Human Face

by Aline Templeton

  Like any good soldier, he obeyed the command of his superior officer and left.

  Kelso had often thought that if the army found itself suddenly short of a brigadier, his mother could have taken immediate command of a battalion with unruffled calm. She could cope with his father, after all, and sometimes in moments of extreme exasperation he had muttered the aphorism that any woman could manage a clever man but it took a very clever woman to manage a fool – even though he knew that was not entirely fair.

  He’d never been forgiven for leaving the army after a short-service commission, despite being offered another term and promotion, in favour of joining the police force. It had been bad enough that he’d volunteered as a sniper – pukka officers did not sully their hands with the dirty end of the business – but this was, to Roderick, social disgrace as well as being a calculated insult to him personally. And he had blamed Alexa, who should have been happy to abandon her medical career and follow the drum after a soldier husband.

  Kelso had tried to explain: he’d enjoyed his time in the army but he’d never intended to make it his career. As an army brat himself, he had no wish to inflict that life on any children he might have – the changes of schools, the friends lost, the constant dislocation, the feeling of always being an outsider.

  His father, sensitive to slights as many insensitive people are, took that as a direct criticism. Clearly this was That Woman’s influence, corrupting his boy, the son he was so proud of, a graduate from Edinburgh University with a good degree then a top cadet in the Sovereign’s Parade at Sandhurst, destined for glory. Their meetings became reduced to special family occasions, when he was, of course, icily polite to her.

  Alexa, in her warm-hearted way, had been understanding. ‘He didn’t have your advantages, remember. He started out in the ranks and he worked his way up to where he finished entirely on his own merits. He feels he handed you success on a plate and you just threw it back in his face.’

  Kelso had snorted. ‘Rags to rags in three generations, you mean? You’re far too generous – he’s just a howling snob. And I paid my dues – surely a couple of tours in Afghanistan entitles me to tell him he can’t dictate a life plan for me.’

  But Roderick was still at it; he hadn’t given up. Yes, it was certainly just as well his wife had strong-armed him out of the house.

  Kelso was on his own at last but now he had peace, he didn’t want it any more.

  The ghosts were all about him, whispering at some times, wailing at others, and worst of all laughing, light-hearted and carefree. It could send him mad.

  He fingered the scar running from cheekbone to jawline. It was still tender but healing well, the marks left by the stitches almost gone. A pity life couldn’t knit itself together again in that easy way.

  Tomorrow he’d go back to the job. The alternative was to look for oblivion at the bottom of a glass – or take a trip up Salisbury Crags and choose the quick way down.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was a better morning in Skye today, with just a few wisps of morning mist draped flirtatiously round the shoulders of the Black Cuillin ridge. There had been a first fall of snow overnight and it lingered up there on the peaks, sparkling now as the sun started to peep through. In the icy pale aquamarine sky, an eagle was soaring, spiralling up and then away out of sight.

  Sitting at her desk in the window of the main office, Beatrice didn’t even notice. Though she could also see across the bay to Balnasheil village on her left, her gaze was directed the other way, to the view across the lawn to the rough ground and the moor on the hill that rose behind, where the heather bloom had long faded and the bracken was russet and limp after all the rain. The Black Cuillin ridge was a pale hazy blue today, its brutal lines softened by the hanging mist.

  Adam was out with the dog, his habit at this time in the morning, which explained why she was always at her desk so early when he was at home. Today the dog seemed excited, racing round and round in circles with its nose down, as if the damp morning scents were particularly strong. Then suddenly it was off, speeding in a straight line, and Beatrice saw with sick dismay a panic-stricken hare bounding out of cover, saw a moment later the chase abruptly stop. She couldn’t see exactly what happened but she didn’t need to. The dog’s way with hares was always the same: a chop to the back of the head that broke its neck.

  Adam would be pleased, anyway. He was calling the dog, petting it, stooping to take the limp carcass from its jaws then returning to the house, holding the hare by the ears, as the dog pranced at his side. The worst bit was that he would bring it in to show it off and Beatrice would have to look impressed.

  He was beaming when he came in. ‘Look at what this clever girl’s done!’ he crowed.

  The dog, for once, was acting the way normal dogs did, bouncing around, wagging its docked tail in a frenzy of enthusiasm.

  ‘Yes, Amber, you’ll get your share, girl. Just be patient,’ he scolded her jovially.

  Trying not to look at the mutilated creature dripping blood on the carpet, Beatrice murmured something suitable. The dog’s mouth was bloodied too, and she tried not to look at that either.

  ‘I’ll put it in the game pantry and Vicky can do us jugged hare once it’s been hung. That’ll be something to look forward to!’

  Beatrice only just managed not to shudder – jugged hare, ugh, and he liked it high, too, so that the whole house stank. For once she wasn’t sorry to see him leave. With the dog circling him, its eyes on its prey, he went to the door, then paused.

  ‘You’ve made sure that the car will be at the pier when I go across later?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Adam. Marek drove it round first thing this morning then got back in Murdo John’s boat when he brought Vicky across.’

  She didn’t add that Marek had sworn at her because neither he nor anyone else liked having to make the long drive around the head of the bay, but it was only Adam and his guests who never had to.

  She went on, ‘Your flight’s at seven tonight, so you really ought to leave before twelve o’clock to have plenty of time. You know what the traffic can be like around Glasgow.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he said testily. ‘I do know how long it takes to get to the airport.’

  Beatrice flinched. ‘Sorry, sorry. Of course you do.’

  ‘It’s all right, sweetie.’ His tone had changed and he was smiling. ‘I know you only want to make absolutely sure I don’t miss the conference. I’m just going to have a word with Harry before that – oh, did I tell you he’ll be coming up the day after tomorrow? All right?’

  ‘Of course,’ Beatrice said dully. Harry Drummond, the other executive director, allegedly possessed of great charm which he never bothered to bestow on her, was always a demanding guest. ‘Does Eva know?’

  ‘You could tell her. But just check that she’s done the needful, would you? I know I can rely on you.’ He gave her a smile and a wink.

  ‘Of course, Adam,’ she said, her heart in her voice. ‘Always.’

  She went off at once to check the drinks cabinet. Once, Eva had forgotten to order in Harry’s particular Highland malt and he’d been furious. She’d better check his room too; Harry was fussy about everything and though Eva might be willing, she wasn’t what you could call meticulous. She really wasn’t needed – not for any domestic purpose, anyway. Beatrice would be happier – much happier – if she’d just go. She had a sort of fresh charm that had kept Adam amused for longer than usual, which made it worse if—

  But she had work to do. She went back to the office and settled to checking through a pile of invoices. It would never do if the accounts weren’t in perfect order when Harry arrived; she dreaded him finding some discrepancy, though he never had so far.

  At ten o’clock she made herself a cup of coffee and had just got out a pack of Twixes when the door of her office opened. She hastily slipped it back in the drawer as Adam came in, looking bothered.

  ‘We’ve got a problem in Oban, Beatrice. Harry’s had an urgen
t request for supplies and he hasn’t much confidence that the girl in the warehouse will get it turned round fast enough. Could you bear to get down there right away and sort it out? I know it’s a bore, sweetie, but it really is vital that we get the stuff out without delay and if you’re in charge I know it’ll mean lives being saved.’

  It was a bore; it was more than a bore, it was hours and hours of driving on difficult roads, and then the same back again. But he’d called her ‘sweetie’ and he needed her.

  She smiled. ‘Yes, of course, Adam. I’ll just take ten minutes to finish up here and then I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘I really don’t know what we’d do without you.’ He smiled down at her, his hand on her shoulder. He was looking particularly attractive today, she thought, with a dark blue shirt that made his eyes look an even deeper blue.

  ‘Oh – that’s all right,’ she said, blushing with gratification.

  ‘But don’t try to drive back tonight. Find yourself a hotel in Oban and treat yourself to a nice meal. Can’t have you exhausted and falling asleep on the road, can we? Human Face would simply collapse.’

  Treasuring another smile, Beatrice said goodbye to him, finished what she was doing then went through the door under the stairs, past the office – presumably securely locked now – to the big old-fashioned kitchen. They’d had to spend money on upgrading the bedrooms for visitors and this, like her own flat and the bedsitter by the kitchen, was somewhere they could economise to minimise expenses for the charity.

  Vicky was sitting down at the table, having her break, but she got up when Beatrice came in.

  ‘Kettle’s just boiled,’ she said, ‘and there’s shortbread there.’

  Beatrice’s eyes flickered to the open box Vicky indicated, but she shook her head. ‘No thanks, Vicky. I just came to tell you I’ve got to go down to Oban and won’t be back tonight. And Harry’s coming the day after tomorrow, apparently, so we’ll need you to stay on to prepare everything ready for supper that night anyway – don’t know how long he’ll be staying.’

  Vicky pulled a face. ‘That’s a blow. I’d a few things planned for my afternoons. Still, the extra money’s welcome, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, you know how it is with these busy men – they don’t always know what their plans are much in advance.’ Beatrice spoke stiffly; she still had an upstairs-downstairs mentality and always quashed any discussion of the directors. ‘Adam may even be back from Paris himself by then but I’m not sure – he hasn’t said. And could you please check on Harry’s room? You know how particular he is.’

  Vicky laughed. ‘Oh, you could say! The last time Eva forgot to put a bathrobe in his en suite you’d have thought it was the end of civilisation as we know it. Some folk just need to grow up.’

  Beatrice smiled non-committally, though she certainly agreed. ‘I’ll just tell Eva that I’ll be away. Is she in her room?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her around the house.’

  Beatrice nodded and went out. As she reached Eva’s door she could hear sounds of movement, but when she knocked there was a sudden silence, then a pause and a scuffle before her voice said, ‘Come in!’

  Eva was standing in front of her wardrobe – a sale-room purchase, like the rest of the furniture. The door was inclined to swing open if not properly shut and as Beatrice came towards her she could see that a lot of the hangers were empty.

  Eva’s face turned a dull red, but she said only, ‘Hello, Beatrice. You want something?’

  Beatrice explained and Eva nodded. ‘Vicky and I take care of things, OK? Have a nice time.’

  ‘It’s not a jaunt, you know,’ Beatrice said sharply. ‘I’d much rather stay here and make sure the accounts are all in order for Harry to see when he comes. You know Adam will be away too? He’s going to a conference in Paris.’

  Eva said, ‘Yes, I know,’ and turned her back to fiddle with something on the dressing table.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’ Beatrice went to the door. Then she noticed there was a suitcase standing just beside it and there was another smaller one, open and half filled, by the bed. She walked out, pretending she hadn’t seen that.

  If Eva was going to run out on them, it was the best thing she could possibly do. Her heart lifted a little. She’d have Adam to herself for a while and as always the hope that never quite died sprang up again.

  It was getting harder to hope – much harder. Beatrice was getting on for forty now; she had started feeling panicky about the relentless ticking of the biological clock, and the agony of rejection when yet another ‘housekeeper’ appeared was getting harder to bear, too. Sometimes she even had to fight down her anger that Adam was so shallow as to think that a pretty face and a lithe body were worth more than the sort of soul-surrendered, for ever love that she was offering, a love that could transform both their lives – if he would only let it.

  Just thinking about it was physically painful. But the pang of jealousy passed, and as she walked upstairs to her bedroom it occurred to her that if Eva went of her own accord, she wouldn’t have to worry about – well, what she didn’t want to have to worry about, and her spirits lifted.

  ‘Wake up, Rosamond!’ she said as she unlocked the door and went into her bedroom. ‘We’re going to go on a trip – isn’t that nice? Now you can watch me while I pack.’

  She picked up the doll from the little crib that stood in the corner of the room, draped in white layered tulle with a frilly canopy, and propped her in a chair. The blank blue eyes opened obligingly and under their sightless gaze Beatrice packed her own modest bag, then fetched a holdall from her wardrobe.

  ‘I know you don’t like going in the bag, darling, but it’s just till we can get to the car. Then you can sit up and look at everything,’ she said as she tucked the doll into the holdall. She zipped it shut; she might meet Vicky on the way downstairs – or worse, Adam …

  And, indeed, he was in the hall as she came downstairs. She was touched that he was waiting to say goodbye to her.

  ‘All ready?’ he said jovially as she appeared. ‘That’s my girl.’

  A frown crossed her face. ‘Should I have booked a room for when you come back? If you come straight back from the conference it’ll be quite a late flight.’

  ‘No, no.’ He sounded impatient, on edge. ‘I’ll probably go to Harry’s flat – I’ll see. Now off you go.’

  Beatrice had opened the front door when he called to her, ‘What time does Vicky leave?’

  She turned, beaming. ‘Oh, were you thinking you could take her across when Marek took you? It’s so like you, to think of that! But she won’t be ready when you’ll need to go. Don’t worry – her husband always pops over to fetch her around half past twelve.’

  ‘Right, right.’ Adam turned to go back into his flat, then as an afterthought added, ‘Safe journey, and thanks again, sweetie,’ and Beatrice left, bathed in the sunshine of his approval.

  DI Kelso Strang presented himself at DCS Jane Borthwick’s office at nine-thirty. He hadn’t wanted to go to see her, but DCI Chisholm had insisted.

  ‘Didn’t expect to see you back quite so soon, lad,’ he’d said. ‘Are you sure it’s a good idea?’ Then he’d added, ‘Good to see you, of course.’

  ‘Yes, I’m quite sure,’ Strang said tautly. He was finding it hard to get used to the mixture of dismay, embarrassment and over-hearty goodwill he had encountered on every side that covered up an understandable wish that the difficult meeting hadn’t happened. ‘I’ve got a job to do.’

  Of course, he had no reason to feel nervous going up to see Detective Chief Superintendent Borthwick. Her support and sympathy at the funeral had been perfectly judged, but even so …Alexa had once asked one of his colleagues what he thought of ‘JB’ and got the reply, ‘Fair, firm and effing formidable.’ It had made Alexa laugh, but it said it all, really. Strang took a deep breath before he knocked on the door.

  Borthwick was sitting at her desk doing paperwork and glanced up when he came in. �
�Kelso! Good to see you. Sit down – give me a moment just to finish this.’

  After the funeral, Mary Strang had described her as a handsome woman, and her son had been surprised. He’d never really thought about JB’s appearance at all, and looking at her now he suspected that wasn’t an accident. She was always smartly dressed, mostly in well-cut trouser suits that looked as if she’d only swapped one uniform for another when she joined CID, and her appearance – neat dark hair, pale skin without noticeable make-up – was, he supposed, what you’d describe as professional.

  You weren’t meant to think about the woman behind the job. She was – he groped for the word – self-contained, that was it.

  She scribbled a signature on a sheet of paper, then put it to one side with a muttered apology and looked directly at him. That was the one thing you did notice about her – her eyes. A clear, light grey, they had a very direct gaze.

  She studied him for a moment then in her cool, brusque way, said, ‘You felt like coming back – good. Coffee?’

  It didn’t matter that he was tongue-tied. She was talking on. ‘I was going to speak to you anyway. The results have just come through to me – they’ve passed you for Senior Investigating Officer.’

  It was lucky she had handed him the milk just at that moment and Strang was able to look down, swallowing the lump in his throat and blinking hard. It would have been a cause for serious celebration, before. His response was flat but she didn’t react to that, just explained that though there wasn’t a slot for him at the moment he would certainly be high on the waiting list.

  ‘Of course, I ought to point out to you that there are other possibilities too. I suppose you might want to think about a promotion to another division, somewhere different—’

  He felt something like panic. Leave Edinburgh, leave the familiar, leave the house, even the empty house— ‘Not sure,’ he mumbled.