” he joked.
“He was witty, and funny, and I thought I had everything. Wonderful job, wonderful husband, wonderful home. I’d cracked it, this awful thing called living.”
“I’m not sure any of us ever really manages that,” his voice was soft. “What happened?”
We’d reached the middle of the tunnel, and my words echoed slightly against its hollow walls.
“The Gulf War, that’s what happened. Christopher went out with the first wave of troops. Embedded they called it. He’d send me long letters home. He was horrified by what he saw. The brutality, the wanton violence.”
He nodded understandingly.
“Then his letters changed. Something had happened to him. He crossed the Rubicon.”
“Did he come home?”
“A couple of times, yes. That’s when it started ...”
Ross stopped and in the dark I felt him put a finger on my lips, as if to seal them. But I wanted to go on.
“The third time I ended up in hospital.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. The marriage gave me Philip.”
“You didn’t lose the baby?”
We were out of the tunnel. In a few moments more, we would be at my flat.
“Thank God, no, at least, not then.”
“When you came out of hospital…”
“I started divorce proceedings. It was all very messy. I had to get an injunction. Police were called on two occasions. The last time, they locked him up for a week. I had the baby. I adored him, from the moment I set eyes on him. He made sense of that terrible time. Gave me a reason.” I hadn’t spoken so candidly about that time to anyone, not even Marsha.
“Children can be life savers,” he seemed to understand.
“But then he got sick. His kidneys malfunctioned. They said they’d never developed properly.”
“Was it because…”
“I try not to think about it. What would be the point? One morning I went to wake him and he was cold. He’d had a massive brain haemorrhage.”
“I’m so sorry,” he apologised again.
“I miss him so much,” I could feel tears welling up.
“Do you still see your husband?” Ross asked.
“No. He stays away. The injunction hurt his standing over here. He went abroad. I get second and third hand reports of his whereabouts from time to time. As far as I can see he runs from one war-torn hell-hole to the next. I guess he’s trying to lose himself in some dark corner.”
“Out-run his demons maybe?”
“Maybe…” I suddenly realised I had reached my road.” “I live half-way down on the left,” I said.
“I’ll see you to your door.”
When we reached my small
front gate, I wasn’t sure whether to ask him in or not. He stood there shifting his weight uncertainly from one foot to another.
Suddenly, I knew I didn’t want him to go, not yet.
“We didn’t get anything to eat.” I said. “Come in, I’ll fix you something.”
He looked at his watch. “No, I must get back.”
“For a coffee then, or a cocoa.”
“Better not.”
“OK...” I smiled, understandingly. “Goodnight”
I leant towards him, and kissed him on the cheek.
“Goodnight,” he said, staring at me with a strange look in his eye, I couldn’t construe.
“Goodnight then,” I repeated, and turned to walk up the path, when his voice called after me.
“Julia, I’ve had an idea. You don’t have to answer now, think about it. I’ve a cottage up North. Why don’t you come up for the weekend? We’ve both been working hard. We could get away for a few days. I’ll ask my mother to keep the children. She won’t mind.”
“I’m not sure,” this was all rather sudden. Only a few hours ago, we had been screaming at each other.
“I could meet you at the airport Friday evening. If the weather’s good, we could take the boat out.”
“I don’t know,” I repeated.
“On second thoughts, don’t think about it, just come. Sort out your flight tomorrow and let me know what time to meet you.”
I smiled as if in surrender.
“Great,” he leaned towards me, kissing me goodnight again, this time lightly on the lips.
I watched him disappear down the road, this great puzzle of a man, before putting my key in the door and going in alone.
Chapter 34
10.30am Tuesday, November 6
Before I had a chance to sort out my flight the next morning, Ludgate called.
“We’re in trouble. Cameron’s lawyers have been on the phone. They are not at all happy with you.”
My stomach lurched.
“They’ve taken out an injunction against you,” he continued.
“They’ve taken an injunction out against me?” I repeated, flabbergasted.
“They claim you’ve been harassing one of their retired employees, whose health is vulnerable.”
“Patterson. How do they know I’ve been to see him?”
“I don’t know how they know. Presumably he’s complained, or they have someone watching him. You’re not to go anywhere near him again. Understood?”
“He’s material to the investigation.”
“Do you want to go to jail?”
It was brutal, but I got the message.
“OK,” I acquiesced.
“Do you have any Cameron papers in your possession?”
“Only stuff that was downloaded off the internet.” This was a lie. I had the Cameron papers, Jamie had faxed me, which I had faxed to the office.
“Good, we have no papers here either. So there’s nothing to hand over.” He knew I was lying, and I knew he was lying, but who knew who was listening in.
“Right,” his voice relaxed, slightly. “What are you filing for me today?”
“Not sure yet.”
“OK. Keep at it. Let me know.”
“I will.”
“And be careful. The heat is on,” he said, before putting the phone down.
I wanted to call Omar for advice, but remembered he was in court. I’d have to shred those papers. But without them, we couldn’t defend our story. On the other hand, we could never hand them over as evidence, because they could be traced back to Jamie. If he had signed a confidentiality agreement, he could be in big trouble.
Jamie, I needed to see Jamie. The phone rang, it was Pitcher.
“What do you want?”
“You know what I want,” he was back to the buffoon act.
“Can’t you give it a rest. We’ve got Cameron’s lawyers after us now.”
He laughed loudly at the other end of the line.
“It’s not funny.”
“Not in your position, I can see that. Don’t tell me you’re surprised?”
“I haven’t written a word about them.”
“Forgive me, if I’m imagining this, but I thought your great scoop was tantamount to calling them organised criminals.”
“I didn’t mention them by name.”
“Thorn-in-my-side, if only I had your gift for ignoring the bloody obvious…”
“What d’you mean?”
“Every other story you’ve ever written on this so-called scandal of yours, named Cameron as advisers. Do you never use the internet? Did you entirely miss the links to those stories at the bottom of your ‘big exclusive’ about the transfers.”
“The internet doesn’t count. It’s not covered by any laws.”
“Have it your own way, anyway what’s cooking?”
“Tom Kelly. He’s got a nightclub in Glasgow.”
“Well done, Lightweight.”
“Be serious for a moment. Is it respectable?”
“Is it respectable?”
“Yes, is it respectable?”
“It’s a nightclub in Glasgow.”
“So, is it legit?”
His phone rang, and he put me on hold.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, when he came back. His mood had darkened. “Anything else I should know?”
“Not really, only, Sandy Ross has asked me to go away with him for a weekend.”
He snorted.
“So, it’s Sandy now, is it?” and with that he hung up.
At 11.30am, I picked up my bag, and headed out to Whitehall. When I reached his office, I asked for Jamie at reception. He came straight down.
“Julia, what brings you here?” he seemed surprised.
“I was passing and wondered if I could treat you to a quick spot of lunch.”
“I do have a lunch appointment,” he said, eyeing me quizzically. “Can it wait?” I shook my head.
He dialled his mobile and asked a colleague, to cancel his lunch. Then, with a hand at my back, he steered me out of through revolving doors. We retired to a sandwich bar along the road. I ordered two sandwiches and coffees, and we retreated to a small round table in the furthest corner from the street.
“Julia, you don’t look great,” he said, “What is it?”
I told him about Cameron’s lawyers.
“You shred your copy, and I’ll keep mine.”
I sighed with relief. “That’s what I hoped you’d say. But Jamie, it could get nasty.”
“From what I can see, it already is. If you need those papers, I’ll have them, don’t you worry.”
I felt calmer when I left him, and arrived back at the office. There was an email there from Sandy’s secretary.
‘Mr Ross has asked me to book a flight for you for Friday. Here is the confirmation. I hope the times suit. He suggested this flight would be best. He’ll be waiting for you.’
In the panic over Cameron’s I’d forgotten all about the weekend. How kind he took care of it for me. At least, I thought he was being kind.
Chapter 35
8.45pm Friday, November 9,
Glasgow airport
The flight was surprisingly quiet for a Friday evening. Sandy was waiting for me in the luggage hall at Glasgow airport. He had already fished my suitcase off the turntable.
“It was the only yellow suitcase. It had to be yours,” he greeted me with a kiss. It was the first time I had seen him not wearing a suit. Casual dress suited him, made him look younger. He wore a tan-coloured, short-waisted leather jacket, black t-shirt and light chinos.
“You mean, you read all the labels,” I squeezed his arm. “How very romantic.”
His car was a short walk from the arrivals door.
“It’s going to be a long drive,” he said, manoeuvring the vehicle onto the M8.
The stresses of the week combined, with the Friday evening dash to the airport, were beginning to take their toll. He switched on some music
, the soundtrack of the film Goodnight and Goodluck, largely jazz classics. The film was one of my favourites. It told the story of a bunch of journalists trying to expose the truth behind the McCarthy witch hunts. I wondered if he had chosen it especially.
We soon left the lights of the conurbations behind and headed north. It was a dark clear night without a cloud in the sky. Sandy accelerated hard into every corner, like he knew every twist and turn of the route.
“Looks like it could be nice tomorrow,” my voice was slightly strained. It was a very long time since I had been away with a man.
“If it is, we could take the boat out,” he smiled reassuringly, as if he understood.
I gave him a doubtful look about the sailing.
“No seriously,” he laughed. “It’s the gulf stream. Sometimes the weather on the West Coast can be unseasonably warm for this time of the year.”
Before long, we left the traffic behind and the road narrowed as we entered the hills. At about 10pm, Sandy called ahead, and told someone he was on his way.
“The ferryman,” he explained, when he finished the call. “He’s a friend of mine. There’s a short bit of water we can cross, takes about an hour off the journey. But we’ll not be there for the last ferry.”
I smiled. How remarkable to live in a community where friends turn out to do favours, at all hours.
“Are the children OK?” I asked.
“They’re fine. If a little puzzled at me going away with a woman.”
“You told them?” I was surprised. Surely, a white lie would have sufficed.
“Of course,” he reached for the temperature gauge and turned up the fan, to clear the windscreen. It had started to steam up.
“I also told them it was strictly business,” he added, as the screen cleared.
“Business…” I repeated.
“Strictly business,” there was a mischievous glint in his eye.
I slept after that, lulled by the motion of the car and the music; a deep sleep, I so seldom enjoyed of late. I even missed the ferry crossing.
I woke when Sandy touched my shoulder to tell me we had arrived. He had pulled up outside a white terraced cottage. I checked my watch. It was midnight, not a soul around. I could see nothing in the pitch black darkness. I would have to wait until the morning to inspect the waterfront. But I could hear the riggings of boats tinkling softly in the wind. A distinct smell of the sea hit me as I stepped out of the car.
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