by S L Beaumont
Chapter 44
April 21
I was standing in front of the mirror in the cottage’s tiny bathroom fiddling with my hair when I heard the car pull to a stop outside. Abandoning my attempts to tame the strays that refused to join the rest of the strands in a topknot, I gave myself one last glance and strode towards the front door, just as a firm knock sounded. I grabbed my coat from a hook on the wall and slipped it on before unlocking and opening the door.
Ewan Campbell was illuminated by the porch light dressed in a knee length navy blue overcoat, with a tartan scarf looped around his neck, the ends tucked beneath the collar of his jacket. There was a definite chill to the night air and I was glad that I’d opted for a woolen dress with knee-high boots and tights to keep me warm.
“Jessica, you look lovely,” he said stepping forward to kiss my cheek. I stiffened beneath his advance and had to force myself to not shove him away.
“Thank you, Ewan,” I murmured.
He stepped back, the warmth in his smile not quite reaching his eyes. I shivered.
“It’s cold,” he said. “Let’s get you to the truck.”
I nodded and pulled the door of the cottage shut behind me, hearing the deadbolts engage. Ewan walked ahead of me toward his Range Rover as I wrapped my scarf tightly around my neck and pulled on the gloves from my coat pocket. I nodded my thanks as Ewan held the passenger door open and waited for me to climb up before shutting it and closing me in. I battled my immediate fight or flight instinct with several deep breaths before Ewan climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he said. “Chef has been preparing all day.”
I forced a smile. “Sounds lovely.”
“Beautiful night,” Ewan said as we drove past the Gordon's cottage and turned onto the cliff top road leading down to the harbor. I saw their curtains twitch and Mrs. Gordon’s concerned expression as we passed.
I turned my head to gaze out to sea. It was a clear night; the stars were plentiful and stretched across the sky like a net. The moon cast a silvery trail across the calm waters.
“It’s stunning,” I said. “I’m still getting used to seeing the night sky without the light pollution of the city.”
Ewan turned his head and rewarded my attempt at conversation with another smile. I took a deep breath. I needed to relax and try to act normal or he would suspect that I was up to something.
“Any word on who shot your dog?” he asked.
I snapped my head around to look at him. I wasn’t expecting that question. “Ah no, Constable Jones seem to think that someone shot her accidentally and couldn’t bring themselves to tell me, so brought her back to the cottage so that I could bury her,” I said. I didn’t tell him that the gunman had spoken to me.
Ewan gave me an odd look as he maneuvered the car down the steep part of the road towards the harbor. “And do you agree with that?”
I nodded. “It seems the most likely explanation.”
Ewan pulled the car into the carpark beside the harbor. A small powerful speedboat was tied up alongside the jetty. We climbed from the car and walked towards the boat. Again, I was overcome by a powerful urge to run, but instead I placed one foot in front of the other and continued walking beside Ewan. The even tap of the heels of my boots echoed on the wooden boards as though I was a soldier marching into battle; which in some ways, I guess I was.
Ewan untethered the rope holding the boat in place and leapt aboard. He held out his hand for me to follow. I stepped across the gap between the jetty and the boat just as a small swell passed and I landed off balance up against Ewan. He steadied me with both hands on my shoulders and looked down with an unreadable expression. He released me and turned to start the engine,
“You can sit there,” he said, pointing to one of two seats on the boat.
I had only just perched on the edge of the seat when we pulled away. Ewan navigated the small boat through the harbor entrance and along a twisting passage between dark rocks slick with water towards the island. As we picked up speed, he turned to look at me and I got the most genuine smile of the night so far. Ewan clearly enjoyed travelling at speed across the dangerous channel to his island. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed that the journey would be over soon.
Moments later, the engine slowed and we glided alongside the island’s wharf. Ewan threw a line to a man waiting on the pier and turned to me, once again offering his hand. “Here we are.” I accepted his hand and gave the relative safety of the mainland a final glance. What on earth had I been thinking last night to consider this a good idea? We stepped from the boat and made our way onto the island. A golf buggy was waiting at the end of the pier.
“Your chariot awaits,” Ewan said with a grin. He strode around to the right-hand side and slipped into the seat behind the wheel. I sat beside him and hung on to the handrail beside the seat as Ewan drove the cart up a steep gravel path. We rounded a corner at the top and the house came into view. It was set back from the cliff edge nestled in a semi-circle of tall trees. A driveway curled around a large flat expanse of grass, at the center of which was a floodlit fountain containing a stone statute depicting William Wallace, in a kilt, brandishing a sword.
The house itself was deceptive. As we drew closer the size of the illuminated grey brick structure became apparent. There were turrets, steep gables and castle-like crenellations covering the expansive roof line. I must have gasped, because Ewan chuckled.
“Yes, it’s quite impressive the first time you see it up close,” he said pulling the golf buggy to a stop in front of a large bay window surrounded by the ivy which crept up one side of the house.
Ewan led me beneath a massive stone porch and into a wood paneled foyer. The head of a large stag looked down from its mount on the wall above a carpeted staircase which led up into darkness. The only light came from a large hanging lamp which cast eerie shadows across the space. I shuddered. It was as though I’d stepped into a gothic novel. Ewan threw his gloves on a hall table crowded with framed photographs and strode through a door to our left. I followed him into a long reception room filled with clusters of seating and a welcoming fire crackling in the enormous hearth. The room was lit by side lamps and my attention was drawn to the French doors at the far end which appeared to open out onto a large garden. Ewan helped to remove my coat and scarf before taking them from the room. I wandered through the space taking everything in; the large gilt-framed landscape paintings, vases of artfully arranged dried twigs, soft cashmere throws in earthy tones and a wide floor-to-ceiling bookshelf covering one wall, with a ladder resting against its shelves.
I turned as I heard Ewan return to the room.
“This is a beautiful room,” I said.
He nodded in acknowledgement before taking my elbow and leading me towards the French doors. “You’ll have to come in daylight next time so that you can see the gardens,” he said, opening the door and stepping out onto a flagstone patio. What I could see of the garden under the moonlight was magnificent. Large established trees and shrubs framed beds of flowers arranged in straight even rows. I sensed that we were being watched from beyond the trees at the edge of the lawn and shivered.
“It’s lovely,” I said.
“Let’s get you back inside,” Ewan said, ushering me through the door and closing it behind us. “Now can I get you a drink?”
“Yes, what are you having?”
“I have a bottle of red open.”
“Perfect.”
I accepted the glass he poured and turned my attention to the bookcase. After perusing a few shelves, I realized that almost all of the titles were concerned with Scottish history and politics.
“I’m something of an amateur history buff,” Ewan said, coming to stand beside me.
“How long have you lived here?” I asked.
“I was born here. Literally. In a bedroom upstairs,” he said.
“Really? Did you have brothers and sisters?” Ewan shook his head.<
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“That must have been lonely.”
Ewan shrugged. “Not really. We had a lot of staff in those days who either lived in the staff quarters or in cottages on the estate and their children were my playmates.” His expression was distant for a moment before he turned and walked over to the fireplace. I followed, grateful for the warmth it provided.
“Where did you go to school?”
“I was home schooled by my mother until I was twelve. Then it was boarding school and university in Edinburgh. Unfortunately, my father died when I was twenty, so I had to come back and run the estate as soon as I’d completed my degree.”
“So no Mrs. Campbell? No children?” I tried to keep my tone light.
Ewan gave me a hard stare as if trying to understand what I was really asking. “No,” he said. “Enough about me, tell me about you. Where does Jessica McDonald come from?”
“Jessica Harley,” I corrected, “hails from Edinburgh. Like you I was an only child and I too, have lost my father.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, especially as you have also lost your husband prematurely.”
I took a sip of wine.
“You said that you knew Colin.”
Ewan nodded. “Yes, he used to spend his summers in the village when he was a teenager. Our paths crossed from time to time.”
“Did you also know his mother?” I said. “Catriona.”
Ewan’s glass froze halfway to his lips. “Aye, she was a local lass,” he said, slipping into a regional accent.
“Dinner is ready, sir,” a voice called from the doorway.
Ewan’s frown was replaced with a grin. “This way,” he said taking my free hand and leading me from the room, back across the entrance foyer to a dining room on the opposite side of the house.
A long polished wooden table with high-backed chairs was in the center of the large room. Two places had been set at one end of the table which could easily seat twelve people. A picture rail ran at waist height around the circumference of the room with wood paneling below the rail and wallpaper covering the wall above. Large framed paintings of rural scenes were hung around the walls at regular intervals. Heavy damask curtains covered the windows. There was an enormous fireplace in the center of one wall, which was set, but unlit. The table held two large candelabras, with more flickering candles set in sconces on the walls, casting shadows across the room. Two casserole dishes and a carafe of red wine sat on a heavy wooden sideboard against the wall.
Ewan held out a chair for me. I sat my wine glass on the table as I slid into the seat. A man in chef’s whites emerged through a doorway behind me and placed a bowl of steaming soup in front of me and one at Ewan’s place setting.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling at the man.
He gave a curt nod and left the room.
I picked up my spoon and tasted the clear broth. Its warmth trickled down my insides, thawing me out somewhat.
“Why did you come to the village, Jessica?” Ewan asked after a few moments silence.
I sipped another spoonful of soup and put my spoon down. “I wanted to see where Colin grew up.”
“That was in Edinburgh surely.”
“Perhaps I should rephrase. He talked about this village a lot. I wanted to see what it was about this place that attracted him so and try to understand why he did what he did.”
“And what have you discovered?” Ewan asked.
“Well, I didn’t know that his mother grew up and died here. I guess that goes some way to explaining the attraction to the area.”
“But I got the impression that you no longer cared about him.”
“Oh I don’t. In fact, I hate him, for what he became, for what he made me an unwitting accomplice to. He has ruined my life. I just don’t understand what made him fanatical and how he hid it so well. But I intend to find out.”
Ewan opened his mouth to reply when the door from the foyer opened and a man in dark clothes entered. He strode straight over to Ewan and bent to speak in a low voice in his ear. I watched as Ewan’s posture changed and his gaze slid sideways to me.
“Thank you, Ben,” he said dismissing the man. Ben left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“We have an ongoing battle with poachers on the estate and it would appear that tonight is no different,” he said.
The chef reappeared and cleared away the soup. Ewan stood and topped up our wine glasses from the carafe before the chef returned carrying two plates of salmon, dauphinoise potatoes and a medley of vegetables, which he placed in front of us. My murmur of thanks was once again met with a single nod.
“Freshly caught this morning on the estate,” Ewan said as I took a bite.
“Wow, it’s delicious,” I said, savoring the mouthful.
We ate in silence for a few minutes until Ewan’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at it.
“I’m sorry, Jessica, but you’ll have to excuse me for a moment.”
“Of course,” I said, putting my cutlery down and picking up my wine.
Ewan pushed back his chair, stood and hurried from the room, towards the entrance foyer.
I sat back and had just lifted the glass to my lips to take a sip when there was a loud crash behind me. I jumped, spilling some of the wine on my hand. I grabbed my napkin as I spun around in my seat and looked behind me. A stooped man stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen, the light behind him forming a halo around his outline. A figure was sprawled at his feet, holding his shoulder and groaning. A booted foot connected with the torso of the person on the ground, kicking him further into the room so that he came to rest in a pool of candlelight. I gasped as the man looked up at me through swollen eyes and a bloodied face. Will. I leapt up, dropping the napkin and rushed forward, as he croaked out a low, “No.”
“Stop.” The man in the shadows spoke with a slur. “Step away from him.”
I hesitated and peered towards the voice before I turned and shouted. “Ewan.”
Footsteps approached the main door and Ewan burst into the room. He quickly assessed the situation and came to stand beside me.
“Well, this is unfortunate,” he said. “I take it you are acquainted with our trespasser.”
“No,” Will rasped.
“He wasn’t asking you,” the other man slurred, stepping forward and silencing Will with another kick.
“Stop it,” I yelled.
The man stepped into the light and I gave a little scream before I could stop myself. He walked with a pronounced limp and was missing an arm, but it was his face that horrified me the most. On one side the skin was puckered and shiny, like a melted piece of plastic had been pressed into his cheek. The side of his mouth was misshapen and between his lips I could see gaps where there should have been teeth. His scalp was an angry pink, bald in parts and covered in thin wispy strands of hair in others.
“No,” I whispered. “You’re dead.”
“Oh no, darling wife,” he spluttered. “As you can see, I’m very much alive.”
Chapter 45
April 21
I took a step backwards and looked at Ewan. He gave Colin a gentle smile before turning to me.
“Despite your best efforts, my son didn’t die in that explosion,” he said. “You couldn’t leave it alone could you?” He gripped my arm, his fingers digging into my bicep, sending shooting pains through my body.
“Why?” I forced myself to look back at Colin. “You are responsible for the deaths of all those people.”
“It’s a long story,” he said, his words whistling as though he had a bad speech impediment. “Why did you come here?”
“Tonight?”
“No, to Strathgarvan?”
“To find out what made you a fanatic.”
Colin laughed. “I’m not a fanatic, just a realist. As I told you many times, if you’d actually listened, it’s time that the English gave Scotland back to us.”
I stared at h
im. “And setting off bombs and killing innocent people is the way to get them to do that?”
“It worked for the IRA, right, Dad?” Colin looked over at Ewan, before looking back at me. “Jess, why wouldn’t you just take a hint and go away? I thought when I shot your dog you would leave.”
“It was you,” I whispered. “How could you?”
“You loved that bloody animal more than you ever loved me. I watched you going out each day with it, talking to it, cuddling it,” Colin snarled.
“You’re mad,” I breathed. My eyes dropped to Will, who was struggling to maintain consciousness.
“Ewan, surely you don’t condone this,” I turned to him and pleaded.
“You’ve been a thorn in our sides for months, girl,” he said. “First your father, and then you interfering.”
“My father?”
“Your father was this close to uncovering our plans,” Ewan said, holding his fingers millimeters apart.
I started shaking my head and trying to pull away. I could feel my anger rising. “No.”
“He had to be dealt with,” Ewan said.
“No wonder you didn’t want to be at his funeral,” I spat, looking to Colin.
He shrugged. “That would have been hypocritical,” he conceded.
“Were you really in Dubai?”
Colin laughed. “Nah, I was here.”
“You bastard.”
“Maybe, but then you brought MI5 into our lives. Did you know or were you so stupid that you were caught in his honey trap?” Colin launched his boot into Will’s side again.
“Stop it, you’re killing him,” I cried, wrenching myself free of Ewan’s grasp and rushing to Will’s side, crouching down beside him, running my hand over his head.
Colin gave a hearty laugh. It was an awful sound, wheezy and wet. “That’s the plan.”
He pulled a revolver from the waistband of his jeans and aimed it at Will. I rose to my feet, putting myself between Colin and Will.