by Amy M. Reade
A few minutes later he came back into the kitchen. “Who was that?” I asked.
“A gallery owner in London. He had a question about one of my paintings.”
We sat down to Seamus’s delicious pot pie and spent a quiet evening together. The thought of the constable’s return was never far from my mind, and I’m sure Seamus spent a good deal of time thinking about it, too.
We were getting ready for bed when Seamus asked, “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“Nothing. Why?’
“I thought we’d take that shopping trip to Edinburgh.”
My face must have lit up like Christmas, because Seamus laughed. “We’ll leave early and make a full day of it.”
I couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER 3
The next morning we got in the car before the sun rose over the mountains. It promised to be a beautiful day. I hated to miss a gorgeous late-winter day in the Highlands because the shadows on the mountains would be perfect for photographing, but I was excited to go to Edinburgh. We drove for two hours until we hit traffic outside the city, then we slowed to a crawl. We used the time to discuss where we wanted to go during our few precious hours in Edinburgh. We decided on breakfast at a tiny café we’d loved when we lived in the city. Then we would go our separate ways for a few hours, then meet for lunch with Greer, Ellie, and James, Greer’s almost-fiancé, or so I hoped. Then shopping in the afternoon, dinner, and back home after dark.
Breakfast was quick because I couldn’t wait to get on my way. Seamus laughed as he ordered a refill of coffee. “Go on, then, be off. I’ll see you at lunchtime. I can’t enjoy my coffee with you being so antsy.”
I kissed him goodbye and, slinging my camera bag over my shoulder, walked out of the café into the brilliant Edinburgh sunshine. As always, I looked for Edinburgh Castle to get my bearings. Just seeing it there in the distance, standing guard over the city the same way it had for centuries, gave me chills. Its gray and brown hulking mass was a symbol of strength and security for the entire British Isles. I took out my camera and got a few shots of the castle in the watery early morning light.
Then I headed straight for the Royal Mile. This area of Edinburgh could be kitschy and touristy, but I still loved it. The street was alive with people, even early in the morning. Everyone, it seemed, was walking with a cup of steaming coffee. I wandered down the street, taking photos of everything that caught my fancy, from shop fronts to wynds to the cobbles beneath my feet. It was a lovely way to spend two hours, and I wound up back at the magnificent St. Giles Cathedral just before it opened. It had been a long time since I visited the High Kirk—I hadn’t been since before Greer was attacked in the nave several years ago.
I stood in line to go inside, but when it was my turn to enter the nave I found I couldn’t go in. Images of Greer raced through my mind. She had gone inside the cathedral for a much-needed respite while searching for her little girl, my niece Ellie, when she’d been attacked. I don’t know why my feet refused to take me into the nave, but I couldn’t make them walk any farther. I turned around and left. As I made my way toward the exit my thoughts turned to the time I, too, had been attacked in Edinburgh. I had stopped at home for lunch one day when a man entered the flat. Thinking I was Greer, he attacked me viciously and left me unconscious. I suffered a concussion and several deep bruises, but most of the damage had been done to my psyche. Dreams of that attack still haunted me, and I had an irrational fear it might happen again.
After leaving St. Giles I stopped at the Scottish National Gallery, where I wandered through a fascinating exhibit on Renaissance clothing and beauty. I could have spent all day there, but I was excited to see Greer. I was meeting her before lunch so we could have time together without Seamus and James. James would bring Ellie when he met us. I had spoken to Greer early that morning—very early—and agreed to meet at a coffee shop not far from where the five of us were meeting for lunch. I got there a little early, but I didn’t have to wait long for Greer. We hugged as if we hadn’t seen each other in years.
“When were you last in Edinburgh?” Greer asked.
“About three months ago, I think.”
“Seems longer, doesn’t it?”
Greer gave me a calm smile. She was dressed in silk pants and a flowing blouse. She said she had given a lecture that morning at the University of Edinburgh, where she was a tenured professor in the art history department.
“How’s everything with James?”
She sighed. “Great. The only thing is he’s always talking about getting married.”
“What’s wrong with that? I thought you were ready for the next step.”
“I’m not.”
“Why is he pressuring you, then?”
“He’s not exactly pressuring me,” she said. “He just assumes we’ll be married at some point.”
“Do you want to get married?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“What if he turns out like Neill?” She was referring to her deceased ex-husband, who became a gambling addict and went down a frightening path of violence and fear, taking Greer with him.
“Greer, an experience that horrible could only happen once in a lifetime,” I told her.
“But I can’t help it. I think I’m just scared to make that commitment only to learn that James has some dark secret he’s keeping from me. I was in love with Neill once, too, don’t forget.”
“James doesn’t have any secrets. Go ahead and marry the man.” I gave her arm a playful shove. I felt sorry for my sister. Though she was older than I by fourteen months, since her arrival in Scotland I had felt the need to be her protector, the shoulder for her to lean on. Of course, much of that was due to the circumstances under which she had returned to Scotland: to search for her little girl. But I had a feeling she didn’t need protection from James. He was a wonderful guy who thought the world of both Greer and Ellie.
I think she needed to hear the words “marry the man.” She needed validation that James was perfect for her and nothing like Neill. She sat back and crossed her legs, visibly relaxing.
I asked her to go shopping after lunch, but she had to prepare for tomorrow’s lecture. “Text me pictures of the stuff you get, though,” she said. We sometimes shopped that way, even online, and it almost felt like we were shopping together.
We talked for a while, then walked over to the pub where we were supposed to meet the others. James and Ellie were already there. When James saw us he stood up and wrapped me in a smothering hug, then kissed Greer. Ellie hugged me, too, and held my hand so I would sit next to her. James held our chairs for us as we sat down.
“You’re such a gentleman,” I noted. “I don’t think Seamus has ever held a chair for me. When it’s time to sit down to a meal, it’s eat or be eaten with him. He doesn’t have time for the niceties.”
James grinned. “That’s part of his charm, huh?”
“Of course.”
The three of us were looking at menus when Seamus sauntered up to the table. “Miss me?” he asked.
James stood up and shook hands with him, obviously happy to see his almost-brother-in-law. Seamus wrapped Greer and Ellie in giant bear hug, wrinkling Greer’s silk outfit and making Ellie cry out that she couldn’t breathe. I got a chuck under the chin.
“Where have you been?” I asked. “I thought you’d be early… and starving.”
“Och, lost track of time, I guess,” he said, glancing at his watch. He rubbed his hands together. “Got a menu for me?”
I handed him a menu as he sat down next to me. The five of us were silent as we made our choices, but after the server took our orders we all started talking at once. There weren’t many things Seamus missed about living in Edinburgh, but seeing Ellie was one of them. He wanted a full update.
“How’re you doing in your classes?” he asked.
Ellie beamed. “I love school. I love my teacher and my friends.”
“And what
are you doing in your free time?”
Ellie knew this was Seamus’s favorite question because he wanted to hear how much she loved to paint.
“Painting! I use all the paintbrushes and paint you gave me for Christmas.”
“I can’t wait to see your work,” Seamus gushed.
We talked about the weather, my photography, Seamus’s work, new exhibits in the museum where James worked as a curator, and Greer’s classes at the university. It was a comfortable and enjoyable meal, and it ended all too soon when James announced he had to get back to work. We took leave of each other outside the pub with promises to get together again soon, then Greer and Ellie headed back to Bide-A-Wee, James returned to the museum, and Seamus and I stood on the pavement.
“Are you going shopping with me?” I asked him.
“Och, no. You’re better off without me in a shop, I think.”
“I don’t agree, but whatever you say. What are you going to do until dinner?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “I might head over to the National Gallery for a wee bit.”
“I was there this morning,” I told him. “The Renaissance exhibit is wonderful.” I kissed him and squeezed his hand. “Text me when you’re ready and we can have dinner.”
He walked off in the direction of the National Gallery and I headed straight for one of my favorite shops. I spent the next several hours trying on clothes and shoes, texting pictures of each ensemble to Greer for her feedback. Finally, laden with shopping bags, I browsed a camera shop while I waited for Seamus’s text.
When we met a half hour later, he laughed as I lumbered up to him with all my bags. “Did you buy one of everything?” he asked, his face a wide smile.
“Almost!”
“Well, thank Florian. We wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t bought that painting.”
Florian flitted across my mind like a ragged storm cloud, but I pushed him from my thoughts. “Let’s not talk about Florian, however grateful I am to him,” I suggested.
We had chosen to meet at a small romantic restaurant down a cobbled lane just a few blocks from Bide-A-Wee. The hostess took my bags and told me she would put them in the coat room until we finished our meal.
Seamus held my hand in his as he told me about his day. Besides the National Gallery, he had visited several tiny art galleries and two other museums dedicated to particular artists. He had clearly had a relaxing and thoroughly enjoyable day.
He didn’t need to be told what I had done all afternoon—my shopping bags told the story. We chatted over a glass of wine and three courses of French food, savoring our final hours in Edinburgh.
“So what’s happening with Greer and James?” Seamus asked. “I assume you girls talked about it before we all met for lunch.”
“We did,” I said, twisting the stem of my wine glass. “She doesn’t know if she’s ready to get married again. James is ready, and I think he’s putting pressure on her without realizing it. He just assumes it’s going to happen.”
“What do you think?”
I thought for a moment. “I think they’ll get married eventually, but James may have to wait a while. Greer has to feel totally comfortable with the idea first.” I took a sip of wine. “She thinks that because her first husband was a scunner James will be, too.”
“She knows better.”
“I don’t think she does. She’s convinced herself it’s true.” I wiped a crumb off the table. “It must be hard for her, worrying that James is hiding secrets, that a second marriage will turn out like the first and end in total disaster.”
“James is a good man. Anyone can see that,” Seamus answered.
“But she’s not seeing things clearly right now. At least not when it comes to love and marriage.”
“Are you about ready to go?” Seamus asked, looking at his watch. “It’s getting late.”
I let out a long breath. “I guess. It’s been such a nice day. The only thing that would have made it better is spending a little more time with Ellie.”
“Aye, but we’ll be back before long.”
We drove home in the dark, each lost in our thoughts. Mine were all about Edinburgh, wondering how my photos would turn out. I didn’t ask Seamus what he was thinking about, but looking back, I have a pretty good idea.
CHAPTER 4
We were exhausted when we got home, so we tumbled right into bed. I left my purchases on the kitchen table. In the morning I felt a little thrill going through them again, putting the clothes on hangers and taking the shoes out of their boxes. I had also bought a few items to decorate the gallery. I put the receipts in a little pile on the kitchen counter to remind myself to file them later.
Seamus and I ate breakfast quickly because we wanted to open the shop and the gallery early. He always did that after we closed for a day. Seamus whistled as he bustled around the shop, rearranging displays and welcoming visitors.
Time passed quickly in the gallery that day. I worked on a photo collage of Highland cows and entertained quite a few visitors who had come to see both Seamus’s paintings and my photos. As soon as we locked the doors for the evening, Seamus started dinner and I threw the first of several loads of laundry into the washing machine, then readied the next pile. Seamus’s jeans crackled when I picked them up—I grimaced. He had left something in one of his pockets. He did it all the time. My demands that he take everything out of his pockets before putting them in the laundry fell on deaf ears.
I reached into the back pocket and pulled out a slip of paper—a bank receipt for a deposit showing a modest balance at a bank where we didn’t have an account.
“Seamus,” I called, “what on earth is this receipt?”
There was no answer. I heaved the load of clothes onto my hip, carrying the receipt in one hand. I went through the kitchen to the washing machine and called for Seamus again.
“Seamus!”
He came in from the shop a moment later.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Just double-checking the lock,” he answered.
“Oh.” I waved the receipt at him. “What is this? I found a slip from Clydesdale Bank in your jeans. We don’t have an account there.”
Seamus looked at the paper and then at me. He shook his head. “I dinnae know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? How did the receipt get in your pocket?” I could feel my cheeks getting flushed. Was he trying to hide something from me? How dare he!
“I must have picked it up from the ground thinking it was trash to throw away in a bin, then forgot about it.”
I gave him a long look. “Are you sure about that?”
“Of course. Like you said, we don’t have an account there.”
He sounded sincere. I crumpled up the paper and threw it into our recycling bin. “I was afraid you were hiding something from me,” I teased.
He smiled and I deposited the laundry in the basket near the washing machine.
Seamus surprised me after dinner by offering to do the dishes. We usually split the work at mealtimes—he made the meal and I cleaned it up. But I was tired and had other chores to do, so I pecked him on the cheek and left the room.
A few minutes later I went back into the kitchen to start another load of laundry. He was crouched near the recycling bin; I had clearly startled him.
“What’re ye doing?” I asked.
“Nothing. Just taking the recycling outside.”
“Why? The bin isn’t full.”
“I guess you’re right. It can wait, then.”
“No need to make more work for yourself,” I said with a smile.
He laughed. “Certainly not.”
He put the bin back where it was and joined me as I walked back to the bedroom to fold laundry. He stretched out on top of the bed, and we didn’t talk much as I folded and put away clothes. I had some worrying thoughts running through my mind and he seemed exhausted and preoccupied.
It wasn’t long before he was sound asl
eep, still in his clothes. I finally acted on my dark thoughts and went into the kitchen, quietly pulling the bedroom door closed behind me so I wouldn’t wake him.
I pulled the recycling bin out from its spot under the sink. There were only a few pieces of paper at the bottom; the receipt was nowhere to be seen. Seamus had taken it out. My stomach sank.
Seamus was hiding something from me.
Why? What was so important about that slip of paper?
My first instinct was to barge into the bedroom, shake him awake, and demand he tell me why he was hiding a receipt from a bank where we didn’t have an account. But I held back, vowing to think this through before making any wild accusations. I trusted Seamus. Didn’t I? I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.
I needed to talk to someone about this. I needed another person’s perspective. I didn’t want Seamus to think I didn’t trust him, but if the receipt belonged to him he didn’t deserve my trust.
I was in a quandary. I picked up my mobile phone and texted Eilidh.
I need to talk to you. About Seamus. Can I come over?
Callum is wide awake. He’ll hear anything we say. Can it wait until morning? He’ll be at work.
I hadn’t even thought about Callum. With his big mouth, he would repeat to Seamus anything I said. It was smarter to wait until morning.
Okay. I’ll be over after 8.
I returned to the bedroom and woke up Seamus. He got on pajamas and crawled into bed. I faced away from him when I joined him.
“What’s wrong?” he mumbled.
“Nothing. Just a slight headache.”
I couldn’t sleep. As if fulfilling the lie I had told, I soon developed a whopping headache. I dragged myself to the medicine chest and swallowed two aspirin, then turned on the television in the living room, hoping to find a boring program that would lull me to sleep on the couch.
I found a program, but it was anything but boring. It was a true crime show about a jilted wife. She had discovered her husband’s infidelity and confronted him. In a rage, he killed her and dumped the body in a river. A family out for a picnic discovered it the next day floating downstream. My breath came in short bursts as I watched the drama unfold. As much as it horrified me, I couldn’t tear myself away.