Cauldstane (16 page)

‘Stop frett
ing and go and run your bath.’

‘If you come across the hat pin…’ I hesitated, remembering but scarcely believing the thing had flown through the air towards me
, like a heat-seeking missile. ‘Could you put it on my desk? I want to return it to Zelda and ask her about its history. I have a nasty feeling Meredith left that pin on my desk for a reason.’

‘What will you say to Zelda?’

‘I’ll just tell her I found it. Which I did. A hat pin is the sort of thing that could suddenly turn up, isn’t it? Easy to lose.’

Alec looked sceptical. ‘If you say so.’

‘Oh, I’ll think of something to say! Remember, my natural bent is fiction. Making stuff up comes easily to me. Sticking to the facts requires far more discipline.’

‘
So which facts are you discussing with Sholto today?’

I
thought about fudging the issue, but decided to be straight with Alec. I sat down again on the edge of the bed and said, ‘I’ve asked him if he’ll tell me about the deaths of his wives.’

‘He wasn’t there. For either of them
.’

‘I know. And I think that’s something that bothers him
. Which probably means it needs to go into the book.’

‘He can tell you what he knows, but the information is secondhand. The police told him wha
t happened to Meredith. When my mother died he wasn’t even first on the scene.’

‘Who was?’

Alec fixed me with a bleak look. ‘Apart from me, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘Meredith.’

‘And you t
old her what had happened?’ He nodded. ‘And she told Sholto?’

‘She told everyone. They all came out into the courtyard at once.
Because of all the racket. But Sholto was the last to know. He thought something terrible had happened to
me
. Meredith told him why I was crying, then he saw my mother lying on the ground… I can’t tell you what happened then because Wilma took me inside. I sat on her lap in the kitchen until I stopped crying, then she put me to bed. She read to me for a wee while, then I must have fallen asleep.’

‘I had no idea Wilma had been at Cauldstane for such a long time.’

‘She’s been here as long as I have. She was young when the accident happened. Well, she seemed old to me, but she wasn’t. She’d been our nanny and then she stayed on as general factotum. She was promoted to housekeeper after Ma died.’ There was a silence in which I struggled not to ask more questions, but Alec must have sensed how my mind was working. ‘If you need to know, Jenny, I’ll tell you what I remember, but it isn’t much. I didn’t recall much at the time and my mother died over thirty years ago.’

‘I’d prefer to
talk to Sholto first. It’s his book. What
he
remembers is what’s important. For the book I mean.’

‘He feels gu
ilty he wasn’t there. Guilty he betrayed her. Guilty he wasn’t able to deal with a distraught son who had to be comforted by a servant. Go easy on him, Jenny. He’s a sad, old man.’

‘Oh, I will, don’t you worry. I’m almost as fond of Sholto as I am of you.’

‘Careful now,’ Alec said, shaking his head. ‘That was Meredith’s problem.’ A smile flickered briefly across his face. Just the ghost of a smile.

~

I’d declined Alec’s offer to accompany me back to my room because I hadn’t wanted him to see how frightened I was. If he’d picked up on my nervousness, it would only have strengthened his conviction I should leave Cauldstane. He was clearly concerned for my physical well-being, but since he was acquainted with my mental health history, he might also have feared for my emotional stability, so I’d wanted to give the impression I’d taken Meredith’s ghost in my stride, that it would be business as usual. If Alec thought I was bluffing, he’d been too polite to say so.

Stan
ding outside my room, I hesitated for a long moment, then grasped the door handle, turned it and walked in – actually, I
swept
in – but I left the door open, in case I needed to beat a swift retreat.

The room was just as
Alec and I had left it. A tip. I was relieved to see the laptop was still shut. I didn’t know when I’d have the courage to open it again, but I certainly didn’t have time now, so I looked away from my desk and surveyed the rest of the room.

T
wo pillows remained propped up side by side against the bed head, still bearing the imprint of our bodies where Alec and I had sat in bed, trying to guess what Meredith would do next. As I picked my way through the pieces of broken china on the floor, a dark brown canine eye stared up at me, accusingly. I felt vaguely guilty, even though I hadn’t been responsible. I bent and picked it up, together with the larger fragments and set them on the desk. The dogs were smashed beyond repair and I felt suddenly furious at Meredith’s wanton destruction. Then it struck me: smashing ornaments was the least of the wretched woman’s sins.

I began
to ponder the extent of Meredith’s powers.
Could
she hurt me? She’d hurled things at me, but could she do anything more dangerous? Were Alec’s fears reasonable? My stomach lurched as another idea struck me: could Meredith read my thoughts?... I’d seen no evidence of that, though she’d shown she could respond to what I’d written on the laptop.

My imagination started
to run wild. Could Meredith
see
me? Was she actually watching me now? Did she watch me while I slept?... I started to shake but took comfort from the fact that Alec wasn’t far away and had placed a protective blade under my mattress. I didn’t see how that could make a blind bit of difference, but if Alec was prepared to put his faith in ancient superstitions, that was good enough for me. It was no more irrational than Rupert’s faith in the power of prayer and since I had no other means of defence at my disposal, beggars could hardly be choosers.

F
eeling vulnerable and more than a little despondent, I gathered up my towel and toiletries and headed for the bathroom next door. Once inside, I locked the door. A temporary sense of security gave way to the realisation that locked doors were unlikely to deter vengeful ghosts. As I watched the bath fill with hot water, I decided to unlock the door again, in case Meredith should try to drown me and I needed to call for help.

I slid the bolt back again,
reflecting that I’d known of Meredith’s ghostly existence for only a matter of hours, but already full-blown paranoia had set in. I tried to laugh at myself and failed.

~

I bathed in record time, humming tunelessly to keep my spirits up and to warn the unwary that the bathroom was occupied. Back in my room, I dressed with some care and applied a little make-up. This wasn’t for Alec’s benefit, rather to give myself a bit of Dutch courage to face my day, a day which would encompass Sholto’s double bereavement and before that, confronting Meredith’s portrait, which I’d have to pass on my way down to the dining room.

I examined my face in the cracked mirror and was reasonably happy with what I saw.
I was surprised to see I looked quite normal, not at all like someone who’d seen a ghost. A slight tendency to smirk could be curbed if I stopped thinking about Alec. (Easier said than done.) I re-touched my lipstick and told myself I didn’t look bad for a woman who wouldn’t see forty-two again.

My confidence lasted until I faced Meredith’s portrait. Life-size, with lustrous dark eyes that followed the viewer, it was impossible to ignore
. I didn’t even try. I stood on the stairs, facing the picture and tried to fathom the woman.

Delusional, obviously.

Talented, evidently.

Sexually voracious
, apparently.

But s
ociopathic? Not while she was alive, surely? Yet Alec was clearly afraid of what she might do now. After years of being bullied from both sides of the grave, he’d finally found someone in whom he could confide, yet he wanted me to leave. For my own safety. Was Alec as delusional as Meredith?...

I looked her in the
oil-painted eye and muttered, ‘Can’t we just be adult about this?’ There was no response, so I set off downstairs in search of breakfast.

~

Fortified by a bowl of Wilma’s excellent porridge, some fruit and a pot of strong coffee, I made my way back up to the library for my daily meeting with Sholto. Mounting the stairs briskly, I ignored Meredith’s portrait.

As I walked along the
dingy corridor, I considered my feelings for this old man, who was endearing and exasperating in equal measure. The idea of Sholto coming to any harm made me feel angry, so I had to assume what I felt for him was a kind of love. Deep respect coupled with warm affection – wasn’t that love? For a few years I’d told myself a similar cocktail of emotions would sustain my relationship with Rupert. I don’t believe there had been a great deal more on Rupert’s side. He’d always found science and religion more exciting mistresses than me, but I hadn’t felt physically starved. My life had been one of the intellect and the imagination. Writing fiction had provided me with hordes of imaginary friends, then ghostwriting had put me in touch with a wide range of subjects, their families, friends and, in some cases, their enemies.

Life had seemed full. I hadn’t ever felt
hungry
, but I suspect I was malnourished. Since meeting Alec I’d become increasingly and uncomfortably aware of the years, post-Rupert, of sexual famine. But would my professional ethics – or Alec’s misgivings about my personal safety – allow me to indulge in a feast?...

Pleasant as
it was, I pushed this thought to the back of my mind and assumed my professional persona. Imogen might be falling for the heir to Cauldstane, but Jenny had a job to do.

I knocked on the library door and entered.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sholto was standing at one of the long windows, watching the rain. He didn’t turn or give any indication he’d heard me enter, so I suspected he hadn’t heard my knock. Sholto insisted he wasn’t hard of hearing, but Zelda often teased him about it. I’d noticed that the best way to keep his attention was to sit somewhere he could see my face, which made me wonder if he depended to a degree on lip-reading. So I approached his desk slowly, not wishing to startle him. When he still didn’t turn, I cleared my throat discreetly. He spun round, his faded blue eyes wide with surprise.

‘Good Lord
– Jenny! Is that the time?’

‘Good morning, Sholto. I’m afraid it is. In fact
, I’m a little late this morning. Sorry to have kept you waiting.’

‘
No need to apologise. I’ve just been standing here, watching the damn rain, trying to compose my thoughts. Without much success, I’m afraid.’ Leaning heavily on his stick, he tapped the window pane with a finger. ‘We buried Meredith on a day like this. Rained cats and dogs! Liz was luckier. She got sunshine,’ he added, then lapsed into morose silence.

‘We don’t have to stick to our schedule,’ I said gently. ‘We can discuss something else
if you’d rather. Or meet at another time?’

‘No, let’s get it over w
ith. This bit of the story, I mean. The deaths. That’s what we agreed to discuss today, wasn’t it?’ He sounded uncertain, as if struggling to remember.

‘Only if you feel up to it. We
have to talk about them some time, but it doesn’t have to be today. You could talk to me instead about managing Cauldstane. The financial burden. The legacy you inherited and the one you hope to pass on to your sons.’

Sholto made a derisive noise.
‘Some legacy! No, let’s talk about my dead wives. At least I know how those two stories end.’ He turned away again and stared at the leaden sky. ‘Can’t stand the rain. It depresses me. Makes me worry about the roof and the thousands it will cost to repair it. It’s only a matter of time before that becomes necessary...’ He fell silent again and I was wondering how to salvage our limping conversation when he suddenly asked, ‘When is it time to let go, Jenny? How do you decide to let go of something or someone you love, because… because it’s just no longer
possible
?’

I hesitated, then said,
‘Are you talking about Cauldstane?’

‘Mostly.’ He
turned round and waved his walking stick in the direction of his desk where there was a pile of opened mail. ‘There have been a lot of bills lately and the bills are on the same scale as Cauldstane. Monumental! You wouldn’t credit what it costs to heat this pile in winter. I wouldn’t mind if that expenditure kept us warm, but just ask Zelda about her chilblains. On second thoughts, don’t. It’s rather a sore point after all her years in the south of France. But she’d tell you, we freeze in winter. Except for Alec, of course. When he’s got his furnace going,
he’s
cosy enough. But the rest of us – well, we just have to put up with it. Cauldstane is kept warm enough to preserve the fabric of the building and its contents, then we have to dress in layers.
Many
layers. As if embarking on a polar expedition.’

Sholto
hobbled over to the fireplace and indicated I should join him in the chairs set either side of the fire. Such was the thickness of Cauldstane’s walls, it was frequently warmer outdoors than in, so the fire was always a welcome sight in the otherwise chilly library. He waited for me to be seated, then settled with palpable relief into the other chair. ‘It wasn’t so bad when I could keep active. We used to tell the boys to run up and downstairs to keep warm! But nowadays…’ He tapped one of his legs with his stick. ‘I can’t move fast enough to keep the circulation going. It’s bloody miserable. Especially when Fergus reminds me – as he does with monotonous regularity – just how cosy I’d be in a centrally heated bungalow.’

‘
He wants to sell up, doesn’t he?’

‘And Alec and I
don’t
. Alec and I are the dreamers. The fools. Fergus is the sensible one. And he has all our interests at heart.’

‘I’m sure he does, but
he isn’t taking your heart into account. Or Alec’s.’

‘What?... Oh, I see
... Well, he can’t, can he? You only have to look at the accounts.
Shocking
. I tell you, Jenny, owning a property like Cauldstane is like having a high maintenance wife. And when I was married to Meredith, I had
two
of those,’ Sholto grumbled. ‘But making Cauldstane pay was always going to be a tall order. I inherited a lot of debts. The estate was not in good heart. Torquil was largely an absentee landlord and left his affairs to inadequate staff. Our father hadn’t been much better organised. The poor fellow was dogged with ill health and had disastrous luck with his investments. So when I took charge, the farms had been poorly managed for years and the forestry areas neglected. The woods were all but impenetrable. Should have been thinned out, you see, but my father didn’t know what he was doing. Thought timber would be a quick and easy cash crop. Sadly the trees had to be clear-felled before they reached maturity, wasting a lot of the original investment.’ Sholto turned away and stared into the fire. ‘Fergus and I have achieved a certain amount, but Cauldstane really needs investment now. And that means cash. Which we don’t have.’ He narrowed his eyes and said, ‘How much do you think this book could make, Jenny?’

‘Not enough
, I’m afraid. I don’t know what sort of offers we’ll get for it. It could be a tidy sum, but I don’t think the book alone would save Cauldstane. If the manuscript goes to auction – that means several publishers competing for the book – that would push the price up nicely. My agent would be able to play the bidders off against each other, but if the advance is generous, it’s unlikely you’d earn any more.’

‘I don’t quite follow.’

‘The amount you’re paid is called an advance because it’s an advance against future earnings. The book would have to earn that advance back before you were paid any royalties.’

‘You mean it would
have to sell a lot of copies?’

‘Yes. But you never know – it might. If it became a bestseller, there would be all the spin-offs – translation rights, audio, serialisation for radio. You might even sell screen rights. It could mount up over the years. But I wouldn’t want you to bank on it, Sholto. Publishing a book is always a gamble. No one knows what makes a bestseller, least of all publishers.’

‘
Would you talk to Fergus about all this, Jenny? Put him in the picture? It might get him off my back for a while.’

‘
Yes, of course. But I doubt it will change his mind. If you sell up, he’ll be out of a job, won’t he? So he must really think selling up is best for you. And Alec.’

‘Oh,
Fergus is undoubtedly taking the long view. He believes we’ll
have
to sell eventually and says the time to let go is before you have to. “Sell up now and name your price,” he says. That way you still feel you’re in control of your destiny. But I don’t think he really understands – he’s a younger son, how could he? – that letting go of something like Cauldstane is admitting complete and utter failure. In every respect. It means I’ve failed the building, failed in my obligations to the estate and failed to protect my sons’ inheritance.’

‘You were a younger son,
Sholto.
You
understood. I expect Fergus does too. He’s just trying to limit the damage. And if he regards the sale as inevitable—’

‘
Oh, he does. He’s made that quite clear. It’s a question of
when
, not if, as far as Ferg’s concerned.’

‘Then he probably thinks the sale should take place whil
e you’re still around to enjoy that cosy bungalow. And while he and Alec are young enough to start over somewhere else.’

‘Yes,
I know, it all makes perfect sense,’ Sholto conceded grudgingly. ‘It just fails to take into account my
feelings
. And Alec’s. And this place is Alec’s now. I’m just hanging on, like some old family retainer. A useless custodian. The future of Cauldstane lies with Alec and his family. If he ever manages to acquire one…’ His voice tailed away into silent despondency, then he suddenly slapped his thigh with impatience. ‘Enough of all this maudlin talk! We must get to work, Jenny. This damn book won’t earn us a penny until you’ve finished writing it.’

F
ishing in my bag for my notebook and tape recorder, I said, ‘I’d still like to answer your question, if I may.’

He looked surprised.
‘Which question was that?’

‘
You asked me when it was time to let go.’

‘So I did.
Sorry. Burdening you with all our problems. Selfish of me. And a criminal waste of your time.’

‘Not at all
. It’s all good background for the book and if I’m to write as you would have written, I need to
think
like you, feel as you do. And up to a point I do. I care about Cauldstane and this family. I may not be one of you, but I hope I’m considered a friend of the family now.’

He beamed at me.
‘Indeed, you
are
, my dear.’

‘Well, for what it’s worth, my answer to your question would be this: perhaps it’s time to let go when you can
no longer hold on. That might not be the most sensible advice, but I think it’s what people do when they care passionately about a place. Or a person. They hold on until something
compels
them to let go. Then it’s no longer a choice. It’s taken out of our hands, so there can be no regrets. No blame. Maybe it’s not the actual letting go that’s hard. Maybe it’s making the
decision
to let go, when you still have a choice.’

Sholto nodded his head s
lowly. ‘You know, I should have made that decision with Meredith. I should have let go of the marriage. Of the idea that she could ever be more than a very alluring mistress. But my boys needed a mother. And I missed Liz
dreadfully
. I know I wasn’t faithful to her, but I did love her. Can you understand that, Jenny? Meredith never forgave me for it. She was jealous of Liz when she was alive, jealous even after she was dead. That never seemed reasonable to me. How can you be jealous of a dead woman?’

I
thought it best not to comment on Meredith’s obsessive nature and instead asked, ‘Did you love Meredith? If you don’t mind my asking.’

It was a mark of the trust that Sholto
now put in me that he could answer such personal questions without embarrassment and without demur, even though he was basically a private, rather taciturn man. We could talk frankly to each other and he appeared genuinely interested in my opinions. We shared little in terms of life experience and had almost nothing in common, apart from affection for Alec, but in a matter of weeks, we’d achieved the sort of intimacy one enjoys with old friends. How we’d achieved this was something of a mystery to me, but I’d observed the phenomenon many times now. It seemed to be a by-product of sharing stories.

‘
Did I actually
love
her?... That was a question she asked me all the time. I always said yes, of course, and I believed it to be true. But looking back… And that’s what this book is about, isn’t it?’ Sholto looked up as if he needed reassurance to carry on.

‘
It’s about looking back, but it’s also about capturing how things were at the time. Wordsworth defined poetry as “emotion recollected in tranquillity”. That’s what I’m trying to get you to do. Recall how you felt
then
.’

He nodded and said, ‘After
Liz died, I realised – somewhat belatedly – what love was. What it
should
be. But I had a situation to deal with. What was uppermost in my mind was guilt. And the welfare of two motherless boys, both distraught, one of them blaming himself for his mother’s death. And I had a mistress –
ex
-mistress by then – who seemed determined to re-establish herself as the new wife.’

I looked up from my notebook.
‘Ex-mistress? I didn’t realise you’d broken off with Meredith. Wasn’t she here when Liz had the accident?’

‘Yes, she was.
In her capacity as a friend of the family. Her sister, Pamela was an old school friend of Liz’s. When we had weekend parties and charity bashes, Pam and Meredith would come over. That’s how I met her in the first place. She was a rather intense music student. Then years later, I met her again at a charity ball, when she was attached to a fellow I knew, a scientist who’d been on one of my expeditions. It was strange, the way I kept bumping into Meredith. Looking back, I wonder if she deliberately set her cap at me.’

‘But by the time Liz died, Meredith was history?’

‘Well, I’d made it pretty clear the affair was over. She’d asked me to divorce Liz and of course there was no question of that as far as I was concerned. She took that very badly, so I decided our relationship must end. It had run its course anyway, as these things do.’ Sholto turned and gave me a shrewd look. ‘That makes me sound a complete bastard, doesn’t it? Well, maybe I was, but I don’t think Meredith really loved me. She loved the
idea
of me. Famous explorer, Laird of Cauldstane, all that. So yes, it was all over as far as I was concerned.’