by Sally Graham
There was silence for a moment. She knew that the psychiatrist would be gazing out of the window, thinking about Blake’s words, before she answered.
“Blake - you’re one of the most impressive people I’ve met. I loved working with you. You don’t need me anymore - we agreed that when you went to meet your birth parents. But I get the feeling now that the time’s right for you to let someone else share your life now. Maybe this banker is the one. Maybe not. But you need to give it a try. No more excuses.”
“Excuses?”
“Sure,” the doctor continued in her no-nonsense manner. “If you’ll forgive me, all that crap about your scars was just an excuse to give yourself somewhere to hide. We’ve talked about that. You’ve told me you’re over that now. Good work. Now - you can start enjoying what you’ve been blocking out.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? Do I have to spell it out for you, Blake? You can start living live fully - having a relationship, having sex, and having fun!”
Blake suddenly laughed. She’d never heard the doctor be so frank. “I thought-”
“Stop thinking, my dear. Start living! And now - I’ve got to go. There’s a client in the waiting area. Call me soon, Blake. I loved hearing your news. I’m proud of you.”
Blake held the phone for some minutes as if she could preserve Caroline William’s voice while the fire sputtered and flamed.
“I’m going to break the rules tonight, Romy, and let you sleep in the house. Besides, I can’t face taking you outside to your kennel,” she said, pushing the dog off the couch. Romy slid onto the floor, lapped some water noisily from her bowl in the kitchen, and came back to lie in front of the dying fire.
“We’re up early tomorrow. I need to get down to town before we start work, honey.”
As she wriggled into bed, glad of the hot water bottle that warmed her toes, Blake fell into the deep sleep of one who had been outdoors all day, but her last thoughts were about what she would say to Carrie in the morning.
Blake drove quickly along the track that led to the main road. It was unlikely that she would meet any other traffic. The weather had improved overnight, and it was warm enough for her to drive with her sleeves rolled up. The air felt clean and crisp against her face, and she felt exhilarated as she smelled the scent of fresh heather and gorse as she drove down through the glen.
She managed to park near the hotel, grab her coat and walk quickly into the reception area, crossing the hall with its florid carpet to the reception counter.
“Can you tell Miss Wyatt that I’m here?”
The girl behind the desk recognised her and smiled.
It only took fifteen seconds.
“I’m sorry, Blake. Miss Wyatt checked out two hours ago. She said she had to get back to London urgently.”
Chapter 12
Carrie had checked her phone after her evening meal. Marc’s increasingly hysterical emails persuaded her that she had better return to London earlier than she had planned. Her life was becoming complicated enough without having to cope with the fallout from her prima donna boss, and she knew she still needed to prepare for her San Francisco meeting.
Glancing at her watch, she didn’t think it was too late to try and catch Blake and cancel the meeting they had planned the next morning. She wanted to explain her sudden departure, and see whether there was any chance that they could keep in touch.
She got a ‘line engaged’ tone, frowned, waited a few minutes, and tried again, but Blake’s phone was still returning a ‘busy’ signal. Carrie realised that if she needed to check into the airport by seven thirty the next morning, it would mean an early departure, and the day’s fresh air together with the glass of wine she’d enjoyed at supper had made her tired. Rather than wait until Blake’s phone was free, Carrie decided to shower and go to bed. She would catch up with the shepherd later.
The horizon was cloud free as Carrie’s flight crossed the border into England next morning and flew over the Cheviots with their rugged fells criss-crossed with drystone walls and dotted with ancient isolated villages. Carrie gazed down and found herself focussing her banker’s mind to the issues surrounding Dundrannan.
That the house needed an inordinate amount of money spent on it to make it habitable, let alone comfortable, there was no doubt. She needed a full building survey carried out fast to get some clarity about what was required if there was to be any chance of selling the property.
The estate looked hardly any better. A cursory trawl through the internet showed that the livestock market was in decline: sales of meat were falling and there was the increasing competition from European producers.
Both Iza and Douglas Kinkaid had made it clear that they were looking forward to stepping back, and Iza was working well after she had a right to retirement anyhow.
The balance sheet looked decidedly one sided in favour of getting rid of the house and estate as quickly and economically as possible. If Carrie was advising a client on a business case the for the retention of Dundrannan she would come down heavily on the side of “Sell”.
She turned away from the window and accepted an offer of watery tea from the flight steward. Once she felt she could see the end-game in a business problem, she would normally turn it over to junior colleagues to work out the details. And all the evidence she had seen on her visit pointed to her putting the house and estate on the market for as good a price as she could get, offer suitable pay-offs to Iza, Duncan and Blake, and then accept any reasonable offer.
But Carrie’s business antennae always alerted her if there was a possibility that she was missing something, or neglecting part of the overall picture. If a nagging doubt gnawed at her: she went on analysing the problem she was facing from every angle.
It wasn’t until she had landed at Heathrow and cleared Arrivals that she remembered something that the shepherd, Blake, had said to her. Carrie’s retentive mind never forgot pieces of information that seemed innocuous but which could be useful later. What had Blake meant, she mused, when they were walking around the sawmill?
And then there was the question of the shepherd. Carrie felt a tingling in her stomach as she remembered Blake’s toned body, her amazing blue eyes and flawless skin, and the way her face flickered with uncertainty before she broke into that dazzling smile. She was a contrast to the normal circle of friends and acquaintances that Carrie moved in. Where the lawyers and bankers had dead eyes, bodies that were the result of punishing workouts (Carrie groaned inwardly when she remembered her tennis match booked for five-thirty the following morning), Blake had the body of someone who led a healthy, normal life. If a shepherd’s life in the glens of Galloway could be called normal, Carrie thought to herself.
Crawling though the final few miles of London’s traffic in her taxi she continued to consider the challenge of Dundrannan, as though it were a client and she was retained as an adviser. By the time Carrie reached Canary Wharf and stood outside FMJ’s extravagant atrium, she had a formulated a list of questions for Josie to pursue.
The day saw Carrie in back-to-back meetings, catching up on more work that had accrued while she was away, and fielding several calls to a European client about a potential merger. If it succeeded, Frankle, Masters and Joyce stood to make many millions in advisory fees, of which Carrie’s share would be significant.
But she didn’t feel the excitement that normally accompanied the cut and thrust of corporate battle. When she turned her eyes away from her computer screen and looked out at the London skyline, she was ambushed by memories of the rugged Scottish hills.
Rather than the dim roar of the traffic eight floors below her, she found herself listening to the low lapping of the loch water when she had walked along the shore with the shepherd. With Blake.
The day dragged slowly until Josie walked into her office and put two slim folders on Carrie’s desk, and waited until her boss had finished her video call.
“Ok, Enrico. That’s good news. Caio!” Carr
ie flicked her mouse and closed the video link, then turned to Josie and sighed. “Another happy client-bunny, but I’m exhausted!”
Josie looked at her in surprise. “Wow - all that fresh air must have got to you.”
“It’s funny you say that, Jose. Maybe it did.” She yawned and looked at the paperwork in front of her. “So, what are these goodies?”
“I’ve printed out your schedule for tomorrow. The partners’ meeting has been brought forward to eleven o’clock. Lunch is booked at La Caprice with the new finance director of the German bank you met at the conference in Geneva - your usual table. And the other folder I’ve just given you has the answers to those questions you asked me to chase up.”
“Josie - you’re a star. And - you know what? Let’s call it a day and go home.”
Carrie turned back to her desk and began to log off her computer so she didn’t see Josie’s look of surprise. She had never known her boss finish earlier than nine o’clock at night.
Chapter 13
Blake realised that she’d wanted to see Carrie again more than she admitted, and wandered down the main street to Bett’s cafe trying to hide her disappointment. She glanced at her watch as she knew she had to head up the glen to check the sheep, but she reckoned that the work she had done in the bad weather during the week gave her an excuse to start late. And besides, she wanted to see if there was an email from Carrie.
There were only a few people in the cafe. Bett was still preparing the sandwiches for the lunchtime rush, and she looked up in surprise.
“Well, who’s the early bird? I’ve never seen you come in this early before.”
“I like giving you surprises, Bett. Can you take a break from the cheese and tomato baps and make me a coffee?”
“Any distraction is welcome.” Blake never lost her admiration for the way that Bett deftly filled the small chrome coffee basket with grounds, tamped it down, twisted the steam control and infused the boiling water in one quick, smooth, movement. There was something comforting about the hiss of steam, the sound of hot milk being frothed, and the chinking sound as Bett collected the cup and saucer.
Blake lifted her coffee from the counter and suddenly froze when she saw Bett looking at her bare arms, her eyes puzzled.
“Did you use to have tats, Blake? Are those lines where the inking was removed?” She pointed to the inside of her own wrist which had the initials ‘A.J’ tattooed, the faint blue ink smudging into her pale skin. “Andrew Johnson, my first boyfriend. I got rid of him quick enough but not before I had this silly tattoo done in Carlisle. Can you believe it? We’re still friends but I get annoyed with myself every time I look at it.” She looked at Blake’s arms again. “I don’t know why I’ve never noticed those scars before?”
Blake instinctively wanted to roll her sleeves down and walk away quickly, but Bett’s curiosity didn’t show any shock or disgust that she had encountered before.
“I usually have my sleeves down,” she admitted. “I used to be so embarrassed about the scars. They weren’t tattoos. To be honest, I went through a bad patch when I was younger and, well, I used to cut myself. It’s crazy, isn’t it? But that’s what I did. The scars are fading but I think they’ll always be there.”
Bett looked over Blake’s shoulder, checking to see if there was anyone waiting to be served.
“Hey - I get it,” she said. “Things must have been tough to have done that. But, you know, I’ve seen it before.”
Blake stared at her. “You have?”
“Sure. Here - in Castle Douglas. In fact,” she leaned towards Blake, “I wish you could meet my cousin. Her family are all over the place. Dad in prison -” She dropped her voice “I’m damn sure her brother is doing drugs. He’ll get caught soon for dealing. And Katie is so upset and mixed up. She’s only fourteen. And she hardly eats. But then my sister caught her doing things to her arm. And she’s so pretty too.” Bett suddenly dabbed her eye quickly with her tea towel. “If she could only meet someone. Someone who’s been there.” She looked across the counter, her brown eyes filled with pain. “Maybe you could help her, Blake?”
But while Bett was talking Blake had been sitting in her bedroom in Christchurch, her door locked, her blouse thrown on the bed, holding a school geometry compass needle, pulling the point across her bare arm, her pulse racing, her eyes fixed on her skin as she pulled the needle across the pale whiteness that became quickly scored with spider web thin trails of blood. No pain - not then - that came afterwards - but an overwhelming sense of power, and control.
She was brought back to the present - the sound of the coffee machine, the murmur of customers’ voice, and Bett’s worried request.
“Blake? Do you think you could?”
She put her hand on Bett’s arm. “If I can help, of course I will. I had an amazing friend, a doctor, who helped me. It can be done. Maybe I can meet Katie here? It’s a long shot. She’s on a journey of some kind, you know, but if I can help in any way, I promise ! will.”
Bett looked at her anxiously. “If you could, Blake.”
Just then there was a request for a toasted tea cake and two cups of coffee. Blake squeezed Bett’s arm. “Let me know,” she said.
As she logged on to her email account, Blake felt an unfamiliar confidence wash over her. Suddenly her self-harm was being transformed from something that made her shrink from others, to something that might allow her to help someone. She looked at the scars on her arm, and she wasn’t feeling shame, guilt and embarrassment. They were just - in the past. Done. Over with. She felt as though she had heaved a large boulder down the glen and watched it hurtle and crash away far down the hill, leaving her lighthearted with relief and freedom which made her want to shout out loud with excitement and happiness.
She looked around to see if anyone was looking at her, whether it had been a dream, a mirage, and if people were pointing at her arms and whispering to themselves.
But Bett had returned to her work area and was slicing bread, other customers were chatting and laughing: her life was - normal.
Giddy with cheerfulness, Blake checked her in-box.
From: Carrie Wyatt, VP
Subject: Sorry
Hi. It’s me. Sorry not to meet. I tried to call but your line was busy. Things are turning heavy back in London and I decided to catch the early flight. I’ll be away for a week or so and won’t be in touch. But I’ll text and check in when I get back. Promise. C. x
Blake read, and re-read the email. Damn, damn, damn - she’d been talking to Caroline in New Zealand when Carrie called. She’d gone straight to bed and never seen the ‘Missed Call’ alert. But Carrie was going to keep in touch. “Promise.” Blake looked at the word again. “Promise”, “Promise”, “Promise”. She felt she knew Carrie well enough that if she’d written that, she meant it.
Blake gulped her coffee, waved at Bett, and ran back to the Jeep. “Come on, Romy. We’ve got work to do.” The black and white sheepdog caught her enthusiasm and barked wildly as Blake drove out of town and took the track back towards the glen.
Chapter 14
“Is there anything else you’d like, Ma’am?”
Carrie looked up from her laptop as the stewardess leaned over and began to clear the remains of her evening meal. The pampering in first class air travel was ridiculously over-the-top, she reflected, glancing at the young woman’s toned upper arms. For a moment she thought of ordering a night-cap to soften the rest of the long haul back to London, but she shook her head in response to the stewardess’ enquiring gaze.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m just going to stretch my legs up in the lounge, If you could fix the bed for me, I’ll turn in.” She got up and stepped up the spiral steps into a bar area. She took a seat by the window and looked down at the shimmering clouds below, ghostly pale in the moonlight.
It had been a tough meeting in San Francisco. Regulators were making the deal a tortuous process, but Carrie had been able to propose a compromise that had finally been accep
ted by all participants.
“Honey - you really floored us with that one! You Brits know how to rescue a deal, don’t you? How say we meet up and celebrate before you fly back to London? Let me show you the…..sights?”
It was the way that Gennifer Lloyd, the tall, leggy, chief finance officer from her client’s legal department had dangled the word ‘sights’ in front of Carrie and appraised her coolly that made Carrie question the way her life seemed to be changing.
Normally she would have glanced around to check who might overhear their tryst, nod warmly at Gennifer, touch her arm conspiratorially, and seal the deal on an evening that would have ended up in her bed with one of the most high profile gay business women on the West Coast.
“Oh God, Genni, I can’t.” She looked straight into the tall Texan’s eyes. “You know I’d love to.” That part was true. “But I have to get back to London on the red eye.”
The tanned blonde grimaced.”Then it’s my loss, Carrie. I was really looking forward to getting to know you…. better.” How was it possible to be so unsubtle? Carrie asked herself. But then Gennifer leaned close; Carrie wondered if she was going to hit on her there and then, but she whispered into her ear, “So who is the lucky lady back there in London that means you can’t stopover with me?” And she stepped back, looking at Carrie with knowing, raised, eyebrows.
“Ms. Lloyd, I surely don’t know what you’all be referring to,” Carrie answered in a faux southern accent. “Jess you don’t git me embarrassed now.”
The lawyer laughed out loud. “That’s the worst impersonation ever,” she said. “And your secret’s safe with me, honey. She’s one lucky gal, whoever she is.”
“Whoever she is.” Carrie repeated the words to herself as she looked down on the sea of grey-blue clouds below her, puzzled by her preoccupation with the woman she had met in Galloway. They had hardly spoken to each other. They hadn’t slept together. In fact, Blake had shown little serious interest in Carrie, nor had she replied to any of the texts that Carrie had sent.