The White Shepherd

by Annie Dalton

  ‘Well, thanks for that,’ Anna said. ‘Because Bonnie has now progressed to opening doors without string and I’m dealing with the consequences.’

  ‘We had a bit too much time on our hands between ops,’ Jake confessed. ‘And she was such a smart dog. And it was so much more fun than just getting up and fetching your own beer! Anyway, I’m due at a meeting in a few minutes so I should probably tell you why I’m calling. Our ghost just got back to me, and he came up with absolutely nothing. Eve Bloomfield has sent about ten emails in her life and doesn’t even seem to own a mobile phone. My guy wondered if she maybe sends her messages by carrier pigeon.’

  Anna laughed, enjoying the image of Eve in full make-up sending pigeons winging into the air from her narrow little house in Blackbird Leys.

  She could hear traffic and other exterior sounds competing in the background. Jake must have left his hotel. ‘My taxi just showed up,’ he said. ‘So before I go, tell me what you’re up to. Are you off out partying tonight with the girls?’

  Anna could see herself in the mirror holding her phone to her ear and was dismayed to see that her expression didn’t so much as flicker as she told him a lie. ‘Nothing so exciting,’ she told him coolly. ‘I’m just about to go downstairs to heat up some soup, then I’m going to finish reading my book.’

  Jake’s voice was breaking-up against the noises from the street. ‘I’m missing you, kid. Hope to see you before too long and catch up with you and Bonnie.’

  Anna went back to making up her eyes. Jake’s phone call was a perfect example of Reasons Not to be Silly about Jake McCaffrey. He had only called to update her on his ghost’s unsuccessful hacking activities and to ask about Bonnie. Even if she went back over their conversation with a fine toothcomb, Anna knew she wouldn’t find one iota of romantic content. You and Bonnie, she thought irritably, accidentally poking herself in the eye with her mascara wand. It was always, ‘You and Bonnie.’

  As usual the Duke bar was crowded, and it took Anna a few moments to spot Kit. Officially called the Duke of Cambridge, it was a lively venue on Little Clarendon Street. The walls were painted anthracite grey and hung with pictures of Edwardian men on bicycles and framed pictures of botanical and butterfly specimens, presumably chosen for their vintage feel. Long curving leather sofas took up most of one wall. The Duke felt timeless but intimate; a world of its own. The press of people felt less claustrophobic than it might have been, thanks to the glass dome that had been set into the roof and which at night was illuminated by a cleverly-placed chandelier. Looking up, as a temporary respite from scanning the faces of strangers, Anna could make out vague shapes of rooftops and chimney pots and a full, almost rosy-coloured moon sailing in an apparently cloudless sky.

  Suddenly someone moved at the bar, and Anna saw Kit waving and smiling. She started to make her way to him, trying not to step on people’s toes, but when she looked for him again in the crowd he had turned away, apparently talking to someone beside him. She heard his warm laugh rise above the talk and laughter. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said slightly breathless as she reached him at last. ‘I had trouble parking.’

  He always looked so good, she thought. Somehow Kit made being Kit Tulliver seem at once effortless and immensely enjoyable. She smiled up at him just as Kit said, ‘Anna, darling, come and meet Huw! I’ve told him all about you, and he’s been longing to meet you.’ Only then did she recognize the man standing beside him at the bar.

  As she and Huw exchanged pleasantries, she thought that finally meeting him was like seeing a fictional character come to life. Without intending to, Anna, Tansy and Isadora had collectively created a character for Owen’s son. Poor Huw. Now here he was with his oddly unmemorable features, nursing his glass of spirits and smiling at her with an expression that, with the best will in the world, Anna found hard to interpret as a longing for her acquaintance.

  With Huw present Anna couldn’t bring up the subject of Sara and Dritan. But Kit must have told Huw that they’d talked about Laurie’s death, she thought. So after they’d taken their drinks to a slightly less crowded part of the bar, she said hesitantly, ‘I was so sorry to hear about Laurie Swanson.’

  For the first time Huw’s slightly fixed expression wavered. ‘It was a terrible shock,’ he admitted. ‘But I think Laurie’s suicide showed immense courage. He decided, not the doctors, or the hand of fate, how and when Laurie Swanson made his exit from this world.’

  Anna hadn’t noticed at the book launch what a beautiful voice Huw had. It was almost an actor’s voice – resonant and authoritative, and far deeper than she’d have imagined could emerge from such an unprepossessing frame.

  ‘Hard on the people Laurie left behind though.’ Huw stared off into space, his face bleak. ‘I’ve known him since I was seven years old. He’s woven through almost every one of my boyhood memories.’

  Anna thought of the many losses Huw had suffered; now his friend was dead and Huw would go to his grave never knowing why Laurie had to distance himself the way he had.

  ‘Tell Anna about Laurie’s memorial,’ Kit prompted.

  ‘Yes, yes, the memorial.’ Huw seemed to shake off sad memories. ‘For obvious reasons, the funeral is just going to be very quiet, but we’re planning a big memorial at the Sheldonian. I know Kit would love it if you were able to be there, Anna.’ Huw glanced at his watch. ‘Shit, I’d better get back to Sara. We’ve got a business dinner to do with funding.’ Once again he was the fraught man she’d seen at the Ashmolean, trying and failing to keep all the plates spinning.

  Kit and Anna watched him go hurrying out into Little Clarendon Street.

  ‘Those people over there are just leaving,’ Kit said. ‘If we’re quick we might get a corner of a sofa to ourselves.’

  As soon as they were seated, Kit said in a low voice, ‘That poor guy. Now Huw will never know why Laurie cut him off like he did.’

  Anna didn’t say she’d been thinking the same thing. Laurie’s reason for dropping Huw felt too private, too painful, for her to even touch on.

  Kit took an appreciative sip of his wine. ‘Don’t say anything to Huw,’ he said, ‘but I actually went to see Laurie after he’d got that terrible diagnosis. Maybe Laurie told you?’

  ‘Actually, no, I don’t think he did.’ Laurie hadn’t mentioned visits from Kit or anyone else. She’d had the impression he’d withdrawn totally from all normal social contact.

  He shrugged. ‘I knew if they didn’t sort it out before Laurie died they’d never have the opportunity, and I thought that would be a fucking shame.’

  ‘That was a really lovely thing to do,’ she said.

  ‘Huw’s my friend,’ Kit said. ‘I was concerned about the effect Laurie’s death would have on him. Rightly, as it turns out. Now on top of all that there’s all this shit with Sara.’

  ‘Oh, yes, about Sara,’ Anna started tentatively.

  There was a sudden swell of laughter from the bar, and Kit didn’t hear. ‘Sara always was high maintenance, but these past months she’s been poison. They were ridiculously young, mind you, when they got married. Exactly a week after graduation, can you believe?’

  ‘That is young,’ Anna said. ‘I mean maybe in the 1960s …’

  ‘You mean in the 1960s when Owen and Audrey got married? Also exactly a week after they’d graduated?’ Kit’s tone was heavily ironic. He shook his head. ‘Can you see a subtle pattern emerging?’

  Anna felt a pang of pity. The loss of her family had left her prey to her own destructive patterns. But Huw Traherne’s life seemed to have taken on the dimensions of a Greek tragedy. Though he’d spoken admiringly of Laurie for taking charge of his own fate, he seemed to have very little control over his own.

  ‘I don’t think Huw even realized, you know, that he was unconsciously following in Owen and Audrey’s gilded footsteps,’ Kit said with a sigh. ‘Like so many people who got sucked into Owen’s orbit, poor Huw bought into the whole monstrous myth.’

  ‘You sound as if you didn�
��t like Owen very much.’

  ‘I don’t like what he did to Huw,’ he said sombrely. ‘Huw absolutely hero-worshipped him. On some level he’s always been trying to please him. I think that’s why Huw has been half killing himself to keep his marriage going, regardless of how appallingly Sara behaves. It’s his parents’ marriage he’s trying to save.’

  ‘Sara is one reason I wanted to see you,’ Anna said before she could lose her nerve. ‘I’ve been given—’ she tried to find a way to phrase it that wouldn’t sound ludicrously melodramatic – ‘some rather sensitive information that I think you should hear.’

  Kit shot her a mock-wounded look. ‘Here am I innocently imagining that I’ve convinced you of my charms, when actually this is the second – no, actually I do believe it’s the third – time that you’ve come to see me with an ulterior motive!’

  He had not only kept count of how many times he’d met Anna, but he’d also entertained hopes of charming her. Storing this information away for later, Anna lowered her voice and started to tell Kit what Tansy’s father had told them about Sara Traherne.

  ‘Sorry,’ he interrupted, ‘but how exactly do you know this?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that, but it’s from a reliable source.’ Maybe not exactly ‘reliable’, she thought, but terrifyingly well-informed. Taking a breath she went on to tell him about Sara’s involvement with Dritan Lika. ‘So there was an Albanian connection,’ she finished up. ‘Just not in the way you thought.’

  Kit seemed temporarily speechless. ‘And you’re absolutely sure this is true?’ he said at last.

  ‘Pretty sure, yes.’

  He looked completely stricken. ‘Then why the hell didn’t Naomi say anything?’

  ‘I can only think she decided it would put you in an impossible position, being so close to the Trahernes.’

  ‘That’s exactly how Naomi would think.’ Kit’s eyes grew sorrowful, then he tossed back the last of his wine. ‘But you were absolutely right to tell me, Anna. I’ll tell Huw, obviously, but not till all this publicity madness for Owen’s biography is behind us. He’s going to be devastated, and he’s got enough stress with the funding bid and organizing this huge memorial for Laurie. When it’s over, I’ll take him away somewhere and tell him then.’ His face twisted. ‘How could any sane woman pass over a lovely guy like Huw for some thug?’

  Anna shrugged. ‘I suppose some women are irrationally attracted to thugs.’

  ‘Like those ghastly women who fall in love with killers on death row, you mean?’ Kit peered into her glass. ‘You’ve still got half your designer lemonade! Come on, drink up, and I’ll get us both a proper drink.’

  ‘I’ll just have another Limonata please,’ Anna said. ‘Driving,’ she reminded him.

  When he eventually returned with their drinks he said plaintively, ‘You know my manners are usually much better than this.’

  She laughed. ‘I hadn’t noticed you being excessively bad-mannered!’

  He gave her a grin. ‘Thank you – I think! But I have a horrible suspicion that last time we met, I must have talked non-stop about myself. I’ve just realized that I know almost nothing about you, Anna, except that you own a dog with a mysterious past and are friends with the fabulous Isadora.’

  ‘I can’t believe you remembered about my dog,’ she said, smiling. She was about to tell him about Bonnie’s latest escapade, when he said:

  ‘So, tell me about your life. I don’t even know what do you do for a living!’

  She briefly considered telling him she worked in admin, but settled for, ‘I think I’m one of those sad people who are still figuring out what they want to be when they grow up.’

  ‘Who the hell wants to be grown up?’ Kit made his quick comeback sound like a joke, but for the first time Anna thought she detected real unhappiness. ‘You know those Bob Dylan lyrics?’ he asked. ‘“I was so much older then. I’m younger than that now”? When I think of the dreams I had as a boy, I could seriously tear out my hair.’ He tugged at it to demonstrate, making it stick up in tufts. ‘You see, I even have comedy hair!’

  Kit always could make her laugh. ‘Comedy hair aside, you seem to have grown into a reasonably OK adult,’ she told him.

  ‘That’s very sweet of you. But in reality I’m just another hack, making money – extremely good money, admittedly – out of other people’s achievements. If I was going to write a great novel, I rather think I’d have done it by now, don’t you?’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘I told you, it’s all these students everywhere with their shiny unused faces, making me feel old.’ He frowned into his glass. ‘Time to stop drinking, Tulliver,’ he admonished himself. ‘Any minute now I’ll start blaming my mother.’

  ‘Don’t,’ she told him, ‘or only if your mother did something hideous and Gothic, like dressing you up as a girl or holding you up by your ankles over a pan of boiling chip fat.’

  ‘Christ,’ Kit said appalled, ‘do people do those kinds of things? Come to that, does anyone boil chip fat?’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ Anna said evasively, with a mental apology to the people who had shared these precise traumas with her long-ago therapy group. ‘I think you actually enjoy being self-deprecating,’ she went on sternly. ‘It’s part of your “I’m charming-but-harmless” routine.’

  He sat forward in his seat. His eyes held a sudden unreadable gleam. ‘Is that what you think I do?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Anna didn’t know why being with Kit made her so outspoken. Maybe it was the sexy way he looked at her, as if he was utterly fascinated by her. ‘And given what most people in the world have to do for a living, who the hell cares if you never write the great British novel?’ she flashed back at him. ‘You had enormous respect for Naomi, after all, and she loved finding out about people and felt enriched by it.’

  ‘Well, well, well,’ he said softly, ‘so the beautiful Anna is a glass half-full person, after all.’

  ‘Glass half-full? Me?’ she said in surprise. ‘I don’t know if I even have a glass!’

  He seemed to think for a moment. ‘OK, then, Anna Hopkins.’ His eyes met hers in a humorous challenge. ‘Tell me something incredibly fascinating about yourself that absolutely nobody knows.’

  Anna’s mind immediately jumped to her cupboard of horrors. She gave a startled laugh. ‘Like what?’

  ‘The whole point of this exercise, you enchanting but maddening girl, is that it’s something I don’t already know.’

  ‘I did get that,’ she said, feeling her cheeks go hot, ‘but since you’ve suddenly sprung this on me in a crowded bar, I think you should at least give me an example.’

  Kit considered for a moment. ‘OK. Well, for instance that, since your childhood, you have had the most extraordinary affinity with bees.’

  ‘Bees,’ she repeated.

  He nodded, eyes sparkling. ‘When you were a little girl, you used to go down to your grandmother’s beehives and tell the bees your troubles.’

  ‘My grandmother never kept—’ she started to say.

  ‘You asked me for an example, woman,’ he interrupted sternly, ‘and this is my example! You used to talk to the bees as a child, and as a result bees – all bees everywhere, even enormous, vicious, venomous African bees – love you and would never sting you, not if their very lives depended on it.’

  Kit’s eyes were so soft and mischievous as he spun this impromptu fairy-tale that, had Anna been a different person, she might have grabbed his lapels and kissed him on the lips there and then. Instead she said coolly, ‘Isadora was right about you. Your speciality is piffle.’

  ‘Piffle is my gift to the world,’ he agreed solemnly.

  When they eventually left the bar, Kit walked Anna back to her car. ‘Don’t forget to text me your address,’ he said, ‘then Huw can mail your invitation to the memorial.’ He didn’t try to kiss her, just touched her cheek very lightly with his fingertips and gave her a smile that felt like a promise.

  On Sunday Tansy and Anna had arranged
to drop in at Isadora’s for coffee. Anna immediately spotted the stylish invitation stuck to Isadora’s fridge. ‘Do you think you’ll go?’ Anna asked her.

  ‘To Laurie’s memorial? Yes, I thought I’d go. Why, are you?’

  ‘I’m going with Kit,’ Anna said a little self-consciously.

  ‘You know why they had to throw it together so quickly?’ Isadora said.

  Anna shook her head.

  ‘Apparently, Gisela Van Holden is desperate to be there, but she only has this tiny window before she goes off on some world tour.’

  ‘Who’s Gisela Van Thingummy?’ Tansy asked, unpacking cookies from a plastic box and setting them out on a plate.

  ‘World famous cellist, darling,’ Isadora said. She had made coffee for her and Anna and a pot of ginger green tea for Tansy. The kitchen table, cleared for their Moroccan feast, was already disappearing under a tide of books, papers and domestic detritus.

  ‘This memorial is a massive deal then?’ Tansy said.

  Anna helped herself to a cookie. ‘Kit said half the music world is going to be there.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Tansy said, putting on a small voice. ‘I don’t mind being the only person who doesn’t get invited to mix with music-type celebs.’ She laughed. ‘No, seriously, I don’t mind! Because guess who I’m meeting as soon as I leave here?’

  ‘Liam Goodhart!’ Anna drew a sharp breath. ‘Did you tell him about …?’

  Tansy nodded, eyes shining. ‘You were right, Anna. He barely blinked. These were his exact words after I’d dropped my big bombshell. “Your dad’s Frankie McVeigh? Thank God! I was beginning to think I had bad breath!”’

  Anna and Isadora both laughed.

  I’m glad,’ Isadora said warmly. ‘Liam seems like a sweet man.’

  ‘I agree,’ Anna said. ‘Not sure why “nice” is used like a four-letter word these days. If you ask me, nice and normal is the way forward!’