The House on Rosebank Lane

by Millie Gray

  Kirsten was thinking fast. Who else knew of Duncan working in the hotel? She felt her knees wobble. Oh no, Bea. So that was why she was so obliging and considerate. At last she had got her father back into her life. Kirsten could have wept as it also dawned on her that Bea had deliberately deceived her by never saying to her about her dad being back and staying at the hotel. Kirsten drew herself up, but then trembled as another shock revelation surged into her thoughts. This time it was Jane. Her Jane, whom she knew had been up here in the hotel in the last two months . . . Okay, Kirsten conceded, only occasionally because she had been at home looking after Kirsten herself. But, Kirsten bit on her lip as she thought, often enough to know about Duncan’s return. Her Jane, who she thought was so loyal and dependable – had she also colluded with the rest of the Armstrongs to deceive her?

  Before she could deliberate further Jessie strode into the reception. ‘Oh, it’s you, Kirsten. Good to see that you are back on your feet.’ Jessie chuckled. ‘A bit on the scraggy side, but nonetheless back on your feet.’

  ‘That so? Well, I might be scraggy, but I am not the pushover you all seem to think I have suddenly become.’ She now turned from Jessie to point at Duncan. ‘So, out he goes, and in case you would like me to spell it out to you, I am back and your prodigal son’s reign in our hotel is over. By tonight I want his bags packed and him out on the street.’

  ‘Look, Kirsten,’ Jessie said with a firm shake of her head. ‘I think that you, I and Duncan too, should retire to our office, where we can discuss our and the hotel’s business in private.’

  Kirsten started for the office, her face rigid with fury. Once the trio were inside Kirsten and Jessie both took a seat. Duncan stood with his back to the door.

  Jessie opened the proceedings. ‘Kirsten, I do not think that you are in a position right now to demand that Duncan leaves our employ.’ Looking Kirsten in the eye, she continued, ‘What we, that is both you and I, desire at this moment is for the hotel to be in safe management hands. You have not told anyone about it yet, but I know you have a problem. And,’ Jessie continued before Kirsten could protest, ‘we both know it’s a problem that isn’t going to go away in the near future.’

  Kirsten shifted uneasily in her seat. ‘I do not quite know what you are getting at,’ she said, primly.

  ‘Come off it, Kirsten. I know what is wrong with you. And because I am loyal, the only person I have discussed it with is Duncan.’ Kirsten’s bottom lip quivered. Jessie went on, her tone more kindly now. ‘Come on, lassie, don’t get upset. The only three people that need ever know are the three of us.’

  Kirsten felt as if she had entered some unreal world of fantasy. What the devil was Jessie saying – implying?

  ‘Duncan here admits he did wrong by you, but he is willing to try and make amends.’

  Duncan nodded, but his eyes stayed fixed on the carpet as if fascinated by the patterns he found there.

  ‘So he is going to bring back Dixie,’ Kirsten cried, ‘and tell him he loves him and will provide for him?’

  ‘No, Kirsten, but let’s go back twenty years and remember when you made a mistake and ended up thinking you were pregnant. Duncan, even although you entrapped him, stood by you then and married you. You’ve made the same mistake again, only this time you are pregnant and he is willing – no, happy – to marry you again. We accept the child is not his, but he will take it on and we can all work and live together, well, as one big happy family.’

  Kirsten was flabbergasted, but she was determined to hold her own. ‘Well, Jessie,’ she replied, ‘tempting as you and your son’s offer is, it unfortunately is not for me. Firstly, because I do not require anyone to marry me, and secondly you, Duncan’ – she now turned her full attention to Duncan – ‘even if you were the only man on earth I wouldn’t stoop so low as to marry you.’

  Gasping, Jessie said, ‘You’ve had an abortion! Well, I never thought you would do so such a thing.’

  ‘What I have or haven’t done is my business and not yours. Now, will you give your son notice or will I?’

  ‘Neither of us will.’ Jessie crossed her arms, her street fighter pose still formidable. ‘If you refuse my offer then what you can do is buy me out and then Duncan, Bea and I will go and start up somewhere else.’

  Gulping, Kirsten slowly replied, ‘But you know I haven’t got that kind of money, and to borrow such a large sum would leave me struggling for the rest of my days.’

  ‘I accept that, and as you have turned down our fair and generous first offer, how about we give you a handsome pay-off and you go and start up somewhere else?’

  Kirsten immediately realised how easily she had been tricked – she’d been played for a fool and no mistake. The second offer was the one that Jessie and Duncan had steered her towards. Both of them knew her so well. They knew before the conversation started that there was no way she would tolerate Duncan in her life again, not even on the reception desk at Armstrong’s.

  A wave of deep fatigue swept over her, washing away her resolve. Weakened, she decided to leave the hotel for the day. In her heart she knew she would perhaps never be in Armstrong’s again; well, not as a co-owner. Jessie and Duncan had been devious and, when she was too fragile to put up a fight, they had taken advantage of her.

  Well, she thought, I have survived worse and lived to fight another day. Pay me off, will they? Well, I will take them for every single penny I can.

  Before she could leave, a tap came on the door. Duncan answered the summons. ‘Oh, Mum, if it is not our Bea.’

  The moment Kirsten and Bea’s eyes met Kirsten felt a keen sense of betrayal. ‘So, you have been coming to the hotel to help your dad pull the rug from under my feet?’ she challenged her daughter.

  ‘I haven’t pulled the rug from you. You did that for yourself.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Tried to replace my dad with that high and mighty policeman, Eddie Carmichael, you did. But Dad and I have found each other. We have got to know each other . . . understand each other. We are a proper father and daughter now.’

  ‘Enjoy it, Bea, because your togetherness won’t last,’ Kirsten couldn’t help but snipe. ‘Your dad has a record for not staying the course. And by the way, miss, when he left you high and dry with homelessness a real possibility and nothing to eat on the table at teatime, who was it then that provided for you?’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Bea spat. ‘My dad has explained to me that what happened was your entire fault. He had to get away from you and your constant drooling over Dixie.’

  ‘Don’t you dare bring Dixie into this,’ Kirsten snapped, horrified that anyone would take her son’s name in such vain. ‘And has Jane been beguiled by your precious dad too?’

  ‘No, Jane says you have always looked after her and so she’ll stand by you. Don’t worry, she has refused point blank to be part of us getting you out of our hotel.’

  These words filled Kirsten with mixed emotions. Jane’s loyalty to her had her wanting to cry. Bea’s ingratitude and disloyalty was so hurtful that she had to clench her fist to stop herself from smacking Bea hard across her gloating face.

  She knew, too, there was nothing more to be said that would make Jessie change her mind. Both women then looked long and hard at each other. Kirsten read in Jessie’s stare that she was saying, Duncan is my son. He has made a mess, and how, of his life. Like you, Kirsten, did for Dixie, I have to give him every chance to have a good life. A life where he can earn his living, be valued and respected.

  Kirsten knew she was beaten. Jessie as a businesswoman she could fight and win. Taking on Jessie as a mother, when her pride and devotion would see her become a brawler again, was an entirely different matter.

  *

  The sun had hidden itself behind a cloud when Kirsten found herself standing in York Place. She turned and looked back at Armstrong’s.

  ‘Pull yourself together, girl,’ she inwardly urged. ‘It is just a hotel that you can live without.’ She shrugged.
Yes, without the hotel she could go on, but now she felt she had lost forever Bea, her firstborn. Loyal, loving Jane she knew she would always have. But, as she turned to walk over towards Picardy Place, she placed her hand on her stomach, wondering if she should do what was against her nature, keep the urgent appointment with the clinic. That squirming in her stomach, was it a protest? A physical reminder that someone else also had rights, had the urge to survive against all odds?

  *

  When Kirsten arrived home in Balfour Street she felt tired and useless. Crunch time in anyone’s life is hard to face. Today she had so many dilemmas that she was not sure which way to turn or which one to deal with first.

  Kicking off her shoes, she thought a sit down with a cup of tea was her first priority. As the warm liquid trickled down her throat she thought, what is my problem? She sighed as she conceded that it was not one problem, but in actual fact so very many. Given this state of affairs, she knew she now had to assess not only each problem individually, but its impact on others. She also accepted that to get any idea of the best way forward, she would have to reason in a calm, very calm, manner.

  But, despite her resolve, before she had managed to list in her mind what her quandaries were, she started to feel queasy. Surely, she thought, that blooming sickness is not going to return. If it is, then I will without a doubt know what I am going to do about it. Her stomach heaved in frightened protest.

  Kirsten had just started her peace-inducing breathing exercises when the doorbell sounded. The outside door then opened and someone entered. Immediately, any sense of peace deserted her and she began to fluster. She knew it could not be Jane, because ever since Dixie’s death, Jane always spent time on a Sunday afternoon with Rosie. Where they went and what they did, Kirsten did not know. She just was aware that the loss of Dixie was so hard for Jane to bear that she liked keeping in touch with the great love of Dixie’s short life, his Rosie.

  Without anyone asking for permission to enter, the living-room door then opened. An expectant Kirsten frowned as she wondered who the visitor might be. As soon as she saw it was none other than Eddie, in his uniform, her frown was quickly replaced with a welcoming smile. A smile that lit up her whole face when she heard him say, ‘I’m just so glad I caught you in.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘Yeah, you see I took the chance even although I thought you might be still up at the hotel.’

  ‘Have you just finished your early shift?’

  ‘Yes, I was going to go home, but . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Everything go according to plan up at the hotel?’

  She lowered her head. The happenings up at Armstrong’s were still so very raw that she did not wish to discuss them with anyone – least of all Eddie. Eddie, whom she thought would be so sympathetic. She did, however, have an urgent matter she wished to discuss with him – a situation that affected them both. This was so important; she knew that if they reached the wrong decision, the consequences, for both of them, could be catastrophic.

  Raising her head, she knew she had to speak to him now. However, as she wanted him to give her his response without being influenced by pity for her, she replied, ‘Yes, I am pleased to report that the hotel is doing so very well. You wouldn’t believe it, but Jessie has everything under control.’ She faltered. ‘But the hotel’s by the by.’ She stalled again. ‘I know you said that you would not see me again until tomorrow, but like you I am so glad that you called in because –’

  Before she could continue, he put up his hand to stop her saying anything further. ‘Before you go on,’ he said quite forcibly, ‘I’d like you to know that I have an important reason for coming in today.’ She looked at him questioningly. ‘You see, I think it is only . . .’ He sat down on a chair and, rubbing his hands together, swallowed hard. ‘Only fair that you should know that on Saturday the seventh of April I am getting married!’

  Kirsten was so astounded that she was rendered speechless. She tried to make sense of what he had just said. She wondered, had she heard right? Did he really, in fact, say that he was getting married on April the seventh? Did he mean this year, 1973? She gave a small cry as she accepted that at last Sylvia had won him. As she tried to calm herself – to make sense of what he had just said – she thought she knew the reason for his seemingly hasty decision. She almost screamed when she reckoned that the meeting with the depute had something to do with it. Oh yes, the interfering, self-righteous (in appearance anyway) constabulary had given Eddie an ultimatum.

  Her stomach lurched as she thought what a fool she had been. Eddie, whom she truly believed was so different from Duncan, in that he cared for her, respected her, had like Duncan used her – preyed on her when she was at her most vulnerable. What was most hurtful and humiliating was that he, Eddie – her Eddie, whom she’d thought until a minute ago loved her and wished to spend the rest of his life with her – had succumbed to the pressure exerted on him by police hierarchy and had given her up.

  She was trying to make sense of it all when her stomach did a triple somersault again.

  Oh, please baby dear, not now. Please, please don’t have me throwing up. Okay, I know you are scared because your father has just said that he is deserting us and marrying Sylvia, but don’t worry. You know I had decided to be honest about your coming and not go to the clinic. Believe me, baby darling, when I say that I won’t change my mind. I love you and I promise you we will manage somehow.

  With a violent, quaking retch, Kirsten bolted from the living room towards the bathroom. Sinking down, her whole body heaved. Through her tremors, she believed she felt Eddie pat her on the back. So what? At the moment she was silently cursing him – wishing him to be anywhere but beside her right now. She then thought she heard him speak to her.

  Exactly what he said she was unaware of. To be truthful she was feeling so wretched again that she didn’t really care what he said – nothing he could say to her now would she ever wish to hear. She wished she could somehow find the strength to ask him to leave her home – leave her life – leave her and her unborn child to just get on with it.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The third week in August saw the monthly meeting of the senior officers of B Division of Edinburgh City Police taking place in the conference room. All were present and correct and were waiting patiently for the arrival of the new commander of the division.

  When the door opened, Eddie, followed by Sylvia, walked in. Immediately, all the men rose to their feet.

  ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen, and please resume your seats,’ Eddie said as he turned towards Sylvia. ‘Today I am very pleased to include newly promoted Inspector Sylvia Sanderson in our meeting. I know you will all be, like myself, delighted to have her join our ranks.’ Everyone present knocked on the table with their right hands to confirm their acceptance of Sylvia.

  Once Sylvia was seated Eddie took a moment to assess her. She really was a handsome woman. But she was also a career woman, and having reached the dizzy heights, for a woman, of inspector, she oozed confidence today. As far as Eddie could tell, she had no feelings for marriage or motherhood at all. But then such feelings were hardly useful to a police inspector, whether male or female, and would only have got in the way as Sylvia scaled the promotion ladder.

  Dismissing these thoughts from his mind, he then said, ‘Gentlemen, and of course, lady.’ There was a twittering of laughter and all looked to Sylvia, who gave a mock salute. ‘As you are aware, yesterday was the monthly meeting of the chief officers of the Edinburgh City Police Department. It is now my duty to disseminate the information that was given out. Naturally you will filter what I am about to say to you down to the men under your command. Now, I am aware that at the festival time we have to second men into other divisions to police the Tattoo, theatres, the Fringe, etcetera, and this leaves us short on the ground. This may be so, but we still have to police our division. Yesterday the commander of A Division pointed out that there had been an increase in pickpocketing and I know you have also reported
an increase in this crime, especially in the Princes Street, Leith Street areas, so could you ask your officers to give this matter as much priority as they can. Of course, and here I would point out there is no evidence of any possibility of an attack, but given the Irish Troubles, we can see the potential for an incident here. Again, request your officers to be vigilant.’

  Before Eddie could continue there was a knock at the door and the Station Sergeant came in and handed him a note. ‘Telephone call, sir. Urgent.’ Before the sergeant took his leave he gave a covert wink to Finlay McKenzie. Finlay, whose career had stalled at inspector, was still a tried and true friend of Eddie’s.

  Eddie read from the note. His face drained of colour: whatever it said, it was obviously serious. Standing up, he looked around the gathering before saying, ‘Superintendent, I have acquainted you with the information that has to be circulated to our troops, so as I have to leave, as a matter of urgency, I am asking you to take over the meeting.’

  Without another word Eddie left the room, but before he could close the door on himself Finlay McKenzie followed him out. ‘Is it?’

  Eddie nodded. ‘I just have to get to her. Be with her . . .’ Finlay placed his hand on Eddie’s arm. ‘My best wishes go with you. Now remember, you have been told they are as sure as they can be but if . . . you have to be strong for her.’

  Eddie began to reminisce as his car left the Gayfield car park. He thought back to February and that particular Sunday – that Sunday when his life was changed forever.

  *

  Kirsten eventually stopped being sick, at which point Eddie helped her to her feet. Roughly pushing herself away from him, she then bent over the hand basin and threw some water on her face. As soon as she lifted her head, he handed her a towel. She had just finished drying her face when he asked, ‘Feeling better?’