Beneath the Water

by Sarah Painter

  She felt a touch on her arm and opened her eyes. Caitlin passed her a mug of tea. ‘Sorry,’ Stella said. ‘I’m fine. Really.’

  ‘I trust you,’ Caitlin said. ‘Rob is still all for calling the doctor, but I won’t let him if you don’t want one.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Stella said. She wrapped her fingers around the warmth of the mug. She couldn’t stop thinking about Ben and the first time she’d had a turn in front of him. He’d been so calm. He had looked after her, but he hadn’t fussed. He hadn’t suggested calling her mum and dad, hadn’t pressed her to go to the doctor. She had liked the way he’d trusted her, trusted that she would be fine. It made her feel strong. Now she wondered if it had been such a good sign. That was one of the hardest things about the break-up – she kept on going over old events and conversations, looking for the signs she must have missed. Seeing everything in a different light, as if his final act of leaving her changed everything which had gone before. It made her feel as if she’d lost the last six years as well as her future.

  ‘Will you do one thing for me, though?’ Caitlin said. ‘Will you have a check-up?’

  ‘All right,’ Stella said, although she didn’t mean it. ‘You know I’m fine now. This isn’t like at university. That was the valve playing up, and now they’ve replaced that, I’m good as new.’

  ‘Still,’ Caitlin said. ‘Just to be safe.’

  Having filed the day’s correspondence and curated a short digest of the most important-seeming items, Stella closed the email application and stretched her arms above her head, feeling her shoulders crack.

  She could hear Jamie’s pacing next door, the now-familiar tread as he walked the carpet, muttering into his digital voice recorder. She went in and found him red-eyed.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  He stopped moving. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Shall I send you the digest through, or not bother?’

  He smiled. ‘You don’t have to bother with that anymore. I think we’ve established that I’m not going to look at them.’

  ‘I’ll just keep hold of it, then,’ Stella said. ‘For now. You might change your mind.’

  He shook his head. ‘I just can’t seem to get worked up about my email anymore.’ He rubbed his arms as if they were aching, then said, ‘My grandfather rebuilt this place, you know. After the fire burned the original building.’

  ‘I read about that,’ Stella said. ‘That’s why the interior is 1930s and the building 1800s.’ Stepping through the door of Munro House gave a peculiar jolting sensation, as the outside was solid, grey, Scottish baronial architecture and the inside full of sensuous art-deco curves.

  ‘He’d just completed it and was going to move back in when it got requisitioned for the war effort. Imagine that, years of his life rebuilding a home for his family and then having it taken away again.’

  ‘Must have been hard. Where did he stay?’

  ‘I don’t know. Somewhere in the village, I guess.’ He darted across the room to his overflowing desk and began searching through the piles of paper and books. ‘There’s a picture here somewhere. Just before my dad was born. He was a late baby. My grandmother was well over forty when he arrived.’

  Stella realised something. Jamie was late for his ice bath. He was never late for his ice bath. She asked him and he spun around, blinking hard. ‘Christ. Yes. Let’s go.’

  Looking straight into his face, Stella thought he actually didn’t look well. ‘How did you sleep?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Jamie said. ‘Don’t fuss, I’ll nap later. Mebbe.’

  She put a hand on his forehead. It was hot. ‘You’ve got a temperature. Bed. Now.’

  ‘No, I need to do my ice bath. After I find that picture, I want to show you—’

  ‘I’ll look for it later. But you’re not doing your bath. If you’re ill, it will affect your results. You can’t.’ Stella knew that appealing to common sense wouldn’t work and so she went straight for the scientific method instead.

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Come on. Upstairs.’

  ‘I just want to go through this stuff.’ He waved a hand. ‘I need to know what I’ve got.’

  ‘I can do that,’ Stella said. ‘You go to bed for a few hours. Get some sleep.’

  She followed him upstairs and into his bedroom. It was a big room, with tall windows that looked out to the sea. The giant wooden bed was made with expensive-looking grey linen with a small geometric pattern, which looked less out-of-place in the art-deco room than she would have expected.

  Jamie stumbled as he walked around the room and Stella realised that he probably hadn’t eaten, either. ‘Shall I bring you some food?’

  He shook his head. ‘Fasting day.’

  Stella straightened. ‘I think we just established that you are ill. That means all experimentation is off today.’

  ‘It’ll put me back, I’ll have to start the fasting pattern again.’

  ‘So be it,’ Stella said. ‘You can’t do this when you are ill.’

  He paused, looking at her. ‘You’re my employee, you know. You can’t tell me—’

  ‘I’m your assistant. I’m here to make your life run smoothly, and that includes stopping you from turning a cold into something serious like pneumonia. You push your body when it’s weak and you risk knocking out months of productivity, not just one day. You know this, but you’re not thinking straight.’

  His face darkened, and for a horrible moment Stella thought he was going to banish her from the house, but then his shoulders slumped. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right.’

  ‘Get into bed, I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Stella went downstairs and washed her hands thoroughly. No sense in risking catching the flu herself. Then she made scrambled eggs and buttered toast. She put a glass of orange juice on the tray and a pint glass of water with two paracetamol on the side.

  Jamie had obediently got into bed and was sitting up against some pillows. Ignoring the weird intimacy of seeing him that way, Stella put the tray on his lap and said, ‘No arguments.’

  Later that day, Esmé came in from walking the dogs, bringing the smell of fresh air and seawater. Glad to have something to say to the woman, Stella passed on an update on Jamie.

  ‘He’s in bed?’ Esmé patted Tabitha’s head absently as she spoke.

  ‘Asleep,’ Stella said, feeling absurdly proud of her nursing skills. ‘And he ate some toast.’

  ‘Well I’ll be damned.’

  Stella tried not to look too pleased.

  Esmé turned away to fill the kettle. With her back facing Stella, she said, ‘You ought to stay up here.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s a decent en-suite upstairs. I’ve aired it out.’

  ‘You think I should move into the house?’

  ‘No sense in heating the cottage when we’ve plenty of space up here.’

  ‘Right,’ Stella said, more happy than she wanted to show. She felt as if she had just passed a test.

  It didn’t take long to pack her stuff and carry it up the track to the house. The sky was pale-blue above the purple-grey roof, and the green of the trees seemed brighter than usual. Even the brown dirt of the track looked rich and pleasant. The house looked as imposing as ever, but now there was something homely about it, too. Just being familiar with the interior and no longer being in dread fear of the dogs made a big difference.

  Esmé showed her to her new bedroom. It had pale china-blue walls, a solid mahogany chest of drawers, and a dressing table with a big oval mirror. There was a blue-and-white bedspread which matched the curtains. Angus had bounded up the stairs ahead of them and was now running in delighted circles around the room.

  He jumped on the bed and Esmé shouted at him to get down.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Stella said.

  ‘You will at four o’clock in the morning,’ Esmé said.

  Stella put her green inkwell on the dressing table so that the light from the window lit it, and the bubbles trapped in t
he glass sparkled iridescent. She unpacked in her new room and made sure that Jamie drank plenty of fluids. When she checked on him later in the day, he was sound asleep, burrowed underneath a duvet and extra blanket. His forehead was damp with sweat and it wasn’t cold in the room, so Stella took the blanket off the bed and crept out without waking him.

  By the evening, he was awake and up again, but he agreed not to do any work and to sit at the kitchen table and eat some soup.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  12th April, 1848

  My dearest Mary,

  I am sorry for the terrible delay in my reply. I know that you will be quite cross with me but I beg your forgiveness. I am certain you no longer need the recipe for the biscuits but I have enclosed it in case.

  Mr Lockhart said that he would send word but when I did not hear from you I was not sure it had reached Haddington. I have been unwell and, in truth, asleep for the best part of the last two weeks. I do not remember much at all but Mr Lockhart has been most attentive. It is one of the advantages of being the wife of a medical man, I have received the best care that money can buy. Truly, nothing has been too much for him and I have had all manner of tinctures and pills and the most modern treatments.

  Do send me your news as soon as you can. I miss you terribly but cannot say when we shall meet. Mr Lockhart says that homesickness is a symptom of my continuing weakness after the fever. I dare not mention it again in case he resumes my treatment.

  Your loving Jessie

  P.S. I had the cook list the recipe and I wrote it down for you and the girls. Looking at it with fresh eyes I can see that I did not make a fine script and I blame the blasted sickness. I was still feeling a wee bit shoogly, as our dear mother would have termed my condition. Where I have written ‘arrowroot’ I made a smudge but it ought to read ‘one tablespoon’.

  The next day, Jamie was back to his usual self. Stella found him drinking one of his green smoothies in the kitchen, chatting with Esmé, and he was clear-eyed and his skin was a healthy colour again.

  It was the first thing Stella had seen that was a true advert for his regime. Stella expected him to get straight back to his ice bath routine, but he buried himself in his family research instead.

  Stella dragged herself to the computer, ready to go through emails and summarise them in reports Jamie wasn’t going to look at. She had done plenty of seemingly meaningless tasks in her years of temping, but had never felt so disappointed. For a few days at the start, she had really thought that this job would be different.

  The door was ajar and Jamie knocked lightly, pushing it open at the same time. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he said.

  ‘No problem.’ Stella turned and gave him her professional smile. She didn’t want him to feel odd about her putting him to bed the day before. She imagined he would be all prickly and hyper-manly today to make up for her seeing him show weakness. He surprised her by producing a cup of coffee and a plate with a slice of carrot cake. ‘Thank you for your help,’ he said. ‘Nursing a grumpy bastard with a cold is above and beyond.’

  Stella took the cake and the mug. ‘You weren’t that grumpy.’

  He hesitated, looking unsure.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Would you help me with my research?’ He gestured behind, indicating his office. ‘I have so much stuff. I got more boxes down from the attic and there’s the books and the archive from the local history library and that’s not even starting on the online resources.’

  Stella could almost hear Nathan’s voice, telling her that she had to get Jamie back on track, steer him away from his family research and back onto his book.

  As if Jamie could hear Nathan, too, he added, ‘I do want to make the next book truly useful. If fasting or using cold therapy can help people stay mentally sharp for longer, then I think that’s worth pursuing. I think it’s valuable. But the other lines of research I was looking at, I don’t know anymore . . .’ He glanced out of the window. ‘Since being back here, it all feels very far away. And now Google has started the California Life Company, and others – people who always called me crazy – are funding research, it just doesn’t feel as necessary that I do it.’

  ‘You liked being a lone wolf.’

  ‘I guess. A bit. I liked being a voice of dissent, going against the status quo. And it felt important to do that because so few were. I mean, we discovered that restricting calorie intake extended the lifespan of rats back in the 1930s. I feel like more should have been done, but it was seen as a crank project. Now it’s becoming mainstream.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean, Google . . . you know?’

  Stella nodded.

  ‘And being here just really makes me think about family. I know I shouldn’t be focusing on the ancestry stuff. I do know that. But I can’t stop.’

  ‘It’s your life,’ Stella said. ‘Why not follow your passion? It’s an approach which has served you well in the past.’

  He looked her straight in the eye. ‘It’s not what you signed up for,’ he said.

  ‘I’d love to help,’ she said, and enjoyed the warmth of his smile.

  Jamie was clearly still not up to his usual speed and he hadn’t even opened all of the boxes. Stella grabbed a notebook and pen and began listing the contents of each, replacing everything where she had found it and taping the list to the top of the box. A bit of order was just what she needed to calm her mind.

  Despite the absorbing routine, it was still strange to be working alongside Jamie. They moved around each other in the room, which had seemed a good size before but had been shrunk by the boxes and their recent intimacy. Working in someone’s home was always tricky and the key was strict boundaries, but now that she had seen Jamie unwell and, worse, tucked up in his bed, she couldn’t stop herself from stealing little glances at him while he wasn’t looking, storing images. The lines of his shoulders. The colour of his eyelashes.

  The last box that Stella opened contained letters. Neatly bundled and tied with faded ribbon. She looked at the first one, pencil poised to note down a couple of details for filing and move on, but instead she found herself unfolding the thin sheet of paper and reading to the end.

  ‘Who is Jessie?’

  Jamie looked up. ‘No idea.’

  ‘Grandmother? No, wait. This is too early. Great-great-great-grandmother?’

  He shrugged and Stella went back to the letter. It was written to a Mary and the return address, in careful script, said Mrs Jessie Lockhart.

  ‘The surname is Lockhart.’

  Jamie shook his head. ‘Doesn’t ring a bell. I’ve been reading about my grandfather and his dad. They were both James Munro. Family tradition. Although my great-grandfather went by Jack, according to this stuff.’

  Stella made a note on a piece of paper and refolded the letter. Most of the bundle appeared to be loose sheets, although there were some envelopes. She made a note about the stamps. Stella knew nothing about these things, but thought that well-preserved, Victorian-era stamps might be worth something to someone. Worth checking for insurance purposes, anyway.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Stella realised that she was still staring at that first letter. The script hadn’t been easy to read at first, but it was beautiful. The sloped writing and the occasional ink spot which brought to life the humanity of the item. Stella had been handling old books and photographs and newspaper clippings and handwritten notes for the last half an hour, but now, in that moment, she knew that she was holding something which had been created by a young woman one hundred and seventy years ago. She felt as if she had time-travelled, the physical paper which existed both then and now, a tangible link to the past. ‘What are causey stanes?’

  Jamie blinked. ‘Cobblestones.’

  ‘Scots?’

  Jamie nodded. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  Stella forced herself to move, to refold the soft paper and replace its fellows. She did not want to put the bundle of letters back in the box. ‘Do you mind if I read these?’


  Jamie had already looked away and become engrossed in a leather ledger, which looked like an accounts book. He glanced up. ‘Sure.’

  Stella finished her work, the box of letters sitting on the corner of her desk like a promise. Every so often she allowed herself to take the top one and unfold it, feeling its softness under her fingertips and lifting it to inhale the delicious scent of old paper.

  She couldn’t explain why they gave her strength, but she suddenly felt a rush of energy. She wanted to get away from the house to phone Ben, but she didn’t trust her mobile reception not to cut out in the middle of the call or for her resolve not to disappear if she waited for too long. After a moment’s deliberation, she waited until Jamie was doing his upside-down spine therapy, and then took the cordless handset to the furthest room from his inversion rig.

  ‘It’s me,’ she said when Ben answered.

  ‘About bloody time,’ Ben said. ‘I’ve been worried sick.’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry.’ Stella didn’t know why she was apologising. He had no right to be worried about her. She was no longer his concern.

  He took an audible breath and when he spoke next, his voice was more gentle. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Scotland,’ Stella said.

  A beat. ‘Holiday?’

  ‘Not really,’ Stella said. ‘Listen. I called to tell you something.’

  ‘It’s not good to leave the house empty for so long. I stayed there last night, just so that anybody watching would see that it’s still occupied.’

  Stella was momentarily derailed by the thought of Ben inside her home. Had he slept in her bed? Their bed? She swallowed the sudden urge to throw up and tried to get her thoughts back on track. It didn’t matter. She had rung to tell him that it didn’t matter.

  ‘It looked like you left in a hurry, you’ve hardly got any of your clothes,’ Ben was saying. ‘You can understand why I was so worried. I know I’ve no right to that—’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with you . . . what I do now. You don’t need to worry about me and I don’t need to worry about you worrying.’