The Woman on the Cliff

by JANICE FROST

  “As long as there are no complications, which there weren’t with Karl. I used to be a nurse. I knew the signs to look out for. He was feverish and grizzly but his symptoms were mild. I told the police about this at the time. I couldn’t have coped without Andrew.”

  “Was there anyone else staying at your house that weekend, Mrs Calder?” Innes asks.

  “No. It was just the three of us.”

  “You’re quite sure about that?”

  “Yes.”

  Innes leans forward. “What about two weekends prior to that one? Anyone stay with you on the Saturday night?”

  Annie appears to be thinking. After a few moments, she says, “Not that I remember. It was a long time ago. The weekend we’re talking about only stands out because it was the weekend Moira Mackie was murdered, and the police questioned us about what we’d been doing.”

  “So, Andrew’s friend, Piers Thornton, didn’t stay with you two weeks prior to the weekend Moira was murdered?”

  A wary look creeps into Annie’s eyes. “Piers? No.” She hesitates. “Then again, he might have done. Piers did stay with us from time to time when he came over from Edinburgh. It’s too long ago for me to remember one way or the other. Why do you ask? Have you been speaking with Piers?”

  “Yes. We spoke with him just this morning. He distinctly remembers staying with you two weeks before Moira was murdered. He remembers that weekend particularly because he’d rowed with his girlfriend and missed the last train back to Edinburgh. He claims that he spent that Saturday night with you, and that Andrew was in Edinburgh. He remembers your baby being sick and crying a lot. You were floor-walking him half the night and he distinctly remembers you telling him he had croup. Seems unlikely that Karl had croup both weekends, since as you said, it’s usually a short-term illness. And you also said that Karl’s was a mild case.”

  The intensity of Annie’s frown brings her eyebrows together into a single line.

  “Piers must be mistaken,” she says. “Karl didn’t have croup that weekend. It was the weekend Moira Mackie was murdered, as I’ve said already. Piers didn’t have any experience of young children. Perhaps he heard Karl crying a couple of times in the night and thought he’d been crying for longer than he really was.” She again reminds us that we are talking about events that occurred a very long time ago.

  “Do you mind if I ask you about your ex-husband’s cousin, Hans?” Innes asks abruptly.

  “Cousin?” She frowns again. Has she even heard of Hans?

  “Andrew’s parents were German, weren’t they?” Innes says. “He had German relatives, I believe.”

  I take out my sketch of the man Lucy saw speaking with Moira the day she disappeared, and show it to Annie.

  She shakes her head. “Er . . . I never actually met him.” She looks down, rubs at the arm of her chair as though trying to remove a stain.

  “Hans never came to visit when he was in Scotland?” Innes asks.

  “No. Andrew tended to meet his cousin in Germany, or . . . or somewhere else when Hans was over here. Which wasn’t that often.”

  “What was Hans’s surname?”

  Annie Calder seems to recoil. “I . . . I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember your own relative’s surname?” Innes injects a liberal dose of incredulity into his tone.

  “Ex-relative’s. And I’ve already told you, I never met Hans. All that was in another lifetime as far as I’m concerned. Andrew and I were only married four years, for Christ’s sake. I’ve been married to my present husband for twenty.”

  I’ve been studying Annie Calder and her reactions. Initially hostile, she’s become increasingly on her guard. Now she looks defeated, almost as though she’s finally breaking under the weight of a long-held burden.

  Then again, perhaps her account of that weekend is the truth and she is right about Piers exaggerating the baby’s distress on the night when he stayed with them. If so, her discomfort might just be a symptom of her reluctance to revisit this unhappy time in her past. I begin to doubt that we will ever know the truth about what happened to Moira.

  “What did you think of Andrew’s politics, Mrs Calder?” Innes asks.

  Annie Calder gives a start. “What have Andrew’s politics got to do with anything? He was left wing. He still is. That’s not a crime. What is this? Some kind of witch hunt?”

  It’s intriguing that this question agitates her so much. I think of Andrew in the house on North Street, arguing with Elspeth about communism. How he’d claim his views had been modified by his time in East Germany in the late seventies. There, he’d witnessed first-hand the effects of living under a repressive regime.

  “Of course not. My apologies,” Innes says. Annie looks at me. I see a different emotion in her eyes now. Suspicion.

  “Who are you, exactly?” she asks me, before demanding of Nevin, “What’s going on here? Are you even police? Show me some identification.”

  Innes raises his hands, but Annie Calder is past placating. “I’d like you both to leave. Now.”

  I stand and head for the hallway. Innes follows. We leave Annie Calder calling that she will report us to the real police.

  Out on the street, I ask Innes what he told Annie Calder about his present professional status.

  “When I called her to arrange this meeting, I introduced myself as plain Innes Nevin. I said I’d worked on the Moira Mackie case and was following up on some new information that had come to light. She assumed, and . . .”

  “You didn’t bother to correct her. Couldn’t you be in a lot of trouble if she reports this?”

  Innes shrugs. “Do you think that’s likely?”

  He’s right. “No. I get the impression that Annie Calder doesn’t want the police — real or otherwise — poking their noses into certain aspects of her past.”

  “Hmm,” Innes responds. “That was my impression too.”

  “It panicked her when you mentioned Andrew’s politics, and Hans in particular.” Innes nods, but says nothing. I sense we’re on the same wavelength.

  * * *

  Not long after leaving Annie Calder’s house, I receive a text from Izzy. She’s making her own way to Elspeth’s place and will see us there.

  Innes and I walk arm-in-arm through Princes Street Gardens. We pause for a few moments at the floral clock, waiting for the cuckoo to sound the hour. I feel a childish delight when it pops out, remembering years gone by when I stood here with my parents, and later with Doug and Izzy.

  Looking back usually makes me sad, but not this evening. For the first time in ages, I feel that this later stage of my life need not be a gradual descent into lonely old age. Part of that is because when I contemplate the future now, I see Innes at my side. But it’s more than that. I know that my house in London will soon be sold, and I feel more in control of my life than I have in years.

  Innes slips his arm around my waist, draws me into an embrace and we kiss. I am weak and dizzy with desire. So much for being in control of my life — I can’t even control my body! A group of young people walks past, sniggering. One of them calls back, “Get a room!”

  “Impudent pup,” Innes says. “Shame we can’t follow his advice. Right now.”

  We collect Innes’s car and drive to Morningside. Izzy has arrived ahead of us and is curled up on Elspeth’s sofa sipping a glass of white wine. Duncan, who was there to show us in, asks us what we’d like to drink.

  “Elspeth’s not home from work yet,” Izzy explains. “Duncan says she’ll be back any minute.”

  “Sorry, I should have said something when I answered the door,” Duncan calls from the hall. His head appears around the door. “One of her clients requested a meeting at short notice.” He hands each of us a glass of wine. “Elspeth is too accommodating sometimes.” He looks at Innes. I wonder what Elspeth has told her husband about him.

  “Izzy’s been telling me about her terrible experience,” Duncan says.

  “Yes, it was terrible,” I sa
y.

  “Have the police got anywhere with finding out who was responsible?”

  “No. Not yet. We’re just all glad she’s recovering well.”

  “That’s the most important thing,” Duncan says. After the slightest pause, he adds, “Izzy’s safety.”

  I feel a prickling sensation in my spine. There’s nothing sinister about his words, or the way he said them. Duncan is only saying what anyone would say. It’s difficult not to resort to platitudes in these instances. So why do his words provoke a sense of unease in me?

  The door slams suddenly. Not loudly, but enough to make me jump.

  “Sorry I’m late, everyone,” Elspeth calls from the hall. “Bloody client,” she says, appearing at the door. “Wasn’t even anything urgent. It could easily have waited until tomorrow.”

  Duncan pours her a glass of wine. She puts it down immediately and comes over to embrace me and then Izzy. Finally, she turns to Innes. I cringe inwardly.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Innes.” Elspeth smiles and I relax a little. She’s opted to act as though their last meeting never happened. It’s a talent she has, airbrushing out elements of the past that don’t fit with the present.

  “Pleasure to meet you again too, Elspeth.” Innes is politeness personified.

  Duncan asks if we are ready to eat. Izzy instantly jumps to her feet, making noises of approval. Elspeth disappears upstairs. She returns minutes later, having discarded her suit in favour of jeans and a pale blue cashmere sweater that softens her features.

  Duncan says, “So, Ros, Elspeth tells me you two met on the beach the day you dropped Izzy off at St Andrews, but that you knew each other years ago while you were a student at the university.” I glance at Elspeth, who is holding her glass of wine aloft, swirling the contents. I catch her eye. It appears distorted through the wine glass.

  “Yes,” I reply hesitantly.

  “I’ve told Duncan that Innes worked on the investigation into Moira’s murder when he was a young PC,” Elspeth says, clearing up any uncertainty.

  “I can’t believe you guys never mentioned your housemate Moira before. It’s such a huge thing to happen.” I decide to let Elspeth comment on Izzy’s remark.

  “I think we were all just relieved that Moira’s killer was caught quickly. We just wanted to put it all behind us and focus on the future.” She turns to Innes. “The police did a tremendous job in solving the case so rapidly. They’re to be congratulated.” She holds her glass aloft in a toast to Innes. He gives a little bow, which brings a smile to my lips. I peer at Elspeth over the rim of my glass. Is she mocking us?

  Izzy glances at me. I’m glad she doesn’t ask any more questions about Moira. I’ve spoken to her about not mentioning the real reason for our trip to Edinburgh, or Innes’s communication with Barbara MacDonald. I know she’s eager to know more and I will fill her in later, at a more appropriate time.

  So I’m unprepared for Izzy’s next comment. It’s not her fault. With everything else that’s been going on, I’ve forgotten to ask her not to mention Lucy.

  “So, when are you coming across to St Andrews to see your long-lost friend, Lucy?” She asks Elspeth. Elspeth freezes, fork in hand, and looks at me. Heat prickles over my face and neck.

  “Lucy is in St Andrews?”

  “Yes. I was going to tell you, Elspeth. I just haven’t had a chance.”

  “How . . .?”

  “She settled there a few years ago. She’d lived abroad before that. We bumped into each other in a coffee shop. She’s like a different person, so much more confident. It’s lovely to see.”

  “Did she mention why she never bothered to keep in touch?” Elspeth asks.

  I skirt round the question. “She lived abroad for years — Australia, New Zealand, more recently the States. She has a husband and grown-up twin sons.”

  “Good for her.” Elspeth’s undisguised sarcasm causes Izzy to give me a questioning look. I glare at her. Duncan looks a bit embarrassed. I wonder how well he really knows Elspeth.

  “Didn’t you like Lucy, then?” he asks.

  “I didn’t much like that she couldn’t be bothered to keep in touch with her best friends.”

  “Lucy quit university after Moira’s death. It affected her much more than the rest of us,” I explain. “It brought on a bout of depression. She couldn’t face coming back for her final year.”

  “I seem to remember Shona being cut up over Moira too, but she managed to hold herself together and get a good degree,” Elspeth says.

  “Well, Lucy didn’t have Shona’s inner resources at the time. The only way she knew how to cope was by getting away.”

  “A complete break with her past,” Izzy comments.

  I’d like to tell Elspeth that Lucy would love to see her, but Lucy has admitted that she never truly liked Elspeth. Her willingness to get on with Elspeth in the past had sprung not from genuine affection, but from insecurity and her anxiousness to fit into the cliques within our household. She’d also feared that crossing Elspeth would have cost her my friendship. Lucy had always been the odd one out.

  “Well, here’s to Lucy.” Elspeth raises her glass. I can’t tell if her tone is mocking or not. We join her in toasting Lucy. After that, to my relief, the subject is dropped.

  The meal over, Duncan and Innes retreat to the kitchen to wash up. I can hear Duncan telling Innes about his work for the Scottish parliament. Izzy is upstairs, texting her friends and, I suspect, calling Tom. She’s had too much to drink and will probably fall asleep. Elspeth and I are left together.

  “Innes seems charming,” Elspeth says. “I’m pleased for you.”

  I steer clear of mentioning her attempt at sabotaging my relationship with him. Maybe Moira and, more recently, Lucy were right. I do go to great lengths to avoid confrontations with Elspeth. I’ve always believed it’s because I knew her better than anyone else in the house on North Street and understood what motivated her. Now I wonder if I’ve been seeing her through a glass darkly, as they say. Misinterpreting her all along.

  “We seem to get along well,” I say.

  “You seem to have been bumping into a lot of old ghosts lately — Innes, Andrew Kelso. And now Lucy.”

  “Yes, I suppose it does look that way.”

  “And all chance meetings. Quite the coincidence.” Her eyes are narrow.

  I shrug. “St Andrews is a small town.”

  “Must have been awkward seeing Andrew after all that happened. God, that man was vain.”

  “You didn’t think so at the time,” I say.

  Elspeth’s lip curls in distaste. “I suppose I was infatuated. What can I say? I was a naïve young thing back then.”

  Young, yes, I think, but it’s a stretch to believe that Elspeth has ever been naïve.

  “So, you hooked up with him after Moira’s death?” I say.

  “I told you when you called me, remember?” Elspeth gives a sigh. “I suppose I should have told you back then but I knew you wouldn’t have approved. And Shona would have freaked out, so . . .” Elspeth waves her arms in the air. “All water under the bridge now, isn’t it?” Her eyes slide slowly over my face. It feels like I’m being carefully scrutinised for the slightest hint of disagreement.

  I swallow. Clear my throat. “No, not really.”

  Elspeth’s eyes are slits. “What do you mean? Surely you don’t hold it against me after all these years?”

  I’m glad she’s misinterpreted me. She’s assumed I was referring solely to her affair with Andrew. For a moment, I’d been tempted to blurt out everything, and demand to know whether there’s anything else she’s been keeping from me about that time. I feel a sudden urge to antagonise her, so I say, “Andrew told me he loved Moira. Got quite misty-eyed about her.”

  Irritatingly, Elspeth just snorts, “In what world do you think I care about that now? For fuck’s sake, Ros, Moira’s been pushing up daisies for a quarter of a century. And I am so over Andrew Kelso.”

  Fr
om the kitchen comes the sound of laughter. Innes and Duncan seem to be bonding. Elspeth’s words shock me somehow, for they seem to suggest that Moira’s murder meant nothing to her. I look for an explanation for her lack of empathy and, as usual, I find one. Of course. The wicked aunt. Elspeth suffered as a child. She learned early on that you had to draw a line under the past, otherwise it might consume you. Then Innes’s words about this story probably being apocryphal ring in my ears, and the more I think about it, the more I agree with him.

  “I’m sorry, Elspeth,” I say. How often have our disagreements ended with me apologising? But this time, my words are ambiguous. I’m not really saying I’m sorry to Elspeth, I’m sorry for her. It’s as though the wicked aunt has been banished to the fairy-tale realm where she belongs, allowing me to see that there really is something not quite right about Elspeth.

  “Haven’t ‘bumped into’ Piers Thornton as well, have you?” Elspeth asks suddenly.

  “What? No. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, come on, Ros. It’s kind of obvious you and your ex-policeman boyfriend are interested in Moira’s murder and are asking questions like a pair of bloody amateur detectives.”

  Maybe I’ve underestimated her. She always was as sharp as splintered glass. Maybe asking her about Piers when we spoke on the phone was too much.

  “It’s probably because Moira’s death is a common element in all our pasts, that’s all.”

  “So why did you want to know if I’d kept in touch with Piers?” she asks.

  I don’t remember saying that exactly. I think I only asked if she’d bumped into Piers in Edinburgh. It’s not the biggest city, after all. Elspeth’s question seems laden with menace.

  “I just thought maybe your paths had crossed, given that you both live here. Meeting Innes, bumping into Andrew, it’s set me thinking about the past, I suppose. We don’t talk about it much, do we?”

  “Well, our paths haven’t crossed. I believe J.K. Rowling lives in Edinburgh but I’ve never bumped into her either.”

  “We should have told the police about Piers Thornton,” I say.

  “Told them what? There was nothing to tell.”