by R. D. Nixon
‘I’m just checking prices, thanks.’
The young man shrugged, though not without sympathy. ‘We do offer a lower rate for subsequent nights.’
‘We’re only here for the one. These prices are a bit mad, aren’t they?’
‘We usually find people are extremely satisfied with the service.’
‘I’m sure they are; it’s not the service I’m complaining about.’ Charis sighed. ‘As it happens, I don’t have that much choice at the moment, so I’ll take a twin room please.’
Behind her she heard Jamie give a little ‘yes!’ not quite as under his breath as he assumed, and she smiled, catching the receptionist’s amused glance. Then she reluctantly produced her credit card, giving it an apologetic look, and a minute later the receptionist pushed two keys over the polished wooden surface – actual keys too, not cards, and with large, smooth, wooden fobs engraved with their room number. Very nice.
‘Second floor,’ the receptionist said. ‘Out of the lift, turn left, and it’s right at the end of the corridor, by the fire exit.’
After an early dinner, she saw Jamie into his bed and told him she was going to the bar for a quick nightcap; might as well take advantage of the fact she didn’t have to drive anywhere, and at least she’d be drinking out of a glass here, instead of a plastic cup.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ she asked Jamie, for what might have been the hundredth time judging from his expression. It had only been twice.
‘Of course not. It’ll only be like we’re at home, and you’re in the front room.’
‘I’ll be half an hour, tops. Lock the door behind me, and do not leave this room, understand?’ She kissed him goodnight, reminded him not to watch anything on TV except the regular channels, and went downstairs.
The bar was as beautifully decorated as the lobby and their room, and Charis wished she had something nicer to wear; the clothes she’d put through the dryers at the launderette were passable but by no means smart. She took her glass of wine and retreated to a small booth, where she could watch everyone else without drawing attention to herself and her faded jeans. She needn’t have worried, really, she realised; as it was still early evening no-one had yet gone to change for dinner, and many were still wandering around in never-seen-a-patch-of-mud green wellies and new quilted Barbours. She blended in reasonably well.
Around ten minutes later she sat up straight, slopping her drink over her wrist. The man who’d stolen her camera was walking through the door... Was he still following her? Silly question, why else would a local bloke come to a hotel? She was about to march up to him and demand answers, when a figure emerged from another booth and moved into the light, crossing to the bar where the Stalking Scotsman now leaned.
Charis had never seen the American Jamie had talked about, but she guessed this was him. He moved with an assurance and a purpose that made the tall Scot seem like a shambling bear by comparison, and also dressed in classic smart-casual, in contrast to the rest of the happily mingling guests.
She watched closely, hidden by the curve of her own booth, and soon realised these two men were not the best of friends. The Scotsman turned as the other approached, and immediately he stood straighter, his brows drawing together in the same frown she had last seen directed at her. She almost felt sorry for the American, who had his phone in his hand and was clenching it tightly as he waved it at the Scot. None of their words reached Charis, but it was clear the American was reporting a call that had displeased him, and that he clearly blamed on the other.
They both looked around them often as they talked, falling silent as the barman approached their end of the bar. The Scot ordered a pint of beer, the American a tall glass of what looked like sparkling mineral water, and they moved back to the booth where the American had been waiting. Off to carry on their stupid secret conversation... Charis had had enough. She finished her drink and banged the glass down on the table, choosing to ignore the curious looks she got from a group in the corner as she stood up and straightened her baggy sweater.
She raked her boots down the backs of her calves to smooth the wrinkles in her jeans, snatched her room key from the table, and took a deep breath. He wasn’t getting away with this, local or otherwise; if the police weren’t going to do anything, she would.
Rounding the corner of their booth she wasn’t at all surprised to see them sitting across the table from each other, glaring into their drinks and not speaking.
‘Where’s my camera?’
Both men looked up, startled, first at her and then each other. She stood with folded arms, key fob dangling from her fist, the key itself gripped tight enough to hurt, but she needed that small pain to help stop the trembling.
Finally the Scot spoke, his voice low pitched and insultingly bored. ‘Camera?’
‘I want it back,’ Charis said, ‘and if you’ve deleted any of those pictures, even one, I’ll—’
‘I don’t have your camera, Ms Boulton. Now go away, this is a grown-up conversation.’
‘I’ll go away when you tell me why you’re following me, and why you stole my camera.’
‘Following you? Why the hell would I do that?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, let me think… No, I’ve got no idea.’ Charis flicked an accusatory glance at the American, but, clearly embarrassed for her, he was staring fixedly at the dangling key fob and her sarcasm was wasted.
The Scot followed his gaze, and an amused note crept into his voice. ‘A room key? Why, Ms Boulton, I thought you were roughing it up in the hills. What happened, did the rain get too much for you? Had to come down here to get warm?’
‘As if you didn’t know what happened.’ Charis felt her own fury struggling to break free, but she held it in check. ‘That camera was expensive—’
‘And where’s your little boy this time? Locked in his room while you come down here to get pissed and shout at the other guests?’
‘I am not pissed!’ She could have slapped herself for rising to his bait, but to hear him once again cast negativity on her relationship with Jamie was too much to take. ‘He’s absolutely fine. He’s ten, not five.’
‘Ten’s pretty young,’ the Scot observed, but the confrontational tone dropped away, and he looked back at his drink. There was silence in the booth, and the noise in the rest of the room seemed to rise in proportion.
The American stood up, his phone still in his hand. ‘I’ve got a call to make. Will you guys please sort this out while I’m gone? Mackenzie, we still have things to discuss, and I’d rather not do it in front of this…lady.’
So, his name was Mackenzie. All right, now she had a name to give the police. Speaking of which… She slid into the seat the American had vacated. ‘I’ve reported you, you know, Mr Mackenzie. I couldn’t give them a name, not then, but I’m damned good with descriptions. And that,’ she jabbed her finger at the knotted leather at his throat, ‘seemed to make the nice officer sit up and take notice. Know you, do they, the local police? Seemed like it to me.’
Mackenzie didn’t answer, but his hand went to the leather and brushed over the knots. A strange, hollow expression touched his eyes, just for a second, but when he spoke again those eyes bit into hers like diamond tips.
‘Look, we’ve been through this. Number one, I didn’t follow you and I’ve no idea why you’d want to leave your camp. Number two, I haven’t got your bloody expensive camera, and number three, you have really got to learn to stay away from people like me. And him.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the door the American had gone through. ‘More particularly, you’ve got to keep your boy away.’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t you care what he gets into? What will it take to convince you to just leave here and go and stay somewhere prettier, eh? Go down to Fort Augustus and take the boat trips. Find Nessie. Only piss off and leave this alone.’
‘The only monster around here is you,’ Charis hissed back. She had liked the way it sounded in her head, but his pitying expression made her feel s
tupid. And she hated him for that as much as for his careless remarks about Jamie. ‘You don’t know anything about us,’ she said, and absurdly and annoyingly she felt the hot prickle of tears. ‘You have no idea what we’ve been through, or how much I care about him, and unless you’ve got kids of your own, you never will.’ She waited for him to answer, but he was focused on his drink again, although he’d not taken as much as a sip. She saw a small muscle jumping in his jaw, and pressed on. ‘Well, do you have kids?’
‘No.’ He still didn’t look up.
‘Then don’t you dare try and tell me how to raise mine.’
The row was halted by the reappearance of the American, clearly still angry with Mackenzie. ‘We’ll talk more in the morning. I’m going to bed.’ He picked up his jacket and, without any pretence at pleasant leave-taking, he strode away and left them in their booth.
Charis glared at Mackenzie, trying to figure him out; one minute he was pinning her to the back of her seat with the ferocity of his stare, making her fight for every comment she wanted to make, and the next it was as if he were defeated, unable or unwilling to fight his own corner. She didn’t know if she’d won, or if he’d simply given up trying to get through. Either way she wanted more answers, and she was going to get them.
She stood up. ‘I’m going to get another drink, and this time it’s going to be whisky.’
‘Do what you like, it’s a free country. I’m going to finish my drink, then I’m away. If you’ve no objection?’ Mackenzie finally picked up his pint and took a long drink. For a second Charis’s guard dropped and she considered asking him to stay; she really wanted that camera back. But remembering his cold stare, she kept quiet; if he left, he’d just cement her view of him as a bully, and good riddance to him. She’d had enough bullies in her life. When she got back from the bar, however, she was glad to see he’d replaced the glass, still half full, on its beer mat.
She sniffed her own drink, blinking at the fumes. ‘Did you sell it?’
‘Sell what? Oh God, you’re not still on about your camera, are you?’
‘What do you think?’ Charis drank half her whisky in one gulp, and her mouth dropped open in shock at the burning that flooded her nose and throat. ‘So, did you get rid of it?’ Oh great, now her voice was knackered, momentarily paralysed by the neat whisky.
Mackenzie’s mouth twitched. ‘Are you ever going to accept that I didn’t steal it?’
‘No. So you might as well tell the truth.’
‘Right. Okay, I stole it. I came up to your campsite at... Where was it?’
‘It’s not a proper site, and I can’t remember what the estate’s called,’ Charis said crossly. ‘Glen-something-or-other.’
‘Right. I sneaked up to Glen-something-or-other, by Loch-thingummyjig, and I... What did I do?’
Charis’s certainty wavered. ‘You went through our stuff, and stole—’
‘Your camera. Of course. It’s on eBay for a fiver; I’ll send you the link. There, happy now?’
‘Stop taking the piss. If you didn’t steal it, then who did?’
‘Oh, you’re prepared to believe me now?’ Mackenzie’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, and he slumped back in mock amazement on the velvet-covered seat.
Charis shrugged. ‘Well, I’m prepared to accept that, maybe, it was someone else.’
‘Ah, that must be the dram you just half killed yourself with. Makes humans of all of us in the end.’
‘Your American friend then?’
‘He’s no bloody friend of mine.’
‘Then what is he? What’s going on, Mackenzie?’
Abruptly the mellow humour that had been gradually creeping across the Scot’s face vanished, and he was closed to her again. ‘Finish your drink, and get away to your bed and your wee boy, okay?’ He stayed slumped, staring into his drink again, distractedly turning up the corners of his cardboard beer mat. Charis picked up her own drink and sipped at it, reluctant to leave until she knew more about what Mackenzie and the American were up to.
‘Is it illegal? I mean, your part in it?’
‘No!’ He looked up, and his voice softened. ‘No. It’s not illegal.’
She stared at him a moment longer, assessing the truth in his expression, then, satisfied, she nodded. If she had misjudged him about the camera, perhaps she was being hasty about his treatment of Jamie.
‘Goodnight then, Mackenzie. And... I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ Now his smile was back, just a shadow, but it was there. ‘You pissed my “American friend” off, and that’s worth all the verbal scourging you can dish out.’
Two floors up, Charis found herself still echoing that faint smile as she stepped out of the lift, but it froze as she saw someone outside the last door in the corridor: hers and Jamie’s room. The man had been bending over to call through the lock, but had looked around at the muted ping from the lift. The sight of that handsome, familiar face turned her blood to ice.
He straightened. ‘Hello, love.’ His voice was soft, friendly. ‘Our lad in there, then?’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Is that any way to greet your husband?’
‘Ex.’ Charis’s throat was so tight she could barely get the word out. She had to get him away from that room. ‘How the hell did a nasty piece of work like you get parole?’
His expression darkened, but her words had worked. He came down the corridor to where she stood, and she forced herself to remain still, praying Jamie wouldn’t hear them and open the door. ‘Well?’
Daniel’s hand rose, and she flinched, but he simply stroked her rigid jaw. ‘What you did to me, love, that was wrong. Vicious and unnecessary. But you know that now, don’t you?’
Fear was uncurling, snapping at her insides. How had he found out? ‘Who told you?’
‘My brief let it slip. She was gutted about that, but I’d say she finally earned her fee by that mistake alone. Because now I know who to blame for getting me put away.’
Charis’s heart was hammering, and she felt sick. How could he be here? How could he have found her? She closed her eyes, desperately wishing someone would come up the stairs, but no-one did. Daniel’s hand dropped away, but the relief vanished when he took hold of hers instead.
‘Come on, love, I know things have been difficult. I know you think you and the lad weren’t a big part of my life, but you’re wrong. I was probably just a bit…heavy-handed, trying to be a good dad to him. A firm parent. We were good together at the start, weren’t we? Hey.’ He put a finger beneath her chin and made her look at him. ‘Weren’t we?’
She nodded, tears prickling at her eyes, and the tenderness that came over his face almost convinced her, the way it had convinced everyone else who saw it. He’s such a nice bloke, Charis! Such a great dad. You’re so lucky...
‘Then why don’t we give it another shot?’ Daniel’s brown eyes were gentle. The soft shine in them told the story of how deeply he felt about her; of course he would put everything aside to come and find her, despite what she’d done. ‘Come on, love. Fetch the lad and let’s go home.’
‘He’s not here,’ Charis managed. ‘He’s…staying with some friend he made at the campsite.’
‘Campsite?’ Daniel raised an eyebrow. ‘I’d hardly call it that.’
Realisation had been late in coming, but it hit now. ‘So it was you,’ she whispered. ‘How did you find us?’
‘I’ll tell you all about it later. Look, come home,’ he repeated. ‘We’ll go and fetch the kid, and then we can go back tonight. No need to hang around here.’
Charis kept her voice steady, with an effort. ‘Come downstairs, we can’t discuss this in the corridor.’
He tugged her hand gently. ‘Let’s go to your room, then.’
‘No!’ Charis jerked away. She forced herself to sound more regretful. ‘It says on the notice downstairs that non-residents aren’t allowed in rooms.’
‘Does it, now?’ Daniel gave her a rather too-k
nowing smile. ‘All right then. Downstairs it is.’
On shaking legs, Charis led Daniel down the stairs and into the lounge. To her relief she saw Mackenzie still staring into his drink, and when he looked up she tried to catch his eye, to convey her distress, to make him see past what everyone else saw. But he merely registered surprise.
‘Ms Boulton.’
Daniel put an arm around her shoulder. ‘Not for much longer, mate.’ He grinned at Charis, that sweet, endearing grin with which he’d won her heart in another life. ‘Charis Thorne always sounded better – you said so yourself, didn’t you?’
She somehow smiled at him, then turned back to the Scot. ‘Can we join you, Mr Mackenzie? You look a bit lonely sitting there by yourself.’
‘Leave him alone, love,’ Daniel said, tightening his hold on her shoulder. ‘He’s probably just winding down after a busy day.’
‘Not at all.’ Mackenzie sat up straighter and indicated the banquette opposite. ‘Please, sit down.’
Charis felt Daniel’s fingers digging into her upper arms, and just managed not to cry out; she’d done that before, and lived to regret it. ‘Just for a few minutes,’ she said, as much an appeasement to her ex-husband as a promise to Mackenzie.
Daniel ushered her in first, so that she sat in the corner, pinned. He put a hand over hers where it lay on the table. ‘You two know each other, then?’
‘No,’ they both said together. ‘Not really,’ Charis went on. ‘I’m afraid I gave Mr Mackenzie a bit of a hard time when I thought he’d stolen my new camera.’
‘This one?’ Daniel dug into his coat pocket. ‘Silly girl, you left it in your sister’s flat. She asked me to bring it for you since I was coming up.’
Charis’s chest tightened. Of course he had been to Suze’s; how else would he have found out where she was camping? But how did he know about the hotel? The room number? He must have been following her for the last day, at least. And now it was obvious too, who Jamie had seen hanging around the car at the blackhouse. Was he hoping to find her with some new bloke?