Cauldstane

by Gillard, Linda

  Like her, I waited.

  ~

  I wasn’t prepared for how much I would miss the MacNabs. I thought as I put first miles, then days between us, the pain of separation would lessen, memories would become less vivid. I couldn’t have been more wrong. In idle moments I found myself dwelling on happier times at Cauldstane. I remembered the funny things people had said, the tender things Alec had done. Trying to remember Alec became, if not an obsession, then a preoccupation. I’d taken no photos of him and could have kicked myself for that oversight, but I’d borrowed some photos from the family albums, intending to make a selection for Sholto’s biography. He’d said he had no idea what would interest readers, so I’d made my own choice, mixing the adventurous with the domestic. That included a few photos of the MacNab brothers as boys and young men, but nothing recent.

  Thank heavens for Google. I found a few photos of Alec online, pictured competing as a historical swordsman. There was also a photo of him in the armoury on his website, dressed in his leather apron. That was all I had in the way of mementos – those few photos and the miniature claymore.

  Most of the time I was relieved we’d never got as far as sleeping together. I told myself, very sensibly, how much harder it would have been to forget him if we’d ever made love. But sometimes – usually when lying awake in the middle of the night – I chided myself for my reserve, for not seizing the moment. But which moment? When? By the time it was apparent Alec and I were headed towards bed, Meredith had decided to drown me, the one being a natural consequence of the other.

  We’d missed our opportunity, but maybe it was just as well. As my feelings weren’t reciprocated, our failure to graduate to a sexual relationship was probably a blessing. I told myself I wouldn’t have wanted to feel used. Then I’d look at Alec’s photo and think, “Yes, I would. I wouldn’t have minded. Perhaps I wouldn’t have felt used. Maybe it would have been a glorious, casual but mutually fulfilling one-night stand. And where’s the harm in that?”

  Since the mere possibility of sexual activity had been enough to send Meredith into full “vengeance is mine” mode, my question was perhaps naïve. I knew I’d been in danger, I just didn’t care. Was that love? Stubbornness? Stupidity?

  It was certainly foolish to speculate that Alec might have sent me away despite his feelings for me. That was even harder to live with, even more frustrating than believing I’d been toyed with, then cast aside. If I could convince myself Alec had exploited my emotional vulnerability, I’d at least enjoy the luxury of disapproval. But I couldn’t. That old crap detector again. I would have bet a large amount of money that Alec MacNab didn’t have a dishonourable bone in that rangy, elegant body. Which led me to conclude either he’d never felt more than a passing lust, or alternatively, whatever he felt when he’d kissed me, goading Meredith to reveal herself, he still felt, but refused to acknowledge.

  Whichever way I looked at it, whatever emotional knots I tied myself in, I ended up in the same miserable place. London. Alone. Trying not to check my phone too often. Trying to ration the number of times I looked at Alec’s photo.

  I was just waiting. For some kind of sign.

  ~

  I worked long hours on Sholto’s book and struggled with the short but necessary section concerning Meredith. Taking a break, I googled “psychopath” and, wearing my researcher’s hat, attempted to come to terms with what I’d seen and what I knew. But the labels didn’t help. Psychopaths, it seemed, were a law unto themselves when alive, so I didn’t rate anyone’s chances of negotiating with a psychopathic ghost. Perhaps Alec was right to concede defeat.

  Some days I could push the fear so far to the back of my mind, I began to wonder if I’d imagined how bad things were. Then I’d remember the little girl standing in the middle of the river, crying her crocodile tears and I’d start to shiver at the memory of how cold and terrified I’d been. Then I’d get angry. Angry that Meredith, who felt compassion for no one, should use other people’s compassion as a deadly weapon against them. Coral had died because she wanted to help a child in distress. If I’d drowned, it would have been for the same reason. Evil was a word that hadn’t really featured in my vocabulary pre-Cauldstane, but I could think of no other way to describe Meredith’s actions, both when she was alive and after she was dead.

  In the middle of one sleepless night, I thought of trying to write Meredith out of the story. Years ago, before I cracked up, I’d been convinced that if I put something into a novel, it would actually happen. Now, insomniac and irrational, I considered writing “Cauldstane: the novel”, in which Meredith lived long enough to see the error of her ways and dandle grandchildren on her knee, but died peacefully and prematurely after a short and painless illness. Then I remembered she was only a member of the MacNab clan by virtue of having arranged Liz MacNab’s death. I ended up, predictably, wishing Meredith had never been born. And that was a re-write quite beyond me.

  ~

  The sign came. At least, that’s what I told myself. I was sitting on a tube and the man opposite me was reading the Telegraph with the property page facing out. When I glanced up from my Kindle to see what station we were in, I came face-to-face with an article about Cauldstane, a piece designed to publicise an expensive property for sale. I couldn’t see the price tag, but I recognised the distinctive outline of Cauldstane and the lanky, stooped figure with a walking stick standing in front of it.

  It was a substantial article with one of those inane, punning headlines: Laird of all he surveys. There were interior and exterior shots of Cauldstane concentrating on its best features – the Great Hall, the library and the riverside location. A veil had sensibly been drawn over the sanitary arrangements and the Dickensian kitchen. I knew just what the agent’s brochure would say. A historic family home, full of character and charm, now in need of substantial refurbishment. When the passenger opposite me alighted, he discarded his paper. I pounced, then leafed through the crumpled pages until I found the article.

  Cauldstane was on the books of Galbraith’s in Inverness and they were soliciting offers over £3,000,000. The price was ridiculous and must have been aimed at gullible foreigners with more money than sense who might buy on the internet without viewing first. No one who’d seen Cauldstane, let alone had it surveyed, would have paid three million. But perhaps there was an alternative interpretation of that unrealistic price. Sholto wasn’t stupid. Had he priced it not to sell? If he’d finally yielded to pressure from Alec, he might have agreed to the castle going on the market, at the same time hedging his bets with the asking price. Cauldstane’s ludicrous price tag could be Sholto’s way of buying time.

  I was hardly reassured. There might be someone mad enough and rich enough to pay three million to live their Highland dream. Cauldstane was up for sale and the Scottish legal system made buying property faster and more straightforward than in England. If I wanted to prevent the sale and foil Meredith’s plan, I had to act soon. I’d already deferred what seemed like an impossible decision for two weeks while I’d worked hard at finishing the draft of Sholto’s book. It was almost done and I knew if I pushed myself, I could complete it in a matter of days, after which I appeared to have little choice other than to return to Cauldstane with the draft manuscript and Meredith’s journal. While I was there I had to hope I’d find an opportunity to talk to Alec and break the dreadful news about his mother.

  The prospect made me feel quite ill, but I’d hashed it over with Rupert on the phone. I had to tell Alec what I knew. I had to ask him one last time if he’d let Rupert try to deliver the MacNabs from Meredith’s pernicious influence. And if Alec said no, I would go over his head to Sholto. I’d tell him about the journal and ask him to sanction the deliverance ministry.

  I’d lost a night’s sleep trying to decide if I had the right to tell Sholto his wife and daughter-in-law had effectively been murdered. The only way I could square it with my beleaguered conscience was by focusing on the fact that I knew Sholto didn’t want to sel
l up; that he wanted Alec to become the next Laird of Cauldstane. I didn’t know Alec well enough to predict how he’d react to the shocking information I had to impart, but I knew Sholto. I’d spent weeks closeted with the man. I’d researched his life so thoroughly, I was probably more familiar with its details than members of his family.

  I knew Sholto and I loved him. I thought he would probably rather die than give Cauldstane up to strangers. Admittedly, he’d just been holding on for Alec, who appeared to have suddenly lost interest in his inheritance, but I believed if I could show Sholto why Alec was no longer interested, he’d stop the sale and summon all his energies to defend Cauldstane and Alec’s birthright.

  That was my belief and I was prepared to put it to the test. It was a huge gamble and the stakes could scarcely have been higher. By no means confident of success, I nevertheless thought I stood a chance. But in the middle of one sleepless night, it occurred to me I might increase my chances of success if I turned up at Cauldstane with Rupert, primed and ready to perform the deliverance ministry. I could arrive without actually explaining his purpose. Even if offered hospitality at Cauldstane, I didn’t think I could accept it, so it would be quite in order to arrive with a travelling companion. We’d be offered lunch or tea and I would discuss Sholto’s book and return his photographs while Rupert explored the estate. I thought I could rely on Fergus to show another wildlife enthusiast around. Perhaps the red kites would put in an appearance, so Rupert’s journey wouldn’t be completely wasted if Sholto said no. It only remained for me to find some time alone with Alec to discuss the journal. After that, I’d just have to play it by ear.

  At 3.00am it looked something like a plan. All I needed to do was book Rupert for a short trip to the Highlands, then inform the MacNabs I would be making a return visit to see Sholto and deliver his completed manuscript.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  ~

  When I’d finished the draft, I rang Rupert.

  ‘Hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time?’ There were indeterminate grunting sounds as if he had a mouth full of food, but I pressed on. ‘I wanted to let you know, I’ve finished the draft.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ he said, swallowing. ‘Are you going to deliver it in person?’

  ‘Yes. There are still a few things to discuss and I have to return some photos.’

  ‘And have you decided what to do about… the other matter?’

  ‘That’s really why I was ringing. I need you to come to Scotland with me.’

  ‘Ah… Well, it so happens I’ve got a few days booked off at the end of next week. I was planning to spend them in the Yorkshire Dales. Walking, perhaps some bird watching. But if your family have had a change of heart, I could cancel my break and use that time.’

  There was a silence in which I struggled with my conscience. I don’t know when I’ve felt a greater temptation to lie, but Rupert would have been the first to point out that lying in a good cause is just as wrong as lying in a bad cause. I was still choosing my words when he said, with a slight edge to his voice, ‘I take it the family have come round?’ When I still didn’t reply, he said, ‘Jen? Are you there?’

  ‘Yes. I’m here.’

  ‘Have the family changed their mind about the deliverance ministry?’

  ‘No. At least – I don’t know. They might have. I haven’t asked them.’

  ‘Why ever not? Or perhaps I should say, why are you booking my services when you don’t even know if they’re required?’

  ‘Because if I ask them, I think they’ll say no. But if I just turn up with you—’

  ‘No, I couldn’t possibly agree to that. The Church doesn’t intervene in these matters unless specifically invited to do so.’

  ‘Oh, absolutely. But they need know nothing about your occupation. You’d simply be there as my travelling companion. But if I should manage to persuade them that deliverance ministry would be a better solution than selling up, then there you are, on the spot.’

  ‘On the spot indeed,’ Rupert sighed. ‘No, Jen, I don’t think this is a very sound idea. In any case, I really don’t have time to go off on what would probably be a wild goose chase.’

  ‘Rubbish. You just said you’d booked some time off.’

  ‘That was for a recreational break!’

  ‘And that’s what you’ll get in Scotland. The walking’s terrific. And there’s every chance you’ll see red kites. I wasn’t planning to stay at the castle, I was going to book us into a hotel. When was the last time you stayed in a decent hotel? Or ate a really good dinner? My treat, Rupert. And if the family refuse to let you do your stuff, you just get a nice little holiday in the Highlands.’

  ‘But how will you account for my presence? I presume you won’t be introducing me as a clergyman? That would be a bit of a giveaway.’

  ‘I’ll just say you’re an old friend and, if anyone asks, a retired physicist – all of which is perfectly true.’

  ‘But it’s not the whole truth.’

  ‘I promise you, I won’t be asking you to lie, Rupert. They might not even want to talk to me, let alone you. The castle is up for sale now and they all know how I feel about that. Our visit could be a very short one.’

  ‘But you’re still hoping to persuade them to permit the deliverance ministry?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Whereupon you will produce me, like a rabbit out of a hat. It will look calculating and manipulative, Jen.’

  ‘Yes, I realise that. And if the castle weren’t already on the market, I’d consider doing things properly – discussing it with them again, then inviting you to help. But any day an offer could be made that the family will accept. If they do, then we’ve lost and Meredith has won.’

  ‘Is an offer likely?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. They’re asking three million. When I rang the agents, pretending to be a potential buyer, they said there’d been a lot of interest, but they would say that. As soon as I get talking to members of the family, I’ll have more idea how things stand. I fear Alec won’t want anything to do with me, but I expect the others will be eager to fill me in on developments. I just need to get up there. But I’d like to go prepared. Ready to act. Should the opportunity arise.’

  ‘Yes, I understand, but you’ll be putting me in a very difficult position. I’m not prepared to lie. If I’m asked a straight question I will have to give a straight answer.’

  ‘I know. I don’t want you doing anything you’re not comfortable with, Rupert.’

  ‘Can I have some time to think about this? You seem to have presented me with another tricky moral dilemma. Could I let you know tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course. You must sleep on it. Whatever you decide, I’ll be going, so there’s really no pressure,’ I said, sounding not the least bit convincing.

  There was a short silence, then Rupert said huffily, ‘This is all most irregular, you know. I realise you have to return the journal and you need to discuss the book, but I do wonder whether we should simply mind our own business and let the family sort out their problems in their own way – which they seem keen to do. Putting the castle on the market – that’s a big step.’

  ‘Not necessarily. The price is quite unrealistic.’

  ‘How do you know that? Properties like that must be very difficult to value.’

  ‘I’ve done some research. They seem to sit on agents’ books for months, even years, then they come down in price until they’re sold for a humiliating amount. This is why the family haven’t tried to sell up before. But things are different now. Alec wants everyone out for safety reasons. For all I know, he could persuade his father to accept some stupid offer, just to expedite matters. So that’s why I think we shouldn’t hang about.’

  ‘Well, I’ll let you know tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks. I do realise I’m being a total pain. I’m really sorry. I’ll leave you in peace now and we’ll speak tomorrow.’

  ‘Very well, but do keep thinking about the wisdom of what you’
re doing, Jen. The less charitable would call it meddling.’

  ‘And what would you call it?’

  ‘Oh, compassion in action, I suppose,’ he said airily. ‘You’ve always been a do-gooder. But your life would be so much calmer if you could restrict your crusades to saving your local library. Saving castles is a very tall order.’

  ‘But I think we’re up to it. Don’t you?’

  ‘I’ll let you know tomorrow,’ Rupert said warily. ‘I have some serious praying to do first.’

  ~

  Rupert said yes. Is it possible to love two men simultaneously? In that moment I did, acknowledging that my old love for Rupert was of a completely different kind from my new love for Alec. One was a warm and comfortable glow. No thrills, but no surprises either. The other was an acute stabbing pain. Inconvenient and disabling, it ambushed me while I was going about my daily business.

  Rupert’s leave was already booked for the end of November and he wanted to be back for Advent Sunday. I said I’d check the dates with Sholto. If they suited him, I would get the train to Newcastle, hire a car and collect Rupert. I’d return him to his door three days later.

  So we had a deal.

  ~

  When I spoke to Sholto on the phone he sounded delighted to hear from me. He was thrilled I’d finished the book and had even come up with a couple of possible titles, both of which I liked.

  ‘What do you think of A Curious Life? It’s a pun. I’ve lived a rather curious life and I’ve always been very curious about, well, pretty much everything. Do you think it’s a good title?’

  ‘I think if we preface it with your name, Sholto MacNab: A Curious Life, it would be an excellent title.’