Tessa shook her head, tears pricking at her eyes and started as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and saw Bill, tall and broad and comforting.
‘Come on. There’s nothing you can do now.’ He held out a hand and helped her to her feet. He took her gun, replacing the safety catch and dropping it into his coat pocket. ‘And we need to get that arm looked at by a doctor.’ He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her away, nodding to Rasmussen and Tessa saw him mouth the word ‘home’. Rasmussen reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder in a gesture that was almost affectionate.
‘I’ll call in later to get your statement. If you think you’ll be up to it?’
Tessa nodded, and she and Bill walked in silence across the lawns, leaving behind them Georgina’s body and that dreadful, spreading pool of red, so stark against the snow.
Passing the library window, Tessa turned her head and saw William Forrester still sitting in his armchair by the window, staring out at the grounds. He didn’t seem to notice the police constables, the doctors, the nurses, not even the ambulance that passed them on the drive, bell ringing, unaware that there was no longer any emergency to answer.
Epilogue
It was April and an icy wind whipped around the granite bulk of the castle rock, tattered the daffodils and stripped the blossom from the trees in Princes Street Gardens. Tessa shivered and leaned a little more on Bill’s tweed-clad arm, wishing she’d worn another layer or two and not been deceived by the bright sunshine. Three weeks had passed since that dreadful afternoon at Craig House and in that time she’d answered countless questions and given so many statements. Inspector Rasmussen had been considerate, but she was exhausted.
Aunt Ishbel was right when she insisted that Tessa needed rest after the strain of the last couple of months or so and after being shot, although Tessa had insisted that the bullet merely clipped her and certainly didn’t justify the amount of fuss everyone had made. After the initial shock, she was more annoyed that one of her favourite jerseys had been ruined.
Tessa had expected that when James’s killer was caught and she was exonerated in everyone’s eyes, she would feel cheerful, celebratory even. Although there was a satisfaction in feeling vindicated, she felt no joy. Just a bone-deep weariness.
And then there was Catherine, expecting James’s baby. Although she had written, confirming she would provide some financial support for the child, she had still to tell Hector he was to be a grandfather. He would be pleased, to a degree at least, glad that something survived of one of his three dead sons. But this child, even if a boy, would not be the Glenogle heir he had so hoped for. Frankly, it was quite possible the child was not even James’s, but Tessa was too worn-out to consider that for now. She would provide support, discreetly, and, as long as the child was not obviously of different paternity then she would ensure it did not suffer for the ill-judged behaviour of its parents. But that was something she would think about later.
Tessa had spent some time wondering what to do with herself now. Bill had returned to his job in London and she was surprised by how much she missed him. No more had been said by either of them about any sort of future together and she had come to the conclusion that he rather regretted giving her any romantic signals. It was probably for the best, she’d concluded. After all, she wasn’t anyone’s picture of the ideal wife.
She’d been surprised when he’d announced that he would be in Edinburgh for a few days and even more so when he’d accepted her invitation to stay at Royal Circus. He’d been busy though and she’d barely seen him for the first day or so of his visit, and today he’d rather formally suggested lunch and a walk by the castle.
‘I have some news.’ Bill began.
‘Do tell.’ Tessa continued walking. She felt unaccountably nervous.
‘I’ve been offered a job here.’
‘In Edinburgh?’
‘Yes. At the Scottish office. They need someone with military experience. I’m minded to take it. It’s quite a promotion.’
‘That’s good. The promotion obviously, but especially that you’ll be staying.’ Tessa grinned at him, a flash of her old self, her spirits lifted in a moment. ‘Will you come back to live in my basement?’
‘If you’ll have me. I suppose to be proper I should take a house of my own, but I’d rather stay at Royal Circus.’
‘I’d like that. It was nice having you there. And I don’t want to be proper.’
‘Tessa, if I’m going to be living there I should tell you that—’
‘Don’t.’ She didn’t want to hear anything that might sadden her. Just that he was coming back was enough for now. She spoke quickly, not giving him the chance to complicate anything.
‘I’m going to the continent with Aunt Ishbel next week. Apparently I need some sun and some rest, and a month in Switzerland will be perfect. I think she might be right. I’ll sleep and eat and walk in the sunshine, and I’ll feel better when I get back. I’ve been feeling so sluggish and I’ve put on weight from eating too much. The rest will give me time to think about what I’m going to do with my life.’
‘Do you think I might be part of that? The rest of your life, I mean.’ Tessa could hear the tension and the fear of dismissal in his voice.
‘I hope so.’ Tessa stopped and turned towards him, her eyes brimming with unexpected tears. ‘I just hope you won’t mind waiting for me until I feel more like my old self.’
‘I’ve waited years for you, Tessa, a month or so more is nothing.’
‘Thank you.’ And she pulled him to her and kissed him, her hands in his hair, completely oblivious of the disapproval of passers-by, amid the cherry blossom that swirled like confetti around them.
Author’s Note
Tessa Kilpatrick appeared quite out of the blue, fully-formed and demanding to have her story told. She made her first public appearance when I was a winner at Bloody Scotland’s Pitch Perfect event – a Dragons’ Den for unpublished writers and I am thrilled that the first book about her is going out in the world to meet readers.
I’d love it if you joined my Readers’ Club and be the first to find out about her next adventures and to receive updates, exclusive stories, and previews. And do leave a review if you have time; they help me and help other readers.
www.vanessarobertson.co.uk/readers
The next Tessa Kilpatrick mystery will be out in Autumn 2019.
Acknowledgments
It truly takes a village to create a book – it might be one person who writes the story but so many others provide assistance and support. Massive thanks must go to my husband, Malcolm and son, Magnus, without whose constant support and encouragement this novel would never have been finished.
And a huge thanks must also go to the friends, family and fellow writers who’ve been my loudest cheerleaders, wisest advisors, and providers of arcane facts: Jane Anderson, Jane Badger, Helen Barrell, Alison Belsham, Sharon Birch, Jane Bradley, Jenny Brown, Helen Calder, Phil Crawley, Liz Fenwick, Gill Fyffe, Barry Hutchison, Angela Jackson, Rachel Murphy, Martin Page, Trish Price, Eoin Robertson, Gladys Robertson, Sara Sheridan, Tig Thomas and Sarah Ward. I hope that anyone omitted from that list will forgive me.
About the Author
Vanessa Robertson grew up in the Midlands where her main interests were horses and drama. Being a writer was a dream from childhood but she gave up on the idea of writing when she was a teenager, not long after abandoning other childhood ambitions of being a trapeze artiste or a spy.
Despite acquiring a couple of degrees and trying various ‘proper jobs’, Vanessa realised that she is fundamentally unsuited to office politics, bad coffee, and wearing tights. After running a small publishing house and founding an award-winning bookshop, she took some time out to revisit her writing ambitions.
Vanessa lives mostly in Edinburgh with her husband, teenage son and an unfeasibly large dog. She can usually be found walking on windy Scottish beaches, browsing in bookshops, or tapping away on her laptop in a c
afé with a flat white to hand.
Find out more about Vanessa on her website:
vanessarobertson.co.uk
You can also catch up with her on social media:
Copyright © 2019 Vanessa Robertson.
The right of Vanessa Robertson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author, except in cases of brief quotations embodied in reviews or articles. It may not be edited, amended, lent, resold, hired out, distributed or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s written permission.
Permission can be obtained from: www.vanessarobertson.co.uk
This book is a work of fiction. Except in the case of historical fact, names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-9160098-1-3
Published by Wild Justice Press
Cover design & interior formatting: Mark Thomas / Coverness.com (via Reedsy.com)
Death Will Find Me (A Tessa Kilpatrick Mystery, Book 1) Page 23