PART TWO
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
That’s not even my real name. My public knew me – and loved me – as Meredith Fitzgerald. It always irritated me when the Highland peasantry referred to me as “Mrs MacNab”.
Meredith Fitzgerald wasn’t my real name either. (Even Sholto doesn’t know that. But there’s rather a lot Sholto doesn’t know.) I was born “Moira”, a name that never seemed quite in keeping with my musical aspirations, so when I left college I promoted myself to “Meredith Fitzgerald”. I thought that had a musical ring to it. A certain “je ne sais quoi”.
I was a high flyer, you see. A meteor in the musical world. That’s what the Telegraph critic said. I developed early and I was ferociously ambitious. I don’t mind admitting I was ruthless at times. But mine was an exceptional talent. The world was a brighter place when I sang. Fans wrote to me and said so. They waited at the stage door with gifts: flowers and chocolates (too many chocolates!), sometimes small pieces of jewellery. I brightened up their dull little lives and they wanted to show their appreciation. It was so sweet.
I used to command enormous fees. Oh, yes, I earned a lot of money, but I’ve no idea where it went. It just seemed to disappear. I had expenses, of course – hair, clothes, shoes. One had to be well groomed and it was necessary to be seen in the right places after a performance. It all added up – the money and the calories.
Of course I could have done much better for myself than Sholto MacNab. Much better. I had offers, believe me. But he was such a handsome man. So brave. A real-life hero. And he was besotted with me. That made him irresistible. I do believe he actually loved his dowdy wife, but he still couldn’t keep his hands off me. He was quite reckless. I loved that. It was something we had in common: a love of risk.
I never knew if he would return from one of his dangerous expeditions. That was thrilling too. Quite an aphrodisiac. Even before we were married I sometimes used to think about what I would wear at Sholto’s funeral. Something chic but severe, like Jackie Kennedy. Definitely veiled.
It was all very exciting to begin with, then things settled down into a sort of clandestine routine. Sholto had everything he wanted: his loyal, boring wife stuck at home, breeding sons, and his glamorous young mistress providing entertainment and sophistication in London or Edinburgh, or wherever I happened to be performing. (We once enjoyed a night of passion in Perth of all places.)
Then Torquil finally died and Sholto became quite a different proposition. I must confess, I didn’t realise then that “laird” wasn’t a proper title, like Duke or Earl and I didn’t know it was possible to own a castle and God knows how many acres and still be hard up. “Asset-rich, cash-poor” was an expression that meant little to me then. My fans gave me jewellery. When I needed money, I sold it. Or I asked Sholto.
I can’t claim I knew anything about money other than how to spend it. I concentrated on my career and allowed Sholto to manage my finances – by which I mean, I let him pick up the tab, which in the early years he was happy to do. He was so understanding. Until we married. Then things changed.
He never said so, but I knew he missed Liz. What there was to miss about that woman, I had no idea, but Sholto was clearly out of his depth trying to manage the boys. He wanted me to be a mother to those two tearaways and seemed to expect me to devote every waking hour to maintaining the ruin that was Cauldstane, as if I was some sort of housewife.
There was clearly only one thing to be done with Cauldstane Castle and that was sell it.
Never was a place more aptly named! They say “cold as the grave”, but trust me, Cauldstane in January when the wind is in the east, is worse. I’ve never known cold like it. Even at the height of summer that place was never really warm. The cold and damp used to seep through the stone floors and walls until it had crept into your very bones. Some days I just didn’t bother to get up, it was so cold. I stayed in bed and got Wilma to bring me all my meals on a tray.
She was a sweetheart. Nothing was too much trouble. Even though she didn’t have a clue about music, she showed me the respect that was my due as an artist and mistress of Cauldstane. There was never a speck of dust on any of my photographs or certificates and I think dear Wilma was more thrilled with my portrait than Sholto! She would have done anything for me. She used to stand in the music room occasionally and listen to me play the harpsichord. The music went right over her head of course, but she loved to watch me. I could understand that. I had beautiful hands. I used to look at them while I played and marvel at how lovely they looked, sparkling with rings.
I brought a little colour – and yes, magic! – into Wilma’s humdrum life. Into so many lives. I really deserved better than the shabby treatment I got from Sholto. When I asked him to divorce Liz and marry me, he wouldn’t hear of it. The selfish bastard liked having his cake and eating it. Well, I wasn’t going to stand for that. I could have had my pick of any number of eligible young bachelors – not to mention the moneyed old men. So I delivered my ultimatum.
Do you know what he said? Sholto had the bloody nerve to tell me, he believed in marriage; that he found fidelity very difficult, but for him marriage was “till death us do part”. I’d never heard anything so pathetic! Since he was sleeping with me at every available opportunity, the old hypocrite got what he deserved.
Liz died.
And that was that.
After Liz died, I had to be circumspect. I needed to make myself indispensable to the family, but I had to keep my distance from Sholto. That was no hardship. He was a bore as a grieving widower. You’d think no one had ever lost a wife before. He was the same about the boys – so concerned they were motherless, but since they spent half their lives at boarding school, I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. But I did my best to be nice to them. I knew that was the way to persuade Sholto to make me a permanent fixture.
It was an uphill struggle. Neither of the boys was interested in music and I didn’t know much about anything else. Fergus loved animals and was a keen rider like me, but Alec was just impossible. I suppose feeling responsible for your mother’s death would ensure you weren’t the most cheerful of children, but I do think he milked the “reclusive loner” bit, especially in his teens. I mean, everyone said, you can’t blame an eight-year old for causing someone’s death and no one ever did. Nobody even mentioned it, so I think Alec should have pulled himself together and got on with his life. I mean, it was a great shame, but it just couldn’t be helped. Riding is a dangerous sport and horses are unpredictable. Liz wasn’t the most expert of riders and her mare was temperamental. That’s what I said to Sholto – to anyone who’d listen, in fact. “Accidents happen.”
Especially to the MacNabs.
I rubbed my eyes and looked away from the laptop. I felt numb. I couldn’t believe what had happened, but I had to. It was as if my brain had taken a running jump at a brick wall and knocked itself out. Except that there was a tiny part of my mind that was relieved I wasn’t going mad. It was only a ghost. Only.
Alec was sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulders bowed. He was staring down at the sword resting across his pyjama-clad thighs. I don’t know when I’ve seen anyone look so exhausted. Or defeated. He must have sensed my gaze because he looked up and I saw dark shadows under his eyes. I realised it must be very late, but there was no possibility of sleep tonight. Not for me.
He gestured towards my laptop. ‘Looks like you’ll be up till dawn if you read it all. Meredith obviously needed to get a lot off her chest.’
‘You don’t have to stay, Alec.’
‘I’d like to. If you don’t mind,’ he added politely. The incongruity of this exchange made me want to laugh hysterically. It was 2.00 a.m and the heir to Cauldstane was sitting on my bed in his pyjamas, keeping watch with a sword, while I read a ghost’s crazed autobiography. This wasn’t what Rupert had meant when he suggested I take up a less demanding career than writing fiction.
I managed to summon up a small smile for Alec.
‘Meredith stopped throwing things ages ago. I’ll be OK. I’m doing what she wants, aren’t I? Reading all this.’
‘I’d prefer to stay. I’ve taken precautions, but I don’t know what power she has over other folk. I only know what she can do to me.’
‘What do you mean – precautions?’
‘There’s a blade under your mattress... A Bible on the book shelf. And this...’ He picked up a small carved wooden animal that had been placed on the bedside table. I’d thought it was an otter, but Wilma had told me it was a pine marten. Alec had carved it as a gift for Coral. ‘It’s made of rowan wood,’ he explained, as if the words would mean something to me. ‘But evidently Meredith can still get into the room.’
I swivelled round on my chair. ‘Are you saying you put a sword under my mattress? In Heaven’s name, why?’
‘A steel blade is a traditional Highland talisman against evil. It’s a time-honoured custom to take an oath upon cold iron or steel. A dirk, or sgian dubh was always handy for that purpose.’ He shrugged. ‘Some folk believe luck is associated with a horseshoe because it’s a piece of iron that can be placed conveniently over a threshold.’
I remembered arriving at Cauldstane with Fergus. ‘There’s one at the castle’s back door, isn’t there?’
‘I put it there. And I make sure it stays there.’
‘And the rowan wood?’
‘Another traditional talisman. A rowan tree would be planted in front of a house to keep evil spirits from the door.’
‘Oh… Sholto told me his walking stick was made of rowan.’
‘I made that too.’
I was beginning to grasp the scale of the problem and the pressure Alec lived under. ‘Does Sholto know?’
‘About Meredith? I doubt it. He’s never said anything. But then he wouldn’t.’
‘But… you think Coral knew?’ I saw him hesitate and said, ‘You don’t have to answer, Alec. I don’t want to stir up any bad memories for you.’
‘I think it best you know what happened, Jenny. If you’re to understand what’s happening now.’ He looked at the laptop screen, then back at me. ‘Would you come and sit on the bed? I think you’d be safer. I’ll sit on one of the chairs.’
‘No, I’d like you close at hand, if you don’t mind. Get under the duvet – you must be freezing! You didn’t even put any slippers on.’ Alec turned back the bedclothes and, still grasping the sword, slid into bed, taking up a position as close to the edge as he could without actually falling out. I wasn’t sure if this was out of consideration for me, or so he’d be ready for action. I stood up, cinched his dressing gown firmly round my waist, then climbed in on the other side. We sat there like bookends, facing the laptop, saying nothing. I felt a wave of terror begin to rise again, but I was determined not to give in to it, so I took a deep breath and said, ‘Know any good bedtime stories?’
‘Aye. This one’s a cracker.’ Alec laid the sword down in the space between us, the blade pointing to the foot of the bed, then he clasped his hands loosely in his lap and said, ‘After Meredith died, Coral said she heard music. The harpsichord.’
‘I’ve heard it too.’
His head turned sharply. ‘You have?’
‘A couple of times. I assumed it was a radio. But somehow I knew it wasn’t. That’s when I started to think that I… that I might be losing it again.’
‘Aye, that’s how it was with Coral… Then odd things started to happen. She had a few accidents. Nothing serious. And wee bits and bobs would disappear, then reappear. Nothing of any value, but she found it unsettling. It was bad enough living with the famous Cauldstane curse, but this was something different. At first Coral thought she was just imagining things, but eventually she thought she was ill. So did other members of the family.’
‘Did you know it was Meredith?’
‘Not then. It took me a long time to put two and two together. The MacNabs being accident prone wasn’t exactly a new concept. And anyway, stuff like that can become a self-fulfilling prophecy if you believe in it. Things happened after Meredith died, but since Meredith was dead, I didn’t think anything of it. Not to begin with.’ He searched my face and must have seen my confusion. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not explaining this very well… Jenny, you need to understand that Meredith and I… we have a history.’
‘History?’
‘Aye.’ He paused, then, as if it cost him some effort, he said, ‘At some point Meredith transferred her affections from Sholto to me. I was quite young. I didn’t understand what was going on. Then when I did understand, I didn’t know what to do.’
I was deeply shocked by Alec’s words and my next remark was absurdly inconsequential. ‘But… wasn’t Meredith much older than you?’
‘Twenty years. I thought she was just being overly affectionate.’ He shrugged. ‘She was flamboyant. Theatrical. I didn’t see it as… well, sexual harassment, I suppose. Guys don’t have too much experience of that kind of thing. And it was kind of hard to get my head round the idea of someone – a woman – with no shame. And no conscience.’
‘Did you tell anyone?’
‘Hell, no – who could I tell? And what could I tell? What Meredith did was embarrassing. Inappropriate. But nothing more. To begin with anyway. I don’t think I even realised what was going on until Coral and I got serious. Then Meredith started confiding in me. Telling me how Sholto neglected her. Cheated on her. I didn’t know whether or not to believe her, but I thought there was a good chance my father was up to his old tricks. It was none of my business, but Meredith wanted me to take sides. Then I realised she wanted more than that... I thought she just wanted some sort of sick revenge, but then I began to see she was jealous. Jealous of Coral. And then I realised that… well, that it was personal.’
The laptop screen had started scrolling again, as if Meredith was there in the room, ranting at us. In a way, I suppose she was.
‘Alec, do you think Meredith was…’ I struggled to find the right word, then he saved me the trouble.
‘Sane?’
‘I suppose “sane” is what I was going to say, yes. Whoever’s writing that screed,’ I said, pointing to the laptop, ‘seems to be sick. I mean, the way she talks about your mother! And you and Fergus when you were children. It’s just horrible.’
‘I suppose it all depends on your definition of sanity. No doctor would ever have certified Meredith as insane. But even when she was alive, she wasn’t living in the real world. In my teens, I just thought she was away with the fairies, obsessing about her career. And her image. Och, there used to be mirrors everywhere when Meredith was alive and she couldn’t pass one without looking in it.’ A slow and crooked smile spread across Alec’s face. ‘When he was a wee lad, Meredith heard Fergus say, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” She made Sholto skelp his arse.’
‘So she really was a beautiful wicked stepmother?’
‘Aye, that’s the way she seemed to us. But we were grieving for our mother. It was understandable. As I got older, I accepted that Meredith was eccentric and could be cruel. But she had another side. She could be charming when it suited her. Dazzling. She knew how to make folk love her. But it was all about control… And even though she’s gone now, she still won’t let go. Not until she gets what she wants.’
‘Which is?’
‘Revenge. And…’ I watched as Alec’s long fingers curled round the sword hilt. ‘She wants me.’
~
Alec was a tougher nut to crack than Sholto. In fact Alec is one of my failures – and there haven’t been many of those, I can assure you. But I like a challenge. If you tell me I can’t have something, it just makes me all the more determined to have it. I’m funny like that.
So Alec remains – how shall I put it? – work-in-progress.
It’s such a long and tedious story. And I suffered so much. I can hardly bear to recall all the details now.
To begin with, I just felt neglected. No, I was neglected! Sholto was a
way a lot and when he was home, he was busy planning the next expedition, schmoozing sponsors for more cash, gallivanting round the UK putting his team together. It was all so bloody boring. He had no time at all for me and it wasn’t long before I realised being married to Sholto wasn’t going to be nearly as much fun as being his mistress. You see, I wasn’t actually all that interested in Sholto’s career, I’d only ever been interested in Sholto. And the most interesting thing about Sholto had been his interest in me.
I was horribly disappointed of course, but I threw myself into work and accepted jobs I really shouldn’t have taken. They were unworthy of an artist of my calibre, but Sholto kept a tight hold on the purse strings after we married and I was damned if I was going to go cap-in-hand, asking for pin money. Once I’d sold off all my jewellery to settle my debts, I had no choice but to take whatever work was offered. And I thought absence would make Sholto’s heart grow fonder. It didn’t. Then I realised why.
I never found out who she was, but I knew something was going on behind my back. Well, two can play at that game. I had plenty of opportunity and no shortage of admirers. I found I had a particular affinity with younger men – singers and orchestral musicians who looked up to me. Idolised me. They loved all the glamour and my wicked sense of humour and for the foreigners, there was a certain cachet to living in an ancient Scottish castle. (I told them Cauldstane was haunted, which seems rather ironic now.)
My young men liked me and I liked their stamina. Sholto was ten years older than me and it had begun to tell. Or maybe it was just the routine of marriage. Perhaps it was all that polar exploration. God knows what that does to a human body. Whatever the reason, Sholto lost all interest in me. I don’t think it was just because of the abortion. He was very upset about that, but it wouldn’t have been at all convenient for me to have a child at that stage of my career. I was fairly certain the baby wasn’t his anyway, so really it was all for the best.
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