by Isla Dewar
Hamish stared at the picture. ‘I didn’t know you were married.’
‘He left me for my best friend. I’m single now.’
‘Divorced?’
Nell shook her head. ‘Not yet. No doubt I will be. I don’t think of myself as Mrs Rutherford anymore.’
‘Ah,’ said Hamish, and went to his office.
A week later Hamish invited Nell to a concert. ‘Got two tickets. It should be an excellent evening.’
It wasn’t, as Nell had hoped, a gig by the Rolling Stones making a rare appearance in a far-flung spot. It was a small chamber orchestra playing Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto. But, much to her surprise, she enjoyed it.
‘Excellent stuff, didn’t you think, Miss McClusky?’ said Hamish as they drove home.
Nell agreed.
‘I have a suspicion you are more of a rock and roller than a classical music aficionado. But never mind, we’ll soon fix that.’
Nell said she didn’t want anyone to fix that. ‘I like what I like. My choice.’
Hamish apologised. ‘I don’t have any intention of changing your tastes. I rather like the Beatles as a matter of fact. I just hoped I might show you some of the joys of Mozart and Beethoven.’
Nell said she’d like that. ‘But I am who I am. Nobody’s going to change me.’
Hamish said that was good. He wouldn’t want her to change.
The next week they drove to the cinema forty miles away to see Lawrence of Arabia. The week after, they had a Chinese meal and after that went to another concert. By their fifth date they were tentatively calling one another by their first names. On their sixth date he invited her back to his place.
His home was not as Nell had imagined. It was practical, and absurdly practical. In the living room there was a television, and opposite it was a single armchair. Beside that there was a crate of beer. One wall was taken up with shelves of LPs and a hi-fi.
‘Is this is?’ asked Nell. ‘One chair. That’s all.’
‘It’s all I need.’
‘What about visitors? Where do they sit?’
Hamish said he never had visitors. ‘You’re the first person that’s ever been here.’
She told him that wasn’t very sociable.
‘I see people all day. I’m very sociable at work. At home I tuck myself away.’ He asked if she’d like a cup of coffee. She followed him into the kitchen saying she’d keep him company as he made it.
There was nowhere to sit here. There was a neatly ironed shirt draped over the back of each of the four chairs round the table. An ironing board took up the area between the table and the cooker and meant Hamish had to shuffle sideways to reach the kettle. He explained that he left the board up because it was easier. ‘If I fold it down and put it away, I only have to get it out and put it up again.’
He had a laundry routine. He had six shirts. ‘All identical,’ he said. When four were dirty, he had one clean one and one he was wearing. He washed the dirty shirts, ironed them and draped them on the chairs. ‘Ready to wear. It works.’
He pointed to the cooker. ‘One pot is all I need. Porridge every morning. Eat it, clean up, fresh shirt and off I go to work. All my other meals I eat at the hotel. I have everything worked out.’
‘Everything except comfort,’ said Nell.
‘I have a very comfortable bed. In fact my bedroom’s quite luxurious.’
Nell said that was good to know.
‘Would you care to join me in it? We could drink our coffee there. It would be easier than sharing the armchair.’
‘My goodness,’ said Nell. ‘You certainly know how to woo a girl.’
He hung his head, and confessed that wooing and flirting baffled him. ‘I have no idea where to begin with such things. To be honest, women baffle me.’
‘I thought you’d been married?’
‘I was but I’d known my wife all my life. She lived a few doors down from me. We were childhood sweethearts, teenage sweethearts and it was always assumed we’d marry one day, so we did. Wooing didn’t come into it.’
Nell told him about Alistair. ‘We’d settled into a comfortable relationship. No demands. Then his mother announced she’d booked the church and the hotel for the reception. She thought it was time we grew up and settled down.’
‘But did you love him?’ asked Hamish.
‘Love,’ said Nell. ‘I don’t know about that. I loved the notion of having a steady boyfriend, someone I got along with. I loved his family and wanted to be part of it. I loved the idea of being in love. We probably both assumed we’d marry one day, but neither of us mentioned it. I thought he was a suitable candidate for a husband. I thought I’d be safe with him. I wanted security.’
He said that was understandable.
Nell confessed some more. ‘I’d envisioned a glamorous life with a famous lawyer. Looks like I was right. He will be sought after. He will have a glamorous life, but without me in it.’
He asked if she minded that. She shrugged, shook her head and told him, no. ‘I don’t think of him that often.’
Hamish poured two cups of coffee, picked them up, headed out of the kitchen, jerking his head as an indication that she should follow.
Nell walked behind him through the sparse living room into the hallway, past the row of useful things stored there – golf clubs, a spade, a lawnmower, several pairs of shoes, a length of electric cable and a pair of skis – and up the stairs to the bedroom. It was, as he said, quite luxurious. It was spacious and thickly carpeted with a large bed, which Nell soon discovered was as comfortable as he’d said.
At first the love they made was awkward. They were both shy. But, as moments passed and they pursued pleasure, there was passion. They were, Nell thought, two lost, lonely and hurt souls reaching out for one another. They were both seeking comfort.
It will do, thought Nell. This man will do. This new life will do.
Chapter Thirty-three
The Flash
Nell settled into a routine of seeing Hamish twice a week. They went to the local pub, to concerts, and often they walked, talking sometimes, sometimes just companionably breathing together as they covered miles of rough tracks. They didn’t discuss past lives. They never mentioned love.
Once Nell came across a violin at the back of Hamish’s wardrobe. ‘I’ve never heard you play.’
He told her that was because he didn’t. ‘Can’t play any instrument. That was my wife’s. Catherine’s. She played professionally.’
‘But people say they’ve heard you playing beautifully when they were passing by.’
‘That would have been Yehudi.’
‘Yehudi?’
‘Menuhin.’
She stared blankly at him.
‘Probably the greatest violinist ever. The people passing by would have been hearing a record. Funny they didn’t wonder why I had a full orchestra playing with me. Rumours and gossip are marvellous.’ He put the violin back into the wardrobe. ‘She’s gone from me. I’m learning to let her go. Have you let Alistair go?’
‘Yes, I do believe I have. Him and his family.’
It was a surprise, then, when, a few days later, Byrony told her there had been a man at the house asking for her. Nell asked what he looked like.
‘Tall, fiftyish, quite plump,’ said Byrony.
So it wasn’t Alistair. Nell said she had no idea what it was about. She tried to forget about it but over the next few days she had the notion she was being followed. Walking to and from work, she’d whirl round and stare behind her. There was never anybody there. She eyed strange cars parked in the street outside Byrony’s house with suspicion. Eventually, remembering the truth about the murder she had convinced herself she’d witnessed at the Locarno, she told herself she was being absurd. It was time to stop imagining dramas. There was nobody following her. There was nothing to worry about.
It was a Wednesday in January and the hotel was quiet. Nell and Hamish took the afternoon off and walked. Hand in hand they strode up t
he long track to the forest and beyond. They scanned the horizon for deer and saw two in the distance. Once an eagle soared high overhead; they stood watching it, entranced. Nell said it would be wonderful to fly, to just take off and move through the sky. ‘I’d love that.’
Hamish agreed. ‘Freedom,’ he said. ‘It’s all about freedom.’ Then he said, ‘Let’s go home. I’ve got steaks for supper. I’ll cook.’
They held hands again, each enjoying the feel of palm against palm. They breathed in unison. No need to speak. They’d reached to point of relishing companionable silence. But as they walked back along the track, just before they reached the main road and civilisation, he kissed her. ‘An outdoor kiss,’ he said. ‘I like the taste.’
Nell said she liked indoor kisses. ‘In the warmth by the fire. And the bedroom’s handy for anything that might come next.’
He agreed. She had a point. ‘But when I kiss you out here, I can taste the country you’ve walked through and the air you’ve been breathing and the sweat from your upper lip, the essence of you.’ He kissed her again. When they pulled apart, she looked round. ‘We’re being watched.’
‘No, we’re not. There’s nobody for miles. Look, we’re the only people here.’
She stared in one direction and then the other. Nothing. ‘I just had the feeling somebody was watching us. Weird.’
He told her she was being silly. ‘We’re alone. And if we are being watched, what of it? We’re kissing and it’s wonderful.’
At the house, Nell sat in the kitchen watching Hamish cook. He’d changed his shirt routine – now he hung them upstairs in the bedroom – and he’d bought a second armchair for the living room. ‘Soon,’ he told her, ‘I’ll get a sofa so we can snuggle.’
She approved. The lawnmower, spade, hose and gardening tools had been relocated outside, but the skis and golf clubs remained. Nell thought that fine.
After they’d eaten, Hamish made coffee. ‘I thought it might be more comfortable if we drank it in bed,’ he said. It had become a private joke between them.
They didn’t close the curtains. They never did. They could see the stars from where they lay. It made them closer when they considered the wild vastness beyond the window. To the south, as the night wore on they could see the Plough. The room was dark. She moved into his arms. She wasn’t wearing anything.
The flash stormed the room. They sat up, looked at the window, both shocked. ‘What the hell was that?’ There was a second flash. Hamish jumped out of bed, thrashed about looking for his trousers, and then ran downstairs and out the front door.
The ladder he kept at the side of the house was propped against the wall. He looked round the garden, looked up and down the road outside, walked round the house, and then went in again.
Back in bed with Nell, he told her there was nothing to be seen. ‘Except the ladder against the wall.’
‘It was a photographer,’ said Nell. ‘Why would anyone want to take a picture of us?’
He told her he didn’t know, but he did know, and he also knew that Nell would find out soon enough.
A week later, Nell was on her way home from work. It was early evening and not quite dark. As she walked through the gates at the end of the hotel drive, a man stepped out of a car and called her name. It was Alistair.
‘You’re a hard person to find,’ he said.
She told him she didn’t think anyone would be trying to find her.
‘I had to hire a private detective. He spoke to your neighbour who said she hadn’t seen you since you went on holiday last year.’
‘That would be true,’ said Nell.
‘You told Carol you were going to London.’
‘Well, I didn’t.’
‘You came to the place you’d been on holiday with your parents. And you took your maiden name. I figured it out. Took a while.’
‘So you found me. What do you want?’
He suggested they go somewhere quiet where they could talk. She pointed towards the main street. ‘The Anchor. It’s quiet there at this time of day.’
He wanted to drive, but she insisted they walk. ‘I’m walking a lot these days.’
They selected a table in the corner. The barmaid waved to Nell, shouted hello and gave Alistair a curious look. Nell didn’t introduce him. He was part of the life she’d left behind. When Alistair asked what she wanted, she went for a twenty-five-year-old malt. She rarely drank whisky, but this was expensive and she reckoned he owed her. ‘No ice.’
He had the same. He put both glasses on the table and sat opposite her. ‘So, how are you?’
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Living quietly. You?’
‘Well,’ he said. Then, ‘You left a bit of a mess when you went away. The council tracked me down and I had to pay to have your parent’s house cleared.’
She shrugged. She didn’t care. ‘How’s Carol?’
‘Pregnant,’ said Alistair.
She congratulated him.
‘I want a divorce,’ he said. ‘I want to marry Carol. She divorced Johnny a while ago. He came over from Australia.’
She asked how Johnny was.
‘Happy,’ said Alistair. ‘He’s a beach bum. Surfs most days. He’s starting a school to teach tourists. He’s tanned and looking more handsome than ever.’
Nell sighed and thought it was true: you never could keep a Rutherford down. ‘So divorce me,’ she said. ‘I thought we’d discussed this already.’
‘It’s different now.’ He pulled an envelope from his inside pocket and placed it in front of her.
Inside were several photographs. The first showed her walking hand in hand with Hamish. In the next they were kissing. In the third they were in bed, arms round one another. The fourth she thought the worst photo she’d ever seen. She and Hamish were sitting up in bed, looking in horror towards the window. Her hair was rumpled. She was pulling up the sheet to cover her nakedness. His mouth was open. He looked like he was shouting, ‘Hoi.’
‘Very salacious,’ she said. ‘I look like a trollop.’
He said he was sorry.
‘So I’m having a relationship. It happens. People move on. Anyway, you started the whole thing when you slept with my best friend.’
He said once more that he was sorry. ‘The thing is, my career’s going well I don’t want a scandal.’
‘Perhaps you should have thought of that before you had it off with Carol.’
He shrugged. ‘It was bad enough when the police came after May and Harry. I had a struggle coming through that with my reputation intact.’
‘They should have paid their income tax like everyone else in the world.’
‘You can hardly talk, Nell. My mother paid you in cash.’
Nell flushed. ‘I know. I hadn’t thought about that, though she didn’t often pay me. I never loved money the way your mother did.’
He agreed. ‘May liked to look at it. On Thursdays she’d bring out all the cash and put it on the table so she could savour it. It was one of her collections along with her handbags and shoes.’
‘That’s what happened on family nights. I thought you talked business.’
‘We did. But it was also May’s way of keeping us together. We’d sit round the table – just the family. She loved that. The family and the money all together. But we did talk about how to make more money. One of May’s ideas was to spray a dozen cars pink and have a ladies’ day. She’d noticed women were buying more cars.’
‘Where did the piles of money come from?’
‘Cash sales,’ Alistair told her. ‘They’d always have several really cheap cars in the lot and offer them at a discount for cash.’
‘Your parents were crooks.’
‘My mother always believed they were making people happy. She worked hard. For years, she went into that back lot and cleaned and polished old cars. She saw customers proudly driving off in their gleaming Rovers and Alfas and Triumphs and it made her happy to see them happy. She just didn’t want to share the profits w
ith the government.’
‘Then she lost everything in the restaurant,’ said Nell.
‘She gave away cocktails, entertained people at the special table, plied customers with free drinks, served enormous helpings and spent a fortune doing the place up.’
‘And then she scarpered when it went wrong,’ said Nell. ‘With my money.’
‘I know,’ said Alistair, ‘but she was very generous to you – all the presents, the cashmere sweaters, the watch, the handbags. She loved you in her own way.’
Nell supposed she did. ‘Do you miss her? Do you even know where she is?’
‘I have no idea where she and Harry are. I imagine them in some sunny country walking arm-in-arm along a beach, watching the waves and planning how to make their fortune. Of course I miss May. She’s my mother. And when she was around you never knew what would happen next.’
‘Like she might come into the room and announce you were getting married,’ said Nell.
‘Exactly.’
They smiled. Couldn’t help it.
‘God, we were fools,’ said Nell.
‘I know,’ Alistair agreed. ‘But my mother wasn’t a woman who ever took no for an answer.’
Nell said, ‘There’s that.’
She looked out of the window. Boats lit against the dark were drifting into the harbour. People passed by on their way home now the working day had ended. She knew all of them. She was at home here. ‘So, what do you want?’
‘I want you to take the responsibility in the divorce. I want you to admit adultery.’
‘So you can avoid a scandal? So it looks like I’m the nasty one?’ asked Nell.
He nodded.
Nell picked up the photographs and scrutinised them. ‘You have the evidence. And I have none. Except that you are living with Carol – and she’s pregnant.’
‘I am Mr Rutherford who is living with Mrs Rutherford. Nobody knows she’s not my Mrs Rutherford.’