by Mairi Wilson
“Yes. Sorry. I know. But I shouldn’t be bombarding you with—”
“No, you shouldn’t.” Robert finally spoke, frowning at Lexy in clear disapproval. “You need to remember—”
“That I’m bored rigid lying here all day with only the prospect of a trip to some old sawbones to look forward to, so the longer you can spin out the distractions, Lexy dear, the better.”
“Gran, you really mustn’t let her—”
“Shush, Robbie. Leave the girl alone. I’m fine.”
“No. I’m sorry. I’ve just jumped in again and haven’t even asked you how you are.” Feeling a little ashamed, Lexy made a real effort to slow herself down. “Robert’s right.” Much though it pained her to say it.
“But I’m fine, dear.”
“No, she’s not, actually.”
“Robbie.”
“Gran, you’re the one who’s exhausted. I’m really not sure you should be doing this at all, you know, raking over the past and what have you.”
“Robbie, we agreed.” Evie looked hard at her grandson, as if communicating something other than the words themselves. “Remember. We agreed. So don’t fuss.” What exactly was it they’d agreed, Lexy wondered, remembering the snatch of conversation she’d heard as she came into the room.
“I’m expressing an opinion – a medical opinion.” He shrugged. “That’s hardly fussing.”
Evie’s hand dismissed him with a flutter. “Lexy, pull your chair nearer. Tell me more about these albums, this folder or whatever. They’ve clearly got you quite excited.”
“Gran, please. Enough. Lexy, you really shouldn’t be putting her through this. She’s not strong enough.”
“Robbie, I think that’s for me to decide. And I’m sure it’s time you were getting along to your clinic. We will be perfectly fine, and frankly it will be much less stressful talking to Lexy without your well-intentioned but quite unnecessary supervision.”
Lexy looked down in case either of them saw the amusement in her eyes. That told him, she thought, and was delighted to see that it worked. Like a sulky adolescent he scooped up his jacket and document folder and swept out, with only a scowl in their direction.
“That’s better.” Evie patted the bedclothes down around her. “Now, dear, you were saying?”
“Yes, right.” Easy does it, Lexy, she reminded herself. “So. I’m beginning to piece it all together now, about Ursula’s son. I brought some paperwork with me from Ursula’s flat. None of it really made sense before, but now it’s beginning to, or at least what I’ve looked at so far is, with your help of course. There are gaps still, and bits that don’t make sense, but I’m hoping you will be able to help me with all that. And also, all I’m getting are bare facts and none of the why or … or anything.”
Evie’s eyes had narrowed a little and she was watching Lexy closely.
“I’ve brought the albums with me. I thought you might like to see them.”
“Oh, I would, dear, very much. Always such fun reviewing one’s youth.”
“And I’ve got some of the documents – diary entries and letters and so on – that were in the folder. She’d marked it for my mother and it’s some kind of record of … of … Well, an explanation of sorts. You see, they’d fallen out, Ursula and my mother, years ago when I was still quite young. But maybe you knew that. I hadn’t really understood what was going on back then, but it’s beginning to make sense now. I think they must have fallen out about Ursula’s son because that’s what the folder seems to be about.”
Evie was very still, apart from one thin index finger rubbing at the white cotton bedsheet.
“And there’s something odd about the folder. If I hadn’t spilt my tea, I wouldn’t have found it. It was tucked under the cushion of Ursula’s armchair. At the time, I just put it down to her wanting it near her, an old woman’s habit, tucking things down the side of her chair. But this was actually under the seat, as if she, maybe, wanted to keep it hidden.”
Lexy looked up at Evie, whose face was still giving nothing away.
“But then I thought, why would she want to do that?”
“Well, quite. Why indeed?”
“Unless it was something that mattered very, very much. Unless it would give away the identity of her son, Cameron’s son.”
“I’m really not sure—”
“Of course, it could be argued that Ursula was deranged when she wrote those diary entries, some sort of postpartum depression or delusion. But there was independent corroboration. There was your letter. Your letter, to Ursula, which she kept all these years and included in her folder: your letter helped me finally believe it, even though it’s been staring me in the face on every page of this album since I picked it up.” Lexy took one of the albums from her bag and laid it gently on the other woman’s lap.
“Really, dear?” Evie sounded uninterested, as if this wasn’t anything important at all, didn’t even glance at the album.
“I know who Ursula’s son is. Even without the diaries of a woman consumed by guilt and grief. Your letter told me, Evie. You told me, so not really any point in pretending you don’t know now, is there?”
Lexy leant over, opened the album near the back.
“There he is. David Buchanan.”
Evie looked down at the photo, the index finger scratching more frantically at the bedsheet now.
“You and Helen and Ursula tricked everyone, even Gregory, into believing he was Helen’s firstborn. I don’t know how you did it, exactly, but I know about the time in Scotland, the croft, and the fact that Cameron wanted nothing to do with Ursula and the child and how you’ve kept the secret all these years. That must have been hard. Really hard.”
Evie said nothing.
“It all fits,” Lexy continued. “Richard Chakanaya was Cameron’s man and he’s the one, the intermediary, who made the payments to Ursula. I thought at first Ursula had given her baby to the Mission orphanage, even though that didn’t feel right, given her own childhood.” Evie’s eyes flickered to Lexy and then just as quickly away again. “Was that what you wanted me to think? Were you going to lie to me to make me think that’s what happened, to throw me off the scent? I might have believed it. All those donations Ursula made to the Mission got me wondering, and then all the time you spent there with your husband, too: you might have helped her. And Robert’s letter, of course, about the break-in. What was that? David getting someone to cover the tracks? Ha! Is David in this too? Are you all trying to send me away?” Lexy was struggling to stay calm, to keep her voice even and moderate.
‘Nonsense, child. Don’t be ridiculous. No one’s trying to send you away.” But the voice lacked something of its usual vigour.
“I thought it all pointed to the Mission. I was going to go there to try to find Ursula’s son, but no need now. Thanks to you, Evie. Because your letter has confirmed it as fact and not guilt-ridden fantasy. It doesn’t tell me everything, true, but enough for me to see none of this has anything to do with the orphanage. It was all much closer to home than that. I couldn’t believe that Gregory would fall for it, at first, but then I felt so sorry for him. It’s breathtaking that you actually got away with it, but then why would a man suspect the woman he adored of tricking him with something as fundamental as that? Why? And with David being his nephew there’d be a family resemblance, any similarity to Cameron quite unremarkable. And there certainly was: you can see it, clear as day.”
Lexy turned pages of the album then tapped another photo.
“See? The boys look just like smaller versions of Gregory and Cameron, and that’s because they are. It is David, isn’t it? And that’s why she kept all those cuttings too, about David and Cameron. Not because she had shares in the company, or because Helen was her friend or anything like that. But because David was her son and Cameron was her lover. I’m right, aren’t I? I know I am.”
Evie inclined her head, the slightest of nods, but, Lexy knew, this was the breakthrough she’d hoped for. Evie wou
ld tell her now, tell her everything, she was sure of it. As long as there was time before her operation, in case … or before Robert came back and threw her out.
“Does Robert know?” she asked. “Is that what you were reminding him to say nothing about? When I arrived?”
“Robbie knows. We needed his help with … things … as we got older.”
Lexy fought the fury that threatened to undermine all the careful, steady steps she was taking. He’d known. He’d lied. Worse, when he’d taken her to the lake and asked her all those questions … Good listener indeed. He’d been playing her, finding out what she knew. She stood, walked over to the window, breathing steadily to keep herself calm. She heard Evie sigh behind her.
“Yes, Lexy. You’re right. David Buchanan is Ursula’s son. But he won’t thank you for pointing that out to him. In fact, you really would be much better keeping all this to yourself.”
Lexy turned to face Evie, shook her head. “I want to meet him. I have to tell him I—”
“You have to do no such thing.”
Lexy was silenced by the sharpness, the sudden force of Evie’s voice.
“Don’t you think if he’d wanted to know about Ursula, or her life, or your mother, you, he’d have made contact? He sent money all those years, so he knew exactly how to find her if he wanted to, but he didn’t. You may not like it, my dear, but he didn’t. He chose not to. And you’re fooling yourself if you think he doesn’t know about you. Of course he does, and if he wanted anything to do with you, don’t you think he’d have been in touch by now? No, Lexy. Leave it alone. You’ll only end up disappointed and hurt. Believe me. It really wouldn’t be a good idea to approach him.”
“But if he meets me, perhaps it will make him wonder what he’s missed all these years, not knowing his mother—”
“He knew his mother. Most of his childhood, at least. His mother, for him, was Helen Buchanan, and he wouldn’t want anyone to think anything else.”
“But that’s so old-fashioned. No one cares any more about things like that. So he was born to an unmarried mother? Hardly going to get him ostracised from one of your precious Clubs or send the share price tumbling, is it?” Anger was pumping through her veins, her breathing becoming shallow and fast. She struggled to control it.
“You forget that a lot of the company’s business even today is with the Missions. They might not share your more liberal attitudes.”
“Why would they even need to know? I’m not going to put an ad in the paper, am I? In fact, why would I tell anyone at all?”
“David might not believe that. He’ll just think you’re after money, my dear. That’s the sort of person he is. And he won’t take kindly to it.”
“What, you think he might think I’m trying to blackmail him? I’ll keep quiet if he pays me? That’s ridiculous. This is about me, about me trying to find some kind of family, the family you all decided to steal from me!”
“We didn’t … Oh, child, it’s complicated.”
“So explain it!” Lexy had abandoned all pretence of keeping her temper under control. She stood, hands on hips, chin tilted forward, breathing heavily as she glared at the old woman.
“If he is Ursula’s son, there would be questions over his inheritance. His right to Buchanan’s.”
“But surely an adopted child has the same rights as a—”
“He wasn’t adopted. He couldn’t be. For that to have happened, Gregory would need to have known. And besides, that still wouldn’t have been good enough.”
“Why not? What—”
The door opened and Evie’s usual nurse, Celia, stuck her head in.
“You all right there, Mrs Campbell? Your visitor not tiring you out none?”
“Ah, my grandson’s got you checking up on us, I see.” The nurse smiled sheepishly. “We’re fine, dear. Just fine. Although some tea wouldn’t go amiss if you could arrange it for us? Plenty of sugar for my visitor, I think.”
“See what I can do.”
Lexy was staring blankly ahead as the door closed behind the nurse.
“You’ve contacted him already, haven’t you?”
Lexy nodded. “I phoned his office. I have an appointment with him tomorrow.”
“Did you say what you wanted to see him about?” Lexy shook her head. “Good. We need to think of a plausible excuse. A reason for you to want to meet him that has nothing to do with his parentage. He knows who you are, remember, but he doesn’t know what you know about him. Better still, you could cancel the appointment entirely, although that in itself might arouse his curiosity.”
“But I only want to meet him and—”
“Lexy, listen to me.” Evie’s patience was clearly wearing thin. “You have no idea what you might be getting into here.”
“But I wouldn’t tell anyone.” She sounded like a petulant child.
“He’d never be sure though, would he? As long as you know, he’d never be completely safe. He’d have to trust you. Men like David Buchanan, and Richard Chakanaya, who is still very much a part of things at Buchanan’s, aren’t … comfortable … with something like that.”
“Oh for goodness’ sake! What about me? I just want to meet him, to connect with someone who’s almost family, to … Oh, I don’t know. But is it really too much to ask? So what if David’s not ‘comfortable’? That’s not exactly life-threatening.”
“Isn’t it? Are you sure? For myself, I can only wonder what men like David Buchanan and Richard Chakanaya might do to alleviate any discomfort they might feel.”
17
Buchanan House, Blantyre, June 15th
“Well, well. Quite the detective, aren’t you?”
David’s voice dripped sarcasm as he slowly clapped his hands a couple of times; then he stood and went over to the silver tray on the top of the sideboard. Lifting a cut-glass decanter, he turned and held it out towards her, pouring himself a hefty measure when she shook her head.
Lexy waited. She’d expected … what? Shock, delight, surprise? At least that. At least surprise. But not this. But then he’d known, she realised. Evie had been right about that. He’d known about her all along.
“If you knew,” she said, “why didn’t you contact me? If not before, at least when I came to Malawi? You must have known why I’d come. Why didn’t you just get in touch and tell me Ursula was your mother? Get it over with, as it clearly isn’t a relationship you want to develop further.”
“Wrong question, little Lexy, wrong question.”
“For God’s sake, David. I don’t understand why you’re behaving like this. I thought you might be pleased to find you had a … that I was … am family, almost. Oh I don’t know! I thought you might be pleased to meet me.”
David had taken a cheroot from the box on the table beside the green leather club chair he’d settled in. He clipped the end off and dropped it in the onyx ashtray. He rolled it thoughtfully between his fingers.
“Oh, I am, Lexy. Very pleased. It means we can have this little chat. You see, you need to be careful, Lexy,” he said as he reached for the silver table lighter. He hefted its heavy weight in his hand then clicked it once, twice before it caught, then put the cheroot in his mouth and lit it. “Play with fire and you’re liable to get burnt,” he said through a haze of smoke, clicking the lighter on and off and on again, holding the flame in front of his face for a few seconds before extinguishing it and letting the lighter thud down onto the desk again.
Oh, very James Bond villain, Lexy thought, exasperated, refusing to be intimidated, worrying that she might be.
The leather creaked as he leant back, lifted one well-shod foot and crossed his legs. Everything about him groaned money, opulence, confidence, cliché. And yet there was something … off, something in his eyes that Lexy couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“Are you threatening me, David? Warning me off something?”
“Would it work if I were?”
“No.”
David’s smile was slow. “Then no
, I’m not.” He took a sip of the whisky, watching her over the rim of the glass as he savoured and swallowed what she felt sure was a very expensive single malt. Nothing but the best for David. She thought about Ursula’s flat – nice enough but nothing compared with this lifestyle. She thought about the money that had been transferred to Ursula over the years. Where had it gone? Had Ursula been too principled and proud to spend it, perhaps? It didn’t add up. Why hadn’t she ever come forward, taken her place as David’s mother here in Malawi, a country she clearly loved. Especially after Helen and then Cameron were gone. Surely nowadays the threat of scandal wouldn’t be an issue any more. Unless …
“Did you pay her to stay away, was that it?”
“I could pay you to stay away.” David flicked ash and looked at her thoughtfully. “Would that work? Money? Get you on a plane out of here and back to Lexyland?”
“No, of course not. I don’t want your money. I—”
“My money?” David laughed and choked on the thick smoke of the cheroot. He spluttered unattractively, small beads of sweat appearing on his brow, reddening cheeks and jowls quivering. “Oh that’s good. You really have no idea, do you, Lexy, hmm? All this time and effort spent tracking down your dear dead Ursula’s son, and you really had no idea what you were getting into at all. Oh my.” He took out a pressed linen handkerchief and patted it to his forehead, his cheeks, then folded it and slid it back into his pocket.
“All right, Lexy. Here’s the deal. I’ll transfer five thousand a month to you, just as I did to Ursula, only you’ll get to keep it, for as long as you live. But you speak one word of what you know to anyone, anyone, the money stops. And the trouble starts.”
“You are threatening me! Why, David? What harm could I possibly be to you? Who cares if you’re Ursula’s son? That’s ancient history, for heaven’s sake.”
David’s eyes had narrowed and he was watching her carefully.
“And I know you’re not legally adopted but any court of law, surely, I mean there must be some sort of common-law equivalent for a son, like a common-law wife or …” Lexy stopped. What was it Evie had said? Something about even that wouldn’t have been enough … legally adopted not enough … That was it. It was about Helen, about the Buchanan inheritance …