But he’d worked out as much from her first look of puzzlement.
‘You don’t know, do you?’
‘Know wbaft What’s all this about Mill House?’
He looked away again and restarted the popping and unpopping of the folder, eventually pulling the envelope out and handing it to her.
She recognized the handwriting immediately. Slowly, fearfully, she pulled out the two pages of stiff, dove-grey notepaper.
The Mill House
off The Wynd
EDINBURGH
EH 12 QA6
23 November 2006
My Dear Glen
I have left this, together with a copy of my will, at my solicitor’s for you to receive once I have passed on. I might still discuss this with you in life (though I have told no one yet about my plans) and so this letter may never be read by you.
I am and will be eternally grateful for what you, yes you as an individual, have done to help me. The work you have given me, indeed honoured me with, has been life-changing and, just when I needed it, life-saving. Although I have always loved the river, it is my respect for you that has prompted me to leave Mill House to the association.
There is only one hard and fast proviso: that my house be used for newconservation offices. And, if the board see fit, perhapsthe old water mill could be refurbished and used to hold an exhibition space that will keepvisitors up to date with the latest work and the history of one of this city’smost wonderful assets.
The other suggestion, and I stress the word suggestion, is thatthe board consider Rossfor trustee status, should there be a vacancy in the future. However, if theboard decide that this is not what they want to do, then that in no way alters matters. Equally, it may be that Ross will not find my suggestion regarding trustee status inviting. (I have afeeling he may not.) So be it.
Finally, Iwant to thank you again for all that you have done for me. True friends can be trusted with everything. Can accept the goodand the bad in each other. You have done that for me, and I, hopefully, have done that for you. You have been a true friend. I hope I was one to you.
All the best, always, Jamie
She let the letter drop into her lap, one hand holding down the fluttering pages as a cool breeze rushed through from the forest behind. Glen moved sideways to shield Kirstin from the sun and to make her look at him.
‘I’m sorry. I thought you’d know. Shit, I’ve upset you. I…I’m so—’
She was rinding it hard to swallow but she didn’t want any more tears. Not today. She’d had enough of them.
‘It’s fine, Glen, really. It’s a very touching letter. And it’s some of the old Jamie back again. I would’ve been happy, thrilled, to have received such a letter. He admired you. As for the house. Actually, I think it’s a lovely, really lovely idea. Generous. To the association, to river users, present and future generations of them. And it’s fitting too. Thinking about it, I’m not at all surprised.’
She took a deep breath, pondering carefully her next words. ‘I’m sorry you were embarrassed. I think I might have assumed the same, that I would have known. It’s not as if Ross and I are estranged. But I didn’t. And I’m furious that Ross hasn’t told me. However, that’s between him and me. But that letter. I don’t know how to say this. It’s got the th—’
He shuffled forward. ‘It’s got what, Kirstin?’
She tried to stem the snuffling by putting a hand to her mouth, the words coming out in a slow whisper. ‘Given…everything we’ve talked about before. I’m wondering. It’s got such a tone of finality about it. Look when it was written. Last winter. When he surely wasn’t doing very much on the river. Instead…he…was maybe brooding over his life, over the past year or so. It’s ju—’
‘What?’
‘It’s just that I can’t help thinking that it. feels like a suicide note.’
Eighteen
Kirstin sat parked at the entrance to Mill House, toying with the baseball cap. Two shades of green with electric-blue lettering: ‘Water of Leith River Association. Head Volunteer. JAMIE MUNRO.’ Glen had insisted she have it as a memento. A touching gesture that had completed a wonderful evening, two days ago.
After the Friday picnic, he had insisted on having her round for dinner. The simple meal had been set out on his small balcony overlooking the river at Dean Village. And then, over coffee, allowing the inhibitions to be finally released by the sweet but potent dessert wine, he’d walked round behind her to place the cap lightly on her head. He’d stood back, head cocked at an exaggerated angle to admire the view, and then moved forward to kiss her. No surprise. She knew it would happen. Wanted it to. And what joy-filled hours they had been.
Thinking back over the past few days, of course she’d been aware of the signs, from him and from within herself. She was hardly immune to the appeal of an attractive, charming and personable man. But it wasn’t only that. He was sensitive to what she was going through with Jamie. Shared her own feelings of guilt and puzzlement. And he’d obviously had a burning need to reach out. To tell someone what he’d known of Jamie. In turn, he’d picked up on her own need and had decided to trust her. That was a bond.
She checked her reflection in the rear-view mirror. Slowly, her smile sparked by the memory faded and she threw the cap on to the dashboard. Her gaze moved through the windscreen towards the entrance to Jamie’s house. Ross thought she was stopping for a quick drink, had seemed positively enthused by the idea. Little did he know.
Five minutes later she was setded in the garden. She didn’t feel nervous or anxious. Just angry and let down. Again.
Ross was throwing back the wine as she sipped at a mineral water. ‘Shame you’re driving, Kirsty, this rose’s a cracker. I thought you might have left the car behind since you were coming for a drink?’
It was an awkward opening from him. He sensed something was up. She took a final slug of the icy water. ‘Actually, Ross, I’m not in a drinking mood. I saw Glen Laidlaw at the weekend.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ He feigned unconcern, swirling his wine round and round and holding it up to reflect the evening sun’s last orange rays. He didn’t know what was coming, but he knew something was on its way.
She kept her gaze steady on him while he refused to take his eyes from the wine. ‘I know about the house, Ross.’
It was almost comical. His hand and glass had frozen in mid-air.
She continued staring, willing him to look at her. ‘I may not have any rights in your family, but I thought you might at least have told me what Jamie had done. It’s a wonderful, generous gesture and may in some way have softened the blow of his deadi. It was mean of you not to tell me.’
He gathered his wits quickly, the wine glass discarded and forgotten on the table. ‘Glen Laidlaw had no right telling you.’
She held up a hand. ‘He thought I knew. He was just wanting to get some idea of when you were clearing the house. Don’t blame him. He assumed we were on good terms. Tell me something, Ross. Are you angry at him? Your dad, I mean. For doing this and not warning you? Is that why you’ve done your best to ruin even his death?’
‘What!’
‘You know what. Not telling me about his death, not inviting me to the funeral. Having the briefest of services with a handful of words from you and not even a proper wake. Donald told me what you’d organized. Thinking about it now, I understand. You’re furious at your father, aren’t you?’
He scraped the metal garden chair back and stood up, walking to the top of the grassy slope to stare at the river flowing sluggishly past the bottom of the garden.
‘Fucking hell, Kirstin, you’ve got a nerve! I did my best for Dad about the funeral. How dare you even think that somehow I was enacting some form of revenge on him! He might not have been the perfect father to me, but it is so low to suggest that somehow I’d try and ruin his funeral. I did what I could. And actually, I don’t give a damn about the house. The river people can have it, for all I care. I do care that Dad didn’t hav
e either the guts or the consideration to warn me what was going on in his mind.’
He turned to face her, his eyes blazing. ‘But then, that’s it, isn’t it? This bequest is one more piece in the jigsaw that was his—and I mil use this word, Kirstin—his madness. It’s my view that he was mentally ill at the end. Though I do think he knew what he was doing. His decisions on the house were made last winter. He had thought about his plans, but told no one else, and I think I know why.’ He turned to her, his eyes squinting with suppressed fury or sadness, she couldn’t be sure which. ‘Yes, I’ll tell you why. Thatbequest is a suicide note!’
The silence was absolute save for the quiet trickling of the river in the background. Kirstin shifted her chair backwards, but remained sitting. Ross hadn’t unleashed all the anger she knew he was capable of. But she could also feel the waves of genuine hurt flowing from his now immobile body. He had turned away from her again and was standing rigidly to attention, seemingly mesmerized by the water. None of what he’d said was any surprise. What had startled her had been his analysis of Jamie’s actions, an analysis that had chimed so perfectly with her own thoughts on reading Jamie’s letter to Glen.
She watched as Ross made his way back to the table, dragged a chair over and threw himself into it. ‘You wonder why I didn’t tell you? That’s why. Dad was…had lost it. I don’t know for sure what happened that night by the Cauldron. But one way or another, his death was caused by his state of mind. Either deliberately or through some dark mood he was in that drew him there at dead of night, and in those conditions. Maybe I should have seen it coming. Maybe I was neglectful. I’ll have to live with that. I do live with that. Every day. Every hour.’
His last words were delivered in a choked whisper and she heard him give out a quiet sob before reaching for his drink. ‘But, contrary to what you might think, I’ve tried to live a better life. Professionally and personally.’ He poured more wine and flicked a quick, furtive glance at her, before looking away again. ‘And I think I’ve got my reward. I’m getting married. To Annelise. Bob Linklater’s daughter. We’ve been seeing each other seriously for a long time and…and she’s pregnant. We’re very happy. I hope you’ll be happy for us.’
The faint glow of confidence that she’d started the day with evaporated. Ross was going to marry one of the senior partner’s daughters. Kirstin cast her mind back to various parties and social events. Annelise Linklater. Yes, she remembered her now. A good catch. Looks, brains, and now a baby. A baby. Fine. He’d never wanted one when married to her. This was another piece of news he could have, should have, told her before. Had he saved it up to use at exactly a time like this? When he was feeling vulnerable and put-upon? Was it to punish her for leaving him?
Well, good luck to Annelise Linklater!
Reluctandy, but with a showy flourish, Kirstin lifted her glass of now tepid water to toast him and tried a smile. ‘You’ll be glad to know that for once I am actually speechless. But yes, congratulations. You kept that one quiet. Did your dad know? About the marriage plans?’
‘Yes. But he couldn’t stand Bob Linklater, so it was just one more disappointment. And about the baby…Annelise is just over three months gone. Dad would have been pleased about that, though. I’m sure.’
He looked uncomfortable. The talk of second marriages and babies was too much. ‘Look, Kirstin. Oh,God! I always seem to be apologizing to you. Maybe I should have told you about the house, but I didn’t. I’ve got a lot on my mind Perhaps you can understand that a bit better now. And maybe you can help me.’
‘Help you?’
He nodded. ‘With the house. I’m way behind. You know I’ve been thinking about this since you came back. I wondered if you wanted to move in for a few days. You’ll have the place to yourself. And maybe go dirough some of Dad’s things? I…I, well, I’ve not really made any start on his study. I tried but it was just depressing. I’ve been through his personal papers, all the ones related to probate. And I’ve sorted out a couple of filing cabinets. But there’s still a ton of river material piled on his old desk, and God knows what else to go through. I’ve skimmed through some of it but, well, I’d feel bad about just throwing it all away. Either that or I could hand it all over to Glen Laidlaw. It would serve him right me dumping a ton of paperwork on him. Get him back for all those years ago.’
She gave a quizzical frown and he offered her a half smile in return. ‘Didn’t Glen tell you? We knew each other when we were, what? Twelve, thirteen maybe? He lived down near the Cauldron. Not sure which house…I think it was that cottage the other woman…not Morag Ramsay, Bonnie Campbell lives in. But it was only for a short while and then his family moved away, something about his father getting transferred. Our gang from this part of the river used to come down to the Cauldron area now and again and there was a bit of a territorial feud. I never knew his last name and, in truth, I forgot his first until we met again. Me and Glen had a big fight once. He won.’
He smiled at the memory. ‘Funny, it was only when I met him to discuss Mill House that it clicked with both of us. I’d talked to him on the phone, but it obviously didn’t register with either of us. He was amazed—and sad too. Said that he didn’t put two and two together about Jamie. Of course, he never knew my dad then. We were just two bunches of kids that bumped into each other now and again. Small world, though. I understand why he’s so passionate about the job now. He loved the river even as a child, that I do remember.’
Ross paused to tilt his head. He looked puzzled.
‘I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.’
Nineteen
‘Morag, believe me. There is nothing to be frightened of. You’ll know what it is like from your sessions with Dr Lockhart, but I want to reassure you anyway. Modern hypnotherapy is not the trickery of the Victorian music hall. Not some cheap vaudeville act. I’m not going be dangling a golden pocket watch in front of your eyes until you succumb and lose your reason. Rather, I’m going to place you in a relaxing environment and we will talk. So, are you happy to continue?’
She knew he was watching her every move.
‘Professor Beattie, I just want to find out what happened. What I did or didn’t do.’
‘I know. I know. This is just the beginning. Let’s give it time.’
‘I can feel the blindfold. A napkin. Soft. lona’s putting it on. She’s saying…what is that? Sounds like, ‘Just in case you feel like cheating.’ And she’s laughing and saying something else. ‘Can I borrow your sarong? Don’t want to get my legs, or back, scratched up.’
‘Okay, Morag. Just let your mind be still for a moment. Relax.’
She shifted slightly, enjoying the comfort of Professor Beattie’s deep, enveloping sofa. He’d been right. She hadn’t lost her reason. She knew where she was. And it was the most relaxing of environments. Low lighting and so quiet. She allowed her attention to drift back to the professor’s voice again, enjoying his gentle, reassuring tones.
‘lona thought you might cheat. How do you feel about that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘lona’s taken your sarong. How do you feel about tbaf?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘You don’t know? But it’s yours!’
‘I’m going to get it back. After this stupid game. I didn’t even want to play the game in the first place, did I? And now I’m going to be left behind. And I don’t want to be left behind, alone. It’s not fair.’
‘What’s happening now, Morag?’
‘I…I don’t know. I feel woozy and…and Ally’s spinning me round now. I’ve almost lost my balance but I’m okay. I’m sitting on the wall now. Counting. I can hear some giggles, whispers, quite loud even above the sound of the weir. And…now, I can hear the rusding of feet in the grass and someone running past me on the path. They’re all going to hide.’
‘And you’re still counting?’
‘I must be at about twenty now.’
‘That’s very slow. You’ve got to get to a h
undred. They’ll be very well hidden by the time you finish.’
‘That doesn’t matter.’
‘Why?’
She felt herself shake with laughter. ‘Because lona was right. I am going to cheat. I’m going to look. They won’t know. They’ve got their backs to me. Running away.’
‘And what do you see?’
She could smell the river now, feel the residual heat of the day, even though the sun was casting long shadows. ‘I can’t see Ally. Maybe it was him I heard running past me. But I can see Fraser and Bonnie. Far in front of me, running up the hill into the undergrowth. Bonnie’s giggling. I can hear it drifting back to me. Oh…I feel sick. Really sick.’
‘And the others. Where are Craig and lona? Have they gone?’
‘Yes. No! My sarong. The colour. A vermilion flash at the other side of the bridge. They’ve gone over the footbridge. Are they going up the art gallery steps? No…no! I can see the red. It helps me to follow their progress. And it’s fine, just fine.’
She could feel herself trying to pull the non-existent blindfold back down.
‘Why is it fine, Morag?’
She could feel a smirk twitching at her mouth.
‘Because I know exactly where they’re hiding.’
Sunday, 13 August 2006
Craig Inine inched out into the busy summer holiday traffic on an already nose-to-tail busy Queensferry Road. It was a shitty way to start any Sunday morning, let alone the blistering scorcher this one was going to be. But he had to get away from Morag, so an excuse to go in and handle a phantom ‘emergency’ at the office was perfect. Who cared if she didn’t believe him. Sleeping in, mildly to moderately hungover, the echo of Morag’s grumpy voice ringing round and round in his head had decided him. Escape for the morning and then go on to that afternoon’s river party.
It was crystal clear that Morag didn’t want to go—or rather, didn’t want him to go without her. She was being bloody-minded. If he went, then so would she. If he didn’t, then neither would she. A limpet. That’s what she’d become. He’d suspected for some time, despite his and lona’s best efforts to keep her booked or drugged up, that Morag knew about them. And maybe that was no bad thing.
2007 - The Dead Pool Page 12