The Ghost of Helen Addison

by Charles E. McGarry

  Fordyce had woken that morning in one of his melancholy moods, and had decided to switch off his mobile phone and kill the day by taking some provisions up to James Millar at the Witch’s Cauldron. Having returned to the hotel, he booked a table for one and went to his suite to freshen up. He strolled towards the dining room where he was presented with the sight of Leo and the delightful Eva Whitton from the Kildavannan community at table together. He felt a familiar sinking sensation in his heart. Yet unrequited love was no longer an agony to him. Had it been a decade before, it would have cast him into a depression so black he would have taken to his bed for several days or even weeks. Still, he mused over a large glass of port wine, after he had cancelled his table in favour of a bar meal: he and Leo’s friendship could endure, given their common interests and mutual familiarity with loneliness.

  After a round of spritzer apéritifs, chef furnished the diners with an exquisite amuse-bouche of pickled pig’s trotter stuffed with chestnut and chicken liver mousse. It was at this early point when it emerged that Eva didn’t eat meat. She explained this a little apologetically, omitting to send the item back lest she seemed ungrateful. She would have quite happily permitted Leo to consume her trotter, which sat glistening and forlorn upon the perfect white glaze of her untouched plate, and Leo would have readily obliged, but didn’t want to ask for fear of coming across as gluttonous. Eva waited patiently while her dining companion guiltily munched away. Leo avoided the citrus sorbet due to his vinegary starter, opting for the champagne variety instead. Then it was the soup: she minestrone, he oxtail. Leo naively presumed that Eva’s vegetarianism wouldn’t encompass seafood, and so he was forced to consume an entire platter of sea scallops by himself, washed down by the lion’s share of a bottle of Chablis. Eva, meanwhile, was simply relieved that he hadn’t chosen the Thermidor. Leo’s livid burns put her in mind of crustaceans, and for him to have set upon a dish of lobster with those hands was an image too far. She chastised herself for such an unkind thought, and felt a little ashamed. Leo, Eva noted, seemed gloriously and defiantly unselfconscious of his scars, a characteristic which she admired. As for Leo, he was delighted to have met such a colourful and attractive creature amid the gloom and horror of this winter. For now he was content to lose himself in the moment, and not to speculate as to whether his initial stirrings of desire were to be reciprocated.

  It transpired that Eva was aged thirty-seven, and came originally from Canterbury. After studying at Glasgow School of Art, she had spent most of her twenties living the artistic life in London, often enduring acute penury. In the wake of the millennium something altered within her, a kind of spiritual yearning, and she pined for wide-open spaces. She started to look back upon the weekend breaks she had taken with her student chums in the West Highlands, times which she had enjoyed immensely. That lush and grand landscape seemed to be calling her. So Kildavannan proved the perfect answer, its ethos and spirit coinciding precisely with where she wanted to be in her life, although sadly her long-term relationship with Toby, her former partner, didn’t survive the move very long: he was driven back south by torrents of rain and legions of midges. Which proved it wasn’t meant to be, Eva supposed philosophically.

  By now Leo felt relaxed by the wine and energised by the fine cuisine, his senses stirred by the good conversation, the spiders of self-doubt back in their nests, for now. His carnivorous voracity extended into a fowl entrée of poulet sauté aux truffes (Eva’s fortuitously timely expression of disapproval towards the foie gras, an option which Leo had been silently considering, had aided his choice), and a main course of pork, black pudding, warm ear and tongue salad (he stopped himself just in time from ordering the Limousin veal in case it offended Eva’s sensibilities). As Eva picked at her roast aubergine and counted the number of species that passed down Leo’s gullet, so did she observe her dining partner’s capacity for alcohol (she herself was at most a moderate drinker, preferring a grass joint to mellow her out, or, now and again, a cheeky pill to take her up or down). After his spritzers and Chablis, a bottle of Château Latour was ordered – of which she, despite Leo’s coaxing, consumed a mere glass, and, after a sumptuous Nougat de Montélimar dessert washed down with a glass of Riesling and a platter of cheese accompanied by a largish port wine, he sank an Irish liqueur followed by a double brandy. Eva was still rather astonished, not to mention amused, by this eccentric who had crashed into her life like a wrecking ball, who unselfconsciously crossed himself before heartily devouring each course while quaffing glass after glass of alcohol.

  ‘You seem to enjoy good dining, Leo,’ she observed.

  ‘Indeed! I say let us praise the Lord, “Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle’s.”’

  Eva smiled. Leo seemed to belong to a bygone era, yet she couldn’t help but like this generous, cultured man with his earnest expression, who listened so intently and who had such beautiful manners. If Leo could have known that Eva wasn’t entirely unattracted to him it would have been of some considerable consolation. Yet, while she noted his undoubted charms, Eva was too experienced to overlook incompatibility when she saw it, and Leo Moran had it in spades. Best not to give him any ideas, she concluded.

  Once they had finished, Leo generously tipped Ania, complimented the food, but politely requested that she inform chef that les légumes had been too crunchy. Leo’s latest culinary campaign was against this irritating modern fad. Apart from anything, undercooked veg made him flatulent, an observation he just managed to stop himself from sharing with Eva.

  ‘So, you knew Helen well?’ he asked rhetorically as they settled into the deep, luxurious armchairs beside the dining room’s grand fireplace.

  ‘Yes. She used to come down to the community, on horseback, to do her nursing duties. But I also knew her before. Before she went away to Glasgow. She liked to hang around the workshop. I guess she kind of looked up to me a little, like you would a big cousin or something. We shared a love of horses.’

  ‘A noble beast, the horse,’ observed Leo irrelevantly.

  ‘God, I can’t believe I’m doing that.’

  ‘Doing what?’ asked Leo, his face glowing with alcohol and heat from the log fire as he gently swilled his cognac in its snifter.

  ‘Using the past tense to describe Helen.’

  Leo looked into the flames. ‘I didn’t realise she had worked at the hotel,’ he said.

  ‘She barely did; just for a few weeks, until she was sacked.’

  ‘Sacked? I was told she left.’

  ‘That’s what she told her folks. But she confided in me that Shona had sacked her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She didn’t say exactly. Just said they had disliked each other. Which was unusual – for someone to dislike Helen.’ Eva paused, suddenly in need of a sip of her brandy. ‘So, who are the chief suspects, in your opinion?’

  ‘I have no firm idea as yet. But I expect the police will take an interest in Robbie, such is their chronic lack of imagination. But, as a matter of interest, did he ever bother Helen?’

  ‘No, but he certainly fancied her. Made some clumsy attempt at a Valentine’s card, I seem to recall.’

  Leo paused as he removed an after-dinner mint from its sleeve, before continuing: ‘What do you know about that Lex Dreghorn creature?’

  ‘He fancies himself, and he used to try and flirt with Helen, but he’s no killer.’

  ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘Let’s just say he’s a good source of various metals.’

  ‘Illicit metals, I’ll wager.’

  ‘Ask no questions. You don’t seem awfully keen on him.’

  ‘Let’s just say I admire him about as much as I admire Gershwin,’ Leo replied dryly. ‘Pardon my asking, but did he provide you with the brass rods I saw in your workshop?’

  ‘No. I bought those commercially.’

  ‘Does he ever have access to your workshop?’

  ‘Yes, but lots of people do. We�
��re very trusting at the community. Often suppliers and customers will drop things off or pick things up without my being there.’

  Leo reached over to stir the fire, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  * * *

  As the evening progressed, Eva twice dropped heavy hints that she was romantically interested in another member of the community by the name of Ryan, a half-truth spoken to forestall any amorous proposals her dinner date might have planned. She needn’t have concerned herself; Leo could read the familiar signals of rejection and had no intention of making a fool of himself. Nonetheless, ever the gentleman, he insisted upon walking Eva home. He tottered upstairs, feeling bloated from food and alcohol, to retrieve his shooting coat and torch, then they left the hotel and walked towards Kildavannan by the road, keeping to the right so as to face any oncoming traffic.

  The night was bitterly cold, the clear winter sky revealing the sparkling cosmos in all its glory. A couple of policemen, huddled round an oil brazier, eyed them as they went by.

  ‘Gosh, it’s absolutely freezing,’ said Eva with a shiver.

  ‘“This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen”,’ said Leo.

  ‘Is quoting from King Lear supposed to impress me?’

  Leo smiled.

  They walked by the Grey Lady’s house, then, about a mile down the road, about halfway to the community, they passed a public house, the Innisdara Inn. It was set in a little cutting just back from the road and glowed welcomingly with warmth and light. Just ahead of there the road turned sharply at a blind corner. They had not yet encountered any vehicles, but Leo and Eva instinctively stepped onto the verge and went in single file for safety’s sake. At this point a large knowe now obstructed their view of the lochside, and just as they came abreast with it they saw a dark figure, barely three yards ahead, who was studying the ground in front of him with a flashlight.

  ‘Great Scott!’ exclaimed Leo.

  Eva gasped and grabbed Leo’s sleeve. Leo shone the torch upwards to reveal the face of George Rattray.

  ‘Sorry, folks, did I startle you?’

  ‘Just a bit,’ said Eva.

  ‘I got a bit of a fright myself,’ said Rattray with a smile.

  ‘Out for a stroll?’ asked Leo.

  ‘Sort of. I lost my grandfather’s fishing knife earlier. It was clipped to my haversack and must have fallen off. I’m retracing my steps with the flashlight. I’ll never get over it if I’ve lost it. Where are you headed?’

  ‘I’m just escorting Eva back to Kildavannan.’

  ‘Quite right – you never know what strange types you can meet on the road. This place is full of weirdos, and they don’t come much weirder than me,’ said Rattray, milking the joke.

  ‘How is Robbie keeping?’ enquired Leo.

  ‘Ach, he’s not too great, I’m afraid. I looked in on him earlier,’ replied Rattray, vaguely gesturing towards his half-lit home, which sat directly down from where they stood, near the loch. ‘Sometimes it’s as though his mind is in another world. He’s awfy upset about poor Helen. He’s a sensitive soul. He’s got some idea in his head that he could have protected her. I keep telling him it’s not his fault.’

  Eva sighed sympathetically. ‘Well, it’s good of you to look out for him,’ she said. ‘Such a terrible business.’

  ‘Such an evil act . . . it’s quite beyond my comprehension,’ agreed Leo.

  ‘Aye,’ continued Rattray, shaking his head sorrowfully. ‘That poor, poor girl. I can remember her as a lassie, she was such a sweet wee thing. You know, it was always her intention to come back to Loch Dhonn after her training. She loved this place, loved her family, loved the people here.’

  He wiped his sleeve across his eyes.

  ‘How is that fix holding up?’ Eva enquired, keen to break the awkward silence that had descended. She turned to Leo to explain. ‘I do little welding jobs for George; recently I replaced the rowlocks on his boat.’

  ‘Fine, fine,’ said Rattray cheerfully, glad of the change of subject. ‘It was a sterling bit of British craftsmanship, or rather craftswomanship! Anyway, I won’t keep you young lovers out here in the freezing cold any longer. No winching on the way home, mind!’

  They said their goodbyes, Leo inwardly reproaching himself for feeling irritated by Rattray and his harmless humour. After all, it wasn’t George’s fault that Eva didn’t find him attractive. Occasionally, Leo was appalled by the amoebas of spite that lurked at the edge of his consciousness.

  They walked on. ‘Poor, sweet George,’ said Eva. ‘How could this awfulness come to Loch Dhonn?’

  25

  LEO deposited Eva at the coach house and, as expected, received only a chaste peck on the cheek as a farewell. Despite the inevitability of this, something inside him still sank. Romance had eluded Leo for some considerable time – Maddi had been an epoch ago. He seldom seemed to meet anyone he was interested in any more, although there had been one woman whom he had been keen on a couple of years back. Leo had met her during a rare spurt of self-motivation when, uncharacteristically heeding Stephanie’s advice, he had taken to attending various extramural evening classes. The vivacious and in her own way rather fetching lady in question taught intermediate German at a college in town. She was younger than he but not improperly so, and Leo was self-deluded enough to fancy that his tender feelings were reciprocated and that some sort of unspoken connection existed between them. Therefore it came as something of a shock when she mentioned a boyfriend, who it transpired was of the live-in variety, and the announcement of their engagement had felt quite crushing. Thereafter, in order to avoid her innocent pre-class chatter about wedding arrangements and house hunting, Leo had taken to waiting in the railway station after alighting from his train until the optimal moment, in order that he could arrive exactly when the lesson was due to start. However, as someone who stood firmly against tardiness, invariably he would quicken his pace too much and still arrive a few minutes early, or else the class wouldn’t start on time and he would have to endure some discussion of the impending nuptials anyway. His dejection wasn’t even permitted the balm of self-pity, because he felt ashamed of his jealousy and lack of generosity, and embarrassed by the extent of his infatuation. After the course finished, despite passing his examination, he didn’t bother signing up for the advanced level.

  Before she went inside Eva turned and said, out of the blue, ‘Leo, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but why do you drink so much?’

  Leo paused for a moment to think. It was a simple question, yet the answers were truly manifold and befuddling. Most prominent was probably the fallout from failing to act upon information divulged to him by his second sight when he was a teenager; as a consequence a vulnerable person had been destroyed. But he hardly wanted to rake up such ignominy, so he plumped for a different answer instead, only because it was one particularly pertinent to recent experiences. And it was an answer which Eva could hardly have expected: ‘Because when I fall asleep I stare into the heart of darkness.’

  He turned on his heel and disappeared into the bitter night.

  The tarmacadam sparkled as the cold took its full icy grip, and Leo wobbled slightly on its treacherous surface before adjusting his gait appropriately. He cheered himself by lighting a cigarillo and with the prospect of a consolatory glass or two at the pub he had passed on the way down. He paused for a moment at the knowe where they had met George, to take in the scene. The crescent moon, although slim, gleamed like quicksilver, enough to make for a spectacular panorama. From here, Loch Dhonn was a perfect mirror but for the black tumour of Innisdubh, its crooked outline resembling the silhouette of a hag riding a broomstick.

  Leo gazed upwards in wonder at the infinity of galaxies, sprinkled across the firmament like multicoloured powder. There to the south was the diffuse gorgeousness of the Orion nebula; the giant accompanied by his hunting hounds Canis Major and Minor, with Sirius, the night sky’s brightest star. There were Castor and Pollux, the heavenly twins of Ge
mini; there was Auriga the charioteer and the distant Lynx, blinking out from the timeless abyss. He spun round to take in the ancient light of Andromeda and her mother Cassiopeia, the bears Ursa Major and Minor, Taurus the bull, and Perseus the hero, incorporating Algol, the dead eye of the decapitated Medusa.

  Leo spontaneously exclaimed aloud: ‘“The heavens are telling the glory of God!”’

  He was abruptly brought out of his astral meditations by a nearby voice.

  ‘How was your dinner?’

  Helen sat upon the knowe, her nightdress as white as a bone.

  ‘F-f-fine,’ Leo spluttered as he collected himself.

  She turned her head to gaze up the loch. ‘I don’t think she fancies you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Leo walked over to be nearer to the insouciant spectre. ‘And how are you?’ he enquired, softening as he recalled meeting her grief-stricken family. The experience had made him feel more bonded with Helen.

  ‘Oh, not so bad. Still dead. I have found some friends though. They’re lovely, even though their English isn’t terribly good.’

  ‘That’s nice. Who are they?’

  ‘The girls the thirteenth baron killed.’

  ‘Girls? Girls plural?’

  ‘Yes. There are six of them.’

  Leo exhaled a long sigh of misty breath. ‘Six . . . sweet Jesus.’

  ‘Why don’t you have a girlfriend, Leo?’

  ‘How do you know I don’t?’ he replied.

  ‘It’s obvious. You’re so miserable and unloved.’

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly got me pegged,’ he replied disconsolately.

  ‘I rather think I do. In fact, if you’ve got a mo, I’d say that you live a sad little life in a sad little flat in Glasgow. Probably the dutiful son. Neat and tidy, moments of moral resolve and renewal, but then you drink too much and think dirty thoughts you oughtn’t to think. Friends all married now, and sometimes it seems such an effort to keep in touch. Affairs fewer and further between these days – “Oh, if only she could see the real me!” – but all of your romances were damp squibs anyway. I think you still cherish one of them – “The very thought of bumping into her at Tesco with her undoubtedly handsome husband and perfect children.” You’re a churchgoer, but with barely the faith to get you through regular dark nights of the soul. Because you’re haunted by something, although I haven’t worked out what. Mild depression kept in check by Prozac, another week speeds by and you’ve grown seven days older, and you realise that, apart from your mother, the only people you’ve spoken to are the grocer, the postman and the nice lady at the Bank of Scotland call centre.’