‘Good. I’m glad you like it. My other suggestion was going to be Footsteps in the Snow. That one’s more evocative, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, I do. It all depends what image the publisher wants to put on the cover. I think they’ll use a picture of you doing something hair-raising, or possibly a portrait, so A Curious Life might work best. But we can put forward any suggestions for consideration.’
‘Good! So when can I read it?’
‘Well, I’d like to deliver the manuscript in person on November 28th if that would suit you. It would be useful to have some time to talk to you on the 28th or 29th if you’re free.’
‘Yes, that would be splendid. You’ll stay with us for a few days, of course? Everyone will be pleased to see you again. I must say, it’s been very dull since you left. Alec’s been like a bear with a sore head, but I think all this business with the sale – ah, you know about that, I suppose?’
‘Yes, I saw the piece in the Telegraph.’
‘Yes, well, Alec and I have been at loggerheads over the asking price, but as I said to him, it’s not as if we’re in a hurry to sell.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ I said cautiously, knowing perfectly well Alec thought the need to evacuate Cauldstane was pressing. ‘But the thing is, Sholto, I won’t be travelling alone. I’m coming up with a friend and we’re going to stay in a hotel.’
‘You can both stay here! We’ve plenty of room. She won’t object to our antique plumbing, I presume? The estate agent was quite dismissive about that when he came to do the valuation. Positively scathing, in fact.’
‘My friend’s a he actually. I think he might feel a bit of a spare part as he doesn’t know anyone.’
‘Nonsense! We’re a friendly bunch, as you know. Well, apart from Alec. But he’ll make the effort for you, I’m sure.’
Floundering in the face of Sholto’s hospitality, I made yet another effort to extricate myself from the possibility of further intimacy with Alec. ‘My friend was hoping to get some walking done—’
‘There are splendid walks on the estate. Fergus will show him some of our beauty spots. You must both stay here. We have a double room if that’s what you’d prefer.’
‘Oh, no, that won’t be necessary. If we stayed,’ I said, my resolve weakening, ‘we’d need a room each. But I really can’t put you to all that trouble.’
‘No trouble at all! Can you imagine what Wilma would say if I told her you were visiting, but staying elsewhere? She’d be deeply offended and I’d never hear the last of it. So it’s settled, then. You and your gentleman friend will stay with us for a couple of days. Zelda will be pleased as punch! You’re sure you can’t stay longer?’
‘My friend can only spare a few days.’
‘I understand. Work commitments.’
I saw the trap before walking into it and recovered quickly. ‘No he’s retired. But…’ Rupert’s aged mother saved the day. ‘He has to get back to see to an elderly relative. He’s arranged respite care so he can get away.’ This wasn’t a total lie. Rupert had arranged for his mother to be cared for in a Gateshead nursing home and he visited her twice a week. ‘If you’re sure it will be OK?’
‘You would both be very welcome. Though…’ Sholto hesitated. ‘I should perhaps point out Cauldstane isn’t exactly cosy in November. We light all the fires, of course, but it might be as well to tell your friend to dress warmly. November’s an odd month. It can be glorious. Crisp, sunny mornings, with wonderful sunsets. Or it can be freezing. Heavy snow is not out of the question, I’m afraid, so come prepared.’
‘I will.’ I thought of Rupert’s selection of seriously warm Scandinavian pullovers, acquired as part of his economy drive to reduce his heating bills. ‘Rupert’s the hardy type. He’ll be fine.’
‘It will do us all good to see you, Jenny. And your friend,’ Sholto added. ‘We don’t see many new faces these days. To tell you the truth, we’ve not been good company for each other since you left. Don’t know what’s got into everyone. A lot of arguments about selling up and so forth,’ he said vaguely. ‘Cauldstane hasn’t been a happy place lately. But I know you’ll brighten up the old place.’
‘Well, I’ll do my best, but it will have to be a short visit,’ I said firmly.
‘I understand. You have your own life to lead. I imagine you’ll be moving on to the next project soon. Who’s it to be?’
‘I haven’t got anything lined up yet. But if I had, you know I couldn’t tell you anything about it.’
‘No, of course! You’re bound by the seal of the confessional,’ Sholto chuckled. I recalled Rupert uttering the same words when I’d confided in him about the MacNab woes and the very real confession of what I assumed the law would call manslaughter.
I knew I needed to get off the phone before I said too much and betrayed my main reason for going back to Cauldstane: to speak to Alec. So I wound up the conversation with Sholto, then emailed Rupert to tell him our trip was on.
As I closed the lid of the laptop, I felt as if I’d burned my bridges. Much to my surprise, I discovered it’s possible to feel both relieved and terrified at the same time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It was a cold grey day when Rupert and I arrived at Cauldstane. The sky was leaden with the threat of snow and I was relieved we’d managed to get there before the weather closed in. Wilma must have been keeping an eye open for us at the kitchen window, for moments after we pulled into the courtyard, she appeared, waving at the back door with Zelda. Sholto wasn’t far behind, saluting us with his stick.
He looked older and thinner. So for that matter did Zelda, but perhaps it was just that she looked tired. They were all clearly delighted to see me and made Rupert very welcome. There were of course no questions as to his purpose. He’d arrived in birding gear – green waterproofs and cap, plus binoculars round his neck – so the MacNabs were in little doubt as to the purpose of his visit to the Highlands.
There was no sign of Alec or Fergus. I assumed Fergus was out working on the estate, but I wondered if Alec was keeping a tactful distance. With his ear defenders on, he wouldn’t have heard us arrive, but I couldn’t hear any hammering or noise of machinery coming from the armoury. I assumed the worst and tried not to let disappointment mar my pleasure at being back at Cauldstane.
Wilma shooed us all indoors out of the cold, then disappeared to put the finishing touches to what I knew would be a tea worthy of the prodigal’s return. Zelda led us up to our rooms and Rupert carried our bags, his head swivelling, his eyes wide, like an owl, as we made our way upstairs.
‘I thought you’d like your old room, Jenny,’ Zelda said, throwing open the door to the bedroom opposite Alec’s. I was indeed pleased, but concerned how much scope there would be for bumping into Alec. Zelda then took Rupert off to the third floor. ‘Did you bring your oxygen mask?’ she quipped as they mounted the stairs. Rupert followed gamely, declaring he needed the exercise.
I unpacked my few things and set the large padded envelope containing Sholto’s manuscript on the table. There was little daylight left now, so I drew the curtains, glancing down at the river. The water looked black and seemed to be flowing even faster than I remembered. No doubt heavy autumn rain had added to the volume of water. I shivered at the memory of being submerged in the river and felt suddenly sick with fright. What on earth was I doing, returning to the place where someone – something – had tried to kill me? Was I mad? Alec would have said so.
There was a knock at my door and I couldn’t help hoping it was Alec come to greet me belatedly, but it was only Rupert. The door swung open and he entered, looking pleased with himself.
‘Well, this is all quite splendid, I must say. I’m up in the eagle’s nest on the third floor. A dear little room with a turret. Zelda says I’ll be able to see for miles in the morning if there’s no fog. And I have a wondrous selection of reading matter. Everything from seventeenth-century witch trials to the breeding of hunting dogs. If I had a spare three million,
I’d snap this place up… Jen, are you all right? You’ve gone very quiet. Is all this going to be difficult for you?’
‘I think it might be. A little. The sound of the river… Just now I was remembering the day Alec fished me out.’ I put my hand up to my face and covered my eyes, but I could still see the little girl dancing with delight as I fell into the water.
I felt Rupert’s arm go round my shoulders. ‘You know, we can just do what you came to do. Deliver the book. Return the photos.’ He took my hand and squeezed it. ‘You really don’t have to get involved.’
When I opened my eyes to reply, something – a slight movement – made me glance over Rupert’s shoulder into the corridor. Alec stood in the hallway looking into the bedroom. Cat-like as ever, he’d ascended the stairs without making a sound.
I craned my head, saying, ‘Hello, Alec,’ and Rupert released me, turning round.
Before I could say any more, Alec stepped forward, offering his hand to Rupert. ‘Alec MacNab.’
‘How do you do?’ Rupert replied, shaking hands firmly. ‘Rupert Sheridan. Very pleased to meet you.’
‘I hope you find your room comfortable?’
‘Oh, yes, thanks. It’s delightful. I’m sure I shall sleep very well.’
Alec didn’t reply but shot me a look that would have curdled milk. I realised he thought Rupert and I were sharing my room, but there was no way I could disabuse him of the idea without suggesting it was an issue for him. Since it wasn’t, there was no earthly reason why I should enlighten him, apart from the fact that I didn’t want him to think I’d declared my feelings, then gone back to the arms of a former lover. I couldn’t even recall what he knew about Rupert. Had I ever mentioned his name? If I had, would Alec have remembered it? I’d told him I knew someone who could perform the deliverance ministry, but I knew I hadn’t mentioned Rupert by name.
It was ridiculous for me to be concerned. Alec wouldn’t care, even if I did, but the misunderstanding and my inability to set it straight rankled, as did Alec’s manner. Unsmiling, he said, ‘Welcome back, Jenny. Tea’s being served in the drawing room. Wilma’s pushed the boat out, so I hope you’re both hungry.’
‘Splendid!’ Rupert said, rubbing his hands together. ‘I’ve heard a great deal about Mrs Guthrie’s baking—’ but Alec had already turned away, headed in the direction of the drawing room.
Wilma’s spread was predictably magnificent, but Alec drank only half a cup of tea, ate nothing and left the gathering as soon as was decent. Zelda cast an anxious look at his retreating back and sighed. Rupert on the other hand despatched three of Wilma’s scones and declared her strawberry jam the best he’d ever tasted. She smiled shyly and offered the opinion that hunger was the best sauce.
~
After tea, Zelda took Rupert on a tour of the castle. Their laughter echoed down the corridors and I could tell she was enjoying her hostess duties. Sholto and I retired to the library where I presented him with the finished manuscript and his family photographs, annotated with my suggestions for book illustrations. I left him skimming pages and poring over my post-its.
I was always apprehensive when a client read “their book” for the first time. People were normally very happy with my efforts, but this time I wasn’t sure if my knowledge of Meredith’s criminal and insane behaviour might have coloured the biography. It had certainly tainted it for me, but I hoped my account was still Sholto’s and that there was no hint in the book that Meredith’s sins went beyond occasional adultery.
Whether to enlighten Sholto was a decision I still had to make, or leave Alec to make. Normally, if my researches turn up something significant, I share the information with a client, even if I find something embarrassing or incriminating. Forewarned is forearmed. If I can discover an unsuspected skeleton in a client’s cupboard, so can nosy journalists.
Did Sholto have the right to know what Meredith had done? If he knew, would it affect his autobiography? He’d asked me to downplay his second marriage in favour of the first. If he knew his second wife had despatched his first, would he even want to publish this version of his life?
Tired after the long drive and full of Wilma’s cake, I lay down on my bed – a bed I’d once shared, briefly and chastely with Alec – and tried to think things through for one final time. That Alec must be freed from guilt, I was in no doubt. He might decide Sholto also needed to know the truth, though I thought it more probable he’d want his father to die in ignorance. However, over the years Sholto had shown himself to be well nigh indestructible. He might live to see his nineties. Unless Alec destroyed the journal, there was always a chance Sholto could find out. Meredith’s ghost might even try to arrange it.
Rupert’s continuing reservations about his rôle and Alec’s distant behaviour only added to my confusion. Alec would probably never see me again after this visit, so I didn’t understand why he was treating me as persona non grata, unless he suspected who Rupert was and why he’d come to Cauldstane.
I sat up, suddenly quite certain what I should do. I would inform first Alec, then Sholto of the circumstances of Liz’s death, then Rupert and I must leave. I had no right to go against Alec’s wishes and it was clear he’d not had a change of heart. I would place the journal in Sholto’s hands and he must decide what should be done with it. Then I would wash my hands of the whole MacNab clan and get on with the next book.
~
Dinner was a cheerful affair with Sholto in fine story-telling form. The wine flowed, food disappeared and there was a great deal of laughter. Fergus and Rupert hit it off and made plans for an early morning walk the following day. I was seated between MacNab, father and son, so it wasn’t too difficult to ignore the fact that Alec barely spoke two words to me. Sholto was attentive and Rupert, seated opposite, managed to engage Alec in a conversation about the geometry of sword design and the mathematical beauty of death-dealing instruments. I suspected Alec was enjoying the conversation despite himself. Rarely could he – or anyone – have had a more attentive or intelligent listener than Rupert. I found myself wishing the two men could be friends.
After dinner Sholto and I took coffee in the library and discussed what he’d read so far. He seemed pleasantly surprised. (‘I had no idea I was such an eloquent fellow,’ he said with a wink.) So I left him to read the rest while I tackled Alec. He hadn’t gone to the drawing room with the others and I’d heard the back door bang, so I assumed he was in the armoury, working or just avoiding company. A glance out of my bedroom window confirmed there was a light on. It would be as good a place as any to break the news to him. He felt safe there and, late at night, we wouldn’t be interrupted by visits from family members.
I picked up my writing bag and packed Meredith’s journal. It was still swathed in plastic bags, like a gift. I wished I could believe what I was giving Alec was a gift, the gift of freedom, but the journal was more like a poisoned chalice. I rued the day I’d ever read it, but I reminded myself the only reason I’d checked the facts was because Alec’s story didn’t add up. It was my job to ensure what I wrote made sense and, if it wasn’t the gospel truth, it was at least the version of the truth my subject wished to tell.
I put on my coat, hoisted the bag on to my shoulder and stepped out into the hall. Feeling nervous, I trudged downstairs and along the ill-lit corridor until I came to the back door. Grasping the handle, I suddenly wanted to turn back, but more than that, I just wanted it over with.
As I opened the door and looked across the courtyard at the light in the armoury window, I noticed it had started to snow. I picked my way carefully across the treacherously wet cobblestones, the very stones on which Alec’s mother had died thirty-two years ago.
~
I knocked on the door and walked straight in. The light was low, as always, but I could see Alec, seated on a low stool beside the furnace, leaning forward, his hands clasped between his knees. There was an empty whisky glass on the floor by his feet and the bottle was to hand. He looked up as I entered and
the glow from the dying furnace cast a warm light on the side of his face, throwing his even features into relief. At that moment I couldn’t imagine why I’d ever thought he wasn’t handsome.
As he stood, habitually polite, I noticed a silver crucifix glinting in the hollow of his throat. I’d never seen it before and wondered if he’d recently taken to wearing one. As I approached, I saw it wasn’t a cross, but a miniature sword, a tiny replica of the Cauldstane claymore.
He didn’t speak or smile, nor did he invite me to sit. I’d rehearsed various opening lines for this difficult conversation, but now none of them seemed appropriate. Before I could think of a new one, Alec said wearily, ‘If you’ve come to dissuade me from selling, you’re wasting your time. My mind’s made up. So was Sholto’s before you decided to return.’
‘I had to come back, Alec.’
‘You surely could have posted the manuscript?’
‘Yes, I could.’ I removed the bag from my shoulder and set it down on the sofa. ‘Do you mind if I sit down? There’s something I want to explain.’
‘There’s no need. You’re not accountable to me. You owe me nothing.’
‘On the contrary, I owe you my life.’
‘What you’ve done for this family – and what you tried to do – is ample compensation. If it weren’t for me and the way I feel – felt about you, your life would never have been in danger.’ He reached down for bottle and glass and poured himself another slug of whisky. ‘But I’m relieved to find you’re not the sort of woman who nurses a broken heart – gratifying though that might have been to my ego.’
‘What do you know or care about the state of my heart? You completely misled me, Alec—’
‘No, you misled me!’ He faced me, gesticulating with his glass, spilling whisky. I wondered how much he’d already drunk. ‘D’you have any idea how hard it was to send you packing? How much it grieved me to have to lie? But I believed it was the right thing to do. I still do. Though apparently I could have spared myself the guilt of thinking I’d hurt you. You didn’t waste any time, did you? And I suppose arriving with your new man in tow was a neat form of revenge.’
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